In The Grip Of Old Winter (28 page)

The slope through the trees
steepened. Peter reached out to grab tree roots and fallen branches for
support. His breath steamed as he panted and his legs ached with the effort of
every step. The shadows deepened as daylight diminished. Where did the
spae-wife mean to take Leonor? Did his appearance in the tunnel with the
outlaws frighten her away? She must realise that he didn’t know how to work the
seal-amulet, so why be scared? There had to be another reason why she didn’t
press her attack, because he found it hard to believe that though he nearly
died and the seal-amulet lost its power, she didn’t know where to look.

The trees thinned and ferns
flourished in the wider spaces and the uphill climb became harder. Sweat
trickled down his cheeks and he glanced up to see how much further to the top.
The snow-field shone pure white and, from this distance, revealed no clue as to
their quarry’s direction.

Wulfwyn halted and wiped his
sleeve across his face. “Godwine, can you show where they walked over the
ridge?”

Godwine shuffled round to
look back at the route they’d just climbed, then to the left and then to the
right. He pointed to the right, his outstretched arm at a diagonal from where
they stood. Wulfwyn set off in that direction and as the snow-field came closer
and the ferns thinned, he peered from side to side as he hunted for tracks.

Peter wished he still had the
torch, for grey daylight faded to deeper shades and the shadows cast by the
ferns made the ground dark as night. How did Wulfwyn hope to spot any clues?
Above, the snow glowed as if lit, though it revealed nothing.

The ferns grew wider apart
and snow crunched under Peter’s boots. Godwine walked next to Wulfwyn, their
heads down, their shoulders tense with concentration. Too much snow might have
fallen, the ridge stretched a long way right and left, Godwine might not be
certain where he saw the spae-wife cross.

The seal-amulet bounced
against Peter’s chest.

I hate the spae-wife, I
hate the barghest, I hate the carrier, I hate them, hate them...
The seal-amulet stayed unchanged
. I must be really
angry and... and not think about it... just be it.
He gripped his knife
tighter, clenched his jaw, stamped the ground with every step and willed the
tight knot in his stomach to hurt again. It didn’t work and he knew why. As if
a third eye opened in his head, he watched his actions, monitored his anger,
pretended that it might be real and because he thought all this, it didn’t
work.

Anger must be real.
Just anger? Might the seal-amulet work with other
emotions? Envy, jealousy, greed? He knew these words from church, thought he
understood them, but to explain them, to make them clear in his head, proved
tricky. Wulfwyn said ‘need.’ Like instinct? Something known, though perhaps not
understood, that happened by chance. He hoped ‘chance’ happened when the
seal-amulet went red again.

Godwine halted and placed a
hand on Wulfwyn’s arm. Grey light slipped into dark night. Wulfwyn leaned forward
to where Godwine pointed and Peter crept closer.

The fronds on the nearest
fern hung limp and broken. Beyond, imprints, though softened by new-fallen
snow, revealed fresh-laid tracks that crossed the snow-field up to the top of
the ridge.

Wulfwyn gave Godwine’s back a
hearty thump. “This is well done. Our pursuit will be swift. Let us follow.” He
strode through the snow as he climbed. “The path may be lost to darkness in the
trees beyond and our chase halted until day returns. Their pace is slow, their
tracks clear, we shall be upon them faster than hounds at hunt.”

Peter wondered. ‘Then what?’
How did Wulfwyn mean to rescue Leonor?
Three of us against three of them and
they were fiercer, stronger and much more frightening.

And the seal-amulet’s magic
might work one way or the other.

Peter grunted with effort as
he took big strides to reach the top of the ridge. He halted to catch his
breath and looked back. Below, the forest lay hidden in shadow, but beyond the
trees, far into the darkness, the snow gleamed. Somewhere in that distance, a
cry, like a moan at first, gathered strength and rose into a long howl that
hung in the air and gathered all the sorrows of the earth into that one sound
where it held them, suspended.

Perhaps the moon shines
behind the clouds and that is why the wolf howls.

