She had to make her body keep up, but it was difficult to stay in two places at once. Her mind shifted between her body and that of the owl, confusing her senses even more. The world came to her as vague fragments and, in her confusion, she almost forgot to breathe. Keeping both bodies going was so confusing. Which set of lungs do I use?
By now the owl was truly hungry, the urge to eat driving out everything else as it spotted a rodent scrabbling through the undergrowth. Iwa had to use all her power to keep it on track, its claws already flexed for the kill.
At the last moment she managed to bring it up. Not yet, little one, just guide me for a few moments yet. She felt the bird’s anger, the longing for meat and the incomprehension that nagged at the back of its head. She sensed the irritation chafe around her like tiny sparks ruffling along its feathers. Why had it not swooped down? How could it be that there was no warm flesh in its claws? Surely it must be there. What had happened to the tiny squeal and the scent of a meal? How had night suddenly become day?
Carefully she brought the bird up, the wings beating as they latched onto a current of air that took her high above the forest floor. But now the owl had begun to tire. Unused to flying so high and for so long, the first tendrils of stiffness began to creep along the wings, a short pain in what she still thought of as the creature’s armpit.
Yet, as she took another step, Iwa could feel her consciousness growing faint. Huge wings beat, the air flowing swiftly around the feathers. Somewhere to her right there was a sound as an animal pawed through the bracken. Instantly the owl’s ears pricked up.
No, not now! Iwa cried. She was so close to the cave mouth, but she didn’t think she could get back into her own body and get it through the forest, not from where she was. Just a little further, she pleaded, but the bird had already veered away and she’d grown so very faint: there was hardly anything of her left, nothing more than a sliver of thought clinging to the owl’s mind.
Desperately, she fought to contain its hunger, but it was no use: the craving had become too strong. A wave of adrenaline coursed through its body, pumping harder with the beat of its wings. The bird swooped down, claws outstretched, ready to feel the blood run hot in its grasp. Suddenly Iwa was jolted out of its mind, her spirit tumbling aimlessly through the dark.
Her body stood before her. There was a cold sensation as she passed back into herself. She was feverish, her skin cold and her pulse hardly beating. I can’t see! She’d no idea if she was close to the cave or even on the right track. All was a blur; vague shapes pressed themselves in on her through a yellowed haze.
Then her hands touched rock. She must be at the cave! Her elation was short-lived. She barely had the strength to call out as she staggered inside. ‘Father…’ Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Yaroslav!’ she called. Her voice was stronger but her feet were leaden. If only I had wings. The fact that she wanted to turn her head right round didn’t help either. Where was her father? She had to get to him, no matter the cost. Dimly she looked to the picture of a bison marked out in flowing lines across the jagged edge of rock.
She was drained, as if riding in the owl’s head had sucked the life from her. There was no sign of Yaroslav. That should have panicked her. Instead she was calm, her skin soft and warm as she felt the life flow back into her limbs. Perhaps there was more than a warning spell locked beneath the paint. Until then she’d thought that it was the berries which had saved him, but the ancient magic of this place had played its part as well. How else could he have lived so long?
She could now feel the spells all around her, eons of hopes and dreams whispered amid the paint. Maybe that’s what guided the hunters here, she realised, though they wouldn’t have known it: those ancient spells calling to them as they tracked across the mountains. And maybe that’s why they chose to bring my father here. Some hidden part of them knew that this would be the right place.
Until now she hadn’t questioned the hunters’ actions, dragging Yaroslav’s broken body across those twisted paths, though he was half dead and the woyaks were at their backs. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t have found a more convenient place to stash his body, especially when they had already given him up for dead.
This cave has always been a refuge, since the earliest of days. Around her the paint glowed with a soft crackle of magic. The hunting figures looked down at her and, reaching out to the wall, she felt that she could almost push back the years to touch those first hunters who’d daubed their magic upon these rocks. She could feel the craft scented upon the air, countless spells resting deep within the paint. The rocks were alive with the craft. Yet this was a far more comforting place than Miskyia’s island. She felt the magic fold over her, warm and familiar, and, as she laid her head on the soft earth, she felt that she could stay here forever.
She’d no idea how long she’d slept, the magic of the cave draping over her like a blanket. She felt refreshed, as if she had slept for a very long time, all trace of fear washed away. The stones must have contained powerful magic, because she didn’t even feel hungry.
