In The Grip Of Old Winter (10 page)

His agility defied his shape,
for the long arms propelled the stocky body across the forest floor in a series
of jumps. The lower limbs, little more than stumps, contained the momentum when
he landed and gave him the ability to swerve left or right with the speed of a
fish when it darts.

Peter leapt up and jumped back.

The carrier vaulted the log
in one easy leap and reached out to snatch the seal-amulet. “Give it!”

Peter doubled over with the
seal-amulet held close against his chest.

The carrier bowled into him
and a terrible reek of mouldy earth and damp rags made Peter gag. They both
crashed to the ground and the carrier’s stumpy fingers groped and wriggled and
forced their way over Peter’s anorak towards his hands.

With a sharp kick that hit
the carrier in the stomach and made him grunt, Peter curled up as small as
possible and clasped the seal-amulet even tighter. Hot breath, that stank of
decay, blew across his cheeks and the carrier wheezed as they struggled.

“Give it! I break your
fingers!”

Peter squirmed onto his
stomach. The carrier gripped his upper arms and wrenched them up and back. Pain
shot across Peter’s chest and he screamed.

The carrier screamed too, as
his weight lifted from Peter’s body and then the cries of animals and birds
shrieked and roared and the ground trembled from their noise and fury. Dead
leaves and broken twigs pattered against Peter’s cheek. Wings beat the air and
fanned his face and, like a wave that rushes up the beach and then recedes, the
terrible sounds swept over him and he lay with his face pressed against the
earth as he gasped for breath.

His chest ached, though the
sting of pain diminished and he lifted his head.

The skin-walkers, still
beasts of the forest, grouped around the charred branch. No sign of the carrier
and as he watched, they paced and flew, scampered and slithered, back to the
fire. As each one reached their robe, the loose material enveloped them, so
that they resumed their tall and stately figures once more. They gathered
before him.

The skin-walker who took the
form of a bear spoke. “Are you hurt?”

Peter sat up. “No... not
really.” He rubbed his chest and glanced into the trees. “Has the carrier
gone?”

“He has fled, though I hoped
to secure his capture.” The skin-walker came closer. “Do you have it still?”

Peter uncurled his fingers
from around the seal-amulet. “The carrier gave it to me. Why did he do that if
he didn’t want me to have it? Why did he attack me?”

“He gave it, I think, by
mischance.” The skin-walker sat upon the fallen tree. “And now he will be
punished by the one who desires its return with all her heart.”

***

Peter turned the seal-amulet
over and over in his hands. He wanted to give it away, to someone, anyone who
didn’t care about what it might be used for, as long as they promised to keep
it hidden and out of sight, for ever. It scared him, for everything he heard
about it suggested danger.

He glanced up at the
skin-walker. “How did you - make yourselves - the animals and birds - it
happened so fast?”

The skin-walker gazed
straight ahead. “It is our skill.” He faced Peter. “Do you have names for what
you saw?”

“What - boys’ and girls’
names do you mean?”

The skin-walker sat silent
for a moment. “Tell me the names you might use for what you saw.”

Peter ran his finger around
the seal-amulet’s edge. “You turned into a bear.”

The skin-walker pointed to
his nearest companion. “And this one?”

“I can’t remember which was
which.”

“Show him.”

One by one, the skin-walkers
released their robes and revealed their creature’s form and Peter named them.

“Fox - Eagle - Snake - Rat,”
he took a guess at the pig and the big cat. “Boar and a... Sabre-Toothed Tiger?”

Robed once more, they stood
silent and still before him. “You may call us by these names - so I am, Bear.”

“Bear,” repeated Peter.

“By what name are you
called?”

“Peter - but how can I tell
which is which when you’re all dressed the same?”

“You will learn,” Bear said.
“For though we seem alike, we reveal our different forms in subtle ways. The
colours you glimpse upon our outward skin,” and he trailed his sleeve across
his chest, “are not alike and observe each turn and step, for they are all
different.”

The fire spat and crackled
and Peter wondered that though it burned so fast and fierce, it never
diminished and the blackened wood didn’t turn to ash.

“Once,” Bear said, “eight
skin-walkers kept to this land, but one was lost.”

“Lost?”

Bear’s hooded face gazed
down. “What you have in your hands possessed his heart and ripped him from our
side. We did not know the means to halt the pain that such an object might
wield. Never before had such charms been used against us, for they subdued our
forms and bent our wills. They pulled us to a time where menfolk held no memory
of our kind and the one who guided this talisman kept no love for those lands.
She thought to conquer all, not from a desire to understand, but to dominate
and not only in her time, but times past and times still to come.”

Peter pressed his finger into
the seal-amulet’s hard edge. “She?”

“A spae-wife.”

“What’s a spae-wife?”

“A hedge witch. One who is
practised in potions and balms, charms and lore, to aid the sick and weary and
the sad at heart.”

“She doesn’t sound like a bad
witch,” said Peter.

Bear paced. “They are simple
creatures, it is true, but this one came, somehow, upon the seal-amulet. She
learnt its ways, revelled in the charms that offered such strength of will over
man and beast, that she soon dismissed the dull grinding of herbs and the
boiling of flower petals for the new satisfactions that the seal-amulet
offered. And the more she studied its arts, the more she wanted.

“She came from lands across
the seas where the ice advances and the long winter’s night freezes the air.
She came with men who plundered and despoiled.” Bear’s voice lowered to a husky
whisper. “She trod upon this isle of Albion and the earth trembled.”

“Do you mean she came with
the Vikings? But,” Peter tried to make sense of what Bear said. “That was such
a long time ago. She must be dead by now. This...” and he held up the
seal-amulet, “can’t be used for anything.”

