‘I’ve never had anything to do with the craft.’ Iwa turned away, shocked by the venom in Miskyia’s voice, but the sorceress grabbed her shoulders, her fingers trembling as she shook the girl.
‘You little fool! As if running away wasn’t dangerous enough. The way of the sorceress isn’t to be trifled with. Have you the faintest inkling of how stupid you have been? I should be here to help you, to protect you from the ravages of the craft: its awakening could have destroyed you.’
‘Nothing has awoken inside me, least of all anything like magic or this craft you keep on about. And I’m not going to have anything to do with it, either.’
‘The craft comes upon you whether it is wanted or not. I remember my time. The pain of childbirth was nothing compared to it. For days I lay there screaming, my body wracked with agony, as if the fires of doom had engulfed me. I was lucky. There were those who recognised the signs and were there to help. Yet still I can remember my cries as they echoed around the hall. Yes,’ Miskyia smiled as she caught the look on Iwa’s face, ‘I was born in the Polish lands, in one of their towns so very far away.’
‘So you are one of the Polish ladies after all, the wife of some lord?’ Iwa said, anxious to change the subject. Anything was better than having to talk about the craft and all the other things she didn’t understand.
‘Hardly anything so noble. My parents were scared of the craft and tried to hide me from it. They thought that they could escape it, just as you do: but they were wrong and you are too. The craft will claim you as it claimed me.
‘I’d never have survived the ordeal had I not had help. In the more civilised lands there are always people wise in the craft, those who understand its lore. In this forest you are alone, and unless you find yourself in one of the healing places it would be so easy for you to die.’ She paused, the memory of the craft breaking over her coming back. She’d spent days in a tiny room in a high tower of the castle, her body wracked with pain as the old women bathed her body with water and herbs, and the old Molfar witch chanted the sacred spells of healing. Even then she’d barely survived.
‘You should never have to face the onset of the craft alone. This is a place where the old ways run free and magic still holds sway, not like in the world of men where it is muted and dulled.
‘Maybe I should never have come here, but in those days I was rash, I yearned for power and there was one who promised me so much.’ Miskyia smiled, though she appeared to be on the verge of tears. ‘If only I had found a better guide, then maybe I wouldn’t have wandered into such a desperate fate. You must let me help you, promise that.’ Miskyia knelt before Iwa and clasped her hand. ‘Promise me.’ Iwa looked down and slowly nodded.
‘Just remember, this is one promise that you have to keep.’ Miskyia drew the girl to her. ‘Whatever else might happen.’
‘Yes.’
‘You have to mean it. Once you are on the path there is no turning back. You don’t understand the dangers. Once I was like you, alone in the world without guidance or counsel. And I too thought that it would be an easy thing to cast the craft aside.’
‘I have my father.’
‘Do you think even he will be able to help?’ There was a sense of sadness behind the words as the witch held out her hand to Iwa. ‘I too had loved ones, people who cared for me. But, for all their love, there was nothing they could do to help. Their guidance was as foolish and inconsequential as the chatter of leaves. For none can understand the craft unless they know its lore. There is so much that can be gained from the sorceries of this world, but it is a treacherous way. The craft has taken everything from me and I am alone, stranded here so far from my home and my kin.’
‘I have lost my mother too,’ Iwa said softly, ‘though I never knew her. The clan said that I killed her in childbirth.’
‘No, you must not think like that, never like that.’ Miskyia stroked the girl’s hair. ‘Your mother gave her life for you, as any mother should.’
‘And soon my father will be dead, if we cannot help him.’
‘Then you must be patient.’ Miskyia laid her finger on Iwa’s lips to stifle her protest. ‘And do exactly as I say, no more running off, do you understand?’
Getting up, the sorceress led Iwa through the wreck of an arch. They were in a long corridor that led into the heart of the temple. As they reached the door, Iwa realised that they were about to go into an underground room. Miskyia walked quickly so that Iwa had trouble keeping up. Besides which she could hardly see in the gloom. Who’d want to live in a place like this, cut off from the wind and the sun? Of course she’d heard the stories of the Polish lords, who lived in great halls of wood and stone and never followed herds but stayed rooted to the soil like trees, but she’d just laughed; nothing but trader talk.
Miskyia led her further into the temple as the corridor dipped underground and the air became dull. Iwa looked to the walls and shivered. Before this the largest thing she’d ever seen was the great tent of the Salmon clan, which could hold two hundred men. No stone tent could be as large or
