In The Grip Of Old Winter (32 page)

The house faded and the grey
sky went black and the fire burned and the skin-walkers sang their song.

Wulfwyn whispered. “She is a
shade? How? She is gone. What manner of folk are these?”

The skin-walkers’ song,
though not loud, throbbed against Peter’s ears. The earth, the trees, the
night, even the stars might be alive with the song’s perfect harmony. A low
note rumbled deep beneath the song’s higher pitches and as Peter watched, one
by one, the skin-walkers lowered their arms and each voice slid into silence. The
deep note still sounded after all the others had faded and then it too softened
and departed.

One of the skin-walkers
turned from the fire and faced them.

“Hurry, come close,” said
Bear.

***

Peter ran through the trees
and flung his arms around Bear’s legs in a big hug.

Bear laid his hand upon
Peter’s head. “You return. Welcome.”

Peter stepped back. “I’ve
lost the seal-amulet. The spae-wife tricked Eorl Bosa to steal it from me and
now she’s got it again and we can’t rescue Leonor.”

Bear raised his hand in
greeting towards Wulfwyn and Godwine. “Welcome, travellers. This must be
strange to you.” He indicated the glade with a sweep of his arm. “Now is not
the time to explain, but do not be afraid. Peter came to us before and since
his visit our arts have revealed much of what has happened.”

Peter ran back to Wulfwyn.
“This is the help I meant. They’ve fought the spae-wife already. They’re
skin-walkers.”

Wulfwyn gave a slow nod. “I
have heard of such a one, in old tales that tell of lands new-born and those
that lived upon them.” Uncertainty, fear even, gave his words a hesitant tone.

“They want to help, I
promise,” said Peter.

Bear opened his arms wide.
“The earth, the sky even the distant stars, are loosened from their steady
progress and slip, unclear of where their true paths lie. Together with my
kindred we hold this time still to bring you here.”

Peter stepped forward. “Is it
the spae-wife? Is she making all this happen with the seal-amulet?”

“She uses that talisman for
her own purposes,” said Bear. “The spells intrude upon all our lives in ways
she does not know or cares not to see. She thinks to hold the old time, the
present and what is to come in her thrall and bind them to her will.”

Peter asked, “What is to
come? Do you mean beyond my time too?”

“And our time,” said Bear.
“She escaped when last we came to purge the land of her taint, but she tore the
soul from one of ours before she departed and so we diminished. We bound the
land in tight enchantments and thought to hold her captive until the end of all
Times.” Bear laid his hand upon Peter’s shoulder. “Though we did not know where
she hid.”

Peter swallowed, for a
thought so obvious became clear. “Do you mean that she hid in my time?”

“Indeed,” said Bear. “Upon
this land, though different stars shone from a new sky.” He raised his hand
towards Wulfwyn and Godwine. “We must return to that Age where she thrives, for
it is there she works her will to greatest intent.”

Peter said, “What’s she going
to do to Leonor?”

Bear’s hooded face gazed back
at the fire. “Take the girl’s body for her own, so that reborn the spae-wife
will be beautiful and terrible.” He strode towards the fire. “Come, we must go
together.”

Peter hurried after Bear.
“Will that make Leonor a ghost again - if we don’t rescue her first?”

“No,” said Bear. “For the
spae-wife does not die. She inhabits her host and feeds upon their flesh and
uses their will as her own. The host cannot escape and though they wish it,
they cannot die. Their torment is terrible and only when the last thread of
flesh is consumed and the last thought corrupted will the spae-wife abandon the
host, which crumbles to dust, a withered husk.”

“That’s disgusting,” said Peter.
“But why didn’t...”

Bear laid a hand on Peter’s
shoulder. “Too many questions. Our actions must be swift before this time is
lost.”

Wulfwyn and Godwine joined
the circle with Peter and the skin-walkers.

