‘Surely if you can go into the deep forest, the Poles will never dare to follow you.’
‘Trust has been worn thin, suspicions lurk even amongst the best. There’s always someone who’s ready to betray the clan for a scrap of meat.’
‘They’ll end up with their heads on the end of a spear, once their usefulness is over,’ Yaroslav said.
Iwa shuddered and curled up close to the fire. Would any of the hunters betray the clan? Surely such a thing was impossible. She looked over to Jarel, his face pressed against the rock to catch the last rays of the sun.
Slowly he came back into the cave. There was a haunted look about him as he bent to sit near the fire. He was like an old man who only thought of his rest. Suddenly the world had changed, and nothing was certain anymore. Even the forest seemed different somehow. There was a strange chill in the air that carried with it the scent of death.
‘Then you must convince the clans to unite,’ Yaroslav said, ‘otherwise all is lost. A single clan could never stand against the woyaks, but if we work together we could catch them off guard. They might be on the lookout against another raid, but they will not expect a full-blown attack.’
‘But all the other clans want to do is to hunt free in the forest.’ Jarel struggled to remember Kazik’s words. ‘They might shed tears for us, even turn our memory into a song, but so long as they are free no man from another clan will risk his life in open warfare against the woyaks. A few might come, but only the hotheads and the troublemakers.’
‘Then you must convince them otherwise.’ Yaroslav propped himself up against a rock. His voice was weak but his words were sharp. ‘Listen, I understand the ways of the Poles. For farmers there is never enough land. Sooner or later, they’ll grow more grain than they can eat or brew into vodka, and then they’ll send the surplus to the towns for trade. And, once word gets out that there’s good land to be had here, more people will come; more krols and more woyaks, until the clans are pushed into the mountains.’
‘Or end up as slaves,’ Iwa added. ‘They’ve got Katchka and the others locked away in those ships of theirs – that’s if they haven’t sold them off to the Arabs already.’
‘One krol is bad enough.’ Jarel sank against the ground and put his head between his legs. ‘There can’t be more.’
‘You’ve no idea how many they are,’ Yaroslav said. ‘Already they’ve spread out across the great steppe. Even that is not enough for them.’
‘And there’d be wars too,’ Iwa chipped in, ‘Krol Gawel told us so. There are more woyaks ready to come, many of them worse than him. If word gets out that he has ploughed the land then they’ll try and take his crops from him.’
‘You have to fight.’ Yaroslav lowered his voice. ‘Now, whilst the woyaks are still weak. Let a few escape to tell how the rest were wiped out and maybe the other krols will think twice before trying their luck in the forest. Whilst the Polish lords fight amongst themselves there will always be men who are dispossessed, pushed out to the furthest reaches with no skills or trade but war and death. And when they come, the clans will lose the forest.’
‘That’s not possible,’ Jarel said. ‘We belong to this place, as much as the birds or the trees. Without us there can be no forest.’
Yaroslav leant over to grasp Jarel by the shoulder. ‘Not if the woyaks have their way,’ he said, but his grip was weak and his hand fell away. ‘We’ll be forced into the mountains and those places unsuitable for the plough.’
‘But who will listen to me?’ Jarel said as he gulped and, tried to take in the words. ‘Karnobog gave us the paths, laid down the sacred ways through the trees so that we could follow the herds.’
Iwa shivered, a finger of cold coming from the cave mouth as a breeze touched the rocks. She’d longed for her father’s voice, to hear his words once again and know that everything was alright. Now the words fluttered around her, cold and hard as she tried to grasp their meaning. Surely the clans had to exist, without them there could be no forest.
‘Kazik is the hunt master, in all but name,’ she heard Jarel say, his voice distant and scornful. ‘He will decide,’ he said, trying to reassure himself.
‘Then you must convince him,’ Yaroslav said, ‘or else he will be the last.’
There was a long silence as Jarel glanced fretfully about him. He’d never been to the cities of the Poles, or away from the great river; even now he couldn’t conceive of an end to the forest. Surely all this talk was nothing but foolishness: the trees extended to the end of the earth and belonged to the clans.
‘I’ll try,’ he said at last, ‘but I do not think that Kazik will listen. He is content to wait out in the forest until the woyaks have gone. He won’t want to hear about crops and seeds, nobody will. Let us leave such vengeance to the Leszy, that’s what he’ll say. And if the Leszy cannot be bothered to guard their own…’ He paused and let the words hang in the air.
‘And the women,’ Yaroslav said softly, his words almost lost in the dull echo of the cave. ‘What good are the hunters if they cannot protect the women and children?’
‘I know nothing about the women.’ Jarel glanced briefly at the wound on his leg. ‘None of them have run away from the camp.’ He nodded to Iwa. ‘She’s the only one, and a scrap of a girl
