by Kit Peel
The barefooted farmer, his axe held in front of him in two huge hands, was striding out of the trees behind the boathouse.
8
—
In the days and nights since she’d last seen him, Wyn had steeled herself for this moment. Whoever or whatever the barefoot farmer was, she’d promised herself that if she ever saw him again, she’d hold her ground.
Now, as the man stepped onto the ice, his collie dog at his side, Wyn fought the fear that was shaking through her bones and drew herself up as tall as she could. She locked eyes with the approaching farmer, and at once felt the force of his will. For a moment Wyn imagined that she was trying to face down all the oaks around the skating lake. The effort made her head hurt. She buckled a little, but didn’t break her stare.
Kate’s hand reached for hers, squeezing tight.
“Oh my God, what is that next to the dog? Is it a ghost?” said Kate.
“You see him now?”
“I don’t know what I’m seeing. What are you seeing?”
“I don’t know.”
Suddenly, the man’s green eyes gleamed, as if a light were shining through them. Kate jumped.
“Oh my God, I can see him … oh my God.”
Kate tugged at Wyn’s hand, but Wyn was stubbornly determined not to retreat. The barefoot farmer broke into a loping run, far faster than his age would suggest.
“Come on!” gasped Kate.
Without breaking pace, the farmer was raising his axe over his head.
“Wyn!”
Wyn found herself almost being yanked off her feet by Kate. The girls turned, slipping and slithering away from the running man, when in a spray of snow, a huge white bear appeared on the other side of the lake. Bounding over the reed beds, the creature thundered across the ice towards them. Caught between the farmer and the bear, the girls froze, not knowing what to do.
“Get off the ice!” yelled the barefoot farmer, running past them, green eyes blazing, the collie dog at his side.
He met the bear head-on, swinging his axe at the creature. A great paw swatted the axe away and then the bear was on top of the man, clawing at him and snapping at his neck. Wyn was sure that the barefoot farmer was going to be killed, but he had taken the bear’s paws in both hands and, incredibly, was pushing the huge creature off him.
The bear was twice his size and many times heavier, but Wyn saw that somehow the man was a match for him. Even though his feet slipped on the ice and the creature wrestled to free his paws, the man kept forcing the bear away.
Then the bear stopped struggling. His eyes, colorless as the ice of the lake, gleamed with a pale light. Opening his mouth, the bear breathed long and hard on the man.
A glittering mist seeped over the old farmer. Wyn saw frost form on his face and hands and all over his worn tweed clothes. Angrily, the man kept pushing the bear back over the ice, but as the frost gripped him, each step became harder. The bear was wresting his paws from the old farmer’s grip. Slowly, his fingers were being unlocked. With a crackling of frost, the man inched his head towards Wyn and Kate.
“Run,” he rasped.
Then the bear’s paws broke free and the farmer was sent tumbling from a single blow to the head. He lay, unmoving, on the ice. The collie dog leapt between him and the bear, snarling for all it was worth. The bear raised a paw and was about to strike the dog, when he stopped, sniffed the air, and fixed his eyes on Wyn and Kate.
The creature began padding towards them.
Kate leapt for the farmer’s axe. She began swinging it over her head, her whole body rocking from the weight of her weapon.
“Get back!” she yelled at the approaching bear.
In reply, the bear struck the surface of the lake with a paw. A split second later, ice rose up from the surface around Kate and Wyn, fastening itself around their legs and creeping up their bodies. In a split second, Kate was frozen rigid. The axe fell from her hands. To her horror, Wyn saw ice going into her friend’s mouth and covering her eyes, dulling the blue in them until they were almost colorless. Wyn tried to walk to her friend, but the ice held her tight. She felt it latching itself to her face and pulling at her hair.
Rage exploded in Wyn. With a yell she tore first one foot, then the other, free from the frozen lake. As she stepped towards Kate, all the ice fell away from Wyn, landing in shards on the lake.
Wyn was too concerned about her friend to notice a golden light that briefly illuminated the falling ice.
The bear was all teeth and claws, ice and fury. Roaring, he reared up on his hind legs, dwarfing the two girls.