***

Peter slipped and slithered
after Wulfwyn and Godwine down the other side of the ridge. The tracks left by
the spae-wife and her companions proved easier to follow, as lumps of snow had
rolled aside as they passed.

Peter guessed they’d taken
the same route when they climbed the ridge to Eorl Bosa’s. Did they mean to
return to Oswald’s manor? How close to Peter did the spae-wife need to be to
work the seal-amulet? He never saw her at Eorl Bosa’s when she attacked the
knights on the cleared way. Did she know that they followed?

He brushed past the ferns
that grew in tighter clumps as they approached the trees. The snow’s uniform
brightness dimmed and Wulfwyn’s pace slowed. Ahead, in the forest, night’s
shadow deepened.

Wulfwyn halted. “It is not
possible to mark their traces. Yet, we cannot tarry if we mean to be swift.
Their path may turn.” He glanced back at the ridge. “Though it follows their
earlier way.” He faced the forest. “The trail to the hollow tree is known to
me, be it night or day. There let us take shelter and when day returns, fates
be kind, we will find their tracks once more.”

Peter nodded and so did
Godwine.

The dark and the men’s long
strides made it difficult for Peter to keep up the pace. He blundered after
them, followed the sound of their steps, kept his hands up in case he walked
into a tree. Twice he tripped over roots and almost fell. Strands of cold moss
brushed past his cheeks and made him jump.

His eyes adjusted and the
dark lightened to a deep grey. The outlaws’ backs appeared as darker shadows
that weaved their way before him through the trees. The crack of twigs and the
rustle of Peter’s anorak as it brushed past a bush or a tree’s bark must be
easy to hear to anything or anyone that walked the forest on this still night.

Did Bosa watch? Or follow?
Peter ran to keep closer to the men. His legs ached and the weight of his
backpack as it bounced against his shoulders made every step an effort. He’d
never be able to find his way to the hollow tree, even in daylight, but he
trusted Wulfwyn and he needed to or he’d be lost for ever. This way brought him
back towards the charred branch and a glow of relief flowed through his chest.

If time stood still back at
granddads’, then dad might still be in the house with grandma and mum. Even if
it moved forwards just a bit, perhaps Farmer Brunt and his tractor hadn’t
travelled all that far to hospital. Might there be a way for the charred branch
to take him back to granddads’ a few hours earlier, so that he stopped dad from
falling off the ladder? He wanted that and there might be a way which he didn’t
know yet. Did the seal-amulet hold the secret? Though so far, Time never went
further back from his last visit, whichever Age he moved through.

He mustn’t think ahead, for
real dangers threatened and Oswald’s manor must still be full of knights.

The ground dipped and Peter
stumbled. Below, water splashed and sparks of light winked like twinkling stars
from its surface. The dead oak loomed tall and majestic from the middle of the
stream, bare and pale, like a grey ghost.

Wulfwyn halted. They all
listened to the water in silence. Peter heard nothing above its’ constant rush.

Wulfwyn leaned in close and
said, “Let us approach the tree from the water’s farthest bank. Godwine,” he
pointed right, “take that way. I shall keep the boy with me. What does the
charm reveal?”

Peter held up the seal-amulet
and twisted it around. “There’s nothing. It’s not red or anything.”

“It is best to be wary,” said
Wulfwyn. “For it is not always to be trusted. We meet by the water’s side.”
Godwine stepped into the darker shadows and disappeared from sight.

Wulfwyn placed a hand on
Peter’s shoulder. “Follow.”

Peter crept after him as they
circled the dell. Three times Wulfwyn halted and listened. Peter listened too
and heard the water and his breathing, but nothing more, not even Godwine as he
approached from the opposite direction.

Wulfwyn led the way down to
the stream, still alert as he moved with quiet stealth. Behind them, a twig
snapped, loud and sharp and Peter whirled round. Wulfwyn grabbed his shoulder
and pulled him back, then levelled his knife, ready to thrust. A bush rustled
and Godwine’s black outline emerged from out of the night’s grey light. He
raised his hands in apology.

