‘We have our own witches,’ Iwa said as she glanced around the room, desperate for something familiar. She’d never thought that anywhere could be so different, and yet so close to the autumn camp and the hunting grounds. This wasn’t even that deep into the forest.
Maybe she wouldn’t have noticed so much if this had been the clan meet and all her people had been around her, but now the goblet only served to underlie the foreignness of this place. The water was tinged with it and the rim was too cold and too smooth. ‘There are many witches; sometimes they join the clan for a while.’
‘But that can’t be the same thing, you need a guide, someone at your side.’
‘Do you think that the krol will want to have a place like this?’ Iwa asked again.
‘I know the ways of the Poles,’ Miskyia said as she tried to keep the longing from her voice. ‘And this krol will want to feast in a hall.’
‘But he has his ships, aren’t they good enough?’
‘Not for a krol. He will have his hall, though not quite like this. Men lost the knowledge to build such places long ago, but he would have a wooden hall, no doubt, so he can pretend to be a proper krol and feast like the Polish lords.’
‘But only if he can raise these crops of his, and make Matka Ziemia give him bread to eat?’
Miskyia didn’t answer, but slid out of the chair and walked over to the braziers. Behind each was a sprig of some herb, the like of which Iwa had never seen before. ‘Do those only grow here?’ she asked, but Miskyia motioned her into silence as she cast the herbs on the brazier and muttered, her hands dancing swiftly through the smoke. With a crackle of flame the fire flared higher and the air ran thick with a heady scent that stuck at the back of Iwa’s mouth.
But the sorceress wasn’t finished. Carefully she threw a handful of seeds into the flames as she muttered an incantation softly to herself. Not that Iwa could hear and, even if she had, it was a language that had been long lost to the world. As the seeds crackled, an eerie light filled the room, thick as mist, and Iwa’s head swirled. Dimly she realised that a spell had taken shape, the magic eddying around her as she tried to focus on the cup. Nothing seemed to make sense – the whole room appeared to be turning as she felt her eyes close and her head thump on the table.
‘Drink this,’ Miskyia pushed a cup to her lips, ‘you’ll feel better.’ Iwa shook her head. She’d had enough of metal, but it was no use – Miskyia pulled back her head and forced the drink between her lips. This time it wasn’t water. Rather it was a thick liquid, dark as blood but sweet to taste, and Iwa felt a warm feeling in her throat, spreading down to her stomach. With a shake of her head she tried to keep the cup from her lips, but Miskyia forced another gulp.
‘What are you doing to me?’ Iwa spluttered. Suddenly she felt her distrust for the witch return. She should have been more cautious of her. But the strangeness of this place had made her want to trust the sorceress. Now her one point of familiarity had gone. She felt alone, lost in all this stone with the weight bearing down on her.
‘Hush, you fool,’ Miskyia snapped, ‘unless you want the spells to hear.’ Iwa was about to say something more, but Miskyia gripped her hair so hard that Iwa winced; then another mouthful was forced down her throat. ‘Now keep quiet,’ the sorceress whispered.
Iwa slumped on the chair. At least the room had stopped spinning and some of the feeling had returned to her body.
‘I’m sorry,’ Miskyia said. ‘I had to work the spell unseen: these stones have seen so much and there are many spells that linger here. I had to weave my magic carefully so that they would not detect its presence.’
‘Why, what have the old spells to do with this?’
‘I had to dull their senses so that they would not realise that I had spoken to you. Lord Bethrayal must never know the words that pass now between us. Even after all these years his presence lingers over these stones.’
‘Through the spells that he once cast?’
‘Whilst he was locked away in the outer dark he held little power over them, but now he draws ever nearer to this world and they answer his call.’
‘If they are so old then surely their power would have faded?’
‘In his time Lord Bethrayal was the greatest of the Molfar mages, and there are few who have mastered the art so completely. Many of his spells still owe him allegiance and when he has come into this world they will whisper their secrets to him. If they had an inkling that I had talked to you alone then they’d grow suspicious, and I dare not let the Lord Bethrayal know about my plans.’
‘But aren’t you his slave?’
‘I bound myself to his service, yes.’ Miskyia looked away. ‘Once I needed his help. There was something more precious to me than life itself and I was about to lose it. There was nobody to help and I would have gladly sacrificed anything to keep…’ Miskyia’s voice trailed away as she smiled, but her eyes were filled with a terrible sadness. ‘I was alone; all my magic had deserted me and there was nothing I could do. I screamed out for Jezi Baba, for any of the