Hugging Kate close to her, Wyn waited for the creature to crush them.
Winds billowed all around the lake, stripping snow from the trees. Out of nowhere, Tawhir appeared next to Wyn, his arms flung wide.
Now the gale drove into the bear, rippling his white coat. He dropped to all fours, snarling.
Her arms still locked around Kate, Wyn watched Tawhir, awestruck. Incredible as it seemed, Wyn knew that Tawhir was making the wind. He stood on the ice, long hair whipping over his face, his eyes filled with the same unnatural light as the barefoot farmer and the bear.
With a roar that showed every inch of his huge mouth, the bear bent his head into the gale and took a step forward. Tawhir fell to one knee, his head bowed, arms stretched straight in front as if he was trying to stop a train. The bear kept coming. Now he was only a few yards from the boy.
“Wyn,” gasped Tawhir, as the bear took another pace closer. “You’re stronger than him, drive him off.”
Wyn had no idea what Tawhir was talking about. She couldn’t do anything but stare, uncomprehending, at the boy and the bear. The bear was taking another step closer, his teeth snapping inches from the boy’s hands. Tawhir took a step back. The bear roared with satisfaction, his pale eyes burning bright.
“Quickly. Use your fire!” gasped Tawhir, glancing back at Wyn.
“My what?!”
“Your fire! Now!” Tawhir was shouting.
“Fire?! What fire?!” she yelled back, holding onto Kate and shaking her head at the boy, who had turned his attention from the bear and was staring at her in disbelief.
The old farmer was rising to his feet behind the bear, raising his axe. At the last second, the creature spun around. The old farmer’s eyes blazed with a green light that also washed over his arms, running down his axe. The blade slammed into the bear, lodging itself deep in the creature’s chest. As the bear tried to tear out the blade, the man sprang forward and seized the bear by the neck, forcing his hands into the creature’s fur as his eyes blazed and sweat ran down his face. They faced each other for a moment; man and bear. Then there was a crack and the bear was falling, his head lolling, and meanwhile the green light was fading from around the barefoot man.
The wind vanished. Other than the sound of the old farmer’s heavy breathing, the skating lake was silent.
As the old farmer wrenched the axe from the bear, the creature disintegrated into glittering flakes of snow.
Leaving Wyn’s side, Tawhir walked to the bear’s remains, moving the finger of one hand in a circular motion and whispering something under his breath. A small tornado, no higher than the boy, gathered up the snow lying on the frozen lake and spun it upwards into the sky and then northwards.
But Wyn only watched the tornado for a moment. She was rubbing off the ice that had formed on her friend’s face and neck and gently picking it from her lips. Kate’s breath was coming in a whisper, so faint that Wyn was terrified it would stop at any moment.
The barefoot farmer crouched down beside her, reaching for Kate.
“Give her to me,” he said.
“Keep away,” cried Wyn, hugging her friend close.
The old man gave an exclamation of impatience. “I’ll not hurt Robin’s little girl.”
To Wyn�
��s surprise, she found that she knew his name: Thwaite.
“Quickly now,” he insisted.
Reluctantly, she let him take Kate. He cradled her against his chest, holding her with one of his huge hands. With the other, he slipped his canvas pack from his shoulders and laid it on the ice. Taking a large earthenware pot from the pack, he opened it and scooped out a handful of purple paste, which he gently rubbed into Kate’s forehead. The paste sparkled when he touched it and, to Wyn’s relief, a little of Kate’s usual color returned. Taking her face in his hands, Thwaite called Kate’s name, telling her to wake. She didn’t stir. Frowning, the man repeated his words. Wyn’s previous hope turned to panic.
“What is it? Can you help her?” she asked.
“Not here, not on the ice.”
Telling Tawhir to bring his axe and pack, Thwaite lifted up Kate and strode off across the lake.
