In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  Wulfwyn fell, vulnerable to any unexpected attack. The spae-wife dodged his arms that flailed in a slow but wild attempt to break his fall and with her legs extended, she landed on his cheek and dug her claws into his skin.

  ***

  Peter revolved his wrist and snapped his fingers again. Wulfwyn’s body juddered as the ice formed over him from his feet to his head and he froze in a sitting position, as if a chair had just been pulled out from underneath him.

  Forced off by the ice, the spae-wife took flight. A different silver mark shone bright on the seal-amulet. The skin-walkers hummed a deeper note. This time Peter didn’t need to shut his eyes to see the images from his dream. They appeared in his head, clear and bright. He imagined his body split in two, or perhaps his mind separated from his physical self. Whichever way, the sensation that he moved through two different places at the same time and that he had this ability, enveloped him with a comfortable glow of well-being and a deep awareness that somewhere a power waited to be unleashed, like a lion’s tense stillness before it attacks, and that he might be the one to set it free. Where this might be or how he might find it eluded his grasp, but it crouched at the edges of his memory as if it might reveal itself at any moment.

  The spae-wife flew from Wulfwyn to Leonor and back again. A furious scowl contorted her face and she brandished her sting as if she meant to stab anything and everything.

  The picture in Peter’s head formed. Five lines of horizontal dots, five dots deep. The same image appeared in the centre of the seal-amulet. He placed the tip of his middle finger onto the ball of his thumb and then straightened his other three fingers. He flicked his wrist towards the spae-wife.

  Rods of silver rain shot straight at her. Time, as changed by the skin-walkers’ song, moved much slower, yet the spae-wife, alert to the danger, swerved to avoid the rods and watched as they hammered into the ground and hardened to form a cage with silver bars.

  Her wings flapped harder and her speed increased as she flew up and out of the room, into the passage and towards the hallway. The skin-walkers’ song changed to a higher harmony.

  Bear spoke and his voice sounded close to Peter. “Quick! We must follow. She means to escape.”

  Time returned to its regular pace, though to Peter the effect resulted in a sudden rush of speed and he didn’t know if he flew down from the rafters or if he’d been sitting on the ground from the moment the skin-walkers’ song began and only imagined that he floated.

  Leonor and Wulfwyn, their forms just visible, though blurred - one a flat block of ice, the other an odd mound shaped like an iceberg, might be trapped in cold tombs, frozen for all time.

  The skin-walkers arch of flame went out in a cascade of orange sparks. One skin-walker stepped forward and their robe slipped to the ground. Eagle took flight and flew after the spae-wife.

  Bear strode across to where Peter sat. “You have done well. Leonor is safe and Wulfwyn saved.”

  Peter stood. “The spae-wife stung Wulfwyn. Will he be poisoned?”

  “Not while the ice holds his body between life and death.”

  Peter took hold of the seal-amulet. It glowed red, though no marks shone bright.

  Bear placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “We have work to do.” He hurried towards the passage with Peter at his side. “The spae-wife believes that she can slip from the chase and hide from our eyes, as she did before. Her fury will be terrible when she discovers that Fox and Snake have sealed off her chance to escape.”

  Peter glanced back at Wulfwyn and Leonor. It didn’t seem right to leave them trapped in such cold, but they all needed Bear’s help, so perhaps their wait might not be for long. The other skin-walkers closed in behind him and he lost sight of the two ice-bound figures.

  “The spae-wife will try to return to your time,” Bear said. “As she did before and hide there. The charms we cast to hold her captive upon this land served with less potency in your time, for with the passing of so many seasons their strength soon diminished and their power dissolved. We mean to hold her here, though she will fight hard to repel our arts.”

  They stepped out of the manor and into daylight. The skin-walkers fire blazed in silence.

  Peter pointed. “The barghest has gone.” Beyond the fire, the sideboard and the stepladder now lay apart. “The carrier too. Has the spae-wife brought them back to life?”

  Bear faced the trees. “No, neither died, though they lay as dead without breath or thought. Inside her host, the spae-wife commanded them, bound them to that host with the seal-amulet’s charms. She used their wills, but she did not have their lives. The seal-amulet dropped. The host is gone, the spae-wife revealed, those bound to that host are free.”

