Some of the elders had accused the Otter Clan of planning to slit a virgin’s throat so that Chernobog would help them survive a harsh winter. But, no, surely none of the Bison Grass would do such a thing, not even to her. Yaroslav wouldn’t let it happen… but what if they killed her without his knowledge? It would be the simplest thing to tell him that she’d fallen into the trap and broken her neck, or that her throat had been slit by some woyak.
‘Mother,’ she whispered through her tears, but, of course, there was no response. If only I were a witch, then I’d fly out of here and beat Jarel to death with the blunt end of a birch branch. At least she had some water and a scrap of meat, though neither would last long. If he’d meant for her to die, then Jarel wouldn’t have left them. Or, maybe that was just a sop to his conscience, a way for him not to face the grim reality of what was about to happen? What was the use in sacrificing a dead virgin; would the gods be pleased with that?
Wiping her tears, Iwa took a mouthful of water and checked for handholds. Finding none, she picked up a stick and began to scrape out a tiny hollow. Maybe if she kept on she’d be able to reach the top. It was a hopeless endeavour, but fear drove her on as she began to scratch the earth so hard that the stick snapped, leaving her to carry on with her bare hands. She’d been prepared for death at the end of a woyak’s blade, not from her own people.
Finally her strength gave way and she collapsed to the floor. Her fingers were ruined; her nails grubby and broken. If only she could find a way out. Around her the bracken lay scattered on the floor. Most of the branches had snapped when she’d fallen but, in the middle, one had survived almost intact. Jabbing one end into the floor Iwa rested the other against the wall. If only she could climb to the top and then maybe she could pull herself out. And after that I’ll get Yaroslav and we’ll run away together and leave the clan to rot.
Carefully, she tested the branch with her foot. It was little more than a sapling, bending easily under her weight. ‘So long as you don’t break, little sapling.’ Iwa muttered her prayer to the Leszy as she began to clamber up. Not that it was easy. She had to wrap her legs around the base and haul herself up. She got to the middle and felt the wood buckle as the branch began to sag, the top pushing hard against the earth. Please do not break, little branch, she prayed as she pulled herself up further. But now that the branch had buckled, it was harder and, straining with effort, she almost wrenched it away from the wall. For one awful moment she thought that it might give way entirely. There was a scraping sound as the branch dragged against the earth. It was all she could do to cling on for dear life, breath held, as she readied herself to fall.
Much to her relief the branch stopped and came to rest, the top only a fraction under the lip of the trap. She let out a long sigh and relaxed. With a crunch, the branch broke. There was an explosion of pain from the back of her head, white hot and boiling, and then only blackness.
Chapter Nine
From somewhere in the blackness there was a sound, like distant waves. Iwa felt that she was tumbling, though she’d no idea why. There was only the distant roar of the dark. Then she felt it. It was as if a river’s flood had burst over her.
Her body was tossed and turned on invisible currents that threatened to rend her apart. She tried to scream but there was no air, only a thick choking stillness. If only the sound would go away. It was stronger now, all about her as she struggled.
There was something else out there too. She sensed an unnatural presence, eerie and malign, that prowled on the edges of that grim darkness. She could feel it stir as, dimly, it became aware of her. And in the darkness something reached out.
Then there was a trace of warmth, a glimmer of light, soft and blue, fragile as an egg. Not really knowing how, she tried to make for it. Again the clamour rose about her, her body aching as she retched so hard that she thought her stomach might rip.
No, she had to find the light. She tried to search for it, but there was only blackness and the strange unseen tide that threatened to sweep her further into the endless void. Will I be lost forever? She tried to drown out the fear that rose through her like a molten ball.
And if it hadn’t been for the fear and the pain she wouldn’t have noticed her body at all. At her heels something snapped. Whatever it was, the thing had followed her. She had the sense of something evil, cold and hollow as a gaping mouth, and around her ankles there was a clammy sensation as if something had reached out and was trying to pull her towards it.
She had to get away! Desperately she tried to kick out but the thing held firm, the sensation crawling to her calf. Then the hidden currents twisted about her and she was snapped free. Somewhere in the dark she sensed the thing’s displeasure, a mordant howl through the pitch.
So this is a dream. She felt the blackness stir about her, thick currents pulling, and in the distance there was the presence, hungry, lurking. Then its voice came again, a screeching voice that echoed through the dark. I must have
