The clan kept him on because he could make pots and all sorts of other things, but he’d never learned to hunt and, though his skills with clay were much prized, even Iwa could handle a spear better than him. ‘Is he far away?’ she asked, slipping a hunk of fish into one of the reed baskets.
‘We left him in a cave about half a day down the track.’
‘Then we can get there well before dusk. You’d have time to do some hunting and I’ll gather berries. After that we can start up a fire and have a proper meal.’
‘Kazik said it would be better for us to keep apart,’ Jarel replied slowly, ‘so that the woyaks don’t catch us all in one go.’
‘And is Kazik the hunt master now?’
‘No, but he is wise.’
‘Well, he can be wise later. Just take me to my father. If you don’t want to hang round with us afterwards, then that’s up to you.’ There was a moment’s pause as Jarel weighed up the situation. He didn’t want to take her. Why should he leave the safety of his hideout and the warmth of his skins? His wound had begun to ache again as he finished with the fish and tried to warm his fingers over the fire.
‘Just don’t blame me…’ His voice trailed away, but Iwa was too happy to catch the tone: she was going to see her father and that was all she cared about.
Chapter Six
They kept to the ash-grove path that skirted round the base of one of the hills overlooking the river. Jarel led Iwa on to a great oak, clan marks carved deep into the wood. The hunters must have sacrificed to it – a deer skull was placed roughly amid the branches with the sign of Karnobog daubed in faded blood across its forehead.
Here the trail curved away. Carefully Jarel walked off the path, his spear prodding through the undergrowth. A little way further and a smaller, rougher track began. Jarel paused and made the sign of reverence by touching his forehead with the first two fingers of his left hand as he began down the track, which was so slender that even she struggled to keep her feet on it.
This must have been one of the secret trails which Karnobog had given only to the hunters, but she’d never imagined that there would be one so close to the camp. Such things were usually for the deep forest where the herds of elk and bison hid. No wonder the hunters had worshipped at the tree so that it would keep the secret trail safe and guide all but the clan along the clearer path.
Surely the woyaks would never find this place. Iwa took comfort from that as she pushed passed a briar, the thorns digging into her arms. Up ahead she could hear Jarel, his tread uncertain as the undergrowth thickened and the going became more difficult. Even when the trees thinned out again, she found it hard to keep her footing. They were now on the slope of a mountain, which rose gently above them. A brook, little more than a rough ribbon of water, meandered through the trees.
‘It’s not far now.’ Jarel paused to regain his breath. His leg dragged heavily behind him now, giving him tiny stabs of pain with each step.
‘We can rest later once we get to the cave.’ She started to follow the brook, but Jarel pulled her to one side and pointed to a narrow path, barely perceptible through the undergrowth.
‘Hardly anybody comes here, so be careful, the way isn’t clearly marked,’ he said.
‘Not more brambles,’ she replied as she dug the thorns from her dress. His leg had slowed them and she was in no mood for any delay, part of her desperate to scamper ahead. One look from the young boy and Iwa realised his shame. A lame hunter was of hardly any use and a young one without any wisdom to share round the campfire was worse. ‘I’ll be ripped to shreds before the day is through.’
‘And you want to be a hunter,’ he smiled, some of the sense of his own importance coming back now that he had someone to look after. ‘We’ve had to travel far worse after the herds.’
After a while they came across the brook again, or maybe it was a different one. Just where the water slid past an aspen grove there was a tiny fissure in the rock, barely taller than a man. Half hidden by moss and bracken, Iwa doubted that she’d have noticed it if it were not for the bison’s skull placed in a carved hollow at the top.
Without needing to be told, she made her way in, the rock cold as she squeezed inside. A little further in, the cave opened into a large chamber. ‘Yaroslav!’ she called, her voice echoing through the dark. ‘Father!’ Her words came back empty and hollow as she pushed further into the cave. ‘Yaroslav?’ she said again, less certain this time; maybe Jarel had taken her to the wrong place.
‘He could have gone.’ Jarel said as he came in. ‘There was talk of leaving to join up with the Wolf’s Jaw. Maybe he went to them. We ought to go.’ He took her by the shoulder but she shrugged him off.
There was the smell of a fire and the scent of charred meat: somebody had been living here. ‘He couldn’t have got far,’ she said, as her foot touched something brittle. Bending down, she picked up a piece of dried fungus. ‘He’d never leave good tinder like this lying around.’
‘Very well then,’ Jarel said, as he took the fungus from her. From the cave mouth a shaft of sunlight broke the gloom. Going back, he picked up a few twigs and, tearing
