The woman smiled once more. ‘My name is Leila. I am Wilf’s mother. Welcome to our home. Take a seat by the fire and I’ll find you some dry clothes and serve up some food.’
The children sank down by the fire on a pile of cushions, murmuring words of appreciation and soaking up the warmth and colour of the mountain tent. Wilf returned after a few moments with large golden Jonte. The hound flopped down on a soft pallet inside the door. Aisha lay down nearby, one ear cocked as always for danger.
Leila bustled around finding dry clothes, making hot milky coffee for everyone, then serving them large bowls of steaming stew with hunks of fresh bread. After days of blizzard, it was one of the best meals they had ever tasted. No-one spoke as they gobbled large bowls of the stew.
Leila served herself a smaller bowl and sat cross-legged by the fire. She seemed to realise they were all exhausted and did not press them to talk. After dinner, Leila and Wilf cleared away the empty bowls, ignoring the children’s offers to help.
‘Sleep now,’ murmured Leila. ‘Time enough to talk on the morrow.’
Obediently the four children rolled themselves in thick rugs by the fire and quickly fell asleep, warm for the first time in days.
Leaving Aisha and Jonte inside the door, on guard, Wilf and Leila withdrew outside to the roaring camp fires. Wilf told her and the rest of the tribe all that he had learned about the strangers, the black crows and the young boy imprisoned in the snowy tower. The mountain tribe folk discussed the dilemma back and forth, over and over. Wilf argued vehemently the case for his newfound protégés, while several tribesmen argued against him.
‘It is none of our concern. Our tribal gathering is in a few days. We have business of our own to worry about without interfering in the business of the south.’
‘There is talk that more of the black crows are heading north. In the south they have wrought much destruction, burning villages, stealing animals and crops, and taking slaves. The black crows will soon do the same here.’
‘We don’t have villages, and the snow lands will protect us. We can disappear into the mountains at the first sign of trouble.’
‘The first sign of trouble was when the black crows moved into the Tower of Snows.’
‘The spring thaws are on their way, so the snow will not protect us then. Summer is the time for us to enjoy the sunshine and grassy meadows, not flee into the high mountains.’
‘The black crows have stolen a child of the southerners. What if they start stealing our children? Who will help us then if we do not help now?’
‘We can protect ourselves against the black crows.’
‘How do you think we can defeat the black crows, when the southerners with all their weapons and ships and fortifications could not?’
‘The southern children are inexperienced in the snows,’ Leila cried. ‘They may well die without help. How will you feel when the spring thaws reveal their lifeless bodies?’
‘I will help the southerners,’ Wilf declared hotly. ‘I will guide them up the mountain to the tower and back again if no-one else cares to help.’
‘Well, there is no harm in letting the children travel with us to the north, to the tribal gathering,’ decided the clan chieftain. ‘It is closer to the tower, and we may learn something of the black crows from the other tribes. We can decide then what to do.’
The camp fire had dropped low, and the stars were blazing in the chilly air when the discussion faltered and the tribesfolk made their way to bed.
The children slept late the next morning, oblivious to the furore their visit had sparked. When at last they awoke it was well past dawn, and the rest of the dome village was long since about. Wilf came in to check on them, bringing in steaming cups of tea and hot buttered scones. They ate ravenously once more, feeling their strength and vitality return with the food, warmth and rest. Wilf sat and ate with them, sharing the information he had learnt.
‘The Tower of Snows, or the Tower of Sun and Moon as you call it, is about two days’ travel from here, along the base of this valley then up a mountain,’ Wilf explained. ‘It is a hard trek. Our people are travelling northwards to meet the other mountain tribes for our spring festival. My tribe discussed it last night, and believe you should travel north with us tomorrow. Then I can guide you up into the mountains, when the weather is suitable, to help you find your way. I can also teach you some snow craft as we travel.’
The others nodded, seeing the sense in the plan. Their travels of the last few days in the snow had made them more respectful of its dangers and travails. Plus it felt so wonderful to be warm and dry and well fed.
