‘As if she could know anything,’ Alia said sharply as she drew back behind the chair. Only Iwa noticed her now. She was trapped, caught between worlds. Was it her fault that the krol had looked kindly upon her? But, should the krol leave, none would be ready to forgive. And Katchka will whittle her face to dust.
‘Anything buried so deep in this forest should rest there,’ Grunmir said, ‘and we should have not disturbed it. You pillaged the woodland tombs and that night-spawned evil has dogged our path ever since.’
Grunmir glanced at the krol but Wislaw levelled his gaze at the old woyak. ‘Grunmir is a woyak, lord krol,’ he said slowly as if biting down upon his hatred, ‘and he sees things simply, as a woyak should. When it comes to battle craft and spear work that is all that is required. Yet there are other things, far more subtle and perilous than a spear or a fast-flying arrow.
‘I have peered into the void, my lord krol, and it is best that you do not know what lies there. Unnamed terrors stalk the darker reaches of the night and, to them, we are as fallen leaves caught in the current. It was not I who wakened this terror, it is you who has brought it down upon us.’
There was a hushed intake of breath as Wislaw turned on the krol. Beside his throne Alia trembled, her body wilting into the shadows. Nobody dared move, not even Krol Gawel as he stared with careworn eyes. ‘The girl is right,’ Wislaw said. His voice was soft, barely audible in the smoke-ridden caverns of the ship, but he held them all in a trance. ‘This muddied stripling has grasped the truth, my lord krol. The Leszy would have never let us strip away the land, burn out the forest.’
‘We do nothing more than is done in the lands of the Poles.’ Grunmir raised his voice, but there was no disguising the hint of unease that faltered behind his words. ‘I do not hear of demons sent to plague the farmers of the north or the south. In the east, crops are raised, and in the west too.’ Grunmir laughed as he looked around him, but the other woyaks were quick to look away.
‘We are far from hearth and home or inglenook,’ Wislaw said. ‘Here the forces of leaf and briar keep their own law, as it was in the days before the first men tamed the land and turned it to the plough. And we have roused their vengeance – even this shoeless backwoods girl knows as much.’
The woyaks’ grip pressed down on Iwa’s shoulders and a murmur ran through the ship. Many were nodding; they had all heard the clan women talk of the vengeance of Jezi Baba, or the anger of Zaltys.
‘But—’ Wislaw paused. The old priest’s voice was sharp and, with a single gesture, he silenced the others. Around his throat the coils of the snake glistened as his eyes scanned the room. ‘I can protect us.’ Now his voice was quiet again, soft as a mother’s. ‘I can fathom the darkling powers, chart a course that will bring this land to the plough.’
No. Iwa struggled. You want to give us to the dark. But her words were stillborn. Desperately she glanced to Grunmir. If only they’d trust the woyak. Surely they’d listen, they were scared of him, even the krol, but it was Wislaw who held them now.
‘I can mediate with forces so great that they would crush us like bugs beneath a shire hoof.’ Again Wislaw held out his hand, all eyes upon him. So great was his spell over them that only Iwa noticed as he tucked his other hand into his cloak and, as she opened her mouth, she could feel his thumb about the neck of the doll.
‘Piórun is merciful to those who would follow him, lord krol. Give me this virgin’s blood.’ For the first time Wislaw swung round to face Iwa. ‘This is the parchment upon which our salvation is written.’
‘We have no need of virgin sacrifice,’ Grunmir said, relieved to be on surer ground. ‘Since when has Piórun had need of human blood?’
‘Since when have we faced a situation as grave as this? Since when have we asked as much of him? Piórun does not give his favour lightly, nor will the Leszy of these trees be easily quelled.’
‘Since when has Piórun required you, priest?’ Grunmir replied, his hand instinctively moving to his blade. ‘Men know what is in the hearts of the gods, and it is not this.’
Iwa trembled before the great chair where the krol sat, his arms spread over the sides and the skins drawn over his shoulders. He could have been a god, the way the light flickered cruelly over his face.
She had to speak, but the words came ill-formed in her throat, and all the while she could feel the power of the manikin, Wislaw’s thumb pressing into its neck.
‘How is it that you have grown so wise in the ways of the gods?’ he said. ‘Has not my craft come to your aid, and more than once? If it were not for my protection we would have perished long ago. If only you knew the sacrifices that the craft demands. You woyaks bear your scars for all to see. The tenets of your service are easily marked out in your flesh, yet my scars run deeper, held on the inside where none can see.’
He jabbed his thumb hard into the doll and Iwa felt a stab of pain in her throat. Maybe Wislaw was right, Piórun would be pleased with her blood. No, that was the doll, she could sense its craft woven about her. She stood mute, her lips trembling as she fought the temptation to throw herself before the chair and beg to
