Winterbringers (4 page)

Its walls were not of stone or brick or daub and wattle, but of living wood. The white trunks of birch trees, slender as dancers, were linked and coiled about with great stems of roses and honeysuckle. It was a palace: one that had grown, not been built. Arched doorways pierced walls of leaf and blossom, but there were no doors to bar our way and still no sign of anyone.

We stood on the edge of the wood, appalled now by our effrontery. I tugged at Beatrix’s sleeve, to say “Let’s go back,” but as I did so, a Kingfisher flew out of the wood behind us and swooped down and in through one of the windows.

As it did so, the spell of silence that seemed to bind the place was broken and we became aware of the plash of water, the noise
of insects, birdsong and voices from within the palace.

Before we could move forward or back, a woman walked out through the main doorway. She stopped just outside, looked up to where we were and smiled.

“Come down,” she called, “since you have found your way into my Kingdom.”

Clinging to each other, we began to make our way down the grassy slope. She walked towards us. Her feet were bare, and where they touched the grass, tiny flowers of white and gold sprung up in her footprints. Trembling, we walked to meet her and when we drew near, sank to our knees before her, not daring to look up.

“Why have you come here?” she asked, and then we had to look up at her in all her fearful beauty.

Her ageless face was full of wisdom as well as loveliness. Poets would write verses, but I cannot, so here is the best I can remember: eyes the blue of a summer night, lips like poppies, hair to her waist that seemed like petals and oats and sunlight and streamers of high cloud. Her dress was a gauzy thing of shifting patterns, green and blue and chestnut, like a butterfly’s wing or a Kingfisher’s feathers, traced over and over with rippling veins of gold.

We had found the Queen of Summer.

Although she had lived in Pitmillie all her life, Callie had never been to East Neuk Cottages before, which seemed strange when they were so near, or so Josh thought.

She was fascinated by the place, by what seemed to her the enormous choice of things to do. In the pool, she spent ages just floating on her back, staring happily at the roof as Josh swam and dived around her.

“This is the warmest pool I've ever been in,” she announced, by way of explanation. “Mostly I swim in the sea.”

Josh spluttered. “You're joking! Here? It must be freezing.”

She turned and disappeared below the surface, sleek as a seal in her tatty old black costume. Josh had never met anyone with such a total lack of interest in what they wore. She'd have been bullied mercilessly at his school. He was ashamed to realize that he would probably have joined in.

But here, she was so confident that she made it seem as though everyone else who fussed about brands and labels was mad and she was the sane one. He wondered what happened to her at school in St Andrews.

After they'd swum Callie persuaded him to go for a walk. It didn't take much persuasion, since he'd been looking for a chance to ask about going back to Constantine's Cave.

“I've never walked round here before,” she said. “It's weird now I think of it. I suppose I've always thought of it as somewhere that's only for the people staying in the Cottages; but I don't suppose it is.”

They had wandered along a path between drystone walls that marked the edges of fields, and were now cutting across an area that had been planted with row on row of trees. There must be thousands, thought Josh, and even he knew that they were proper trees, not grotty forestry plantation conifers. Not that he could have put a name to any of them, mind you.

They were back on a narrow grassy path now, behind a thin screen of taller trees. Suddenly Callie stopped him with a hand on his arm, a finger to her lips. She pointed through the trees. Josh looked and saw three deer grazing in the adjacent field, quite close, oblivious to their presence. He'd never seen wild deer before and he watched them for several minutes. Then he must have moved without realizing, and their heads swung up together and they raced off.

“Well, I would guess that you haven't seen anything like that before?”

He shook his head, not rising to the bait, and walked on.

A bit further on was the ruin of a cottage, half obscured. They ducked through the doorway. It smelled of damp, and of old wood, and after a few minutes they shoved their way out through the ivy again and cut back towards the Cottages by the side of a tiny stream, almost hidden between its overgrown banks and overhung by bushes and small trees.

“If you're not busy tomorrow,” Josh said at last, “is there any chance we could go back to that cave and see what's happened to the ice?”

“George and Rose are going to Dundee in the car to see some sort of exhibition. Can you cycle?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You could borrow my dad's bike and helmet.” They were nearly back at the Cottages now. “Come round at ten. Shall I bring a picnic?”

“Yeah, that'd be good – only if it's not raining, mind you.”

“Wimp!”