  Peter peered into the trees. “They still might attack. She might get inside one of their heads.”

  “She might,” said Bear. “Though loosed from her will, I expect them to flee. That is why the carrier gave you the seal-amulet. He wanted you to break the bonds that served her purpose. He needed to be free of her before she awoke and walked once more. She used the seal-amulet to enslave him and, whilst she stayed in her weakened state, he needed to find another who understood its charms to rescue him from thraldom.”

  Eagle circled above the trees. He called once, harsh and high and then swooped down to where they stood and landed. A skin-walker handed him his robe.

  “She is at the charred branch,” said Bear. “We must prepare.” He stepped towards the fire and the skin-walkers took up their positions, each an even space from the other.

  “It is many seasons since we all stood together,” said Bear. “It is many seasons since our arts worked as one. Let us join. Release this land from the one that causes it so much hurt.”

  Their arms rose and each skin-walker sang a long high note that shifted with subtle changes until they all sang the same note and the sound filled the air, so that Peter imagined that he breathed their song, that it beat upon his head and pressed against his chest. It comforted, yet under its calm, anger threatened.

  With a loud whoosh, the fire burned with its familiar roar and the scent of burning wood and the hiss of bubbling sap erupted as if they’d been released from a jar. The heat melted the snow in a wide circle.

  Peter stayed close to Bear, uncertain what to do, the seal-amulet gripped in one hand and the staff in the other.

  The skin-walkers’ song deepened, the melody softened and Peter’s feet tingled as the ground trembled. The fire’s heart turned from orange to white and the sparks that rose high above its tip didn’t go out and drift to the ground in trails of white ash, but floated, joined one to another until they formed a red and orange cloud.

  The spae-wife appeared between the trees. She flew fast and dodged one trunk and then another, her mouth open, so that Peter imagined she shrieked, but he didn’t hear it above the fire’s noise.

  Bear’s voice emerged from the skin-walkers’ song. “Stay still, Peter. We will protect you from harm. We need you to draw her close.”

  Peter let go of the seal-amulet and took hold of the staff with both hands. He didn’t want to be used as bait. It scared him that the spae-wife might be quicker than the skin-walkers.

  She emerged from the trees and flew high. In daylight her body shone, hard and black, like polished stone. The curved sting tapered to such a thin sharp point.

  She dived and Peter yelled. “She’s coming.”

  The fire pulsed with a sudden blast of heat. The cloud of sparks streamed towards her and coiled round and round, like a spring that is stretched or a cardboard tube as it unravels.

  The spae-wife folded her wings and dropped even faster and the first coil of sparks shot past her and their fire went out and they disintegrated into ash.

  Peter raised the staff to protect his face. The spae-wife dropped on to the staff’s curved top and dug her claws into its hard wood. He let go with the hand nearest to where she clung and rammed the staff into the ground to dislodge her, but he didn’t shake her off.
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br />   She glared at him, opened her mouth and screamed. “Granddad!”

  ***

  Day and night flickered. The high wind keened. Hundreds of years lasted less than a second.

  Peter reeled, sick and dizzy. He stood in The Hall and the fire burned in the hearth and the Christmas tree sparkled. He let go of the staff and it landed with a clatter on the flagstones.

  The spae-wife took off before the staff hit the floor and circled up to the rafters. Peter dropped onto one knee and his stomach heaved. If he grabbed the staff and yelled ‘Leonor,’ he’d go back to the skin-walkers. They’d tell him what needed to be done, but if he left The Hall the spae-wife might go anywhere. She’d hide again and be impossible to find. He pinched the seal-amulet. Cold, as it hung black and dead against his chest.

  High above, the spae-wife clung upside down to a rafter. Her head arched back as she watched.

  The sound of footsteps came from the passage and then granddad’s voice. “I thought I heard something.”

  “Are you sure it wasn’t in the kitchen?” Almina’s voice. “You shouldn’t have let Peter escape. You’re too soft.”

  “No,” said granddad. “I heard something drop or fall. In here, I’m sure.” He half-ran, half-stumbled into The Hall followed by Almina.

