In The Grip Of Old Winter (37 page)

With a frantic flap of her
wings, she broke free and rose. She passed through the fire-tunnel’s wall and
her body smoked, but unscathed, she flew higher.

Peter snatched at her, but
she climbed too fast. “She’s escaped.”

Bear rushed forwards. “We are
complete.” He hurled the end of the fire-rope after her. As if released from a
cage, the flames sprang upwards and two of them nipped at her legs and coiled
around them, tight as springs.

The spae-wife screeched and
dived past Peter into the kitchen. Bear followed and the fire-rope bucked and
looped as he fed it through his hands.

The fire-tunnel burst apart
with a loud snap and a flurry of white and orange sparks. Peter rolled onto his
side and held his hand where the blood dripped fast, one crimson drop after
another.

Each skin-walker held a
length of fire-rope and as they swept by and followed Bear, they passed it through
their hands as if its coils might never end.

Peter spat out another gob of
blood. He pushed over onto his knees and stood. The seal-amulet flashed red and
the silver marks shone and revolved. He staggered after Bear, through the
kitchen, where he saw a white envelope on the table with grandma’s name written
on it, ‘Rose.’ No time to investigate and he ran out of the back door and past
the barn.

Large snowflakes fell and his
legs ached as he pushed through the drifts. Two skin-walkers halted, separated from
each other by several metres. The others in front followed Bear and then
another stopped. Peter spat out more blood. The skin-walkers stretched in a
line from their fire in The Hall to Bear.

Past the barn, the ground
dipped and the snow came up to Peter’s knees. Another skin-walker halted. The
fire-rope
hiss
ed as its length played out. At the tree line, a hummock
of snow stood proud of the drifts and in front of it he saw a wide hollow space,
cleared of snow.

Peter stopped to catch his
breath. Bear stood in the hollow and the fire-rope writhed across his hands. It
passed through a door-shaped opening in the hummock and disappeared down into a
dark interior.
The ice house.

“This is where the spae-wife,
veiled by charms, sought her refuge,” said Bear. “Hidden from our sight by
countless seasons yet to come, she slipped our bonds and waited for the
coldest, harshest winter to reawaken.” The fire-rope tautened and sparks
flicked off along its length and where they landed in the snow, trails of white
smoke curled upwards.

Bear said, “She will not
escape from our grasp this time. We are complete and she will not endure.” He
let go of the fire-rope and so did Rat and Fox and Wolf and though the other
skin-walkers stretched back into the house and out of sight, Peter guessed that
they did the same. The fire-rope hovered, unsupported, in the air.

“Come closer, Peter.”

He shoved against the snow
until it broke apart in large chunks and he pushed through to stand beside
Bear. He glanced back and saw that the skin-walkers didn’t wait in the snow,
but upon its surface and that where they stood, they left no mark.

Bear rested his hand on
Peter’s shoulder. “The seal-amulet burns, the silver marks revealed. Cold
awakens it, snow and ice and frost. The spae-wife twisted the charms to be
unleashed when deep winter bites.”

“But she didn’t have it,”
said Peter. “The carrier gave it to me.”

The fire-rope, close to,
revealed thin fingers of interlaced flame which coiled as if powered by the
bonfire which drove them forwards. They weaved in perfect synchronicity, hundreds
of them, one over and under and around another.

“That is so,” said Bear. “I
believe that chance gave the carrier the courage to take it from her. She
cowered, weakened by the fight as she strived against us, and he slipped it
from her neck. Tormented, he craved release. For the carrier serves no one.”

“Like he gave it to Almina
all those years ago,” Peter said. “That must have been a cold winter too. Is
the barghest under the seal-amulet’s power as well?”

“No. The barghest is a night
phantom, brought forth into light from myth and mist. She imbued it with flesh
and blood and teeth, but to darkness it returns and to fancy.” Bear’s hand
lifted from Peter’s shoulder. “It is time to release the seal-amulet from her
corrupt will.”