“Where are you taking her?” demanded Wyn, hurrying beside the barefoot farmer, who was heading towards the bank in a long, loping gait. His collie dog trotted beside her. In answer, as soon as they were off the frozen lake, Thwaite bent down and shoved aside the snow. When it was cleared, he laid Kate down with infinite care and knelt beside her, placing both his hands on the exposed ground. Wyn watched Thwaite push his hands into the hard soil. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply.
For a moment, nothing happened. Wyn stood dead still, arms gripped around her chest, sick with worry for her friend.
The same green glow that Wyn had seen on Thwaite’s arms when he struck the bear now formed on the earth under his hands. It crept up over his fingers and spread across his whole body. The ground trembled. All around the lake, Wyn heard the trees creak and saw branches sway even though there was no wind. Sweat broke out on the farmer’s face. His breathing grew fast and deep.
It’s a dream, Wyn thought. None of this is real. She wasn’t outside, on the ice. She was asleep in bed and Kate was asleep in her room across the corridor.
Wyn almost jumped out of her skin when Tawhir appeared right in front of her. Throwing down the axe and canvas pack, he shook Thwaite’s shoulder.
“Are you insane, earther? You don’t have the strength for this. Let Wyn get the ice out of her.”
“What can she do?” said the old farmer, his hands still pressed against the ground and his chest heaving with strain.
“Anything! Everything! How blind are you? You must see who she is.”
“I know exactly who she is. She’s Wyn March.”
“She’s Mugasa.”
The old farmer glanced at Tawhir, then Wyn, in utter disbelief.
“You’ve been flying too close to the moon and it’s muddled your mind. Mugasa died. We all know this. The child has the gift and that’s all.”
“Who do you think the bear was hunting?” insisted Tawhir. “And why was she untouched by his cold? Yes, Mugasa died, but she was reborn. Wyn is Mugasa.”
The old farmer fixed his eyes on Wyn, shaking his head as he looked her up and down.
“Impossible,” he muttered.
“Stop bothering with me and look after Kate,” snapped Wyn, hating the attention. But even as she was speaking, Wyn saw that Kate’s face was turning a deathly white again.
Snatching his hands from the ground, Thwaite clasped Kate tight to his chest. The muscles in his face and veins on his hands stood out. Wyn almost fell over as the ground trembled. As before, the trees swayed around the lake, but more violently this time, shaking snow from creaking branches. Sweat was pouring down Thwaite’s face now and his breaths were coming in gasps. The shaking that had begun in his arms now spread across his entire body. Slowly, the green light seeped out of his eyes, and as it did, the ground and the trees fell silent.
Struggling to keep control of himself, Thwaite laid Kate back on the exposed earth.
Then he was beset by rasping coughs. He leant back on his haunches, gasping for air. The collie dog padded over to Thwaite, pressing close to the old man and watching him anxiously.
Wyn dropped to the ground beside her best friend. Kate’s eyes were still shut, her expression unchanged. Wyn took off her coat and laid it over Kate. She did this as gently as she could, terrified in case the weight of the coat extinguished completely the last sign of life in her friend.
9
—
Supporting himself with his axe, Thwaite pulled himself to his feet. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled a short, lyrical burst of music.
Moments later three blackbirds — a male, a female and a younger female — swooped through the snow-clad trees and landed on Thwaite’s outstretched palms. Without saying anything, he looked closely at the birds, brushing his fingers and thumbs against their wings and tail feathers. Thwaite cast the blackbirds back into the air. Wyn watched them fly fast and low, towards Pateley Bridge.
With the greatest care, Thwaite lifted Kate into his arms and began striding after the birds.
“They’ll find Robin and bring him to the outskirts of Pateley. He can take Kate to your doctors. Perhaps they’ll be able to help her,” he told Wyn, who had to jog alongside him to keep up. The collie dog bounded ahead.
They passed under the trees at the edge of the lake and scrambled down onto a twisty track beside the river that Wyn had never seen before. Wyn was too preoccupied with Kate to notice the trees shifting around them, their branches moving to let them through. One of Kate’s hands hung by Thwaite’s waist and Wyn clasped it, praying and hoping that the doctors would find a way to help her friend. To Wyn, the continuing argument between Tawhir and Thwaite was like noise in a far-off place.
