In The Grip Of Old Winter Read online

  Boy! I’m eleven. Peter glared at Almina, but she didn’t notice.

  “Put your anorak on.” Grandma handed it to him. “That landing will be freezing in this weather.” She wagged a finger at Almina. “Don’t you go frightening him with your stories. I know you and your melodramatics.”

  Almina placed a hand on her chest. “Really, sister. You shock me to the core. I’m never melodramatic.” She winked at Peter. “I’m the sincerest actress of my generation.” She bent lower. “Bernard Nightingale, The Times, June nineteen ninety-five.”

  Grandma raised her eyes. “I’m just saying, don’t believe everything she tells you, Peter.”

  Almina turned her back on the kitchen and swept out. “Come along, darling.”

  Peter glanced at mum.

  “You’d better hurry,” she said. “Or we won’t hear the end of it.”

  He followed Almina across the hallway and through the door at the far end to the first flight of stairs.

  She took a deep breath. “Right, up we go. Good exercise for the legs and lungs. Breathe in, breathe out.”

  They passed the first landing, where Peter had his bedroom, and half way up the second flight Almina stopped to catch her breath. “Goodness! I wish they’d think about installing a lift. How are you doing?”

  Peter leaned against the bannister. “I’m fine.”

  “Quite right too, you’re still a boy, won’t let a few stairs wear you down.”

  He hunched into his anorak.

  They reached the second landing and Almina gestured with a wide sweep of her arms. “This is my floor.” She grasped hold of the bannister to begin the next flight. “One more to go. I’m surprised you haven’t explored up here. I love poking around in old houses. I suppose I’m just nosey.”

  This landing and his below appeared identical. The stairs emerged in the middle, so that each landing stretched away to the right and left. Wooden doors with square panelling shut the rooms from sight. He guessed the room opposite the stairs must be Almina’s, for a bunch of dried flowers tied with green ribbon circled the brass knob. Perhaps she hung it there as a reminder of which room she occupied.

  Almina noticed him staring, for she said, “Granddad gave me those. A posy to soothe frayed nerves and to ward off unwelcome thoughts.” Then she raised her arm. “Onwards and upwards.”

  The temperature dropped as they climbed the third flight. Peter’s breath steamed on each exhalation.

  Almina gasped at every step and her progress slowed. “Oh... my... goodness. I’m either... very unfit. Or... the stairs have grown longer.”

  When they reached the top, Almina clung to the bannister to recover.

  Grey light filtered through two small windows at either end of this landing. Peter didn’t see any doors, though down by the left-hand window a gap in the wall suggested that there might be another staircase, or a passage. A staircase to the higher floors and at last to the battlements and that strange little house, perhaps? The bare boards creaked under his feet.

  “What do you know about Eorl Bosa?” asked Almina.

  “Nothing.”

  “Really?” Almina gulped air. “He was a very important man in his time. He ruled all the lands from here to the sea after William the Conqueror invaded Britain in ten sixty-six.”

  Did he? What about Oswald? He lived in this house, or at least, in a manor where this house stood. The land around it belonged to him in that time.

  Eorl Bosa might speak like a King, he might think that Oswald supported William of Normandy to justify his claim for acquiring more land when he married Leonor. Oswald’s secret plans and the way Leonor loathed Bosa didn’t make it sound promising.

  “His portrait’s along here.” Almina strode down the right-hand landing and Peter followed. Half way down, above a huge wooden chest, hung a painting, dark and grimy with age and with large cracks in the painted panel.

  Almina flapped her hands, like a flustered bird beats its wings. “Oh, it’s so dark. Why have they never wired in the electricity up here? It’s so annoying. Typical tight-fisted penny pinching ...”

  Peter walked past the painting and, with the light behind him, turned back.

  A stern face, framed by black hair, stared straight ahead. A dark red robe decorated with silver threads hung from broad shoulders. The hands, with the fingers interlocked, clasped a sword hilt and across his brow a band of plain silver circled the head. Eorl Bosa, not an exact likeness, but close. Peter stared, aware that Almina watched.

