In The Grip Of Old Winter (20 page)

Wulfwyn’s pale hand appeared
below him and patted at a place on the trunk’s interior. “Place your foot
here.”

Peter did as he instructed
and the outlaw gripped his ankle to support his descent. Rough strips, like a
ladder’s rungs, chiselled out of the bark at even spaces, made it easy to climb
down into the wide base. The sound of the stream gurgled outside as it passed
around the trunk, though the hard-packed earth beneath their feet stayed dry.

“Wow,” said Peter when he
reached the bottom and craned his head back. Far above, a ragged oval of grey,
no bigger than the circumference of the cereal bowl he used for breakfast at
home, marked the top of the old tree.

Not much light filtered so
far down, though as Peter’s eyes adjusted to the gloom, he made out Wulfwyn,
several paces distant, crouched on the ground and he moved closer.

The outlaw focused on
something in his hands and there came a sharp click and scrape and the flare of
a spark that flashed and died. Wulfwyn repeated the action, faster this time,
and several sparks ignited and some of them dropped onto a small pile of dried
moss, where they glimmered and smoked and then caught. Three small flames
wavered, strengthened, joined as one and burned. Wulfwyn flicked the burning
moss onto a pile of twigs that stood proud of a shallow hollow dug out of the
earth. The wood caught and the fire crackled and gave off a pale orange light.

Peter guessed that the space
must be almost as big as grandma’s kitchen. The fire burned in the very centre.
Thick furs hung from wooden pegs hammered into the tree and the leg of some
large animal, perhaps a deer, hung higher than the furs and proud of the tree.
On the opposite side, Wulfwyn’s circular shield stood propped against the
trunk.

The outlaw sat back on his
haunches and warmed his hands against the fire’s building heat. “We shall rest
here.” He gazed into the flames. “Chance or fate may bring some of those who
fled Bosa’s attack to find their way back.” His melancholy tone deepened. “I
hoped to find some already returned. I do not believe that all perished.”

Peter slipped off his backpack
and sat beside the fire opposite the outlaw.

Wulfwyn shut his eyes, tilted
his head to one side and hummed with gentle care. The tune might have been a
lullaby to rock a baby to sleep, or the long lament for the passing of comrades
and friends.

***

Peter woke with a start.
Wulfwyn’s humming and the fire’s warmth must have lulled him to sleep. The fire
no longer flared, but glowed a deep orange and the rich colour darkened the
brown furs and washed across the tree’s interior, so that everywhere he looked
the enclosed space appeared to soak up and benefit from the warmth.

A cosy sense of well-being
flooded his body, which lasted just a moment. Wulfwyn no longer sat beside the
fire, nor did he lie stretched upon the ground. His shield stood as before,
propped against the tree. Peter leaned back to peer upwards. The fire’s light
diminished above the furs and the haunch of meat might not even exist, so deep
did the shadows gather beyond the light’s reach. The oval at the top of the
tree no longer gleamed.

Why had Wulfwyn left him
alone? His chest tightened. Peter scrambled to his feet and the seal-amulet
swung free on its chain. A red blush washed its surface and the silver marks
rotated, faint and indistinct.

High above, something scraped
against the wood. His heart thumped, as splinters pattered onto the earth and
some fell into the fire and ignited. Peter pressed his back against the tree
and squinted into the darkness. Whatever or whoever made that happen now began
their descent, for the irregular rustle and scrape as they climbed down the
ladder came closer.

Peter wished with all his
heart that it might be Wulfwyn, for if not, with no means of escape, he didn’t
stand a chance to break free. He clutched the seal-amulet, ready to fight for
his life.

His relief as the outlaw came
into the light made his heart beat even faster. Wulfwyn dropped to the ground,
spun round and pressed his finger against his lips to warn Peter to stay quiet.

They both stood in silence
and listened. The fire settled and sparks drifted and went out in puffs of
white smoke. Peter attempted to calm his breathing, for the sound of his heart
beat loud in his ears. Wulfwyn glanced, his gaze unfocused, his head tilted to
one side, into the fire and then up into the darkness. His brow furrowed as he strained
to listen.

