‘Father!’ she called. ‘It’s me, Iwa. I’ve come back.’ But there was no answer. Moving further in, she kicked over the empty traces of a fire. ‘Please, Father, I’m alive,’ she cried, but the cave was deserted. Judging by the remnants of the fire, nobody had lived here for some time.
If only she knew how long she’d stayed on the island. It couldn’t have been for more than a few days. She kicked over the traces of the fire, the ash cold between her toes. But then who knew how long a day in one of the hidden places would last? The sun and moon seemed to behave completely differently there. Then there was this firmament, whatever that was. Things could be different there as well. To her it had only appeared as if she’d been there for a few moments, hardly any time at all, though she still shuddered at the memory of the grim presence that stalked her. But there hadn’t been any sign of the true passage of time, no moon nor sun to guide her.
She went over to the cave mouth and glanced out at the trees. The air came tinged with the scents of spring and the newly formed sap of trees. It didn’t seem that much time had passed. Unless the seasons have turned full circle. But that would have been ridiculous, even for one of these hidden places.
She felt the ash again with her toes. The fire could not have been left for more than a few days at most, but was it the same fire? What if others had come to the cave since her father? On the walls the pictures glimmered in the half light and she had a sense of the eternity of things.
But it looked like the old fire, as far as she could tell, and she couldn’t have been away that long. Perhaps the hunters had abandoned the forest and taken Yaroslav with them. ‘They must have told him I was dead,’ she muttered. There was no way he’d have left otherwise. ‘Oh, Jarel,’ she said as she knelt on the ground, ‘what have you done with your lies?’
Iwa wiped away a tear and watched the dust dance in a beam of light. She was home at least, and took some comfort from that. Now that she had a goal, things began to look better. She’d find her father, and then she was never going to leave him again.
Staying in the cave would have been the sensible thing to do. Maybe Yaroslav would come back. Behind her she felt the power of the spells, warm and comforting as a twinkling fire. But what if he didn’t return? She looked round, a loose rock slipping easily into her hand. She’d half a mind to wait in ambush in case Jarel came back. And then let him try and trick me again. But there didn’t appear to be anything much in the way of fresh tracks.
With a final glance round the cave she stepped out into the morning light. All she had to do was find her way downstream. News travelled quickly amongst the clans: someone was sure to know about Yaroslav. Moving silently so as not to disturb Matka Ziemia, she made her way into the forest, taking one of the old hunters’ paths that snaked to the river. Each clan had its own ways, ancient paths that guided them through the forest as they followed the herds. A hunter would rather die than reveal them to another clan. They were the sacred ways handed down to each clan by their god, a heritage to be kept secret. When food is scarce and the hunt fails, the old ones would say, there is no brotherhood between hunters and each clan must look to its own.
Still she was careful, picking her way silently through the undergrowth as she followed the path down from the mountains. The hunters could have used the same track, and she was now almost as afraid of them as she was of the woyaks. Maybe she could have gone into another animal – a hawk could scout far better than she ever could – but she didn’t think she had the strength for that.
Maybe the craft was something best left alone. Perhaps even such a tiny spell could have a power of its own and turn against her. It’s not as if I really know what I’m doing. Yet the temptation stayed with her like an uneasy companion.
Somehow she’d find a way back to her father. She’d risked too much to turn back now. That relationship ran too deep. Yet, as she pressed through the bracken, it was hard to keep the desperation at bay. What was one person alone in all the forest? The trees could swallow Yaroslav up so easily and it wasn’t as if he was a hunter. He had always stayed on the march with the women and the old ones. Even she knew these forest paths better than he ever could.
Suddenly the idea that he might have stumbled off one of the well-trodden paths and into the darker reaches of the forest terrified her. There’d be little chance that he’d ever make his way back – a hunter perhaps, if he didn’t stray too far and kept his head about him, but not Yaroslav. ‘I’ll find you’, she heard herself say, ‘no matter how long, or whatever the cost.’
She must have made good time because soon she could hear running water: the river couldn’t be far away. She advanced cautiously, ready to duck behind cover at the first sign of movement. It was a little used route, overgrown in places, but it ran too close to the camp for comfort. Some of the woyaks may have strayed this far into the woods.
Up ahead there was a bend where the path swung round a giant boulder held sacred by the clan, its surface littered with the skulls of deer, mice