  He said, “Is that him?”

  “Yes.” She stepped closer. “Painted a year after he died, so it is said. The few written fragments about him that have survived suggest that the resemblance is striking. Its age makes it very desirable. I mean to get it valued.”

  Peter tensed. Almina expected some reaction, recognition, or a nod that he agreed, but he didn’t move. He didn’t give anything away.

  Almina stepped up beside him and faced the painting. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she stood on tiptoes and squinted. “I must buy some glasses.” Then her fingers tightened and gripped like a claw. “You found the seal-amulet, didn’t you?”

  ***

  Peter squirmed and escaped from her grasp. “No.”

  She blocked the way back to the stairs. “Liar. I saw you in the garden with it.” She held out her hand. “Show me.”

  Peter backed away. “No.”

  Almina’s eyebrows rose. “Do you mean, ‘no, you won’t show me’ or ‘no, you haven’t found it?’”

  He dodged right, but Almina stepped in his way.

  “Let me go.”

  She beamed a wide sweet smile. “You showed granddad and he should have taken it and brought it to me, because... well, I want to see. That’s all, just a quick peek.” Her voice softened to a gentle tone, as if she meant to be kind. “The seal-amulet is a strange talisman, full of magic. Did you know? I understand a little bit about it.” Her voice deepened. “It could make you very rich. Like this painting.”

  Peter judged the gap between the wall and his aunt, but guessed the distance to be too narrow and an easy opportunity for her to grab him as he ran past.

  She folded her arms and her smile hardened. “I could just take it, you know, but I want us to be friends. I tell you what, supposing we keep it a secret, just the two of us? We needn’t tell the others.” Her voice hushed, as if the secret might already be theirs to keep. “A special secret that will give us time to find out all about it. Think of the fun we’ll have?”

  Peter darted left, but Almina side-stepped just as fast. Peter’s breath came in quick gasps. Might somebody hear if he shouted? The thought died. ‘Keep it safe,’ granddad said and that meant not telling. The fight with Almina must be between them, nobody else.

  Almina’s eyes narrowed. “Think about this carefully, Peter. I believe the seal-amulet to be very dangerous. You don’t know how to use it - you don’t even know for what purpose it was made. Granddad should have taken it when you showed it to him. Typical of him not to recognise treasure when he sees it. Or to remember when... well, never mind.” She cocked her head to one side. “What do you think, is the seal-amulet made for good or for evil?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “Let me look at it, just once. Just to be sure that it is the same.”

  Peter tensed and feinted right. Almina, caught off guard, stumbled and Peter fled past and ducked as she swiped at his head. He reached the stairs and leapt down them two at a time.

  Almina called. “Come back. We have to talk. Please ...”

  Peter didn’t stop running until he reached the kitchen, where granddad sat alone with a mug of steaming coffee cupped in his hands. “Almina?” he asked and Peter nodded.

  He gulped down a mouthful and stood. “Quick now, we have snow to clear.” Peter snatched up his woollen hat and his gloves from a stool beside the AGA, pulled them on and followed granddad outside.

  From a grey sky fell thick flakes that covered the path again. New-made footprints, t
hat came from the back of the barn, crossed the path and continued towards the front of the house, showed crisp and clear in the fresh snow. Mum or grandma, Peter thought, as they hunted for firewood for the bedrooms. Granddad strode ahead and Peter ran to catch up. “Almina... she knows. She knows what I found. She called it a seal-amulet.”

  Granddad’s shoulders hunched as he walked. “Ay. I guess she saw us earlier.”

  “She said,” and the chain ran through his fingers as he clutched the seal-amulet in his pocket. “She said it was magical. She said you should have taken it.”

  Granddad slowed and Peter caught up and walked beside him. He brushed off the flakes that stuck to his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do. The carrier - he said to give it to the one who is waiting. If it’s not you, is it... is it, Almina?”

