Where are you, little one? Sometimes she dreamt that Miskyia searched for her. I have looked for you in the spaces between worlds. Sometimes Iwa tried to struggle against the knots. Had someone tightened them again?
Outside, she was aware of the chants and the sacrifices and the passing of nights. There were times when the Molfar shamans would do the same, sacrificing a larger animal each night, the power growing until they made the final sacrifice under the light of a full moon. They were the ones who spoke their magic out loud, or else chanted it to the beat of a single drum.
If only she could get out and find out what was going on. Dimly she was aware of visitors to the hut, but Grunmir was never amongst them. Not even Katchka was allowed inside anymore. What’s happened to her? she thought vaguely. Has the krol killed her after all? Iwa couldn’t help a shiver. At least she’s not going to poison me with mushrooms. She can save them for the Poles.
Sometimes she was aware of a figure lingering outside the tent. She had the inkling that it could have been Wislaw and, once or twice, she heard him whisper. Isn’t it enough that he keeps me awake with his chanting and his spells? If only he could have been one of the szeptun, who whispered their magic quietly. Perhaps he was drawn to her, unable to keep away as he circled ever closer.
Wislaw’s chant woke her. She’d been asleep, her dreams filled with blood and sacrifice. Through a gap in the tent, she’d seen the woyaks gathered at the river’s edge, the wind sending sparks trailing over the waters in bright swirling patterns.
Wislaw stood before the altar, right at the edge so that his feet touched the river. Behind him the torches fluttered, petals of flame weaving though the gaping mouths of the beasts’ heads as he raised the crescent-bladed knife that flashed silver in the moonlight. Before him a lynx lay stretched out on the tiny altar. He must have drugged it, because the creature didn’t move even as its head was pulled back. But it was quite clearly alive, the eyes staring into the blackness as it waited for the knife. Or perhaps it was the chant itself, some magic locked beneath the words that had lulled the creature into a stupor.
She felt Wislaw’s tattoos move, forked tongues flickering across his forehead in anticipation as the blade struck and the blood gushed into a tiny copper bowl. Around them the magic howled. Iwa felt a jolt as it ran through her veins, her body alive with the craft. Suddenly she was fully alert.
All was dark, the air cold and still about her. But she was awake, her body shivering as she remembered the pain along the side of her ribs. Some part of her could still see the woyaks, as Wislaw anointed the krol’s head with blood. But the vision appeared distant, the figures blurred, the men’s faces melting into the darkness.
Carefully she tested the ropes. Nobody had bothered to check the knots. Few expected anything more from her now, other than to wait for death. And if it hadn’t been for that rush of magic, maybe they would have been right. She could feel it still, the craft coursing through her body, giving her arms extra strength. If only her body didn’t ache so. A swift jolt of pain greeted her as she pulled on the ropes. There was a moment’s pause as she readied herself and then, with a final tug, she slipped her hand through the knot. There was a wince of pain as her other wrist took the full weight of her body. Quickly she slipped it through, the skin raw and bloodied.
Silently she flopped to the ground, her eyes trained on the curtain. Outside, nothing moved as she crept away. At least now there was no time to think. She had to get Yaroslav, and quickly. From the far end of the camp there came a soft sound. The woyaks were singing a low lament that drifted through the dark. She couldn’t make out the words, but she didn’t like the tone, and a shiver crossed the top of her spine as she crawled under the tarpaulin.
On the other side Yaroslav hung, his breath coming in short gasps as he twisted on the end of the rope.
‘Go without me,’ he whispered. ‘You have to be brave. There is nothing you can do for me now.’ She looked away from his beaten face, her fingers trembling as she tried the knots that held him firm. Along his right leg there was a bloodied gash. ‘So you see, I cannot walk,’ he said, trying his best to smile. ‘You have to leave me.’
‘You never did, even in the snow.’
‘But then there was a chance of success, here you have none. You cannot save me, only my memory. You need to run before Grunmir finds you and Wislaw binds you to that cross of his. Get out, go as far and as fast as you can. Leave and…’ he paused, ‘remember me.’
Knowing he was right, Iwa wiped away her tears and then, with a final hug, she slipped into the dark.
Outside, the woyaks stood by the river, torches blazing as they sang a paean to the dark mistress of the night. Over the waters the animal skulls blazed. With breath held, Iwa moved through the camp, her body moulded to the shadows. On the ramparts a few of the woyaks kept watch, but most were gathered at the water’s edge, leaving large parts of the perimeter unguarded. It would have been the easiest thing in the world for her to slip past, but she turned and made her way further into the camp.
Panting, she sank against the side
