‘Don’t worry about me,’ Iwa said as she drew closer to Miskyia.
‘I wouldn’t take my warnings lightly.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘Keep close to me and do as I say.’
Iwa had no idea how Miskyia worked her magic. Unlike the other spells, there was no music or ritual chant but, as the air became charged, Iwa sensed that some ancient magic had awoken. Miskyia raised her hands and the air became hot as the runes began to sing. She was at the foot of the tree, the pig’s head glowing down, its slanted eyes picking up every movement as Miskyia uttered a sacred word so softly that Iwa hardly heard a breath.
Then the pig’s head slipped from the branches to fold itself over the woman’s head. Around her neck a few pieces of skin flapped loosely. In horror, Iwa watched the skin sink into Miskyia’s flesh and close about her throat, the last tentacles moulding deeply about her neck so it became impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. Almost too terrified to face the creature, Iwa looked to Miskyia’s chest. Underneath her skin the pig’s flesh crawled, thick and yellow as phlegm.
‘What’s going on?’ Iwa mumbled, too scared to raise her voice lest she interrupt the spell, but there was no reply as, with the eyes of the pig, Miskyia looked down at her. Somehow Iwa didn’t think that there was much left of the sorceress in the creature which now stood before her. Without a word the thing began to glide across the stones, its feet hardly touching the ground.
Iwa followed as closely as she dared, her heart thumping as she reached the end of the yard. Without a pause the creature slid through the ruin of an ancient archway. There, in the wreckage of a once great hall, it stopped. Before them stood a doorway; surely it hadn’t been there before? Carved snakes withered by the winds across the lintel, but it was the statues which caught her attention. On either side a carved figure crouched on a marble plinth. There was no way that they had been there before. She’d have remembered them, even if they’d been human. They had the lower bodies of men, but from the shoulders they were like fish and the sharp ridges of fins curved along their spines. Each was about twice the size of a fully grown man, the stone weather-beaten and covered with moss.
So caught up with the sight, Iwa didn’t notice the pig-faced creature had stopped until a hoof fell on her shoulder. She gasped as she felt it pull her back. Underneath the silken gown was the body of a woman, but the creature’s hands ended in cloven hooves. ‘Be careful,’ the thing warned in a voice that held little trace of Miskyia, ‘these guardians will not let us pass easily.’
As if to prove the point, the creature waved its arm and, as a brief incantation was uttered, a stone lifted and hurled itself at the doorway. In a flash one of the statues moved, its body no more than a blur as its hand smashed the stone into a multitude of tiny fragments. When Iwa next looked, the statue had resumed its position, the stone so ancient and weather-worn that she could hardly believe that it had moved at all.
‘Only those possessed of the craft can enter here,’ the voice of the pig said. ‘Even then we have to be careful. The guardians have their own magic, ancient and dark: one false move and we too shall perish.’
If it hadn’t been for the thought of her father lying trapped in the woyaks’ camp, Iwa would have turned and fled. Instead she clung to the pig-faced demon as the thing raised its arms and uttered another incantation. Then it stepped forward. Iwa followed, hardly daring to glance up at the statues as she passed, her head bowed in expectation of a blow. But the statues remained impassive, their fish eyes looking down blankly at her as she darted through the door.
Sturmovit followed behind, leaving hardly a trace of his passing as he moved across the stones. There was no fear on him now that he was away from his larger brethren. And Iwa was glad that they could no longer hear the sound of that drum, which had seemed to follow her around the ruins. Even by the tree she’d felt it, some strange disturbance which had rent the air even after the sound had faded from hearing.
On the other side the pig-faced creature waited, its breath muted as its tongue flickered through rows of fangs. They were in a narrow corridor that led down deep into Mother Earth. Slowly, the pig-faced demon began to walk down the passage, the air crackling with static behind it.
This is wrong. Iwa hung back as she made a sign to ward off evil. Why should people want to dig into Matka Ziemia? Surely this too was a sacrilege: worse than cutting away at her to grow crops. At least the woyaks only want to scrape away at moist Mother Earth: a tiny scar, nothing more. But this was a far deeper wound, cutting deep into the mother goddess. Yet she had no choice but to follow the pig-faced demon. Behind her the doorway had already disappeared and there was only the corridor reaching out into the blackness.
Behind her Sturmovit prodded her forward, glad now that he was underground. He moved more easily here, as if he’d never been used to the sunlight. They were alone in the dark with only a tiny pinpoint of light emanating from the walls. Where’s the light coming from? Iwa glanced