After breakfast, the children left Charcoal purring by the fire while they visited the horses. Nutmeg, Moonbeam, Toffee, Caramel and Mischief were huddled blissfully together with the smaller ponies, munching on sweet dry hay. The horses deserved a rest even more than the humans.
They followed Wilf down to the edge of the lake, with Jonte and Aisha trotting at their heels. Wilf had a bag slung over his shoulder, which he opened to reveal a pile of whittled bones and leather straps.
‘Lesson one. We’re going to strap these over our boots,’ Wilf explained. ‘Then I’m going to teach you to skate on the ice.’
Each one fastened a thin bone blade to the base of their boots, using the leather straps and steel buckles. Wilf led them out onto the thick grey ice of the frozen lake.
At first Lily, Ethan, Saxon and Roana were as clumsy as newborn colts, wobbling and slipping, falling with a heavy thump on their bottoms, sliding and waving their arms around, screaming and laughing, struggling back onto to their skates and trying again. Wilf was as graceful as a dancer, gliding and turning, skating and skimming and showing off.
‘This is really hard,’ panted Lily, rubbing her backside, which was feeling rather bruised.
‘It won’t take you long to get the hang of it,’ Wilf laughed. ‘Don’t try to walk, you kind of swing from side to side, transferring your weight from foot to foot and pushing away across the ice. Once you get in a rhythm it feels fantastic – like you’re flying.’
Lily was the first to get it, but soon all four were skating rhythmically with only the occasional tumble. At last Wilf was satisfied.
‘All right, that’s your first lesson concluded.’ Wilf smiled. ‘Now for something harder.’
The children changed their bone skates for snow shoes – the netted base that strapped onto the bottom of their boots. Then Wilf handed them each a pair of polished wooden planks that were carved into a rounded, upturned point at one end, and a pair of long wooden poles.
‘We’re climbing up that hill there,’ Wilf explained, ‘then we’re sliding down on these skis.’
Roana looked up at the steep slope of the hill ahead of them. ‘Sliding down?’ she asked incredulously. ‘How?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Wilf promised. ‘It’s like skating. It takes a little while to get the hang of it, but once you do, it is the best feeling in the world!’
The children puffed and panted as they climbed up the slope. The snow shoes made it much easier than wearing ordinary boots, but it was still hard work.
‘Is this not far enough?’ complained Roana, shifting the skis on her shoulder to a more comfortable position.
‘No,’ replied Wilf. ‘It is too steep here for beginners, the slope is gentler higher up.’
At last Wilf decided that the terrain was suitable for their first skiing lesson.
Skiing resulted in even more falls than the skating lesson, but at least the snow was deep and soft, unlike the rock-hard ice. All four children were fit, with a good sense of balance, but it was still difficult to get going. Wilf taught them to start off with the points of their skis pointed in together in a V shape, to slow them down. They wibbled and wobbled, zigzagging down the slope, falling over every few metres and struggling to clamber up out of the wet, clingy snow to try again.
After four hours, they were sliding a lot faster, turning closer together and travelling
further before they fell again. They flew over the snow, swooping and gliding, filled with exhilaration. That evening when they trudged back to camp carrying the heavy skis and poles, their calves and thighs ached, their fingers were frozen and their knees creaked, but their hearts sang with happiness.
That night around the camp fire the tribes-people told stories of the mountain – of great heroes who had fought battles against snow giants and fierce ogres, of the wee folk, who sometimes spirited babies away, or tricked wanderers away from the path with eerie lanterns and enchanting music.
‘You must be careful of the trolls when you climb up into the mountains,’ warned an old woman, who seemed to be missing most of her teeth. ‘The trolls swoop out of the snow caves and trip innocent travellers. You’ll be tossed down a crevasse in no time if you don’t watch out.
‘Then there are the snow giants. Mostly you only see them in storms where they club each other to death. They throw boulders around wildly – their aim is terrible, but a whole mountain of snow can fall away when the snow giants are squabbling. If you’re in their path, well, you have no hope of surviving that avalanche of snow. Then there are the grey wolves of the mountain peaks. They’re mighty hungry at this time of year, after the long winter.’ The old woman pointed an arthritic, bony finger at Lily. ‘They’d rip a little girl like you to shreds in moments if they found you all alone on the mountain. Beware. Beware.’