Peter watched and waited,
still as a statue. The silver marks faded on the seal-amulet and the red glow
disappeared.

Wulfwyn whispered. “We are
safe, though,” and he raised his hand in caution, “do not speak with a loud
voice.” He picked up a log from a pile stacked under the furs and placed it on
the fire. “Did you not hear?”

Peter whispered. “No. I fell
asleep and when I woke up, you’d gone.”

The outlaw sat. “Your
thoughts of earlier held true, for they did follow. More care to cover my
tracks and less fear to hasten my flight might have served me better. They
passed above and around the stream. If our scent brought them to this place,
then they lost it by the water.”

Peter shuddered and ran his
fingers up and down the seal-amulet’s chain. “That person that looked like a
skeleton, was it the spae-wife?”

Wulfwyn gazed into the fire
as if he searched for an explanation amongst the flames. When he spoke, his
voice hushed so low and deep that Peter had to lean forward to hear.

“I have not seen such a one
as you name before, but their presence is known to the old dames that tell
tales to frighten children.” The outlaw picked up a twig and poked the fire.
“Spae-wives are hedge witches, skilled in potions and herbal salves. They are
gentle - though others, who are sharper and crueller, come from across the sea
where the lands are snow and ice. Our shores are beset by wild men in boats
from these lands. A spae-wife conceals her form in a stone coffin, wound round
with enchantments so that none may see. When the wild men attack our shores and
carry off our women and burn our lands, she slips unseen from her hiding place
and hunts alone.” He tossed the twig into the fire. “These are the tales that I
heard as a boy. I do not believe that such childish fancies can be proved
true.”

Peter remembered Bear telling
the same story. The spae-wives sounded more like vampires. “What does she
hunt?”

Wulfwyn’s brow furrowed. “The
tales tell of sacrifice, of girls who blush with the first knowing of what it
is to be a woman, whose life is drained by the spae-wife, so that she is reborn
with the youth and vigour of the one whose life she has taken. Some tales tell
that she takes other forms, man or woman, old or young, even babies that walk
and talk in mockery of one grown, though common lore favours women of tender
years.”

“You mean,” Peter remembered
a trailer for a vampire film on TV which mum didn’t let him watch, where the
vampire sank his teeth into a young woman’s neck, “she drinks their blood?”

Wulfwyn shrugged. “I do not
know the means by which she achieves her change.” He drew his knees up to his
chin. “These are tales to frighten children, to stop them wandering away from safety,
to make them wary of travellers that are intent on their own dark paths. I cannot
say that I believe them to be so.”

Peter ran his finger and
thumb along the seal-amulet’s edge. “I think they might be true. I think this is
the spae-wife’s. She wants it back, that’s why she attacked. She needs it to
make her magic. The carrier gave it to me, but he made a mistake.”

The outlaw shifted around the
fire and came closer. “Let me see.”

Peter lifted the chain over
his head and handed the seal-amulet across.

Wulfwyn turned it over and
over in his hands. “Is it this that you used to fend off the carrier and the
dog?”

Peter watched as Wulfwyn ran
his finger across the seal-amulet’s surface. “Yes - I think so. It happened
after I put the chain over my head. All these silver marks appeared and - and
somehow I saw two of them in my head. One over the carrier and one over the
barghest...”

The outlaw glanced up. “The
barghest?”

Peter nodded. “The black
dog.”

Wulfwyn resumed his fingertip
rotation, though his eyes stayed on Peter. “Is it possible? This name is known
to those who suffer fearful night visions. It is not of flesh and blood.” He
peered harder. “Have you summoned forth creatures of folktale and made them
walk?” He held up the seal-amulet. “Is it this you use?”

Peter shook his head. “No, I
told you. The carrier gave it to me by accident. He meant to give it to the
spae-wife and now she’s trying to get it back. I don’t know why the barghest is
with them; perhaps the spae-wife controls it in some way.”