Wulfwyn relaxed. “It is well.
Come.” He strode down to the stream and splashed his way across to the oak. He
jumped and gripped the lowest bough and pulled and swung and twisted his torso
until he sat upon it, legs astride. He reached down, gripped Peter’s hand and
pulled him up and then he helped Godwine too.

Peter found many of the hand
and footholds from before and climbed much quicker. The descent into the hollow
trunk made his heart pump because of the pitch dark, but Wulfwyn gripped his
heels and pushed each foot onto the ladder’s crude rungs.

“Jump,” said Wulfwyn.

Peter jumped and landed
upright and didn’t wobble. Wulfwyn guided him away from the ladder as Godwine
came down. Peter slipped off his backpack, but when he put it down it landed on
something and fell sideways. Wulfwyn’s shield, he remembered, leaned against the
trunk. He took a couple of steps sideways. Now the backpack touched the ground
and he let it drop.

The sharp scratch of flints
focused his awareness on the fire pit. Sparks flashed and died and Godwine
struck again, faster each time. A yellow flame ignited a ball of moss and as it
caught, the flame burned orange. Wulfwyn and Godwin fed small sticks into the
fire and Peter knelt and laid more sticks onto the moss. The flames brightened
and Peter’s cheeks warmed from their heat.

With a guttural shout,
Godwine sprang back and reached for his sword. His wide eyes focused on
something behind Peter’s shoulder. Peter rolled sideways as Wulfwyn leapt to
his feet, his knife drawn.

Eorl Bosa sat against the
trunk, his knees drawn up to his chin and his hands clasped around his shins.
He gazed at the fire as if hypnotized by the flames and his body shook.

The fire crackled. Peter
waited for Bosa to react, to speak, to escape, to move, but he sat and trembled
and stared. Wulfwyn lowered his knife and stepped closer. He reached forward
and shook Bosa’s shoulder.

The Eorl gulped twice, like a
fish out of water, and hid his face behind his knees.

Wulfwyn glanced back at
Godwine, who shook his head and shrugged.

“He is charmed or his wits
have fled,” said Wulfwyn.

Bosa raised his head and
blinked as he stared at them, one after the other. Surprise widened his eyes,
as if he noticed them for the first time. “You are not... you are not...” His
cracked voice held no power. “You are not come to kill me.”

Wulfwyn sheathed his knife.
“I do not kill men who cannot fight. Though I grant that I wish you dead, for a
traitor’s life is worthless. For now, it is better that we learn what you have
to tell. How is it that you are here?” He squatted beside the fire. “What has
become of Leonor?”

Bosa stretched his legs and
his hand trembled as he wiped his brow. Peter stared, for around Bosa’s neck,
on a leather cord, hung a green stone with a swirl of black across its surface
that looked like an eye.

Bosa spluttered. “She is
lost... she is lost to... to...”

“The spae-wife?” said Peter.

Bosa stared at Peter from
head to toe. “It is a night-horror that came upon my manor, a spirit of
darkness and death that none can fight, that inflicts pain worse than any sword
cut...” He covered his face and whimpered.

Peter gripped the seal-amulet
between his finger and thumb. “How did you escape, but not Leonor?”

Bosa slumped sideways as if
exhausted. “I ran... I ran...”

Wulfwyn snorted. “Coward and
traitor! You sacrifice a maiden to save your skin. You are not a man.”

Bosa shifted until he sat
upright again. “Three there were that came upon us and a fell light shrouded
their approach, so that I did not know where danger threatened. They meant my
death and Leonor’s, for she stood behind me and cried. I am just one, my
strength, any man’s strength, is not fit to hold back such fury. They threw me
aside and I dropped as one dead. My eyes dimmed, but as darkness came I saw
Leonor caught and understood that they did not seek her death. For...” he
glanced at Peter. “For the spae-wife shrieked and her cry howled with triumph.”

***

Peter shuddered. “Where have
they taken Leonor?”

Bosa shook his head. “I fled
when the darkness lifted from my eyes. I did not know if they stayed within the
manor. I ran through the tunnel and my heart beat within my chest so hard that
when daylight fell upon my eyes, I lay upon the ground and knew no more.”