At its heart The Bone Roots is a story of two mothers, each trying to protect her child.

When writing the book, I thought of how the creatures of Slavic folklore often have a sphere they protect. Their devotion to it is absolute. Aunt Borova and Uncle Borovy will rip apart anyone who tries to hurt their forest or the creatures living within. Bahan would whisper secrets to the farm animals, and keep them healthy, at all cost.

That absolute loyalty and devotion has – to me – an almost maternal aspect, and I wanted to marry those two things in my book: the mythological concept of loyalty and alliance, and the instinct to protect your own. In my writing, in general, I’m very focused on family relationships, and how those fit in with the responsibilities towards the community.

I wanted to explore how far a mother might be prepared to go to protect her child, and how far we – as readers – are prepared to accept and justify her actions, however extreme they might be. 

– Gabriela Houston

The Bone Roots

Kada walked her daughter to the market square, which was decorated with sprigs of pine, cut with gold sickles by the priestesses. Their sap sanctified the ground where the young and the old alike celebrated the last of the warm months, and together braved the onset of winter. Secha waved at her friends and ran off, leaving her mother a coin lighter and a heartache heavier. Kada walked towards a hot mead stall and bought some of the spiced drink. The taste of honey hit the back of her mouth and tickled her throat as she sipped slowly, looking at the crowd.

“I see Secha with her friends,” The woman at the stall, ruddy-cheeked, doubtless from consuming too much of her own wares, leaned forward with a conspiratorial tone. “It’s good you brought her this year. There was talk about whether you would, you know.”

“And who did the talking?” Kada sipped the drink without looking at the woman. Mead drank on the night of the Mokosy celebrations was said to allow those drinking it to see into the invisible world of Ort, of the soul of everything. But Kada suspected that even if that were true, then this watered-down brew would be barely enough to do so. “Secha’s only fifteen. I’d be well within my rights to hold her back another year if I wished to.”

“Your rights, yes, but it would be hardly sensible to keep your daughter home, like she was a child still. Not with the news that’s been spreading across the whole of Fiesna these past few months.” The mead seller raised her eyebrows and tapped the side of her nose conspiratorially, pleased at Kada’s surprised expression.

“What do you mean?”

“Those who meet and are not above chatting with the common folk of Torlow could tell you,” the woman said. “Looks like there’s some news don’t reach the fine people of Gorcay’s household!”

“If the news is worth knowing, share it,” Kada said. She glanced towards the crowd of revellers. Too many people for Kada to spot Secha, who was no doubt getting ready for the dance.

Kada’s throat felt dry and scratchy all of a sudden. She took another sip of the heated mead, but the sweetness and the pleasure of it was gone somehow and all she felt now was burning liquor.

“I’m surprised you don’t know, tell you the truth.” The stall woman wasn’t about to let go of this opportunity for crowing. “Zemya’s not happy, they say. There’s talk of trees falling by the borders, rot spreading through their leaves, the bark peeling. The fox is coming for the children again.”

“The fox is always coming,” Kada said. “Sooner or later.” She turned her head away and looked at the crowd over her steaming cup.

A familiar figure moved towards her, dressed in a moss-green tunic and rough-spun trousers, with a gold-thread belt running across his trim waist. Some looked up at the strange man, noticing his broad shoulders and dark eyes. Most looked away quickly though, something about the man not encouraging a closer inspection.

He locked eyes with Kada and smiled. She didn’t speak until he was right in front of her, so close she could feel the smell of moss and dead leaves on him.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, resisting the temptation to put her hand on his chest.

“It appears I need to go where I’m not invited just to get a glimpse of you these days,” he said.

“A glimpse of me is all you’ll get if you get the townsfolk’s tongues wagging.” Kada looked at him, then shot her eyes to the left to signal for him to stand beside her. He obeyed quickly so to anybody passing they might seem strangers, both enjoying the anticipation of the impending celebrations.

“And why are you concerned about the townsfolk knowing you’re admired by tall handsome men?” Inog whispered, looking at the crowd. He ran his fingers through his thick, greying black hair, which immediately flopped right back over his eyes. “I’d have thought you’d enjoy the notoriety.”

“I enjoy people not knowing my business.” Kada sipped a bit more of her drink and continued looking for Secha. She thought she got a glimpse, only for another young woman to move in front and block the view. “So why are you here?”

“Can’t I enjoy the celebrations intended for my brother and sister?” Inog turned slightly away, as if his attention had been caught by something in the crowd, but at the same time stepped closer towards Kada, without touching her. He was so close she could feel the heat emanating off his body.

“More like very distant cousins,” Kada said with a small smile.

“Careful now, lover,” Inog said. “We gods are touchy. Now–” he peered around the crowd. “Where’s that sharp-tongued child of yours?”

“I’d like to see her myself.” Kada stood on her tiptoes. The musicians were tuning their instruments, the discordant sounds of tightened fiddle strings almost lost in the hum of people talking and laughing. “There!”

She pointed towards a flash of red curls. Secha was standing third in the girls’ line as the music started. Now the crowd had separated, Kada could see her daughter clearly. She shone, separate from the others like a rose in a cabbage patch. Kada’s heart swelled with pride.

The pairs moved rhythmically to the march music, each third beat a low dip, which lengthened the step as they wove in and out of the intricate figures. Sometimes their arms were arched above the fellow dancers’ heads, sometimes clasped in a chain weaving through. The music rose as the sky turned dark, the moon giving the revellers an eerie look.

