by Anne Forbes
“We’ve lots to tell you,” Neil said to his mother as he and Clara entered the kitchen. Mrs MacLean, however, busy unpacking groceries and feeling more than slightly flustered, hardly heard him.
Frowning as she scanned the assortment of food that lay on the work surface, she sighed as she handed Clara a carton of milk to put in the fridge. “Living between two houses isn’t a picnic,” she observed irritably. “I always seem to manage to forget something!”
It was only later that evening when they’d had dinner and were settled round the fire that Mrs MacLean remembered Neil’s words. “You said that you had lots to tell us when you came in. Did something happen at school?”
Neil told them with Clara chipping in occasionally.
“You saw a witch — on a broomstick?” her mother said in disbelief.
“I was wearing my firestone,” Clara nodded. “That’s why I could see her. She’d be invisible to everyone else, of course.”
“What worries me most about the whole affair is that Herr von Grozny knew we were in the library,” interrupted Neil, “we were wearing our rings and only magic people would sense that we were there, you know.”
Clara nodded. “I had German yesterday,” she said with a sudden shiver, “and I was scared to look him in the face.”
Neil nodded. “We’re all dead quiet in his class,” he admitted. “But he’s a superb teacher. I can speak quite a lot of German already, you know. It’s …”
“It’s what, Neil?” his father queried, looking at him in surprise, for Neil had stopped abruptly.
“I was going to say,” Neil swallowed, “that it was … almost magical how easily I was picking it up.”
Clara looked at him, gathering his meaning. “Yeah,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ve been finding it dead easy as well. Do you think he is? I mean, using magic to get us to learn?”
Neil nodded.
“Maybe we should go up to Edinburgh tomorrow,” Mrs MacLean said uneasily as she looked across the room at her husband. “I’d be a lot happier if the MacArthur knew what was going on.”
Her husband nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed, “but it’ll have to be next weekend. You’re forgetting that the builder’s dropping by tomorrow with some tile samples.”
“Next week will be okay,” Neil nodded, “and you don’t need to drive down to collect us,” he added. “We can get the school bus to drop us at Berwick Station and catch the train up to Edinburgh.”
“Great,” Clara said, her eyes shining at the thought of an unexpected train journey, “and you never know, maybe the MacArthur will be able to solve Auntie Muriel’s riddle as well,” she added.
The MacArthur raised his eyebrows when he read Clara’s riddle and, handing it to Hamish, Jaikie and Archie, looked at her thoughtfully. The talisman, as he had told her, was a powerful object of magic and what the Lords of the North would say at such a turn of events, he wasn’t quite sure. Arthur, the great dragon, curled contentedly beside the MacArthur’s chair, listened with the others as Neil and Clara recounted what had happened at school the week before and, when they’d finished, said in his hissing, dragon voice. “Lady Merial has given you a dangerous task, Clara.”
Everyone nodded and looked questioningly at the MacArthur.
“We were hoping that you might be able to work out the riddle,” John MacLean said hopefully.
The MacArthur shook his head as did Hamish, Jaikie and Archie. “I wish I could, but I’m as baffled as you are,” he admitted.
“I was hoping that Kitor might be here,” Clara said, looking round for the crow that had shared many of their adventures. “I thought it might be a good idea if he and Cassia could come to school and stay with us for a while. The grounds are huge and there are lots of trees around for them to hide in. They’d be able to keep a look out for the witch and tell us where she goes and everything.”
“That’s not a problem,” the MacArthur smiled. “They’ll be back soon and you can sort it out then. I’m sure they’d love to stay with you.”
“That’s a great idea, Clara,” Neil said, sitting up straight on his cushion. “They could take messages between us, as well,” he added, looking at the MacArthur. “We hardly see one another at school,” he explained, “and we need to keep in touch.”
“It’s a pity that we’re too far away from Edinburgh to call our magic carpets all the time,” Clara said. “They’d be ideal for exploring the countryside.”
Hamish and Jaikie looked at one another and then at the MacArthur. “Er … there are always the broomsticks,” Jaikie offered tentatively.
“Broomsticks?” Neil and Clara repeated together, looking at him in amazement. “What broomsticks?”
“The Snow Witches’ broomsticks that we used when we were trying to get the Sultan’s Crown from Prince Kalman. We brought them back from Ardray, remember?”
“Yes,” nodded Clara, “that’s right, we did … I remember now.”
