In The Grip Of Old Winter Page 19

  Wulfwyn grabbed Peter’s shoulder and half-pulled, half-lifted him out of the water and swung him round to shield him from the impact.

  The water rose fast and Peter’s boots lost contact with the tunnel floor as the sudden rush slammed into Wulfwyn’s back and threw them both off balance.

  Glass shattered and the torch went out. Peter scrabbled to find a footing. Wulfwyn let go of his shoulder and Peter’s arms and legs went in all directions as he tried to make contact.

  Water hissed and splashed into his face as the tunnel filled. The weight of his sodden clothes dragged him under, but his boots scraped the ground and he pushed down hard and his face cleared the surface.

  The water’s speed increased and the hiss became a roar. Each time the water closed over his face, he sank further and needed to hold his breath for longer. His eyes stung, but he kept them open, for the seal-amulet glowed red and the marks shone bright silver. He wanted to hold it, but needed both hands to keep afloat, so the seal-amulet drifted and twisted in front of his face and he focused on it as the one light in the dark.

  The weight of water on his shoulders and against his back, where it struck like a fist, gave him less and less chance to recover his breath. His lungs hurt from the pressure. Whenever he gasped for air, he swallowed more water. The tunnel must be almost full. He needed to stay upright, but every time he went under the force of the current threatened to flip him over in a somersault. He’d die if he went down and not up.

  His hand scraped the tunnel wall. If a root stuck out, strong enough to hold, then he might be saved until the water dropped. For it must drain away in the end. He sank again and whirled his arms to stop from turning over. His chest tightened and his cheeks bulged from the air that longed to be released. He kicked upwards and his face cleared the surface, but his head banged the tunnel roof and he let go of the knife.

  He shouted and in shock, went under backwards.

  Water filled his mouth and nose and ears. His body rolled and he twisted, desperate to find the surface. He thrashed his arms, but it made no difference, because he sank and rose and he didn’t know up from down.

  The seal-amulet floated in front of his face and he gazed at the silver marks as his mind darkened. He didn’t attempt to think about what they might mean, just watched them revolve, fascinated, as his sight faded. A fourth mark shone bright. A horizontal line broken in the middle by a lightning flash. His eyes closed and the mark burned in his mind’s eye. Lightning, a flash, that forks and strikes and frightens. In the black water, his cold fingers flicked and white light bloomed beyond his closed lids and gathered him into its brightness. The whiteness dazzled so that it hurt and he squeezed his eyes tighter. Harder, brighter, deeper into his mind the white light spread and he lost the strength to fight and opened his eyes and passed into oblivion.

  ***

  Part Three

  Blurred images, sensations, broken by fragments of time that unravelled and departed. An awareness that he might not be dead, because he hurt and he didn’t want to experience any more pain and so he turned away and awareness softened and left. Yet each moment lingered longer than the last, so that escape became more difficult. The threads of wakefulness and light hooked deeper and pulled him back to life, so that he lost his decision to choose and opened his eyes.

  A fire crackled close to where he lay, but his sight blurred and he blinked hard to focus. The warmth on his bare arm made him tingle. A gentle weight, cosy and comforting, pressed close against his body. His stomach ached and his chest hurt and he thought that if he moved these pains might increase and so he lay still.

  Why did he have a bare arm? Who lit the fire? He stretched his leg and the cosy weight that covered him tickled his skin. His leg must be bare too.

  The fire burned and the orange flames flicked as the wood charred. Not a big fire, like the skin-walkers, but a fire that might burn in a hearth or at a camp.

  Did he lie here alone? Had they gone, the person who lit the fire and left him to wake when he wanted? What happened to Wulfwyn, Godwine, Eorl Oswald, Eorl Bosa - the barghest? He shifted sideways and pain jabbed his stomach. If he stayed still, it didn’t hurt and he held his breath until the sharpness eased. His tongue, his mouth, his lips, didn’t have their usual soft moistness and now he tasted sick at the back of his throat.

  With a deep breath, and ready for the stomach pain, he pushed up on one elbow. His stomach lurched, tightened, stabbed like needles. He concentrated on the fire and breathed fast until the pain lessened.