Bear raised his arms and his
robe glinted purple in the firelight. He sang a high clear note and one by one
the skin-walkers raised their arms and added their voices, until they all sang
together. The stars flashed and went out, the sky lightened to grey and the
trees thinned to leave a wider space where the manor and the tower emerged as
if conjured out of the air.

The song ceased. The fire
burned, the flames writhed, though in silence, as if denied their fury.

Bear lowered his arms. “The
spae-wife is within.” He walked towards the manor. “Approach with care for she
will be prepared.”

Wulfwyn and Godwine drew
their weapons and Peter gripped his staff with both hands. The cold air thumped
upon his head as if it crackled with some unseen energy. He pulled up his
anorak hood to ward off the heavy sense of dread that tried to beat him down.

Bear pulled aside the fur
that hung across the doorway. The shadows deepened into darkness beyond the
threshold. He stepped inside and Peter followed the skin-walkers into the
manor. Wulfwyn and Godwine stayed at his back.

No candles burned or
firelight flickered. They stood, silent and still, in the dark. The long hall
ran the length of the manor and at the other end, just before the kitchen, a
shorter passage led to the large room where he’d listened to Oswald, Leonor and
Bosa make their plans.

The skin-walkers moved
forward and Peter followed the soft rustle of their robes. He blinked hard to
make his eyes adjust to the dark.

A blast of light, cold,
bright and blue, sparked like sudden lightning across the rafters and down the
walls and the shadows darted in every direction. Peter winced and recoiled as
if he’d been hit and strange lights, blue and white, repeated over and over in
his eyes so that he saw less than before.

“Wait,” said Bear. “She is
close.”

Peter rubbed his eyes. “I
think she might be in the big room next to the kitchen.”

The light burst over them
again, even brighter and a shaft slammed into the ground close to Bear’s feet
and the earth shook as it went out. A growl, like thunder, rumbled with threat
as it approached through the dark.

“The barghest,” said Peter
and Wulfwyn together.

Blue lightning streaked
overhead and where it struck, sparks ignited and scattered high and low, fast
as bullets.

Peter saw, in that light’s
brief moment, the barghest gather speed as it hurtled towards them, head down,
shoulders hunched and teeth bared, ready to rip.

As the lightning flickered
and went out, the skin-walkers slipped from their robes to reveal their true
forms. Wulfwyn choked and Godwine uttered a strange guttural cry.

Blue lightning crackled,
complex as a web, with threads that singed the hair and burnt through leather
and cloth. The rat darted in and out between the barghest’s legs and nipped at
its ankles. The eagle took flight and in the narrow space swerved and swooped
in tight circles above the dog’s massive head. The sabre-toothed tiger and the
boar rushed the beast.

The lightning flickered again
and went out. The sabre-toothed tiger roared and the eagle shrieked.

“Quick,” said Peter. He
stretched out his hand and ran to the side of the hallway until his palm
brushed across the wall’s lumpy surface. “We can get past the barghest and
reach the big room.” He hoped that Wulfwyn and Godwine followed, but the growls
and snarls and roars from the fight made it hard to hear. “This way,” and he
set off down the hallway, one hand against the wall, the staff held out before
him.

The blue lightning flashed
again. The boar lay pinned under the barghest’s paws and the sabre-toothed
tiger darted left and right as it lunged for the neck. The eagle swooped,
talons stretched to claw at the eyes and head. The rat panted, out of the
fight, its flank gashed and bloody.

In the sudden light and
already past the fight, Peter ran. The heavy thump of the men’s boots reassured
him that Wulfwyn and Godwine followed. Bear too, he thought, for he didn’t see
him in the fight. No sight or sound of Snake and Fox at all.

The lightning faltered,
sparked, its power spent. In its final burst, the kitchen doorway pulsed as its
wooden surround reflected the blue light and Peter sprinted. Darkness came and
he lost confidence to run at speed.

Wulfwyn called. “Take care.
We do not know what lies ahead.”