‘Oh, auntie,’ Wilf interrupted politely. ‘The southerners will be fine – they’re with me. I won’t let snow giants or wolves harm them.’ Lily looked at slight Wilf and shivered with nerves.
Overhead a million stars blazed in a clear black sky. The waxing moon would not rise until after dawn, so the night was dark and full of mystery. Aisha snored gently, curled close to Jonte.
‘It will soon be late, and we have an early start tomorrow,’ Leila reminded them gently. ‘Perhaps it is best if you all go to sleep now.’
Lily gave a huge yawn in acknowledgement, which set everyone else yawning too. Sleepily they said their good nights at the fireside and scampered through the night cold to their blankets by the banked coals inside Wilf’s dome.
In Bryn, Sniffer visited all the inns asking after the children. At the Black Bear Inn he jingled his coins and asked his questions once more, only to receive the same reply – no-one had seen the southern children travelling north.
‘Well, I’ll have a room for the night, and a meal,’ ordered Sniffer, glancing around the cosy taproom, noting the roaring log fire and the big plates of beef stew set in front of the locals.
‘Sorry, we’re full,’ responded the innkeeper curtly, nodding to the door. ‘All out of food too. Shame about that.’
Sniffer growled in disgust and was inclined to argue, but one of the burly bargemen rose to his feet, glaring menacingly. Sniffer hurriedly decided to leave.
The baker sold him bread that was days old, stale and crumbly, and reiterated that there had been no sign of four children from the south. Sniffer ate the musty bread with distaste.
At last Sniffer discovered some news of his quarry. An impoverished tinker confirmed that he had seen four children, riding horses, heading to the north, towards the Silent Mountains. Sniffer handed over some coins and left the exhausted stolen gelding with the excited tinker.
Sniffer found the stables behind one of the inns, and chose a strong black stallion as a fresh mount. This time he was not so lucky. A burly farrier discovered Sniffer helping himself to the tack room.
‘Not so fast, you blasted Sedah thief,’ growled the farrier, gripping Sniffer in a vice-like grip. ‘Where do you think you are taking the master’s best horse?’
‘I wasn’t stealing it, I was simply borrowing it for a while,’ explained Sniffer, struggling in the farrier’s grip. The farrier gave Sniffer a hearty cuff over the ear. The blow left him with ringing ears and double vision.
The farrier dragged Sniffer to the street, struck him another huge blow across the head, then gave him a kick on the backside that sent him sprawling onto the cobbles.
‘Next time I see your snivelling face around here, you’ll get more than a gentle push with my boot,’ growled the farrier. ‘Get out of here before I call the magistrate and have you thrown into the town prison.’
Sniffer stumbled off, his head spinning and his pride and body badly bruised. Yet he was not to be deterred by this minor setback. At the next inn, he found another horse to be stolen, and continued his chase into the mountains.
In the gardener’s cottage of the Palace of Tira, Marnie and Queen Ashana were sitting with the ladies-in-waiting, endlessly sewing and embroidering. They were surrounded by swathes of blood-red silk and velvet.
‘How I hate the sight of this colour,’ moaned Queen Ashana, stabbing her needle through the material with resentment. She looked pale and wan, and her fingernails were bitten to the quick. ‘I feel we have done nothing except sew this dreadful gown forever.’
‘We are much better being busy here than languishing in those terrible dungeons, and at least it takes our mind off wherever the children may be and what dangers they may be facing,’ Marnie soothed.
Queen Ashana looked a little shamefaced to be complaining when Princess Roana, Lily, Ethan and Saxon were facing unknown perils.
A loud bugle cry sounded from outside. Queen Ashana winced and pulled a face at the others. Marnie immediately shook out the crimson velvet and began sewing industriously. Lord Lazlac swept into the cottage, preceded by his two bodyguards.