  Granddad stopped and faced him. “She’s an actress, full of wild thoughts. Half-remembered events that once made sense, she thinks all sorts that take you by surprise, but don’t worry about what she says... because it’s all, well because... it’s just that she’s an actress.” He frowned at the footprints as they curved past, now headed, it appeared, for the distant trees. Then he set off again.

  Peter didn’t understand, though perhaps granddad just talked his thoughts out loud. Adults did that sometimes in a weird sort of way.

  They reached their shovels. Granddad’s, stuck in the drift, sported a wedge of snow on the handle.

  Peter asked, “But why does Almina want the seal-amulet?”

  Granddad ran his finger along the handle and the snow slid off in one big lump. “Who understands why the warm Earth spins in a universe of cold? Like I said earlier, time mixes up here and there’s no knowing what might happen when people start shifting from the past to the present and back again. And old things start appearing that haven’t been seen for centuries. Old loves, old habits, they all start to thrive again. The cold is like that.” He drove the blade into the drift and hurled the snow to one side. “There are reasons for all of it, I guess.” He bent closer. “You know a lot already, though I’m guessing it doesn’t make much sense.”

  “Peter.” The call came from the house.

  Granddad threw the snow onto the pile at the side of the path. “That’s her. Get yourself into the wood.”

  Peter picked up his shovel and dragged it behind him as he hurried towards the trees. Granddad might hold her off for a while, but if he stayed to clear the snow, then who knew what tricks she might play to come after him.

  He left the path and hurried towards the old tree. Better to return to the past, perhaps there the riddle with the seal-amulet might be easier to solve and if he stayed there long enough, time here might move far enough forward for Almina to give up the chase.

  The charred branch stood before him and he dropped his shovel and gripped the branch tight.

  Dark and light flashed in quick succession. This time it stopped in the dark. He didn’t expect that and his chest tightened. He thought to go back and wait for daylight, but how to avoid Almina? He might hide, but that gave her the chance to find him.

  His eyes ached as he peered around. Above, hundreds of stars glittered, though the moon, if it shone, didn’t penetrate through the thick tangle of branches. He faced in what he guessed must be the general direction of the manor. Not a single light shone to guide him and even the manor’s outline failed to stand out from the surrounding trees.

  Not a sound, except his breathing. If he walked in a straight line, he’d reach the manor, though he had no idea what to do when he arrived there. Did Tobias patrol on the tower at night? That risk needed to be taken if he wasn’t going to stand here in the cold until dawn.

  His eyes adjusted to the gloom and the tree trunks emerged as darker shadows against the undergrowth. Did the wood seem denser than he remembered, or was that just imagination?

  He turned his back on the charred branch, he must try hard not to veer off to the left or right, and with an outstretched arm, he took one step and then another.

  To keep in a straight line proved impossible. He lost all sense of direction and stopped as panic tingled in his stomach. A glance back didn’t help, for the charred branch might be anywhere.

  His legs trembled and he leaned against a tree. Perhaps if he stayed here and waited for day? That might be hours away if the night was young.

  A flash of light erupted like the brightest firework and Peter covered his face and recoiled. The hiss and crackle of a great burning sounded close and he dared to peep through his fingers.

  Before him, in an open space where the house and the manor once stood, roared an enormous bonfire.

  ***

  His eyes blurred at the sudden brightness. Sparks shot into the night sky and burning wood showed black through the orange and red flames.

  There stood, in silhouette against the flames, figures. Men or women, Peter didn’t know, for loose robes fell in folds around their bodies and hoods covered their heads. Each one occupied a space an equal distance from the next. They neither moved nor spoke, yet Peter suspected, though he didn’t know how, that they knew of his presence. They faced inward, intent on the fire’s ferocity.

  He waited, uncertain what to do. If one of these figures called, then to run or stay must be his decision. The chances of finding the charred branch increased, for the fire’s light lit the forest. Now though, curiosity overrode any sense of immediate danger. What happened to the house? To the manor? Why did these people stand in silence in front of such a huge fire?