The bonfires were lit. The music changed rhythm, getting faster and faster as the drums joined in. The dancers separated from their partners and each young woman spun in a circle, their skirts puffing out with the movement, opening like night lilies. Kada smiled, her hands moving, seemingly of their own accord, clapping out the time. Even Inog seemed transfixed by the performance.

The dancers jumped over the bonfires, flames licking their feet. Each jump was accompanied by a collective gasp from the crowd, followed by appreciative hollering and whooping once the dancer hit the ground safely.

Kada caught Secha’s eye. Her daughter’s cheeks seemed to glow in the light, her sharp white teeth glistening as she grinned. Kada held her breath when Secha lowered her body in a run-up to the jump. She sped up and leapt high above the bonfire. Kada could feel the heat from the flames on her face, though she stood a few good paces away. The fire distorted her vision, but in the split moment it took Secha to glide above it, Kada’s eyes locked with another’s on the other side. The glint of narrowed pupils was there and in the next moment was gone. Kada called out to Secha, but her daughter was already hidden in the crowd, once more spinning with the others.

“What’s wrong?” Inog turned to her, his face serious, but she didn’t look at him.

A rivulet of cold sweat ran down Kada’s back. She dropped her drink and ran between the dancers, upsetting the movement, the rhythm of the drum unmatched by her frantic movement.

“Secha!” she screamed, but no reply came, as the girls and boys of Torlow twirled around her, their laughter and whooping drowning out Kada’s voice.

A glint of the face, the almond eyes, the narrow smile getting wider. She saw it, there, and then there. A dancer passed in front of her, and the face was gone. Had she imagined it?

“Watch it!” an angry voice called out, as someone’s shoulder brushed hard against her. Once more she called out, her voice thin and weak to her own ears. A blind fear caught her, and she struggled against the pull of the dancers, tears streaming down her face, her red hair escaping from the tight bun on her head and falling around her shoulders. She must have looked like a wild thing, her eyes wide and her mouth twisted, but she didn’t care. Her arms outstretched, she battled her way through the crowd which seemed to barely register her presence, the unwelcome trespasser on the holy celebrations.

Someone’s hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her out of the crowd. She struggled like a hare against the snares, but the hands only dug deeper into her flesh.

A voice called out to her, but Kada couldn’t make out the words. She turned her sharp nails on her assailant, pulling and tearing. The arms held her tight though, and a soothing voice kept repeating something into her ear. “Kada, Kada, stop. Stop now.”

Stop what? She couldn’t. She looked for her daughter, her daughter was lost. She was gone, she was taken, she was right in front of her.

“Mama, it’s OK, it’s OK, I’m here.” Secha’s moon-round face was in front of her own, showering kisses on Kada’s wet cheeks. The relief shook a sob out of Kada.

“Let’s get her out of here,” Inog said, holding onto Kada.

She was pulled roughly out of the crowd, people watching her as she went, her hand holding on tight to Secha’s.

She barely knew where they were leading her. She leaned on them both, the warmth of their bodies a soothing comfort. She focused on that, her feet moving mechanically. Vaguely aware they’d left the festivities behind them, Kada sighed as the calming darkness enveloped them. She wasn’t quite aware how much the light of the torches and bonfires bothered her till they’d left them behind. She was lulled by the rhythm of walking, not allowing herself to think of what had happened. Not till the familiar woven door closed behind them, and she was sitting on the bed she shared with Secha.

“Don’t worry, mamusha, I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere,” Secha said, as she pulled her hands out of her mother’s tight grip. “I will build up the fire and boil the water for some tea. Chamomile will calm you.” Panic once more began to build up in Kada’s throat and she once more moved to grasp Secha’s hand in hers.

“Let her go. The girl has sense. And she’s right here, where you can watch her.”

Kada looked up through tear-hazed eyes. For a moment she didn’t recognise the severe-looking face. Then her hands flew to her mouth. “Inog!” Shame pushed its way to the front, the relief she felt fading away as the full realisation of what she’d done washed over her. “I’m so sorry, I–” Her eyes darted around, as she struggled for something to say.

“‘Sorry’ is a word for strangers.” Inog pulled himself up a small stool and sat, taking Kada’s hand between his own. “You don’t need to apologise to me. But tell me what it was. Was it a zmora? An upior you saw in the crowd?”

“No, it was nothing, just…” Kada hesitated and closed her eyes for a moment. “It was nothing at all. I got confused and overreacted.”

“That’s interesting,” Inog said, letting go of her hand and leaning back, folding his arms on his chest.

“What is?”

“You have never lied to me before,” he said.

“That you know of,” she said, forcing a light-hearted smile.

“Yes.” Inog didn’t smile at the joke. “The first lie that I know of.” He stood up and walked up to Secha, who stood very still, more so than any girl Kada had ever seen.

Inog gently lifted the girl’s chin with his index finger and seemed to inspect her face. Secha stared into the god’s eyes fearlessly, her eyebrows knitted together in annoyance. He nodded and pulled his hand away. “She’ll have to watch out for that. No human born can be as still as this. A stillness like that could betray her all on its own.” He scratched his chin, looking at the ceiling of the hut. “Have you had signs of the fox?”

“Not any more than usual.” Kada looked at the floor.

“Is that another lie?” Inog stared hard at her. “You know I only want to help you.”

“Until you don’t.”

Anger flashed across Inog’s face. He seemed to grow, his tall frame filling the small hut, the teeth in his mouth elongating. And then, in a moment, he was back to how he was.

“I care about you. About your daughter.”

“Until you don’t.” Kada repeated, watching his face.

The Bone Roots is due for publication on 10th October 2023 from Angry Robot

You can pre-order your copy on the Angry Robot Website