A cold rain set in again that evening, dying away as darkness fell and the frost returned. In The Smithy Chutney Mary slept curled on the pillow among Callie's hair, and Josh burrowed down under the duvet up the road at East Neuk Cottages.

In Constantine's Cave the man lay huddled at the back of the cave, his eyes closed, picturing a little stream clotted with weeds, and a palace of briars, and a woman whose face he saw now only in his dreams. At the edge of the shore near Pitmillie the water turned thick and slow, moving less and less.

The sea froze.

Something
dragged itself, cracking, from the sea ice, and lumbered up onto the beach, shedding weed and sand and shells as it moved inland.

Luath's barking woke everyone in the house. George and Callie stumbled from their bedrooms, Callie with the kitten clamped to her shoulder in a state of terror. Rose pushed past them, wide awake, and went at once to where the dog stood trembling, hackles up, behind the front door. Without hesitation she opened it.

“Rose – don't! It could be a burglar,” called Callie. George said nothing. A gust of freezing air that smelled of salt and weed blew in, rattling the loose window in the kitchen. Luath stopped barking and edged into the dark garden, growling.

“What do you see, dog?” muttered Rose under her breath. She could sense nothing. “Is it the wind? Is that what you see? Or is there more?”

Even in darkness every shape looked familiar. Luath trotted around it a few times, his agitation diminishing, then shook himself, came back in and lay down on his bed.

“I reckon the dog had a nightmare,” said Rose to no one in particular.

“Do dogs have nightmares?” asked George.

“This one does.” She shut and locked the door, muttering quietly to herself. “Well, we may as well get back to bed. Goodnight.”

But it was a long time before any of them slept.

As Josh walked round to Callie's next morning, he could see his breath hanging in the air like smoke. He wore jeans and a long sleeved tee shirt, a hoodie and his fleece jacket. It he'd had gloves he'd have worn them too. He wriggled his toes in his trainers to keep them warm.

As he pushed open the gate he saw two muddy mountain bikes propped in the garage, good ones by the look of it. Unlike the bikes he and his mates rode in town, these both looked as if they might have been up a few proper hills.

Something crunched under his feet as he went up the path to the front door. He looked down to find a scatter of weed and shells and sand round his feet.

He rang the bell and heard Luath barking somewhere inside. He was getting a bit more used to him now, but he didn't think he was ever going to turn into a dog person.

Callie came to the door yawning.

“Am I too early?”

“No.” She swallowed another yawn. “I just slept badly. Luath was having nightmares or something. He woke us all up barking at something in the garden.”

“What was it?”

“Nothing, as far as we could see.” She focused on the
sea-wrack
round his feet and frowned. “Was that you?”

“No. What – do you think I brought a bucket of seaweed with me to tip over your garden?”

“Sorry; no, of course not. I just wondered where it came from. Come in. It's cold, isn't it? I was just getting some food for us.”

Josh followed her into the kitchen, where George was reading the newspaper, an enormous mug of tea in one hand.

“Morning,” he said. “Hope you've got your thermal underwear on. Mind you, the cycling will warm you up.”

Callie was putting packages of what Josh hoped was food into a small rucsac, while the kitten chased dust balls across the kitchen floor.

“Hello Josh, dear,” said Rose, absently going through the kitchen without stopping. “Ten minutes, George.”

“Yes, my dear.”

“Come on Luath. Out we go.” Rose opened the front door and the dog bounded into the garden, tongue lolling. Rose shut the door behind her and took a crunching step along the path. She stopped, looking down, and her hand went to her mouth.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “Oh please, not yet.” The dog pushed his head against her leg. “Oh Luath, you felt it come, didn't you?” She stroked him absently. “What are we to do? What are we to do?”

It wasn't very hilly between the village and the coast, for a good job. Josh was used to cycling of course, but not really to cycling so far in one go.

At least he wasn't cold, although the frost seemed to get heavier the further they went from Pitmillie.

They came into Crail and turned along the road to Balcomie. A little later they passed Balcomie Castle sitting in the middle of its farm, and then there was only the golf course between them and the sea.

Now that they were here, Josh wasn't sure that he wanted to be. The whole episode with the face behind the ice seemed almost like a dream. He wished he could convince himself that was what it had been, but he couldn't. He knew that he had to go back to the cave before the thing would resolve itself, but he was happy to put it off when Callie suggested they go for a walk in the little wood on the hill.