  Two large animal furs covered his naked body. What had happened to his clothes? The seal-amulet, dull and cold, brushed against his bare chest. He lay at the tunnel entrance, now dry and with not a drop of water in sight.

  On the other side of the fire, propped against the wall, stood a large branch and from it hung his clothes. With slow care, so as not to cause too much pain, he first knelt and then stood. His stomach hurt, but now with an ache rather than a sharp stab. The skin around his belly button flushed red and it throbbed when he touched it, as if sore after being hit.

  He swallowed to stop the sick taste in his mouth. To be outside and naked, even though no one saw, made him anxious with embarrassment. He stepped past the fire and pulled his clothes off the branch. The cuffs on his shirt, the trouser bottoms on his jeans and his socks might still be damp, but as he dressed the fire’s warmth lingered, so that most of his clothes felt dry. The newspaper in his boots, that mum had stuffed inside to stop his feet from slipping, must have disintegrated in the water. When he squeezed his woollen gloves, they dripped.

  The backpack hung from the lowest branch and underneath it a small puddle turned the earth muddy. The last few sandwiches must be ruined and perhaps the flask too, but he didn’t open the backpack’s flap to look. The torch must be somewhere in the tunnel, lost and broken. His knife lay beside the branch.

  He glanced up at the bramble bush’s sharp thorns. The slope up to the forest floor, though steep, wasn’t smooth, for tree roots curved in and out of the soil to form shallow steps. When he reached up high his stomach hurt, but he struggled up the slope until he lay under the thorns.

  He took his time to catch his breath and though the twigs and branches hid his view, he heard the spit and crackle of another, larger fire. He wriggled forwards and gasped as pain shot across his stomach. Thorns snagged his hair and his anorak. He used his elbows and feet and squirmed like a snake as he raised his stomach off the ground.

  With his face down to avoid the thorns, he came out from under the bush.

  A large bonfire burned and beside it stood Wulfwyn and Godwine, their hands clasped before them, their heads bowed. Peter knelt and then stood. A smell, like hamburgers on a barbeque, mixed with the dry heat of charred wood. Why did Wulfwyn and Godwine stand so still and silent?

  He approached, careful to stay quiet, though his heart thumped.

  Wulfwyn heard him first and glanced round. Tears streaked his cheeks and when he saw Peter his lips twitched as if he meant to smile, but pain or conflict made it impossible and he faced the fire again.

  Godwine stepped back, like people in church after they’d taken communion, and as he came closer, Peter saw that he cried too.

  His heart thumped harder. “What’s happened? Where’s Eorl Oswald?”

  Godwine laid a hand on his shoulder and together they watched Wulfwyn and the fire. A log cracked and broke and a shower of sparks scattered across the forest floor.

  Peter whispered. “Suppose the spae-wife or the carrier sees?”

  Godwine shook his head and pointed up the slope to the ridge high above.

  The snow gleamed bright on the bare ground beyond the tree line, where nothing moved or caught Peter’s attention and he wondered what Godwine meant.

  Wulfwyn turned away from the fire and joined them. His eyes still glistened, though tears no longer fell. He placed his hand on Peter’s other shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “It is good that you live once more.” He gazed b
ack at the fire. “It is good that we all live once more.”

  Godwine scrambled under the bramble bush and dropped into the tunnel. Peter wanted to know why they had lit a fire, to understand their sadness, but the outlaws’ mood stopped him from speaking out loud. What happened to Oswald and Bosa?

  He and Wulfwyn stood in silence as the fire died down and when the flames diminished Wulfwyn said, “Eorl Oswald has passed through the veil of shadow that separates this life from that to come.”

  The sick taste in Peter’s mouth sharpened and he swallowed hard. “He’s dead?”

  “The barghest came upon him - and the spae-wife and the carrier - but the barghest attacked first.”

  Peter’s stomach tightened. “You’ve - you’ve burnt Oswald?”