‘Good morning, ladies, good morning, Ashana, my dear,’ Lord Lazlac purred. ‘How does the wedding gown fare?’
‘Very well,’ smiled Queen Ashana painfully. She held up the cloth for inspection. Lord Lazlac frowned, staring at the metres of flowing fabric.
‘I thought it would be nearly finished by now,’ Lord Lazlac grimaced. ‘I am sure that you had completed more sewing when I saw the gown three days ago? What have you been doing!’
‘Sadly the seams were not perfect,’ Marnie replied, feigning distress. ‘Her majesty was not pleased with the work so we had to unpick all the seams and start again. It has only slowed work down by a few days. Naturally her majesty wishes the gown to be absolutely perfect.’
Lord Lazlac swore nastily.
Willem was feeling much stronger now after days of labouring on the temple site. His muscles still screamed every morning but the stiffness was less every day. Cookie made sure the prisoners had at least one good meal a day, and they often found something delicious and nutritious hidden inside their slabs of bread.
Outwardly, Cookie was careful to treat all the prisoners the same, in a kindly but detached manner. She was careful not to talk to Willem every day, and to be as unobtrusive as possible. Cookie made sure that she spoke to plenty of other prisoners and allowed the guards to hear these innocuous conversations. ‘Hope you enjoy your lunch, laddie.’ ‘It’s a beautiful morning today, isn’t it? Although the Moonmother knows the kitchen garden could do with some rain.’ ‘Would you like another cup of water there, you surely look a wee parched?’ ‘Hot work for you lads out here.’
Yet every few days she would whisper an odd scrap of news to Willem. ‘The children found the sun and the moon and stars,’ Cookie murmured one day, while she bent doling water into his cup. ‘Friends are working in the woods and should come visiting soon,’ she whispered another day.
Not wanting to be noticed, Willem rarely answered, other than a murmured, ‘Thank you kindly, ma’am,’ but he hugged the news inside like a much-loved treasure.
Cookie was always sure to report back to Marnie that Willem was still working on the site, that he looked healthier and stronger, that he was safe.
Governor Lazlac came to inspect the site each evening. The Garden of Sun and Moon was now a perfectly level patch of black-brown earth, with no sign of flowers, fountain, love seats, butterflies, bees, grass or paving.
Massive blocks of black basalt stone were delivered. Now the truly backbreakin
g work began – to shift, slide and heave the stone into place. To create foundations, floor, steps, walls and turrets from the fine, black rock. To fashion a soaring black temple to a foreign god. To make Governor Lazlac’s glorious dreams become a reality.
In the morning the children were woken by Leila shaking them. They could tell by the darkness in the tent that the sun had not yet risen. Yawning, stretching, muttering sleepily, the five children started to pack and help. Leila made tea, while Wilf, Saxon and Ethan dismantled the white felt dome. Lily and Roana bundled blankets, cushions, rugs and cooking utensils and carried them out to the sleds. Wilf’s father, Jared, packed the two sleds meticulously, obviously well practised at the task.
At last the sleds were ready. Lily and Roana groomed and saddled the five horses while Ethan and Saxon packed the saddle bags and packs. Wilf and his parents harnessed their own horses to the sleds. Wilf and Jonte were to herd the reindeer along the lake’s edge. At last the whole tribe was ready to go. The first sleds slid out across the snow with a hissing noise and a jingle of bells.
The ride was picturesque and companionable, with tribesfolk calling comments and greetings as they skated along on their skis, gliding effortlessly. Aisha enjoyed helping Wilf and Jonte herd the reindeer, barking and bossing the skittery animals. Every now and again, she ran back to check on Lily and Ethan, but she was loving the novelty of canine companionship and herding work.
Breakfast was eaten in the saddle – dried biscuits and smoked strips of reindeer meat with water from the water bottle, with a similar meal eaten at lunchtime. The cavalcade did not stop but meandered slowly and steadily along the valley floor. Children ran alongside the sleds to stretch their legs, climbed up on top of the sleds for a rest or a nap, or sat astride the shaggy, fat mountain ponies.
The Snowy Tower Page 10