  Peter called. “Grandad.”

  “I was right, there you are.” He hurried across. “What’s happened? Are you hurt?” He hooked an arm under Peter’s shoulder and helped him to his feet.

  Peter bent and picked up the staff. “It’s the spae-wife.” He pointed up to the ceiling. “She mustn’t escape. I’ve got to go and fetch the skin-walkers.”

  Grandad squinted as he peered to where Peter pointed. “The what?”

  “The spae-wife,” said Peter. “There.” He jabbed the staff straight at the rafter where she clung.

  “I can’t see anything,” said granddad.

  “Nor can I,” said Almina. “Unless... is it a butterfly? Poor thing, it must be looking for somewhere warm to shelter or it will never survive in this cold.”

  Peter’s stomach wrenched with frustration. “You must be able to see her; she’s there, staring straight at us.” Granddad’s eyes might be old, but Almina must be mad to think that the spae-wife looked like a butterfly.

  Almina said, “Have you taken a nasty bang to the head? You must be tired. Stay here now. Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make you a drink.”

  “Yes,” said granddad. He took hold of Peter’s arm. “Then you can tell us what’s happened to the sideboard and my stepladder. Ah! You still have the...”

  Peter broke free. “No.” He ran to the passage. “We’ve got to trap her in here and close off this passage, somehow. Then I’ll go and fetch the skin-walkers. Or...” he took hold of the seal-amulet. “If I can make this work. Freeze her in ice like Wulfwyn and Leonor.” He clenched his fists, stamped his feet, gave a loud shout, gritted his teeth, forced angry thoughts into his mind about leaving Wulfwyn and Leonor, cold and stiff - for not being able to help the wounded Godwine, for all the hurt the spae-wife caused.

  “Give that to me,” said Almina. “I don’t know what you are trying to do, but you’re too young to have something so special. Granddad, take it from him.”

  The seal-amulet blushed crimson for the length of a heartbeat, but no more.

  “Would you look at that,” said Almina. “It is magic! The price it might fetch...”

  Peter flung it back against his chest and faced granddad. “What can we use to block the passage?”

  Granddad and Almina stared back, first at the seal-amulet and then into his eyes and Peter faltered. For their faces showed no compassion or consideration, no concern or fear about the spae-wife. Almina took hold of granddad’s hand and their fingers intertwined.

  “Come, Peter,” said Almina. “We want to help you. Listen to yourself. You’re overtired and need a rest. You’re safe now. There’s nothing you need to worry about. Give me the seal-amulet and then go and have a lie down.”

  They came closer, not fast or slow, but determined.

  Peter’s mouth went dry. Fear choked his ability to move. What he thought he knew about adults, these adults, what he understood, accepted, trusted, feared, no longer held any truth. Did the spae-wife work some spell upon them?

  Grandad said, “This winter has been one of the worst for snow and one of the best for cold. On this ancient land, the old ways blossom when the ground freezes and what lies dormant for many years thrives in the frost.”

  They came closer and granddad held out his hand. “Come Peter. This winter has seen old loves, old customs, old habits return to the world. That must make you happy. As happy as Almina and I feel, now that we can be together.”

  Almina smiled and her painted face creased into the deep lines and gaudy colours of a mask. “We hoped to be gone before you returned, but you’re sharper than we thought and quicker and - you see too much.”

  Granddad’s fingers curled to take Peter’s arm. The old man’s sudden closeness jolted Peter with the sharp sting of an electric shock and he leapt away and sprinted down the passage.

  Granddad and Almina advanced at the same steady pace.

  Peter shouted at Almina. “You came to the skin-walkers. You promised to help dad.”

  Almina’s teeth gleamed white against her orange lipstick. “I’m sorry, Peter. I lied.” She leaned into granddad’s shoulder.

  Peter yelled. “You pushed dad off the ladder.”

  Almina nodded. “I did, yes. And I chased that horrid smelly cripple away. He was hanging around by that burnt branch. ‘Where’s the boy,’ he asked. I hit him and he touched the branch and sent me to those creepy wizards. Me and granddad pretended he pushed Richard off the ladder to make you return with the seal-amulet, because I want it. Such a valuable trinket. And, of course, I worried that your dad and the cripple might disturb that old woman in the ice house as she woke up and found the strength to move.”

