‘You speak as a woyak should,’ Wislaw replied, as down by the barrier the broken skull of a bear was thrown into the river, ‘but this demon is not a thing of nature. Leave the clans to Grunmir’s tender mercies, my krol; but when it comes to magic, let one who has knowledge of the craft guide you.’
‘As if a chit of a girl could do anything,’ Grunmir spat, ‘let alone appease the gods.’
‘I’m nothing to a god,’ Iwa managed. She tried to say more, but traces of the spell clung about her. Her throat ached as if someone had tried to strangle her, so that even her breath was painful. ‘I’m sure that Piórun wouldn’t be satisfied with me.’ She looked round at the assembled faces. ‘You might even make him angry, you know how pernickety these northern deities can be.’ Her voice trailed away.
‘Piórun demands her blood,’ Wislaw said, but there was a caution in his voice, as if he couldn’t quite believe that she had managed to shake free of his power. ‘I have heard his voice in the thunder: it speaks to me in the rustle of the reeds and the chatter of leaves.’
‘Nothing speaks in the rustle of leaves,’ Grunmir said, but some of the woyaks turned away from him. ‘Or should we now take council from the wind?’ He smiled, but he was losing the argument. ‘Maybe we should ask that stone what it thinks, or if that clump of earth has hatched a cunning plan to free us?’ Some of the woyaks smirked but they were quick to hide their mirth from Wislaw’s scowl.
‘I’d listen to Grunmir,’ Iwa said as she glanced hopefully about her. Few of the woyaks bothered to listen. Even the women who’d gathered, anxious to see what all the fuss was about, didn’t appear to hear her.
Only the old priest appeared to notice, or to care. Could it be that he’d underestimated this girl? Still he couldn’t see how – she was just a mud-caked wretch who trembled at his feet. Momentarily their eyes met in a grim understanding. Maybe she would have made an interesting playmate, but circumstances dictated otherwise. No, she could not be left to run free.
Perhaps the craft within her was not so great; the manikin was newly formed, such an untested instrument. Still she fought against it, her words stuttering so that the others thought that she was afraid, if they thought about her at all. Despite himself he was impressed. She had more of the craft about her than he’d been willing to admit, but that only made her all the more dangerous. She had to be disposed of. Nobody could have something like her running about free. The sooner she could be put to the blade, the better for all.
‘We need a sacrifice,’ Wislaw’s voice rang out over the assembly. He hadn’t counted on such resistance. These men who were used to blood and slaughter… even the krol appeared to draw back. ‘Only with the blood of this girl can we fight the demon. Piórun has spoken to me: his instructions are clear. She is to be sacrificed in his tradition.’
‘But my blood’s never been good for anything,’ Iwa said as the vestiges of the spell choked at the base of her neck, ‘it’s not been able to fight off so much as a cold.’ The woyaks sniggered as, behind cupped hands, the women hid their mockery. Iwa looked round for a friendly face but all she found was Katchka’s glare. ‘You can’t kill me,’ Iwa said, ‘what god would make do with an unwilling sacrifice?’
She drew a sharp breath and hoped that her words sounded pitiful enough, but it was no good. The gods lapped up blood whether it was willing or not, even she knew as much.
‘What do you understand of such things?’ Wislaw spat. At least he’d graced her lies with an answer. ‘We spill the blood of animals easily enough – does the rabbit or the hare come as a willing victim? Does the sheep bleat its consent before the blade is drawn?’
‘But I’m not a sheep.’ Even Grunmir had to stifle a laugh. She looked round and knew that it was hopeless. This should have been the river camp. She should be running around after the women or trying to catch the first of the fish in one of the tiny inlets where the men spread their nets. This was the great river, she’d come here since she was a baby carried in a birch-bark cradle slung on one of the women’s back. Before, it had seemed that Matka Ziemia hardly changed here from one year to the next. There were the reed beds where the white storks would sometimes gather, or the little hollows in the dead trees where the woodpeckers and short-eared owls nested.
Now she looked round and felt the landscape to be a strange and alien place. How was it that it was now so different? Even the water smelt wrong. I don’t know this place. Suddenly she wanted to get out, run away into the forest and follow the great river as if she could still find the autumn camp, as fresh as it had always been.
‘Enough of this foolishness.’ Wislaw raised his hand as a couple of woyaks took Iwa’s arms. He wondered why the krol didn’t see the danger. Krol Gawel’s instincts had always been so sharp. This wasn’t the quick decisive warrior of old. Now he appeared bowed down like some ancient stag whose antlers had grown too heavy.
No, the time for patience was at an end. And if the krol didn’t see the danger then he’d have to be brought to his senses, either that or… Again Wislaw stifled the thought. But how long could the krol stag rule? Wislaw had had to bide his time long enough with this girl already. The years had taught him how to wait, but it had been a harsh lesson
