The Bison Grass rarely went into the deep caves, preferring the shelter of their tents, but some of the other clans scrabbled about for the stones and minerals that the traders valued. Perhaps that was alright for them, if the clan gods had laid down sacred paths into the caves for them to follow, but she’d never had anything to do with such things.
She glanced at the axe that hung from Sturmovit’s belt. Silently he led them on, his eyes seeming sharper now to enable him to guide them down the tunnels. Surely men had never made such a thing? Nobody could have carried out all that rock or made the sides so smooth. Sturmovit appeared to be enjoying himself, humming as he walked swiftly down the corridor.
‘Miskyia,’ Iwa murmured, but the words dried in her throat. Somehow she felt as if she’d left the confines of Matka Ziemia far behind, but that didn’t lessen her feelings of sacrilege; this place was wrong, all of it. Maybe the enemies of Lord Bethrayal had been right to tear down the temple.
By now the air was so stale that Iwa thought she was about to be sick. Her head swam and she could feel her own skin cold and clammy. She raised her fingers to her face and realised how much they were trembling. Up in front, Sturmovit didn’t appear to notice as he continued down the corridor, sharp eyes picking out the tiniest marks even in the gloom.
‘Miskyia,’ Iwa tried to say again, but there seemed to be no sign of the pig-faced demon. ‘Don’t leave me.’ She glanced down the corridor. She was alone – but how? The pig-faced thing had to be there: there was no sign of a door or any other tunnel that it could have gone through. The air danced around Iwa, making her dizzy so that she had to lean on the stone for support. Sturmovit had gone too, but how was that possible?
‘Where are you?’ Panic swelled in her as she turned to run, except there was no place to go. Around her, the air thickened and the walls moved. Now it wasn’t just her imagination – they were closing in on her.
There was an almighty crash, a tumble of rock and stone. Iwa trembled, her eyes screwed tightly shut as she felt the walls begin to press in upon her, their surface dripping with slime and mould.
‘What foolishness is this?’ The words came to her out of the blackness. ‘Breathe, you must remember to breathe.’ But she couldn’t. Iwa opened her mouth, but there was only a terrible scream. Then the walls tumbled in on her, she could feel them pressing in from all sides. A chuckle of magic rang through her ears as the stones prepared to crush the life from her.
Then there was nothing. She screwed her eyes shut more tightly, but still there was nothing. Finally she found the courage to open an eye. She was in the corridor with the pig face looking down at her.
‘What are you up to, girl?’ The words came hollow as if speaking through a mask.
‘I thought that the walls were going to kill me,’ she replied, feeling more than a little foolish.
‘And so they would have, had I not managed to protect you.’
‘It was awful,’ Iwa said, as she gulped back her tears. ‘I don’t want to be crushed like a hunter slamming a fish against a rock.’
‘These are ancient stones and they have seen much wickedness; no wonder they don’t trust anyone. Beware.’ The pig demon reached out and touched the wall, her cloven hoof lingering over the stones for a second. ‘Do not let them take you unawares again. They will kill you the first chance they get.’
After that Iwa was careful to keep close to the pig-faced demon. Now that her eyes had become more accustomed to the gloom, she could see the walls shiver ever so slightly as if a breath pulsed through them. Occasionally she risked a backwards glance and realised that the corridor had realigned itself behind them, or that what had once been an incline had levelled off.
‘These walls like to play their games,’ the pig face said. ‘It is not very often that they get visitors.’
‘I wonder why,’ Iwa mumbled.
‘Just don’t allow them to lull you. They can turn on you in an instant.’
She didn’t bother to answer but followed dumbly as the creature led her down the corridor. Soon there was a change in the air and the sound of water dripped through the gloom. Quite suddenly, the corridor opened out into a long hall. Iwa gulped: not in her wildest dreams had she imagined such a place. Before her the room stretched off into the distance, the end of which was lost in the dark. Above, stone columns reached towards the hint of a vaulted ceiling, lost amid the gloom. Around the edges of the hall a stream ran. At least it looked like a stream, but she’d never seen water like this before. It shimmered, the colours warm and inviting as the liquid lapped around a channel that ran around the length and breadth of the room. A bridge of blue stone lay across the stream but, as they moved closer, the stones began to blur.
‘Careful,’ the pig face said as it held out a cloven hand to stop her. ‘This is where the dark spells are at their most dangerous. Keep a firm foot or they will tip you into the river.’
Cautiously, Iwa placed her toes on the bridge and felt the stones shift beneath her foot. ‘You must not allow yourself to fall in,’ the pig face warned, ‘for there will be no getting out.’
‘I might