  He crouched behind the trees as he moved closer. The fire’s roar deepened and its heat catapulted the sparks high into the night sky and Peter watched them climb and, through a break in the trees, saw the stars scattered across a black universe and wondered at how much brighter they shone and how much sharper they glittered than the stars in his time.

  “Welcome.”

  Peter tensed and gripped the tree behind which he hid.

  The deep male voice carried above the fire’s noise, though it didn’t strain to be heard. “Come closer.”

  As he guessed, these people knew that he watched. How soon might he reach the charred branch - so stupid to have wandered away just to look at the fire?

  “We are waiting.”

  No chance to escape, but though deep, the voice didn’t frighten with any menace. If he stayed amongst the trees, then he might still be able to make a run for it. He took a deep breath and stepped out from his hiding place.

  The figures faced him now. They must have turned when he gazed at the stars, though their hoods still hid their faces.

  “Welcome.” Every figure spoke and the harmony of their voices reminded him of a peal of bells, where the note of one chime lingers as the next compliments it and then alters the tone just enough to make the sound its own.

  One figure took a step forward and raised their hand as if in greeting. “Come and join us,” said the man.

  Peter’s mouth went dry and when he spoke his voice squeaked. “Can I stay where I am?”

  A murmur, that might have been laughter or an exclamation of surprise, rippled through the trees.

  The man’s voice cut through the strange sound. “It is you that have come to us. We did not call you here.”

  Peter swallowed, confused. “I - I didn’t mean to come here. I thought I’d go back to Leonor’s time - in the house, the manor, where she lived with Oswald, the house that grandma and granddad live in - in my time ...” What he said must sound stupid. “The house that - that used to be here. Where’s it gone?”

  The man said, “That existence is in a time beyond ours. It is in an Age still to come.”

  Peter’s mouth hung open. “It hasn’t been built yet?” He’d appeared in a place that didn’t feature anything familiar and that made him feel sick. “I don’t want to stay here,” and he stumbled backwards.

  “Do not leave us. You have come for a reason and we are curious.” The man’s voice echoed off the closest trees so that he sounded near, though he s
tood as before with his hand raised in greeting.

  Peter faltered. “I didn’t come here on purpose, there isn’t a reason, it just - happened.”

  “It must be,” the man replied and a murmur rose from the other figures. “Come closer to the fire.” He lowered his hand and faced the flames. “The reason may be apparent when we talk, for I cannot see your thoughts.”

  Peter glanced behind him. The charred branch appeared as a darker shadow against the surrounding trees, no more than a few metres away and off to his right. A quick sprint and he’d reach it in seconds, but too many questions crowded his head. What purpose did these strange people think he might have and might he learn something if he stayed? Did the charred branch bring him to this place for a reason? He might regret his decision if he left.

  He took a deep breath and strode through the trees towards the fire. The heat warmed his face and the air smelt sweet so that the tingle that jarred his nerves diminished.

  As he approached, the man stepped away from the fire and though the hood angled towards Peter, the face stayed hidden behind its many folds.

  “You are welcome.” He pointed towards a fallen tree to the right of the fire. “You may sit if you wish.”

  Peter took a moment to guess the general direction of the charred branch, now hidden by the trees, before he hurried over and sat upon the trunk.

  Seven figures, including the one who spoke, stood before the fire and from its light he saw that each wore a different coloured robe. As they moved, the material shimmered, like the iridescent feathers that circle a pigeon’s neck. The figures gathered closer, though not so close as to intimidate.

  The man did come close and Peter noticed for the first time how tall he stood - how tall they all stood - and the dead leaves rustled as his robe swept them aside. He sat upon the trunk next to Peter.

  For a long moment the fire filled the air with its roar and sap hissed as it dripped from the hot branches.

  Peter squirmed, uncomfortable in the silence, though the figures didn’t frighten him as much as before. Their height, the way they moved, the soft flow of their robes, gave them a majesty that demanded respect, but not the fear that sometimes came from those in authority.