‘Don’t you dare touch her,’ Yaroslav managed, the ropes straining as he too fought with his bonds.
‘Perhaps stupidity is the prerogative of more than youth.’
‘Hurt my daughter and I’ll hunt you down,’ he said, but his voice was little more than a whisper. You’ll die screaming, I swear it: even if I have to wait a lifetime for you in the ancestor world.’
‘See how your father cares for you,’ Wislaw said. ‘Even from the ancestor world he threatens me. So have you no words for him?’ Iwa refused to speak, but watched coldly as the priest transferred his attention to the ropes around her wrists, but, if he saw any signs that they had been loosened he did not show it. ‘What, nothing? Have you no words to save him?’
‘If you plan to kill him, then you will, whatever I say.’
‘Still defiant.’ Wislaw raised his hand as if to strike her, but Iwa couldn’t take her eyes off the tattoo. It wasn’t the head of a snake, but some other reptile. Cruel eyes glared as the ink slithered slowly around his elbow.
‘So you have something of the art about you,’ Wislaw said, lowering his arm to hide the tattoo. ‘You saw the pattern move, didn’t you?’ She shook her head, but Wislaw paid no heed. For the first time he realised that this girl might have more about her than he’d imagined. ‘There are not many who would have noticed such a thing. Only those schooled in the craft are capable of such perception.’ He paused, his head bowed deep in contemplation. ‘Or those who are born to it.’
‘She’s just a girl,’ her father managed through trembling lips, ‘nothing more.’
‘That I do not believe.’ Wislaw grabbed Iwa’s jaw, moving her head as if examining a mule. He’d studied her reactions well, though outwardly he’d given no sign of it, so that he’d caught the girl unaware. And there had been something, a flicker in her eyes. He was sure of it but he had not, as yet, any understanding of the creature who hung frail before him ‘Yes, there is something of the craft about you. You know a little of the art, a smattering perhaps.’
‘She knows nothing. Let her go, she can be of no use to you.’
But Wislaw ignored him as he snapped his fingers away. ‘You sensed the power etched into my flesh, and you reacted to it.’ He was angry now, a hard edge to his voice. He hadn’t counted on the girl being able to do that. How could she see the runes? Nobody had been able to do that, not even the mages of the far north.
He shouldn’t have given himself away so readily. She’s tricked me. His suspicions began to grow. This filth-soaked wretch. He’d have to be on his guard, she wouldn’t catch him out a second time.
‘I saw nothing,’ the girl mumbled, ‘only the snake: and it didn’t move.’ In one swift movement he grabbed her mouth, his fingers holding her tight as he brought his other arm closer, the sleeve of his robes falling to reveal the creature once again. It had moved, there was no doubt about that, the scales had slithered around the old man’s elbow and the eyes, like two blood-red seeds, eyed her with a cold, inhuman gaze. Frantically she tried to turn away, but Wislaw held her firm.
‘Do you know what creature this is?’ His hands were tight over her, his thumb and forefinger pressing over her lips to choke her words.
‘Leave her alone,’ Yaroslav said, the frame of the spit rattling as he struggled to break free. ‘She is nothing to you, nothing at all.’
But the priest ignored him, his fingers pressing tighter. ‘Be glad that you do not. This is something raised from the depths of time, a thing of the craft long lost to the world. If you were to come across it, it would strike you down without mercy. Thank your misbegotten god that your path has never crossed with it. But you knew it was not a snake, didn’t you?’
He was still a little shaken. This girl should not be. Was she trying to make a fool of him? He’d heard of those who were born to the craft and whose veins dripped with magic, but such things were rare even amongst the northern mages.
Releasing her head, the old man turned to the tarpaulin. At least she seemed broken now, her breath sallow and her lips silent as, through terrified eyes, she watched his every move. ‘You have done well to keep her away from the art,’ he said to her father and delighted in the flicker of terror in the girl’s eyes, ‘but, nevertheless, it has laid its mark upon her. Do not lie to me, girl, or your father will find his way to the ancestor world on a river of pain.’
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Yaroslav spluttered, ‘not without orders from the krol.’
‘We shall see.’ Slowly Wislaw turned back to Iwa, eking every last ounce of fear from the girl. He was enjoying this, now that the natural order of things had been re-established. Yet there was some inkling of doubt left in his mind. ‘So how do you come to carry the power of the craft in your veins?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she replied.
‘Some wise woman, perhaps,’ Wislaw muttered almost to himself, ‘a forest mage casting spells with root and leaf? But, no, I don’t think so.’ He pushed his face up to Iwa’s as if trying to smell her. ‘Once, many years ago, I heard a tale of a witch, one who was taught by the Lapish mages of the far north.’ The priest pulled away, the lizard tattoo glistening darkly on his forehead. ‘One who fled off into the forest and gave birth to a young girl.’
‘Leave her alone!’ Iwa’s father cried.
‘Some say that she died in childbirth, here amongst the forest