  Peter’s heart thumped. “What?”

  Grandad said. “I told you when you arrived Peter, this old house holds strange memories. I shovelled out a den in the ice house for Almina and I to meet in secret, many years ago. Hidden at the back, behind the shelves, I found a corpse... that breathed. It didn’t bother us.”

  “We let it be,” said Almina. “Though we did notice it waking up when the weather turned very cold. And this year it woke up and walked out. Your granddad was very good about covering the tracks, all that snow he kept shovelling.”

  Behind them in The Hall, the spae-wife dropped into view and hovered.

  Peter wished that he slept, that this dream, this nightmare might scare him awake and make him scream. If he hit the staff on the floor and shouted ‘Leonor,’ he’d be gone, but what then? He needed to warn grandma and mum and dad. Granddad and Almina might hurt them or throw them out into the cold to freeze to death, or let the spae-wife crawl into one of their mouths.

  He held the staff in both hands, ready to swing at them as they came closer. “Don’t touch me. I’ll hit you.”

  “We’re not going to hurt you, Peter,” said granddad.

  Almina reached into her cape pocket and pulled out a small bottle made of clear glass. Like the ones in shops filled with alcohol, thought Peter.

  She held it by the neck. “This is a sleeping potion. I meant to use it on all of you. Strange how events change the decisions we make. Perhaps it is fate - who knows? Just one or two drops, that’s all.” Her voice hushed. “Too many and... well... ‘bye ‘bye, birdie.”

  Granddad snatched hold of the staff and pulled. His speed took Peter by surprise so that he didn’t let go, but held on. He stumbled into their arms and granddad grabbed Peter’s shoulders, kicked his legs out from underneath him and pushed him to the floor. He knelt on Peter’s arms and Almina sat sideways on his legs. The staff rolled away out of reach. The seal-amulet slid off Peter’s chest and hit the flagstones with a dull clang.

  “Keep him still,” said Almina
. She unscrewed the bottle top, held it upside down and tipped the bottle just enough to drip a few drops into the top. “Now, we need to get his mouth open.”

  Granddad pinched Peter’s nose. Peter squirmed and wriggled, but his strength didn’t match granddad’s weight and his lungs tightened from a lack of air. With a gasp, he opened his mouth and granddad grabbed his jaw, squeezed hard and pulled it wide.

  The spae-wife flew over Almina’s shoulder and landed on Peter’s chest. She ran across granddad’s hand and her face grinned with triumph.

  “Oh look,” said granddad. “Is that the butterfly you meant? It tickled my hand.”

  The spae-wife’s claws pricked Peter’s skin as she wriggled into his mouth.

  “Yes,” said Almina. “It seems to like Peter. Hold him still.” She leaned across, the bottle top pinched between her finger and thumb, ready to tip in the colourless liquid.

  The spae-wife’s claws sliced into the soft tissue at the back of Peter’s throat. He screamed and a roar of noise burst inside his head.

  ***

  Fire whirled over granddad, Almina and Peter. It spun like a tornado and its heat singed hair and skin and clothes. Almina screamed and dropped the bottle top. Sleeping potion spattered across Peter’s anorak and ran off in dribbles onto the floor.

  Granddad raised his hands to shield his head, slid off Peter’s arms and lay flat on the floor to escape the flames. Almina waved her arms in frantic sweeps, in an attempt to beat back the heat, and the bottle flew from her fingers and smashed with a tinkle in the hearth.

  Peter’s jaw ached as the spae-wife squeezed deep inside his mouth. His arms cramped where granddad knelt on his muscles and his eyes smarted as they bulged with fear. He gripped hold of the spae-wife’s abdomen as it squirmed against his lips. He screamed and gagged from her claws needle-sharp pricks.

  He didn’t let go, but pulled harder, his eyes awash with tears. His muscles tightened as his heart beat louder. A drop of poison glistened on the spae-wife’s sting, but Peter’s tight grip held her abdomen firm, so she didn’t have the freedom to drive it home.