  Wulfwyn jabbed the heel of his boot into the ground. “It is with the spirits of the earth where his bones must be laid. That is the respect due an Eorl. The earth is hard and we have not the tools to turn the soil, so we build a pyre and commit his body to the spirits of the fire and air and know that his bones will find the spirits of the earth when the snows melt and the frosts depart. The journey will take him longer, but it will be complete.”

  Peter stared at the fire and then burst into tears. His stomach ached as he sobbed and Wulfwyn placed his arm around his shoulders and pressed him close.

  Grief, mixed with anger and frustration, made it difficult to draw breath. The harder he wiped his eyes, the faster the tears flowed. “I... I saved him before... I don’t want him to die, because... because it isn’t fair.” If the seal-amulet worked in the tunnel when he wanted it to, then Oswald didn’t have to die. “I tried...I really did... but I can’t... it won’t...” He wanted to rip the seal-amulet from his neck and hurl it into the fire. “It’s my fault... I want to go home.”

  Wulfwyn spoke and his voice sounded distant so that Peter gulped, long and deep, to ease the noise of his grief.

  “The will of the fates is shrouded by strange meanings and when they are loosed upon the land they oftentimes bring pain. The course of a river is never known until it flows.” He released Peter’s shoulder. “Yet the fates served you well. For the waters sent to drown us, departed. You lay upon the tunnel floor with your hand raised and shaped as if in ritual and the seal-amulet glowed with a different mark that did not show before.”

  ***

  Peter rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Did - did it?”

  “It shone bright in the dark,” said Wulfwyn. “And faded as I watched.” He stared at the fire. “I called out to Godwine, for I did not know which way to walk. Or if I needed to fight. Godwine came back and beat his feet upon the earth and I called again until he came close. We lifted you up and carried you.” He gathered twigs from the forest floor and threw them onto the fire. “I feared you dead, for you did not move or draw breath. Eorl Oswald lay upon the ground, his life’s blood upon the earth, his spirit fled and in my pain I saw the look of death upon your face too.” He kicked at a blackened branch that crumbled under the blow. “Godwine returned to the cave for the furs and I lit a fire.”

  Peter sniffed. “Did the barghest kill Oswald?”

  Wulfwyn nodded. “The spae-wife worked her will and the carrier too. For Godwine came upon them all and thought to die as they crowded close around the Eorl.” Large soft snowflakes drifted through the trees. Wulfwyn shrugged. “Then... lightning it seemed to him, struck all three and flickered as it blinded their intent and tangled their actions and they ran back, in torment, until it drove them off.” He pointed up the slope. “It shimmered still as they crossed the snow on the ridge and thunder and mist followed them across the hills.”

  Peter frowned. “Why didn’t they come back and take the seal-amulet?”

  Wulfwyn faced him. “You lay with death. Your will almost spent. This is the meaning that I glimpse. The seal-amulet dies too when the bearer’s life departs and the binds between them break and it is lost and cannot be known.”

  Peter coughed and his stomach throbbed. “You mean it’s like - energy flows out of the seal-amulet and it stopped doing that - when I was nearly dead - and the spae-wife can’t sense it anymore?”

  Wulfwyn’s brow furrowed as he listened. “This is the meaning that I glimpse. For why did the carrier have it to give to you if the spae-wife’s life had not ebbed almost to death, so that he took his chance and snatched it away.”

  Peter wiped his cheeks dry. “I wish I’d made it work before - before Oswald...” Fresh tears flowed and he sniffed hard.

  Wulfwyn nodded. “Godwine though is safe and when we laid you down he worked upon your belly until the water came out and you breathed once more. There is no shame in what is not done, for the ways of all our lives are changed in these days.”

  Peter rubbed his stomach. He hated being sick, but he didn’t want to be dead. “I’m sad that Oswald died.” He must be dead for ever now, for he’d never go farther back in time in this Age to be able to save him again. “Poor Leonor.”

  Wulfwyn scraped his hand through his hair. “This is true. Yet she lives still, for Godwine saw her, slung like some dead animal over the carrier’s shoulders, when they climbed across the ridge.”

  “Why have they taken her from Bosa’s manor?”

  “I do not know.” He punched his chest with his fist. “My heart is torn. It weeps for Eorl Oswald, yet sings for Leonor. That she lives renews my hope. Though what manner of hope we may give her is clouded.”