The skin-walkers sang their
long note and the harmonies intertwined and their song hummed with a melody
that might never end.

Bear said, “What you will see
is as it is. The seal-amulet is yours. Remember, every charm you use must be
released with an understanding of the responsibility of what you do. It is time
to use it as you wish. It is time to be wise. Are you ready?”

Peter nodded.

***

Bear sang and his note rang
out loud and clear.

Peter swallowed, for he
floated high above the barn and when he glanced behind him and down, even
higher than the battlements on the house. The skin-walkers stood, one an equal
distance from the other and the fire-rope glowed like an orange stream.

A silver mark, shaped like an
eye, shone in the centre of the seal-amulet and the snow and the frost and the
roof of the ice house turned to mist and evaporated, so that he was able to see
inside.

The spae-wife coiled and strained
as she fought against the fiery strands that gripped each leg and wing.

Another mark emerged beside
the first and this one showed a solid circle inside a circle of dots. Peter
closed his hand into a fist and squeezed. The fire-rope tautened and he heard,
far away, the spae-wife shriek, as the fire-strands separated with a sharp
flick that tore her body apart.

The skin-walkers’ melody
changed and the notes they sang deepened.

Peter saw into the old house
and into The Hall, as if the stones dissolved wherever his eyes chose to gaze.

Granddad and Almina stood
together, far away from the nearest skin-walker, and supported each other with
an arm squeezed tight across the others’ shoulders. Granddad gripped the staff
and Almina closed her palm around his fingers. Granddad touched the staff to
the floor, his lips moved and they both vanished. A mark of three diagonal
lines that shone in the seal-amulet’s centre disappeared as fast as granddad
and Almina.

The air and light shifted as
if time no longer stayed at an even pace, but tripped and shuddered. For night
replaced day and lights shone from the old house.

It snowed hard. Granddad
scurried out of the kitchen, past the shed and the ice house and through the
trees to a small clearing where a telegraph pole stood, its two wires slung low
with crusted snow. He carried a long pruning tool; dad had one to remove a
tree’s high branches when they grew too long and covered the garden in shade.

Granddad cut one wire, the
one that stretched into the trees and away out of sight.

Peter’s vision blurred and
then settled. Inside the house, they all sat in The Hall after dinner. Except
granddad, who took a pair of scissors from a kitchen drawer and snipped the
telephone cable. Then he taped the end of the cable onto the back of the
telephone.

Another mark shone, three
‘eee’s’ looped together. Granddad walked through to The Hall and sat next to
Peter. That moment shimmered, faded, slipped away and so did the silver mark.

Peter just watched.

Darkness brightened to a grey
light. It still snowed. Dad stood at the foot of a long ladder placed against
the barn doors. He held a shovel under one arm. With slow care, he climbed up
until he reached the edge of the roof. He thrust the shovel into the great
wedge of snow and pushed.

The barn door opened just far
enough to allow Almina to step outside. She carried a rake and with a sharp
jab, struck the ladder. The shock unbalanced dad and he dropped the shovel and
whirled his arms to keep his balance, but his foot slipped and he fell. He landed
in a mound of snow beside the barn door and screamed. A gush of blood turned
the snow red. Almina stepped back into the barn and shut the door.

A mark of six vertical lines
dissolved as the scene changed again. The snow and the barn roof parted and Peter
saw dad’s car parked inside. Granddad and Almina moved fast as they filled the
boot with cases and boxes. Then granddad pulled a sealed envelope out of his
pocket and they returned to the kitchen where he laid the envelope on the
table.

Peter didn’t see that mark,
for day snapped to night and the skin-walkers’ song might be the one sound in a
universe of silence. Grey light brightened into another day.

Eorl Oswald’s manor and the
tower on its earthen bank emerged from out of the light. Eorl Bosa rode up to
the manor accompanied by his knights. They all dismounted and Bosa’s men drew
their swords and fanned out to secure the manor and its land for their Eorl.

