He held out his hand but Iwa recoiled, hardly able to look at the thing. There may have been some trace of humanity about it, but it was nothing more than a parody and that made the thing seem all the more horrific. There was no way to guess what was going on behind those dark colourless eyes. He came closer, the skin cracking about his bulbous nose, which was wet like that of a wolf.
For a moment, Iwa thought that he was about to reach down and grab her. But then, with nothing more than a simple gesture, Miskyia dismissed the creature. ‘You should be grateful for such a protector,’ she said as the thing hopped through the ruins. Iwa watched it and hoped that she’d never see it again.
‘You find him ugly, my Sturmovit?’
‘I’d like to go,’ she managed. ‘I have to find my father.’
‘Leaving here is not so easy. Sturmovit keeps guard, but there are many things that would do you harm, if you were to stumble upon them.’ She left the words to hang in the air.
From the shore a breeze picked across the waters. Everything looked calm but there was something on the wind, a sense of foreboding that choked thick about the ruins. Iwa shivered and clutched her knees closer to her. She looked to the far shore and the glimmer of trees that hung over the water. ‘There must be a path.’
‘There are many paths and they lead to many quarters. You have stumbled into one of the hidden places of this earth.’
‘Hidden places?’
‘Moist Mother Earth does not yield all her secrets readily. You have stumbled into one of the places where only a few can enter. Here things are different, day and night are not the same as in the world outside, and there are many paths.’ Miskyia gestured to the forest. ‘But they are not so easily trod. Finding your way through those trees would be far more difficult than you can imagine. The paths change constantly and you can retrace your steps only to find that you have come out at a different place, or else wander, lost forever along the tracks.’
‘But how can that be? Surely not even the Leszy could be so cruel.’ Iwa shivered. Of course, the spirits of briar and leaf could do as they chose, particularly in the deep forest where they were unused to being disturbed by men.
‘Because this place belongs to the craft,’ Miskyia said simply as she bent low, her voice hushed as if about to reveal some great secret. ‘Once there was magic everywhere. The sky and mountains danced to its spell, the breeze crackled with it and the streams echoed to its call. But then the world entered a new age and magic seeped away into the dark corners and little-known parts. Its currents hardened and became more difficult to find.
‘Once there were many creatures like Sturmovit. He is one of the Karzełek, a cave dweller, one of the elder races who used to live deep within the womb of Matka Ziemia. Now he and his kind are few, driven to the deepest mines and the edges of the world.’
‘Is he bound to you?’ Some of the hunters told stories of creatures who lived in the deep caves. Sometimes the creatures would help those who’d strayed too deep into the dark and guide those who were lost. But, as they neared the cave entrance and the light the hunter would look around to find that the Karzełek had melted into the shadows. However, there were many who scoffed at the stories and claimed that such creatures were nothing more than men who’d lived too long alone in the caves, so that the rocks had driven them mad.
‘He is bound to the service of this place, as am I. Do not worry, he will look after you, though it would not do to get on his bad side.’
‘I’ll remember not to whistle.’ In the stories the Karzełek were not always so welcoming. Though they could often be friendly, it was best not to antagonise such things in case they pushed you down some deep ravine or led you further down into the caves so that you’d become lost forever. And one of the surest ways to displease them was to whistle. Perhaps their ears were like a dog’s and could hear all sorts of things, or else maybe things sounded different deep underground.
‘So you know something of the Karzełek. I would not have credited you with knowledge of such things.’ She gave Iwa a sideways glance as if trying to figure the girl out.
‘I’ve heard the stories. Godek saw one of them once when he went after some of the stones that the traders like.’
‘Then he was blessed to have seen such a thing, for they rarely inhabit the world outside anymore.’
‘Godek always said they were nothing but hermits, cast out and lost in the dark.’
‘Cast out, yes, but neither lost nor hermits. Their ears are sharp and the voices of men echo in the gloom, so the sound disturbs them, whistling especially. And they have a fear of those who cover their heads, though I have never found out why. Sturmovit keeps many secrets, he and his kind are relics of a bygone age. There is little magic now in this world.’
‘But some people are still born to the craft… like I’m supposed to be?’
‘Yes. Oh, it can be taught, even to those for whom it does not come naturally. But some are born with the power already dancing in their veins. It is a curse as well as a blessing.’ Miskyia glanced away and looked to the waters, her face sad and distant. ‘And it can lead you down paths that you’d rather not know.’
She walked away, her feet as silent as any hunter. Iwa padded after, rushing to keep up. They