  Godwine scrambled out from under the bramble bush. He wore Peter’s backpack and carried his knife and gloves. He stood and held out the knife, hilt first.

  Peter took it. “Thanks and - thanks for saving my life.”

  Godwine gave the smallest bow and then pointed at the seal-amulet, pressed his hand against his chest and gave a deeper bow.

  Peter shrugged. “That’s ok. It worked that time.”

  Wulfwyn scuffed ash back into the fire. “We mean to follow their tracks. They passed across the ridge soon after the attack. The seal-amulet will be known now that you are returned to life. Some leagues must lie between us. It’s will, like a blossom, will bloom as we draw closer.” He faced Peter. “Is there the strength and the will to follow?”

  “I think so.” His legs still trembled and he stamped his feet to ease their stiffness.

  Godwine reached under his jerkin and pulled out a small kidney-shaped skin. He unwound a cord at one end that secured a flap of leather and mimed taking a drink to Peter.

  Peter took the skin and the liquid inside made the soft leather shift and slide against his palm. Godwine brought his finger and thumb together until they almost touched.

  Peter understood. “A little?” He pursed his lips and took a sip. The liquid tore down his throat, through his chest and into his stomach as hot as fire. His eyes watered, he gasped and flapped his hand in front of his mouth. He thought his head might blow off.

  Godwine nodded to encourage him to drink again.

  “He is not man-grown,” said Wulfwyn. “It is enough for the first time.”

  The burn lingered and Peter hopped from one foot to the other as if that might dilute the sting. Godwine took the skin back and wound the cord around the flap to seal the neck.

  Peter hic-cupped and then stammered. “What - what is that?”

  “It is unknown,” said Wulfwyn. “Godwine’s brews are all unknown.”

  Peter, in a high-pitched voice that cracked said, “I think I might be able to breathe fire, like a dragon.” He’d never eaten curry, but at school he’d heard about vindaloo, the hottest curry of them all. Godwine’s drink must be like that. How did people eat such hot curry and why did they enjoy it?

  The burn diminished and a warm glow spread to the ends of his toes and the tips of his fingers. His tears dried and he stared at the fire. Some of the branches, those that curved and charred, he recognised as ribs. And the sword that Godwine gave Oswald lay black with soot in the embers. Poor Oswald. It didn’t make him sick to look at the bones
, just sad and he watched the flames flicker and as he watched he thought that they danced.

  Godwine handed him his backpack and he slipped it over his shoulders. It might still be wet, but it didn’t seep through his anorak.

  He gripped the knife tighter, for a sudden rush of anger filled his chest with an impulse to stab something, anything to release his grief and frustration and helplessness.

  “Aaaargh!” He sliced twigs off the bramble bush and they scattered and tumbled to the forest floor. With wider arcs and harder swings, the bush disintegrated under his attack. “Aaaargh!” His fury bubbled and every time it burst he thought of the barghest and the spae-wife and the carrier and imagined that their bones snapped and their flesh melted until all three lay broken and bloody at his feet. “Aaaargh!”

  Exhausted, he staggered back and panted hard to catch his breath. Behind him, the fire crackled and spat. A snowflake brushed his cheek. His body throbbed with heat and as he gulped for air, the seal-amulet flared. He spun round. “Wulfwyn.”

  Wulfwyn and Godwine stood together, their arms before their faces as shields against the thorns.

  In three strides, Wulfwyn reached Peter’s side, his knife drawn. “The spae-wife.”

  Godwine drew his sword, his body braced and ready to fight.

  Peter’s anger withered. “I thought - I thought she’d gone.” He stared up at the ridge, into the trees, beyond the fire, down the hole to the tunnel entrance, now revealed by the broken bush. She might be anywhere, unseen, yet close enough to use the seal-amulet’s power.

  The silver marks revolved, though none shone bright or clear. His palms sweated so that the knife slipped, even though he gripped it tight. “Where is she?”

  Wulfwyn whispered. “She is not here. She cannot be, if Godwine’s words be true.” He strode around the fire and Godwine followed.