Wulfwyn flung the seal-amulet
back and it landed in Peter’s lap. “Why did the carrier pass this to you?”

“I don’t know.” Frustration
and anxiety made Peter’s eyes water, but he swallowed hard to hold back the
tears. “He told me to give it to the one who is waiting. I don’t know who that
is and nobody wants it when I ask.” He squeezed his eyes tight shut to clear
his blurred vision. “I know it’s not you, because you haven’t even seen it
before.”

The log shifted in the fire
and a cloud of sparks erupted and scattered over the hollow’s shallow lip.

“And yet,” said Wulfwyn, “you
used this to hold off the carrier and the - the barghest?”

Peter wiped his anorak sleeve
over his face. “I didn’t know what to do. I told you, I don’t know how it
works. I just reacted as fast as possible and copied the marks,” he held his
hands up, “that appeared in my head. I - I don’t know how that big explosion
happened.”

Wulfwyn hunched over the fire.
“This is a curious token that draws upon dark visions and makes them appear in
life. I fear it and wonder that a boy, who comes as if from the sky, works the
charms that strength with sword and shield cannot match. It is not to be
trusted, for it diminishes men’s skills and mocks their valour.”

Peter slipped the chain over
his head. “It saved your life.”

Wulfwyn stared into the fire.
“We must sleep.” He rose and unhooked two furs from their pegs. He tossed one
to Peter and the strong scent of some animal and the sharp tang of new leather
made him recoil.

The outlaw spread his out,
fur side up, lay upon it and rolled over twice so that he looked like a
caterpillar in its cocoon. Peter did the same. His body warmed and he fell fast
asleep.

***

When Peter woke, he lay in
the fur and listened to Wulfwyn as he moved around. An aroma, that he thought
he recognised but found impossible to name, gave the air a fresh and
invigorating scent and, after a while, he opened his eyes.

An iron pot, like the one in
the outlaw’s glade though smaller, hung from a chain over the fire. Steam rose
as water bubbled. Wulfwyn stood over the pot and sprinkled into it a shower of
dried leaves. The scent thickened as the outlaw stirred the pot with a long
thin stick.

Peter unrolled from his fur
and sat up. He’d never slept in his clothes before, nor failed to brush his
teeth on his way to bed and he thought that he ought to have a bath or a wash
and rinse out his mouth. No central heating or running hot water allowed for
such used-to luxuries. When did Wulfwyn wash? Perhaps he didn’t. He smelt as if
he didn’t.

Wulfwyn nodded at him. “It is
dawn. I have made mint to drink.” He picked up a round wooden cup with no
handle and held it up as an invitation for Peter to accept the offer.

Mint, of course.
“Yes please.”

The outlaw gripped the cup’s
lip, scooped some liquid out of the pot and handed it across.

Colourless, the cup’s
contents might be boiled water dotted with tiny brown leaves. He took a sip and
the mint’s strong tang made him splutter, though its freshness made his head
buzz. His stomach growled with hunger. He placed the cup down and reached for
his backpack. He’d just three sandwiches left. He wanted to eat them all, but
chose the top one and wrapped up the others before temptation made putting them
back too difficult.

He took a bite. Ham and
cheese. The bread had stiffened around the edges, but that didn’t matter. What
about Wulfwyn? He must need something to eat. He had no choice but to ask. “Do
you want a sandwich?”

The outlaw stood with his
hands cupped around his drink. “Sandwich? I will cut meat,” and he pointed to
the animal leg that hung above them. “I will cut some for you.”

“Thank you,” said Peter,
though he wondered if he’d like the taste. What was the animal? He guessed deer
and he’d never eaten that before.

Wulfwyn put his cup down. “We
cannot stay here another night. We will move after we have eaten.” He took hold
of a rope and unwound it from its peg.

Peter took long slow chews to
make the sandwich last longer. “Where will we go?”

Hand over hand, Wulfwyn
lowered the animal leg. The leg’s skin, blotched black and red, didn’t look
appetising.