Chapter Five
A hint of birdsong drifted through the trees. Iwa paused, her hand resting against the bark of some ancient willow. What was keeping Jarel? He’d woken early, leaving her to gather the firewood while he went hunting, but that had been ages ago. Maybe his leg troubles him. Slowly Iwa picked up a handful of brushwood and made her way back through the forest. All was quiet now, except for the rustle of a tiny animal caught in the undergrowth and the chatter of the breeze through the branches. It was almost as if the woyaks had never attacked and, as she pushed into the clearing, she almost expected to find Katchka and the others safe as they’d always been.
Despite everything a great calm descended upon her. This was the forest and the forest was eternal. She knew the trees, the hum of birdsong and the scent of the bracken. It was hard to think that the woyaks had ever come, or that the hunt master was dead.
But there was no sign of the camp, no barking dogs or crying children. There was only the stillness of the forest and the whisper of the wind. How different the place looked in daylight, with the aspens heavy with frost and the chorus of birdsong playing lightly on her ears. Above her a spider hung on a single thread. Carefully she broke the web and watched the creature dangle from her hand. As a child she’d spent hours playing with them and sometimes, as she watched their tiny yellow bodies spin in mid-air, she’d feel as if she’d somehow slipped into their minds.
She couldn’t help but giggle as it swung in space, its legs curled as if feigning death. Yet somehow the game seemed tarnished. Maybe she could just stay here and forget all about the woyaks and Katchka’s stupid mushrooms. Would the krol miss me? Somehow she doubted he’d even give her a second thought. What am I to him, what am I to any of them?
Only Katchka would notice. Iwa could almost picture her now, the old woman hobbling around the bows of the ship, fist clutching at the hilt of her knife. Few of the clan had ever dared to cross Katchka. Her revenge always came, sooner or later. She could keep a grudge for years that one, carefully nurtured under her smile like an angry black seed.
But the krol had changed all that. What can she do to me now, what can any of us do? As if a handful of mushrooms could ever defeat the woyaks. She sat down and felt the grass sodden against her clothes. Who knows, by now the women are probably halfway to the Arab lands.
Yet, as the spider turned, Iwa felt a leaden weight descend upon her. Katchka shouldn’t have thrown me out into the forest. This is all her fault. If it hadn’t been for Jarel I’d probably be dead already, as if that stupid old woman cares about that. All she’s ever wanted is to give out orders with her knives and her threats. She knew that the mushrooms wouldn’t be any use, no matter how many I picked, but sent me off all the same.
A kernel of anger burned in the pit of her stomach. Since when have the clan cared about me, any of them? Yet for all that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to go back. Even a handful of mushrooms would be better than none. Nobody could say I didn’t try, not even Katchka. There was a gust of wind and the spider was torn away.
‘So this is how you waste your days.’ She jumped at the voice and shook the remnants of the web from her fingers. She hadn’t heard Jarel coming up behind her. ‘A fine life you lead, sleeping till noon whilst others toil for your food.’ With that he threw down a couple of carp. ‘No wonder Katchka has you pegged for a lazybones. Or do you think you are one of the royal ladies who dance all day long before the throne of Byzantium? Would you like me to fetch you a silken gown?’
Now that he had washed, she could begin to make out the traces of the boy she’d known, that round face with the last hints of puppy fat clinging stubbornly beneath his chin, but now with a hunted look about him: the way he picked through the forest, those hasty glances cast behind, and he kept his tread uneven as though being stalked. He must have been awake when the woyaks attacked, because he still had the eagle feathers in his hair, a fashion he’d picked up from the Crow’s Foot clan. He’d even had them dyed bright yellow, much to Godek’s horror. I’d never have recognised him otherwise.
‘You should have woken me.’
‘Instead, it was you who kept me awake, tossing and turning like a child caught in a nightmare. I had to look round to check that one of the night spirits, some Nocnica, hadn’t crawled on your back and was feeding you bad dreams. Truly it must have sucked out your soul, the way you struggled.’
‘Then why didn’t you wake me?’
‘Too kind-hearted, though it’s a wonder your wailing didn’t bring down the woyaks upon us. They must have heard you clear to the camp.’
‘Then you were a fool not to chuck me out.’ Iwa kicked the ground with her feet, but Jarel had finished teasing her.
‘I’ll get the fire ready,’ he said, ‘and you’d best make yourself useful with the fish. You’d better be quick about it too – we don’t want to risk an open fire for too long, unless you really want to bring the