“Doctors?!” exclaimed Tawhir, who was effortlessly keeping pace with them, passing over the snow without making a sound. “Will you listen to yourself? You know that there’s no human doctor who can draw the ice out of that girl. Wyn’s the only chance she has.”
“It’s time you were moving on, boy.”
“Cold doesn’t touch her. She’s got no parents. She was born at the very moment that Mugasa died, when the world started to turn colder. Ring any bells?”
“Coincidence.”
“At least test her. You can do that, can’t you?”
“I’ve work to be getting on with and no time for distractions.”
“Of all the blinkered, stubborn earthers, you take the prize!” exclaimed Tawhir. “The end of summer is in three days! Three days until the last chance to restore balance to the world is gone! And now, by a miracle, we’ve found her — the supreme spirit — the one being who can turn back the snows and you won’t even test her. Why? Let me guess. Is it because you’re afraid that you might look a bit stupid for not spotting her for all these years? Better to keep your pride intact than grasp the last chance we have to save the world from an everlasting winter.”
The old man’s face darkened.
“You think I haven’t watched this girl from the moment she came to my dale? But she is a girl, a human child. Mugasa would never have been reborn in this form.”
“Of all spirits, you know better than any of us that we do not choose the form of our rebirth,” said Tawhir, blocking her path. Now his face was inches from Wyn’s, making her feel disorientated and angry and giddy all at once.
“Get out of my way,” she said.
“Not until you start telling the truth. We know that cold doesn’t touch you, but what other powers do you have that you are hiding from us? What about water and wind? Can you bend them to your will? And fire?” Tawhir took a slow breath. “What power do you have over fire?”
A shiver ran through Wyn. She felt like the boy, with his piercing eyes, was dragging all her fears into the light. Furiously, she shoved him away from her.
“Shut up! Just shut up!” she cried. “Kate’s hurt and you’re going on about some crazy rubbish. I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t care. If you can’t do anything
to help Kate, I just want you to go!”
Tawhir had been rocked back by her hands. He recovered his balance and took a step towards her.
“Do as she says,” said Thwaite.
Tawhir’s features hardened into a cold mask, and for a split second Wyn was sure that she’d seen that same expression on him, but in a different time and a different landscape. There was something so familiar about him. The boy raised one hand, and Wyn thought he was going to lash out at Thwaite. She saw the barefoot man brace himself and reach over his shoulder for his axe. Tawhir’s hand dropped to his side. Wind and snow whirled around him until, with a last glance at Wyn, he vanished. A small tornado was climbing fast into the murky sky. Narrowing her eyes, Wyn saw the tornado had a shadow inside it.
Snow had dusted Kate’s face and hair. Slipping off her sweater, Wyn used it to carefully wipe the snow away.
“Who are you people?” she demanded, turning back to Thwaite.
The old man didn’t reply. He was watching her, frowning.
It took Wyn a moment to figure out what he was staring at. Without her sweater, she was only wearing a T-shirt, and she had forgotten to shiver. Self-conscious under Thwaite’s scrutiny, she hastily put the sweater back on, muttering what Mrs. March used to tell her when she was little. “I’ve got good circulation.”
Two of Thwaite’s blackbirds returned, chattering noisily. On the path above, Wyn heard Robin calling out. Shouting a reply, Wyn scrambled out from the tunnel under the trees and up the bank. Thwaite came behind her, carrying Kate, and Robin was running over the snow towards them.
The rest of the day was a nightmare for Wyn: hurrying alongside Robin as he carried Kate to the Pateley Bridge Medical Center; a frantic Joan and Lisa appearing; the car journey behind the ambulance to Harrogate; and then the squeak of the hospital floor as Wyn wandered alone, around and around Harrogate Hospital, praying that Kate would be all right; watching her friend through a window, lying in bed, the doctors unable to bring her out of her coma; Joan not looking at Wyn as she sat at her daughter’s bed; Robin driving her and Lisa home; a dinner that nobody had any appetite for; Lisa going on and on at her, refusing to believe that Kate had simply slipped on the ice and hit her head.