“Well, they’re here,” Jaikie said. “Hamish and I saw them just the other day. They’re in one of the store rooms.”
“Brilliant,” Clara said, looking eagerly at the MacArthur. “That would mean that Neil and I could meet up at night and nobody would know.”
“Hmmm,” said the MacArthur, looking doubtful.
“We have our magic rings as well,” Neil reminded him, “no one would see us.”
“It’s not that,” Archie broke in, suddenly concerned. “The witches are a vicious lot and they have some really nasty hexes up their sleeves. You’ve got to be careful.”
Seeing the look of apprehension that crossed Mrs MacLean’s face, the MacArthur beckoned Neil and Clara forward.
“Come here a minute,” he said, “and give me your firestones.”
Lifting their hands to their necks, Neil and Clara unfastened the chains that held their glowing firestones. The MacArthur rose to his feet and putting them on a small side table, hexed them. The flash of light that streaked from his fingers made them jump, even though they were expecting it, and they watched with fascinated eyes as, for a second, the firestones glowed with a luminous brilliance. It wasn’t often that they saw the MacArthur use his magic and they were impressed.
It was only when the light faded that the MacArthur handed them back and as Clara fastened her firestone round her neck, she felt its magic spark against her.
“You said that the teacher in the library sensed that you were there, even though he couldn’t see you and had no way of knowing that you were there?” the MacArthur said.
They both nodded.
“That for me was the most interesting part of your story,” he said, sitting back in his chair and adjusting some cushions as he fished for his pipe.
“I thought …” Neil ventured. “I thought that he could smell us. I know it sounds stupid,” he added quickly, “but he sort of raised his head and sniffed the air.”
There was a deathly silence as Hamish, Jaikie and Arthur stiffened and looked at the MacArthur.
“Does your German teacher have striking blue eyes?” Archie asked in a curious voice.
Neil nodded.
“Pale blue eyes?”
Again Neil nodded and Archie’s face turned as white as a sheet.
“The Onegin!” Jaikie whispered, looking at the MacArthur in awe.
“On – yeg – in?” repeated Neil curiously. “Who or what are they?”
“The Wolf People,” Hamish breathed, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
Neil and Clara eyed one another sideways as Arthur sent a streaming curl of fire over the paved floor round the dais. Wolf People?
“I guessed as much,” the MacArthur said. “That’s why I put a powerful spell on your firestones.” He glanced at Neil and Clara. “No one will be able to sense your presence now,” he assured them, “neither the witches, nor the wolves. As long as you’re wearing your firestones, they won’t know you are among them.”
“But I don’t want Neil and Clara to be among t
hem,” Mrs MacLean said jumping to her feet. “The witches were bad enough but wolves as well …” She turned to her husband, almost in tears. “John, say something!” she implored. “This is dangerous!”
“It does sound dangerous,” admitted the Ranger, looking at the MacArthur in some concern. “Who and what are these Wolf People? They sound quite frightening!”
“They are frightening,” Archie muttered under his breath.
The Wolf People come from the Erevin Mountains in Central Europe, mainly from a little state called Ashgar — where Merial’s father lives,” the MacArthur said slowly.
“Then, that means that Merial’s father, this Lord Jezail, has sent Herr von Grozny to find the talisman!” Neil said in quick understanding.
“From what you’ve told me about him, I rather think his real name is Count Vassili Onegin,” the MacArthur said.
“That figures,” Jaikie nodded in agreement and then, seeing their puzzled expressions, added, “he’s Lord Jezail’s right-hand man.”
The MacArthur continued. “You see, I always thought that Lord Jezail would want the talisman back when Merial died. He’s too old to search the countryside for it himself so he’s sent Count Vassili instead.”
“And what if he finds it,” the Ranger asked, “or the witches?”
“We need to make sure they don’t,” the MacArthur said, his face serious. “Merial left the talisman to Clara and it is most important that she is the one to find it.”
“Yeah,” agreed Jaikie, “you’ve no idea what the witches would get up to if they got hold of it! There would be storms, floods, famine and goodness knows what else. And knowing the Snow Witches — well, personally, I wouldn’t put it past them to start another Ice Age!”
Mrs MacLean took Clara’s hands in hers. “I think the talisman should go back to Murial’s father … this Lord Jezail,” she urged. “After all, you’re not a magic person, Clara.”
