‘Breathe a word,’ the old woman said, ‘and it’ll be your last.’ There was a hushed gasp as Alia lay sobbing on the floor. Katchka turned away and Iwa caught a glimpse of a blade in her hand. ‘And that goes for the rest of you. I’m not one to desert our gods so freely, or the memory of our menfolk.’
With that she hobbled over to the cauldron and kicked it hard so that it fell with an almighty clang, the last remnants of food spilling across the floor. ‘Krol Gawel feasts on fresh meat and leaves us to scrabble for crumbs. If that’s how you wish to live, then Jezi Baba can take your bones and grind them to dust for all I care. I’ll die whilst there’s still some fight left in me.’ A few of the women had gone over to Alia in a desperate effort to bandage the cut. ‘But don’t think that any of you will stop me,’ Katchka said, almost to herself, as she tucked the knife into her clothes.
Iwa turned to Jacek, who stared back at her with glazed eyes. A line of blood trickled across his lips. He was dead.
‘Karnobog look down upon one who has served you well.’ Iwa mumbled the ancient clan prayer, but she wasn’t a hunter and didn’t know all the words. If only Godek were alive. He should have been the one to send your soul into the ancestor world and now all you have is me.
‘Remember to get the mushrooms,’ Katchka whispered, as she closed the old hunter’s eyes. ‘May Karnobog grant us swift revenge. Jacek’s soul will slip into the ancestor world all the easier in the knowledge that he has been avenged.’ Slowly she turned away and hobbled into the bowels of the ship. Nobody else noticed.
How many more of us will follow him before the day is out? Iwa thought. Deep inside the folds of her clothes she felt the totem, the ivory warm between her fingers.
Chapter Four
Iwa huddled against the side of the ship and tried not to notice as Katchka watched the sunset through a gap in the tarpaulin. The air was thick with the scent of dusk and in the distance the beat of drums mixed with the hoarse laughter of drunken men and the crackle of a fire. The woyaks had taken the steps away and the women were as much their prisoners as ever.
Few bothered with Katchka now, shooting fearful looks as the old woman hobbled past. She kept to herself, mumbling strange prayers, her eyes filled with a far-off look. Alia had settled at the prow, still sobbing as the younger women gathered round. One of the older women had managed to find some ointment and dipped it into some rags which the younger ones pressed to her cheek.
‘Go out this side.’ Katchka lifted a piece of the tarpaulin just wide enough for Iwa to crawl through. ‘The fire will cast plenty of shadows so be sure to stick close to the shore.’
Iwa slunk back and wondered what would happen if she refused to go. It wasn’t as if the woyaks wanted much from Matka Ziemia: a few trees, nothing more. Surely the mother goddess wouldn’t miss them, not when she had so many others to look after.
‘Be quick,’ Katchka hissed, as she lifted the tarpaulin a fraction higher, ‘before someone comes.’
If only they would, Iwa almost said, but the memory of the knife lingered. Sulkily she crawled forward and tried to ignore the looks of the other women. How many of them were ready to betray her? Surely one of the others would put a stop to this. But the memory of Katchka’s knife kept them in check.
They should have taken it from her and killed her. Iwa was surprised that the old woman had lasted this long, but as she glanced back she realised how many of the women were caught between fear and hope, each one ready to take grim vengeance on the woyaks yet almost willing her to stay.
Suddenly she had to get away, the stench of fear and loathing pressing in clammily over her as she allowed herself to be bundled over the side. At least here the air was clean, rubbed raw with the scent of the breeze that fluttered across the waters. Anything was better than the boat. Grunmir can skin my flesh from my bones for all I care.
‘Careful,’ Katchka whispered from inside. Iwa cursed as her knees scraped against the wood, the air driven from her lungs as she crashed to the ground.
‘Hush, you fool,’ Katchka said, snapping the tarpaulin shut. A second later and it opened again, and the reed baskets were flung down. ‘Do not come back until you have filled them. And I do not mean half full, either.’
Hardly daring to move, Iwa gathered the baskets up and rolled onto her knees. As if getting out of camp wasn’t going to be hard enough. In the distance there was a spit of flame, the sound of singing and hands clapping in time to the music.
Slowly Iwa began to make her way across the ground, scared to leave the side of the boat as she crawled on hands and knees. If only Matka Ziemia hadn’t decided to be so stony. A twig snapped in the dark, or was it just the crackle of the fire? She tensed, breath dry in her throat as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the night. Then she remembered the other ships further along the shore.
She had been careful to keep to the shadows, hugging the side of the ship so that it lay between her and the camp, shielding her from the eyes of the woyaks, but she’d forgotten about the prisoners kept further along the shore. Luckily the woyaks hadn’t bothered to mount a guard over the women – the lure of vodka and meat had been too
