She placed the fish on a flat rock and looked about her, the skin slipping smoothly beneath her fingers. If she thought that Jarel was going to give her the knife, then she was very much mistaken. ‘You’d best be getting along with this.’ He held out a piece of flint about the size of his palm.
‘Not if you want the fish cut right.’ Most of the clan had metal tools but, occasionally, they still napped flint. Even the best blade could break and metal was hard to come by. There was something about the stone, the way it fitted neatly into her hand, the outer surface chipped away to reveal the ebony beneath, smooth as polished bone.
The flint was surprisingly sharp too, ripping easily through the underbelly of the carp as she scooped out the entrails and laid them on the ground. But the clan hardly ever used such tools when there was iron to be had and she wasn’t used to a stone blade, finding it almost impossible to cut straight. She had to keep a harder grip on the fish, the blade almost cutting her fingers as she struggled.
She laid the fish on a clean patch of moss. Her hands were stiff and raw, the fingers aching as she flexed them on the ground. What was keeping Jarel? She’d been working so hard on the carp that she’d hardly noticed that he’d gone. Maybe he was checking traps. He’d have little chance of hunting, not with that wound of his, but that wouldn’t hinder him laying traps or catching fish with nets, if he’d managed to get one. He’d got these fish somehow. Even so, he should have been back by now.
What if Grunmir had got hold of him? Cautiously she got up, her eyes scanning the trees as if she expected armies of woyaks to rush out at any moment. Then there was Jezi Baba. She never travelled by day, but you could never trust the night hag. I wouldn’t put it past her to change her ways.
Walking back to the shelter she began to gather a little of the brushwood ready for the fire. Outwardly there was little to give her unease away, nothing but the occasional glance. How far had they gone into the forest? She didn’t recognise this place, but they couldn’t have been that far from the old path that led to the deer trails, and that was still way too close to the camp for her liking.
In the distance there was a rustle of leaves, and a shadow broke across the ground. Iwa continued being careful not to give any outward sign of tension, but her ears were trained, ready to pick up the faintest trace of anything coming through the trees. Maybe there were more hunters hereabouts. She didn’t think Jarel had come from the river, so someone must have given him the fish. But then why didn’t they show themselves? Surely they were too far from the camp to bother with the woyaks. Or were they as scared as she was? This was a broken herd, running frightened and leaderless.
‘Then he appeared, his arms filled with sticks and kindling. ‘I thought you’d do better with the fish,’ he said, as he dumped the wood on the ground. He’d managed to catch a hare, its body dangling limply from his belt. It’d been roughly killed from the looks of it, the neck not cleanly broken but crudely twisted as if he’d struggled with the thing.
‘I didn’t realise you’d be away for so long,’ Iwa replied, keeping her back to him. ‘You try using a stone knife to slit a salmon and see how well you do.’
‘At least I’d manage a straight cut,’ Jarel said, shaking his head, ‘and I know a salmon from a carp.’
‘They’re cleanly gutted and that’s all that matters,’ she replied sharply. She’d need to keep her wits about her, now more than ever. But everything seemed hazy, as if she were in a dream. She still hadn’t had time to come to terms with all that had happened. Right now she should have been with the young girls, hearing their chatter as they made ready for the berry-picking and wondered about the catch their favourite amongst the hunters would make. ‘As if anybody’s going to care out here,’ she said, her voice lifeless and distant.
‘It’s just as well that they don’t.’ He smiled as he knelt stiffly over the twigs and set about making the fire. ‘Unless you count the fish, of course – we don’t want to show disrespect to Matka Ziemia by treating her bounty so poorly.’
‘Just so long as you don’t expect me to do anything fancy like take their heads off or cut away their fins.’
‘Careful,’ Jarel replied grimly, ‘unless you want to spend half a day cutting another blade. You might as well have this.’ He handed her a water skin. She began to drink greedily, suddenly aware of how thirsty she was, but Jarel was quick to take back the skin. ‘You might want to save some of that to wash out the fish.’
Sulkily she began to clean them out, spreading their innards and wiping away the last traces of guts and bone. They couldn’t be far from the river, but Jarel didn’t have the energy to go back for more water and she knew he’d never let her go by herself, even if she knew the way. Placing a handful of dried moss amongst the twigs, he begun to set about the kindling, the flints trembling in sore fingers, which sent what few sparks he could manage far from the moss.
‘I should have laid out some to dry,’ she said. ‘There is a patch of good moss by the river, I can have it back by the time you’ve finished with the fire.’ Hunched over the flicker of a flame he could do nothing but grunt, his body quivering with the effort.
‘There could be
