‘So much the worse for you, then,’ he sighed. ‘The clan still raid the camp for food and weapons, but their attacks are too well timed and too precise for mere chance. There’s a traitor in the camp. Krol Gawel wanted to behead some of the women until he found out who it was, but Grunmir talked him out of it. So the raids continue and the woyaks see traitors everywhere. I overheard a couple of the guards talking: they’re ready to desert. These woyaks are built for war and easy conquest, and farming is far harder than they imagined. Most of them would have run off long ago, but they’re all scared of Grunmir and Krol Gawel and that priest of theirs, so they stay and grumble. But there’s something else, something more than loyalty or fear that binds the woyaks to this place.’
‘What’s that?’ Iwa asked, though she’d already guessed at the answer.
‘Nobody will say, not even the women who bring me food. Some nameless evil keeps the men here. Go, get away from this place, run as far and as fast as you can and never look back.’
‘Easier said than done,’ Iwa mumbled, as she gave up trying to break free of the knot.
‘You must find a way, leave this place: the gods have cursed us. Karnobog no longer protects us.’
‘We can get away together,’ Iwa said, trying to sound as positive as she could; if only the knot wasn’t so tight.
‘I would only slow you down,’ Yaroslav replied, ‘but you must escape, if you can.’
‘We could go together – upriver to the Eagle Claw or the Wolf’s Jaw. They’ve always been good to our clan.’
‘You go: you were always one for skulking. I haven’t the heart for escape, or the strength for it, either.’ I don’t want to be the cause of your death. Before, he’d cared little for the woyak’s torture. A few days of pain and he’d find his way into the ancestor world. With Iwa said to be dead there was little left for him in the world of the living. Iwa, the ways of the clan, all had been swept away and he’d longed for the cave of the ancestors where she’d be waiting for him.
Now that she was alive hope had dawned, but fear also.
‘I’m not going to leave you. I can’t.’ Iwa tugged harder on the rope, her eyes trained on the sleeping woyak. ‘Once you get some food you’ll feel differently, then we’ll run away.’
‘Forget me; you have to go by yourself. Something evil prowls the night: I’ve heard the screams. Nobody knows the forest paths like you, and nobody’s better at hiding. If anybody can escape it ought to be you; the rest of us are doomed. I don’t know what lurks in the woods.’
‘But your daughter does.’ A voice cut through the gloom. Suddenly Eber was on his feet, the barrel spilling on the floor. ‘I think that this child knows far more than you credit.’ Iwa felt her body go limp as, dressed in ritual white, a figure came forward, his face hidden under a cowl. Around the cuffs of his long sleeves the sacred sun runes were marked out in gold thread on red. More sun runes in the ancient swastika pattern were etched below his shoulders and, in the centre of his cloak, a bird rose with wings of flame.
‘How long have you listened, priest?’ Yaroslav spat. ‘Have you been outside all the while, with your ear pressed to the wood like a thief?’
‘You flatter yourself,’ the priest chuckled as the woyak picked up the barrel. ‘You are not that important, and I have much better things to do than listen to foolish plans of escape. I have often noted how a desperate man will cling to such notions, even when he knows that they are hopeless.’
The old man hobbled into the centre of the hut. Then he turned with surprising speed and pointed to Eber. ‘Get out!’
‘But I was told…’ the woyak mumbled.
‘I do not care for your orders. I have told you to leave.’ Eber gulped, his eyes looking to the girl. His fear of Grunmir may have kept him in check but now there was a far more immediate danger. Slowly the priest turned his back to the man. ‘A mud-soaked girl and her half beaten father? Do you imagine that there is anything here for me to be afraid of? My spear carved out a trail of blood before the emperor’s guard, remember that.’
The last two words came as a whisper, the voice quiet but so laced with threat that the blood drained from Eber’s face. He needed no further encouragement, the leathers flapping behind him as he made his exit.
Only then did the priest reveal his face to the light. Maybe once he had been handsome; a gently sloped forehead pressed down over high cheekbones and a lean, hungry face, but now the skin was pockmarked and haggard. On the crown of his shaven head a tattooed snake shimmered as he regarded Iwa with dark, careworn eyes.
‘Now, let us have a look at you.’ He grabbed her chin and turned her face to the light. As the old priest reached out, the sleeves of his cloak fell away to reveal another tattoo: it was the sign of Piórun the thunderer. But further down there was a hint of something else. At first she thought it was a snake, fangs bared as its scales flickered around his elbow. There was something about the tattoo, was it only a trick of the light or did the thing move? Suddenly she recoiled, a deep primeval fear welling up from her stomach and pricking along her spine.
‘Leave us alone!’ she yelled as she tried to kick out, her wrists fighting against the knots which only seemed to wrap tighter around her.
‘Ah, such defiance in one so young,’ he chuckled. ‘Such