“There's normally lots of birds in here,” she said. “I don't know why it's so quiet in here today. Of course, they've done really badly raising young in the past few years.” She seemed to assume he would know what she was talking about, so he nodded in agreement.

It was definitely colder here than in the village. There was even a skin of ice on the little pond they passed on their way back down to the beach.

“How about some food?” he said. “I'm starving. Must be all that cycling.”

Callie shrugged. “Okay.” She doubled back along a narrow path that ended at a bench that gave a view down the hill to the chilly sea. She took off her back pack, sat down and started rummage. “Cheese all right?” She passed him a roll crammed with salad and a thick slab of cheese. “There's coffee in the flask. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” He munched his way slowly through the roll. He wasn't actually that hungry. It was just a way to put off going back to the cave.

The coffee was no longer very hot, but it washed down the cheese roll well enough. He turned down the offer of a flapjack for the time being.

“Let's go and look at that cave again, see what's happened to all the ice.”

“Righto,” she said, round a mouthful of roll. “Just let me finish this.”

They walked along the path at the edge of the golf course this time instead of on the beach. There were a few birds here, down by the shore, standing on rocks or pecking at things in the sand. Josh wondered what they were. He was pretty sure Callie would know, but he didn't want to ask her. He was getting fed up of being the one who didn't know stuff.

They rounded a corner and the rock face with its cave was in view. Right, time to set his mind at rest.

The grasses and bushes round the foot of the rocky outcrop were crisp with frost, and it crackled under their feet as they left the path and made their way towards the tall, arched opening.

His heart beating hard, Josh stepped round and into the cave mouth, Callie just behind him. He forced himself to look slowly round the cave, trying not to think about going into the narrow opening at the back.

He almost stopped breathing.

There was a figure sitting on the ground in one of the shallow recesses at the back of the cave, head on folded arms on drawn up knees. Josh knew what his face would look like.

He wanted to run, but his muscles wouldn't do anything. Callie moved round him, apparently unconcerned, saying, “Hello. Are you all right?”

The man didn't move.

“What do you think we should do?” Callie whispered, turning to Josh. She caught sight of his face. “What is it? What's wrong?”

He managed to speak.

“The ice. I saw him before in the ice.”

“Josh, you're not making any sense. What do you mean?”

The man still hadn't stirred.

“When we were in the cave before and there was all that ice in there –” he gestured at the narrow opening at the back of the cave “– when I went back to look again there was a man's face behind the ice. That's what made me drop the torch.”

They were speaking in whispers now.

Callie gave Josh a long, hard look, but to his amazement, not only did she not laugh at him, she seemed to take his ridiculous statement seriously.

“But in that case he'd have to be dead, wouldn't he? He doesn't look dead. And how could George and I not see him?”

“I don't know. I know it doesn't make any sense. What are you doing?” Callie was edging towards the still figure. “Come back!” he hissed. “You don't know what he is.”

“Well, he's not dead, whatever he is. I can see him breathing.”

“Leave him. Come on, let's get away from here.”

“No! What if he's ill, or hurt?” She kept sidling closer.

“Hello,” she said quietly. “Can you hear me? Are you all right?”

There was no reaction from the huddled figure. She said it again, more loudly this time. Still nothing.

Josh moved closer.

The man was dressed in clothes made from what looked like
animal skins, soft and supple, dyed blue and grey. He could see the stitching at the seams on the sleeves. They were decorated with patterns of coloured thread and pieces of shell and what looked like bone. His hair was a mix of black and various greys, longer than Josh's. There were small braids through it, with pieces of bone and silver and fragments of blue feather woven into them.

As he watched, the pattern of the man's breathing changed. Josh began to back away, but before he got more than a few feet the stranger lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Josh. His eyes, as he had known they would be, were a piercing light grey, and his face was filled with melancholy, but when he saw Josh, a sad smile spread slowly across it.

“I knew you would come,” he said.

“Come,” she said, and turned and led us to her hall, and we followed as though we were spellbound, and I suppose we were.

The air was full of the scent of flowers and honey and green things growing.

We walked in under a lintel of living wood into a breathing palace that had no roof but the open sky. Still we clung to each other's hands as we followed the Queen over a carpet of
flower-starred
grass to a white birch that had shaped itself into a throne. I could hear voices here and there, but still saw no one, but now birds and butterflies and dragonflies came fluttering through the windows, and suddenly, where there had been no one there were men, tall and fair, with long, clever eyes, and women so beautiful I could not look at them.