One man climbed the tower and
planted Eorl Bosa’s banner against the highest parapet; a white stag that
galloped across a field of green.

Bosa walked through the manor
until he came to the large room and the two blocks of ice which entombed
Wulfwyn and Leonor. He chipped the ice with his sword’s tip, sliced them with
his sword’s edge, but they didn’t shatter.

The Eorl flicked aside the
bones that lay strewn across the floor. Then he stooped and picked up a torn
rag that once clothed the spae-wife’s host. His face paled and his hand
trembled. He glanced round, fearful of surprise, his eyes wide with disbelief.

In the seal-amulet’s centre,
a silver mark showed two hands, palms out, fingers spread. The skin-walkers’
song hummed low and deep.

Peter’s chest tightened, not
with fear, but with sorrow, for though some deep instinct hinted at the form
and sequence that would shape his hands to ignite the charm and release Wulfwyn
and Leonor from the ice, he did nothing.

He just watched.

Frozen in ice or released
into Bosa’s servitude? Leonor’s union with Bosa? Why subject her to such an
unhappy life when she might sleep for ever, without fear, close beside Wulfwyn?
Two lovers together. A mark of respect to Eorl Oswald too, that he’d followed
the Eorl’s wishes and stopped his daughter’s union with a man that he did not
admire and she did not love.

Peter wished that he might
speak to Wulfwyn once more, even just to say goodbye. To Godwine too, who sat
slumped against the wall, still and quiet, unseen yet by Bosa. This Age might
now be weaved with new threads, for the memories that came before no longer
existed.

Who knew what happened after
death? The strands that wove love and care and shared thoughts might stretch on
for ever, for such emotions filled much of man’s universe.

Peter gazed across the tree
tops. The Forest of Andred stretched away into the distance. The trees
shimmered and so did the light and the land below changed to one that he did
not know.

Concrete buildings and parked
cars and an ambulance with its blue lights flashing. In a small room, bright
with light and the sharp reflection of steel furniture, his mum, much younger
and less care-worn, lay on a raised stretcher as a doctor stood nearby and
spoke.

“The eggs are implanted. As
you know, you have three. We hope that one will come to term, but you never
know, all three might develop. How would you feel about giving birth to triplets?”

Mum managed a smile. “Oh, I’m
not sure. I haven’t thought that far ahead.” She chewed her lip. “Doctor, my
husband has to believe that the baby is his. It’s so important to our marriage.
He won’t ever find out about the sperm donor, will he?”

The doctor clicked his pen
and clipped it into the top pocket of his white coat. “General practice
requires that both parents co-operate in all areas of IVF treatment. However,
as you are a private patient and taking your mental history into consideration,
we will of course respect your wishes. Now, are you feeling comfortable?”

A strange mark, like a spring
shaped as a teardrop, corkscrewed as it faded.

The room changed shape and
the raised stretcher widened until it became a bed. A bed with the covers
supported above the mattress. Dad lay still and quiet, his eyes shut. Mum,
slumped onto a chair at his side, sobbed.

Grandma stood behind and
cradled her. She wiped her own cheeks with the back of her hand. “He’s alive.
That’s all that matters.”

The curtains around the bed
parted and a nurse appeared. She checked the machine connected to dad and then
lifted the bed covers. Dad’s right leg ended in a stump just above the knee.
Thick white bandages wrapped it tight. She draped the covers over and then
crouched and took hold of mum’s hand. “There’s a bed ready for you now. Let’s
get you settled.” Mum stood and let the nurse lead her away. Grandma kissed
dad’s forehead and followed. Dad, the bright light and the big bed evaporated,
like mist, and so did the silver mark with its single star.

Dad, or not my dad, and if
it’s not him, then who? I loved him as my dad.

Peter shut his eyes and there
appeared, as if in a procession, each event that he’d just seen and each corresponding
mark that shone from the seal-amulet. He remembered Bear’s words. ‘What you
will see is as it is. Every charm you use must be released with an
understanding of the responsibility of what you do.’