Bear shook his hooded head.
“Some say she sailed the seas with the North men, concealed within a stone
casket wound round with spells that hid her form from common sight. Others,
that she flew across land and water like a bat at night. She kept allegiance
with no man and walked alone. If she stirs, if even now she walks once more, it
is certain that this,” and he pointed to the seal-amulet, “and the carrier are
infused by her will. Her vengeance will be bitter now that the long veil of
time has lifted.”

Peter ran his fingertips
across the seal-amulet’s smooth surface. “I don’t understand how she has been
asleep for so long, because she must be so old and even if she was asleep, she
would still die.”

Bear gazed towards the fire.
“Hatred sustained her spirit, her body wound round with charms that hid her in
shadow and covered her will with night’s darkness. Her wrath, like bubbles,
burst in anger and where the ripples spread, unease and confusion blossomed.

“Our hunt failed to reveal
her place of concealment. As a net with a tight mesh might hold fish of many
different sizes, we worked a charm of our own and the air and the earth and the
fire and the water entwined as one to keep her captive, wherever she might
hide. She slumbered and the memory of that Age frayed and turned to dust and
was forgotten. We did not think to see such a time again - yet,” Bear gazed
down at him, “you bring this token. Proof of that Age as it stirs once more.”

A cold lump, like ice, spread
across Peter’s stomach. The words Bear spoke might be something out of a fairy
story, though he knew that deep down, from the way Bear explained with such
careful authority, that these words demanded serious consideration. The other
skin-walkers stood alert, but still, their tall frames silhouetted against the
fire.

Bear said, “That which you
hold, the spae-wife channelled and guided. None but she understood the tricks
that bound the charms.” He rose and paced towards the fire. “There are shadows,
black and secret, that hide its purpose from those that should not look too
close.” He gazed into the flames. “I wonder in what dark place it lay hidden?”

The more he heard, the more
Peter trembled. A wild thought that he might run to the fire and throw the
seal-amulet into the flames didn’t hold much chance of success, for the
skin-walkers stood in his way and if the bonfire’s heat didn’t burn wood, then no
way could it melt metal.

As if Bear read his thoughts,
he said, “You must keep it. It will take time for the purpose of its re-appearance
to become clear.”

Peter thrust the seal-amulet
into his pocket. “But what am I supposed to do? What if the carrier attacks me
again and you’re not there? I won’t stand a chance without your help. Who am I
supposed to give it to?” He gulped and stopped talking, afraid that he might
burst into tears.

Bear paced back to the fallen
tree and sat. “Do not give it to anyone.”

Peter interrupted. “But
the...”

“The carrier gave it to you.
Keep it. Ignore his instruction.” Bear’s hooded head peered closer. “There is -
I cannot determine the source, nor can I see the meaning - something different
that hints at some strange change that I have not seen in menfolk before. I
cannot tell its purpose. I want to trust you, but it is wary to be cautious. It
is curious that you understand the words spoken in Leonor’s time. I choose the
words that I speak which I know you understand.”

He lifted his hand as if he
meant to stroke Peter’s head. “There is upon your brow an ancient light, of old
stars and old ways, that mingles with many different Times and many different
Ages. There is much upon you that is new that is born from the old.”

Peter squirmed under Bear’s
close scrutiny. “I’d better... I’d better go.” He slid off the tree. “Granddad
will be wondering what’s happened to me.”

Bear rose. “Search upon the
land where Leonor and Eorl Bosa walk for the answers that you seek. For then,
the charms worked at their strongest, strangest and with a terrible energy.
Call one of our names when you touch the charred branch and we will be here. Do
not be afraid, nor be reckless.” He returned to the fire and the skin-walkers
stepped to either side of him until each stood an equal distance, one from
another. “Take care of who you trust, for the seal-amulet and the one who
guides it work in subtle ways.”

But what am I supposed to
do if I find something?

Frustrated and angry, Peter
ran through the trees and when he reached the branch he gripped hold of it with
both hands. “Granddad.”

***

His eyes watered from the
strange sensation of passing through light and shadow at such speed. This time
he noticed the stars as they revolved across the sky as fast as spinning
tornados. Their light streamed like comets tails and then vanished. Grey
daylight filtered through the trees and as he rubbed his eyes, a large
snowflake floated past and drifted to the ground.

No sound of granddad’s shovel.
Nothing stirred in the woods. He strained to hear voices. Did Almina follow him
into the trees? He hoped that granddad managed to stop her, but she might have
tricked him and hidden behind a bush, ready to jump out and grab the seal-amulet.

He held his breath and peered
and listened. With care to make as little noise as possible, he picked up his
shovel and made his way towards the path. How much time had passed? Leonor and
Oswald’s time happened in the day, the skin-walkers’ at night, did that make a
difference to this time?

He reached the edge of the
trees. Before him stood the house and his heart jumped with happiness to see it
again. The battlements and sills piled high with snow softened the forbidding
gloom that he imagined seeped from its old stones. Covered and surrounded by thick
snow, the house beckoned, cosy, inviting and safe.

Granddad’s shovel, stuck into
the drift at the side of the path, leaned at an angle. No sign of granddad, no
sign of anyone.

Peter hurried along. He
glanced left and right, alert to the slightest sound or movement that might
signal danger. A long wooden ladder stood propped against the barn. Dad promised
to clear the snow on the roof, but it still lay in a great wedge as thick as
before.

Peter waited at the back door
to catch his breath. He leaned the spade against the wall and then, with his
thumb, eased the latch down so that it didn’t
clank
. He pushed the door
open just enough to allow his head through the gap. Warm air flowed across his
cold cheeks.