‘Before the clans came to the forest?’ Iwa asked. Even after all she’d learned in the cave she still found it difficult to imagine a time when the clans hadn’t belonged to the forest.
‘Maybe even before then, but it’s nothing for you to worry over. These stones have died and passed away from memory. Nobody comes to tend them now.’
‘Except for you.’
Wrapping the blanket over Iwa once more, the woman laid her hand on Iwa’s eyes. ‘Rest now, your questions can wait for the morning. Be careful not to leave the courtyard: the night can be dangerous, and I have much work to do.’
She made as if to leave, but Iwa caught her arm. ‘Where am I? I should be in a bear pit.’
Miskyia smiled. ‘No, you are no longer in a bear pit. It must have been so difficult for you to stumble into this place, let alone travel in the firmament that rages between worlds. No wonder you’re confused.’ Iwa began to get up but Miskyia put her hand on the girl’s forehead. ‘I too have something of the craft. I realised what must have happened when I found you and brought you here. To travel the firmament takes great skill – you were very lucky.’
‘I had the totem, the sacred symbol of Karnobog, to guide me,’ Iwa said and instantly regretted it. For all Miskyia’s gentleness she found it difficult to trust the woman.
‘Then you must have lost it to the firmament, for I didn’t find anything like that upon you.’ Iwa wanted to ask so much more, but Miskyia placed a finger on her lips. ‘Hush now, no more questions, not until you have recovered your strength. You must promise not to slip away from the safety of the courtyard, there is much here to harm you.’
She glanced to the water’s edge and a trace of concern broke over the smooth features of her face. But when she looked back, all was calm about her.
‘Magic?’
‘These stones are old and have seen so very much,’ Miskyia said. ‘They cackle with the craft and the traces of ancient spells uttered long ago. Not all magic is good, and a spell can be like a living thing with a will of its own.’
‘So the old ones are right, you cannot control magic?’
‘Only with difficulty,’ Miskyia said, ‘difficulty and training. A spell needs to be forged with care. Oh, there are simple spells, dull things without much life. But a true spell has a will of its own, and sometimes it leaves a trace of itself behind.’ Miskyia slid her fingers over one of the roughened stones, tracing out the line of a crack scarred deep across the marbled surface. ‘And these walls have seen so very much magic. Some of it was good and happy, but vicious and malevolent spells lurk here too. Spells that have grown cold with age, their powers lingering long after they have died, like the memory of a loved one. Do not think that they cannot harm you.’
‘I don’t think that I could ever cast any such magic,’ Iwa mumbled to herself, ‘and certainly not an evil spell.’
‘It would be best not to make such a promise. The craft has a will of her own and once you set out on her path you cannot tell where your tread will lead. There are many who have been corrupted by her – or who have been forced onto paths where they would rather not tread. Remember that.’
Miskyia got up and moved past a gap in the wall where Iwa could see the moon shining across the ground and out onto the water beyond. Suddenly she realised where she was: this was the island where she’d found the berries and where Jezi Baba had walked across the lake. ‘Those spells – do they belong to your master?’ Few of the clan kept slaves: that was something more for the Arabs and the traders, so it hadn’t crossed Iwa’s mind to even ask about Miskyia’s master or wonder who he might have been, except that he must have been very great to have such a slave.
Miskyia stood at the gap, her thin fingers resting on the arch as she peered out into the inky blackness. For a moment Iwa was scared that the woman would leave her alone. ‘Some of them, yes,’ Miskyia said as she turned and came back, ‘but there are many more that are not of his making.’
‘Are those the ones that I have to be scared about?’
‘You need to be scared of all magic, for any spell can turn against you, even when they seem innocent.’ Miskyia’s words trailed away as she peered into the blackness. ‘Especially when they seem innocent.’ She drew a breath and shivered, the moonlight silver across her face. ‘But that is something that you will find out for yourself.’
‘I’m sure that I won’t,’ Iwa said sharply, and vowed that she wouldn’t have anything to do with magic ever again. May Karnobog strike me down and rend my bones into dust if I do.
‘Pretty words.’ Miskyia trawled her fingers through Iwa’s hair. ‘But I have already warned you against rash promises. You are young: the craft will seek you out. I wish that I could protect you from it, but you were born to its calling. I can sense its presence all about you and, like it as not, it will seek you out and you will answer its call.’
But I won’t, Iwa almost said, but the words gummed up in her throat; she’d had more than enough of being told not to make promises. ‘I have to see my father,’ she said instead. ‘By now he probably thinks I’m dead.’
‘All in good time. Patience is an art that must be learnt, particularly by those whom the craft has summoned. We will talk further but, for now, you must rest. This is