Peter slowed to a walk and
swept the staff before him in a wide arc. With a loud crack, it struck wood and
he halted. “This is the kitchen. There’s a passage to the left into the big
room.”

He took a step to the side in
what he hoped might be the right direction. His eyes ached as he stared into
the dark. Wulfwyn and Godwine breathed hard as they closed in behind.

Bear’s deep voice, next to
his ear, made him jump. “Let me go first.”

Coarse fur brushed against
Peter’s hand as Bear went past. Peter gripped his staff tight. If the spae-wife
cast fire and burned the manor or caused a flood to wash them out, then their
attempt to rescue Leonor pitted against their attempt to survive meant certain
defeat. To fight to live or to fight to vanquish a foe, both needed strength
and focus and only one of them might succeed.

Light, dim but white, like a
strange dawn, bloomed somewhere ahead. It lit the passage walls. Bear halted
and swung his head from side to side as he sniffed the air.

***

The light brightened and a
shadow, dark and swift, attacked. The gloom made it hard to focus on its random
jumps as it leapt over Bear’s head. The breeze, as it flew past Peter, blew on
his cheeks.

With a cry, the carrier
landed on Wulfwyn and Godwine and they tumbled over in a confusion of arms and
legs. Godwine thrust his sword where he thought the carrier landed, but it
sliced through air and made no contact. Wulfwyn scrambled to his feet and
half-ran, half-crouched back down the passage.

Bear shouted. “Protect our
backs.” He roared and the ground trembled when, with a sudden burst of speed,
he ran into the large room. Peter sprinted after, his staff raised ready to
strike.

The white light no longer
shone pure, but dimmed and tarnished with a hue of green. Leonor lay upon her
back, pinned by her wrists and ankles and tied with twine to large wooden pegs
driven into the floor. Around her in a circle lay long slender branches. In the
centre of the circle, upon a stool made of more branches lashed together with
twine and raised high above the floor, sat the spae-wife. The light came from
the branches and pulsed as if powered by a heart. Around the spae-wife’s neck,
the seal-amulet blazed bright red and the silver marks shone clear and hard.

The spae-wife’s teeth
clack
ed
as her jaw swung up and down in mockery of speech. She pointed a bony
finger, with its black and twisted nail, straight at Bear. A detonation, like a
bomb, exploded at his feet and threw him backwards.

The roar of the retort made
Peter’s ears buzz
. I need a knife to cut Leonor free.
Unless he knocked
the pegs out with his staff. He rushed forward, but as he stepped across the
first branch, green light flared and his head whipped back as a blow, hard as a
punch, hit him in the face.

He crashed onto his back and
his eyes and nose tingled and he thought he might pass out. Aware of movement,
he squinted and focused on Godwine as he slashed left and right with his sword
at the air above the circle of branches. Green and white sparks scattered, as
if he struck stone, and he clutched his elbow and fell back.

The spae-wife’s eyes bulged,
the thin skin that covered her skull hung in tatters, her skeletal fingers
curled to form strange shapes. Faded and ragged garments covered the little
flesh that clung to her bones. With a start, Peter understood that these must
be the remains of the spae-wife’s previous captive. Then what was the spae-wife?
What did she look like? How did she live inside another’s body? Where did she
live?

Peter rolled onto his side
and sat up.

“Come back,” said Bear.

Peter crawled on his hands
and knees to where Bear crouched in the shadows on the far side of the room.
Godwine followed, his face lined with pain as he held his elbow.

“What can we do?” said Peter.
“There’s an invisible barrier.”

Leonor lay as if asleep, her
head to one side, her eyes shut.

“That staff you carry,” said
Bear. “Return to the fire outside the manor and thrust it into the flames. Hold
it there, though its touch will be hot. Do not let go. It will not burn. Take
care that no part of you touches the fire. Let the staff cool and when it is as
cold as it is now, pull it free.”

Peter rolled the staff
backwards and forwards in his palms. “How will that help?”