peculiar.”
The kettle on the AGA
whistled and granddad added milk to the flask and then poured in hot water.
“Stay to the lane. There won’t be no traffic. You can’t miss the farm.”
Peter wanted to tell him
about the skin-walkers and the carrier’s attack, but it didn’t fit now with
this new emergency. He folded a square of tin foil around his sandwiches and
dropped them into his backpack.
Granddad handed him the
flask. “You should make it before the light goes, but I’m thinking you should
take a torch.” He strode to the sink and reached across to the window sill
where a large black torch stood on its lens. “Here you are, put that in there
too.”
Peter drew the drawstrings
together and slung the backpack over his shoulders. He didn’t want to see
Almina, but he feared the carrier more. If he hurried and kept out of sight, he
might make it without being caught by either of them.
Granddad opened the door and
they stepped outside together. “Stay here a moment,” and he shuffled through
the drifts to the back of the house.
Big, round snowflakes floated
down and the cold against his cheeks made Peter wince.
Granddad hurried back. “No
sign of her.” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye out ‘til you
reach the woods. Don’t be afraid now. Dad needs your help. Remember, left at
the end of the track. Fast as you can.”
Peter set off at a run. The
backpack bounced up and down. His boots sank into the snow and before he had
covered half the distance to the trees, his thighs and calves ached. He slowed
and took long strides instead, which made it easier. When he reached the trees,
he glanced back and granddad waved from the kitchen door. Peter waved back and
saw, at a small window underneath the battlements, a pale white light. As he
stared, it faded. He faced the track and hurried into the trees.
Why would Almina push dad off
the ladder? She wanted the seal-amulet, but dad didn’t have it. Did Almina know
about the spae-wife? It didn’t seem possible, whole centuries separated them.
Bear talked of time shifting forwards and backwards, he said the skin-walkers fought
the spae-wife in Leonor’s time. If time mingled from past to present to future,
then Almina might know about the spae-wife. Perhaps she was the spae-wife, but
Bear wanted him to search for the spae-wife in Leonor’s and Oswald’s time. His
head hurt from thinking it through.
Leonor existed in this time
too, though unaware of the effect her presence produced on those who met her
now.
Peter glanced to the right.
He hoped to see the old tree and the charred branch. He wanted to return to
Leonor’s time and do as Bear asked, but he must help dad first. He concentrated
on the track, the sooner he reached Farmer Brunt, the sooner he’d be back.
Anxiety sharpened his breathing. The charred branch offered an escape route and
the further away he journeyed, the more vulnerable he became to attack or
capture.
He peered into the shadows
and watched for any sign of movement. His ragged breathing and the heavy tread of
his boots might be the last sound on earth.
The track sloped down as it
cut through the high banks. The trees towered above his head and where the
banks had crumbled, thick roots pushed through the soil. Mounds of snow lay in
uneven heaps where gaps between the branches exposed the grey sky.
Peter reached the lane. A
thin layer of unbroken snow covered its surface. No vehicle had passed to leave
their tyre marks in its pristine whiteness. He checked left and right and
listened. Darker shadows hung along the lane. He remembered that yesterday it reminded
him of a tunnel. He turned left and hurried along.
He kept to the middle and ran
until his legs ached, when he slowed to a quick walk. At every turn, he glanced
behind and noticed the line of uneven prints left by his boots. He dreaded the
thought that he might see someone or something dart behind a tree, but all
remained still and he tried to break his
The kettle on the AGA
whistled and granddad added milk to the flask and then poured in hot water.
“Stay to the lane. There won’t be no traffic. You can’t miss the farm.”
Peter wanted to tell him
about the skin-walkers and the carrier’s attack, but it didn’t fit now with
this new emergency. He folded a square of tin foil around his sandwiches and
dropped them into his backpack.
Granddad handed him the
flask. “You should make it before the light goes, but I’m thinking you should
take a torch.” He strode to the sink and reached across to the window sill
where a large black torch stood on its lens. “Here you are, put that in there
too.”
Peter drew the drawstrings
together and slung the backpack over his shoulders. He didn’t want to see
Almina, but he feared the carrier more. If he hurried and kept out of sight, he
might make it without being caught by either of them.
Granddad opened the door and
they stepped outside together. “Stay here a moment,” and he shuffled through
the drifts to the back of the house.
Big, round snowflakes floated
down and the cold against his cheeks made Peter wince.
Granddad hurried back. “No
sign of her.” He squeezed Peter’s shoulder. “I’ll keep an eye out ‘til you
reach the woods. Don’t be afraid now. Dad needs your help. Remember, left at
the end of the track. Fast as you can.”
Peter set off at a run. The
backpack bounced up and down. His boots sank into the snow and before he had
covered half the distance to the trees, his thighs and calves ached. He slowed
and took long strides instead, which made it easier. When he reached the trees,
he glanced back and granddad waved from the kitchen door. Peter waved back and
saw, at a small window underneath the battlements, a pale white light. As he
stared, it faded. He faced the track and hurried into the trees.
Why would Almina push dad off
the ladder? She wanted the seal-amulet, but dad didn’t have it. Did Almina know
about the spae-wife? It didn’t seem possible, whole centuries separated them.
Bear talked of time shifting forwards and backwards, he said the skin-walkers fought
the spae-wife in Leonor’s time. If time mingled from past to present to future,
then Almina might know about the spae-wife. Perhaps she was the spae-wife, but
Bear wanted him to search for the spae-wife in Leonor’s and Oswald’s time. His
head hurt from thinking it through.
Leonor existed in this time
too, though unaware of the effect her presence produced on those who met her
now.
Peter glanced to the right.
He hoped to see the old tree and the charred branch. He wanted to return to
Leonor’s time and do as Bear asked, but he must help dad first. He concentrated
on the track, the sooner he reached Farmer Brunt, the sooner he’d be back.
Anxiety sharpened his breathing. The charred branch offered an escape route and
the further away he journeyed, the more vulnerable he became to attack or
capture.
He peered into the shadows
and watched for any sign of movement. His ragged breathing and the heavy tread of
his boots might be the last sound on earth.
The track sloped down as it
cut through the high banks. The trees towered above his head and where the
banks had crumbled, thick roots pushed through the soil. Mounds of snow lay in
uneven heaps where gaps between the branches exposed the grey sky.
Peter reached the lane. A
thin layer of unbroken snow covered its surface. No vehicle had passed to leave
their tyre marks in its pristine whiteness. He checked left and right and
listened. Darker shadows hung along the lane. He remembered that yesterday it reminded
him of a tunnel. He turned left and hurried along.
He kept to the middle and ran
until his legs ached, when he slowed to a quick walk. At every turn, he glanced
behind and noticed the line of uneven prints left by his boots. He dreaded the
thought that he might see someone or something dart behind a tree, but all
remained still and he tried to break his
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