by Helen Slavin
That night, as on all the others, Vanessa did not sleep well. Hettie was woken as Vanessa got up and left her room. There were not the usual bathroom sounds and so Hettie listened harder, heard the doors to the porch open, the creak of the deckboards outside.
She pulled on her black waxed raincoat and stepped out through the kitchen door. As Hettie made her way around the side of the cottage, she could see Vanessa walking down towards the water, her bare feet not bothered by the stones. Hettie watched, careful to remain out of sight. Her daughter stood as though asleep, the breeze rose and Hettie took in a scent that she was not used to, the hint of snow and of smokey honey. As she watched the water grew steely grey beneath the night sky, a thin light glimmered from its surface and a different sound lifted out of the water, discordant, offkey. The hair on the back of her neck rose and she folded herself deeper into her coat. The water’s edge was stiffening into thin shards of ice that could not hold their shape, the lake water lapped and sipped them to liquid. After a few moments Vanessa turned back into the house.
In the morning there was no breakfast. Vanessa awoke from her troubled sleep and after dressing she headed into the living room to take up her seat and her studies. Her mother barred her way.
“You are my daughter. My family.” Hettie spoke, her voice too quiet, sounding strained. She took in two or three deep breaths, as if she was considering her actions, before speaking again.
“Understand. I would not do this normally. Know. I do not do this lightly.” Hettie was struggling with emotion, her eyes searching her daughter’s face. “But today it must be done.” Vanessa felt the burning heat from her mother, the spell was being cast and she let it warm her.
“You have found your way here, there is time enough to tell me…” Hettie’s voice was altered as it reached Vanessa’s ears, deeper, commanding and she could not stop herself from talking, of bark and lichen, blood and ice, of maps and paths and the route to Far North.
It was a full moon, of course, when the baby, a girl, was born. They had not argued about where Vanessa was going to give birth, Hettie thought she might have argued for the science and safety of the hospital at Castlebury but Vanessa wanted to be home.
“Not want to be. Must be.” Vanessa said and knew her mother would understand. That was a difference since her homecoming, Vanessa had a new angle on her mother and their relationship. She saw Pike Lake with different, wider angled eyes and was more careful about the paths she took in Havoc Wood.
Right now however, there was a pressing need to get down to the lake shore, to the flat rock.
“The lake…by the lake…got to be there…” Vanessa took her breaths, deep and regulated and not the slightest bit of use against the deep and rolling tidal wave of pain.
“You do what you must…I’ll follow…” Hettie felt her daughter crush her hand as she rode out the newly powerful contractions. She had been afraid before, at the beginning, but now, with the contractions really strong, Vanessa changed mental gears, she was, Hettie understood, locking into the practical biology of childbirth to distract herself.
Outside, the moon had shifted its light and illuminated the flat rock that served as resting place and sentinel post at all times of the year. Vanessa’s progress was measured in pain as she halted every third step to ride out each new wave of agony.
Hettie Way had delivered many babies over her lifetime but her heart was pounding at the imminent arrival of her first grandchild. She too, locked onto the practicalities, this was not the time to be felled by emotions. They were both focused on the pain, on the timing, arriving at the rock as Vanessa’s waters broke, flooding over the rock and lashing back and over and into the lake where they were drunk up thirstily.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Vanessa’s voice was low and tight, grinding through the contraction.
“You don’t have to, your body does.” her mother said and squeezed her hand. Vanessa gave her a searing, poignant look, looked through her almost as if at a stranger, tears springing into her wild scared eyes.
“It will be fine.” and Hettie hoped it would be. Her daughter was strong, so far everything was progressing.
In the end, there were no dramas, once at the rock the contractions were harder and in a few moments the baby was out, slithering onto the rock with a cry that echoed around the lake. Hettie cut the cord and Vanessa held her daughter to her chest. Hettie waited, worried about them getting cold, anxious to get them inside the cottage. For some time Vanessa couldn’t speak, could only make strange small moans and then the tears washed out of her, warming her daughter who gave another strong, high cry. Tears pressed at Hettie Way’s eyes and blurred her view of her newborn granddaughter.
They called her, Anna.
Far North, a lone black wolf paced by a hole in the ice on a vast frozen lake that had a name no one could remember. At a sound, a high cry, as of a baby being born, the wolf looked deep into the water, reached in with its tongue and lapped a little. Then, he turned and headed back towards the shoreline.
Anyone foolish enough to be freezing on the lake would have watched the wolf’s steady progress, up until the moment that the wolf seemed to stretch and yawn its body open and out stepped a man who once was Dr Lachlan Laidlaw.
Different now. Chieftain. Ice King. The God of Winter’s Night.
A man who found himself Elsewhere and was not given to looking back.
This is A Witch Ways Whisper
For more from the Ways, look out for their new series coming later this year and further Whispers just around the corner…
To keep up with Helen Slavin and the Ways, visit Helen’s website, www.helenslavin.com, or join the community on Twitter, @HelenSlavinBooks
This edition published in 2016 by Ipso Books
Ipso Books is a division of Peters Fraser + Dunlop Ltd
Drury House, 34-43 Russell Street, London WC2B 5HA
Copyright © Helen Slavin, 2016
All rights reserved
You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
CONTENTS
Part One – Pike Lake
Part Two – The Goose Fair
Part Three – Coming of Age
Part Four – Arctic ‘85
Part Five – There is No Time