It was on the tip of Clara’s tongue to agree with her mother but to her surprise as much as everyone else’s, she found herself shaking her head. “No way, Mum,” she answered firmly. “Auntie Muriel wanted me to have the talisman and I’m going to find it and use it as she knew I would.”
“Well said,” the MacArthur smiled and nodded but only Jaikie noticed that his eyes were, nevertheless, doubtful.
“And now,” Neil said, having the last word, “all we have to do is find the answer to the riddle!”
12. Snowmen
The car accelerated swiftly as they left Edinburgh and headed south.
“There doesn’t seem to be much traffic today, does there?” Neil remarked as his father swung out to overtake a huge trailer. An empty road stretched ahead, winding picturesquely between woods, trees and fields.
“Mmm. If it’s like this all the way, we’ll have an easy journey,” his father replied.
“Perhaps we could stop at Carfrae Mill and have a bite of lunch,” Mrs MacLean suggested. “It’s roughly halfway to Craiglaw and it’ll give you a break from driving, John.”
“Great,” said Neil, who knew it as a familiar landmark.
“The countryside’s changing already, isn’t it?” Clara remarked, noticing that the golden fields of waving wheat had disappeared to be replaced by ploughed fields.
“Winter’s on its way,” her father smiled.
“This is the bit of the journey I like best,” Neil said, leaning forward excitedly as they climbed the steep slope towards Soutra Hill and the stretch of moor that held an enormous wind farm. There was a stiff breeze blowing and the blades were swirling fast.
“I think they’re beautiful,” Mrs MacLean said, peering over the moorland at the enormous pylons, “but a lot of people think they spoil the look of the countryside.”
It wasn’t long after they’d crossed Soutra that the car pulled into the car park of Carfrae Mill. Shivering in the chill wind, they hurried into the welcoming warmth of the hotel lounge and settled by the leaping flames of a log fire. Clara held her hands out to the blaze and when her mother mentioned lentil soup, she nodded her head. It was definitely soup weather!
“It’s a lot colder here than it was in Edinburgh,” Neil complained, kneeling close to the hearth.
“We don’t usually light the fire in the mornings,” the waitress said, overhearing him as she laid out the place settings, “but the weather’s been that cold lately. They’ve had snow on the moors above Greenlaw. In October!” she added, shaking her head at the fickleness of the weather.
“We’ll be going through Greenlaw,” John MacLean looked up from the menu. “The roads are okay, are they?”
“From round about there, are you?” the waitress enquired.
The MacLeans looked at one another. “We’re relatively new to the Borders,” John MacLean admitted. “We’ve just moved into a house outside Coldstream.”
“Aye, well, just be careful as you go,” the waitress cautioned. “There are places where the snow’s been awful bad.” She seemed to be about to say more but glancing at the two children, just nodded and went away to get their soup.
“She was going to tell you something else, Dad,” Neil said, watching her cross the lounge towards the kitchens.
“Yes,” Clara agreed. “She didn’t want to say anything in front of us.”
“I’ll have a word with her when I pay the bill,” her father said, looking thoughtful. “There must be something odd going on,” he lowered his voice, “probably the witches again. The locals in the pub in at Norham were just the same. Looking over their shoulders and whispering in corners.”
“And remember that old shepherd we met near Swinton …” Mrs MacLean added. “He believed in witches all right.”
“They’re close to the earth, the shepherds,” her husband nodded seriously, “and they know when nature’s out of kilter.”
“Well, Dad,” Neil asked as the car swung out onto the main road again, “what did she say?”
“Nothing specific,” his father answered. “Apparently there’s been a lot of snow and the farmers have had to bring their sheep in from the fields.”
“There isn’t much up there on the moors,” Mrs MacLean frowned, “apart from a few odd farms. Muriel took me to visit some friends of hers who live up there. What were their names again?” she frowned, trying to remember. “Nice people. We had tea with them.”
The road started to climb through the fields and as they passed farm after farm, the weather became positively icy. “Look, the snow’s starting,” Clara said as white flakes swirled around the car.
“Have you got the heater on full, John?” Mrs MacLean asked and as he nodded she shivered and drew her coat tighter. “It certainly doesn’t feel like it!” she grumbled.
“Let me concentrate on the driving, Janet,” he said irritably, peering forward through the windscreen as huge snowflakes slid down the glass. “The snow’s getting worse.”
“Thank goodness we’ve got a 4x4,” Neil said thankfully. “They can take pretty much anything.”
There was silence in the car as the snow grew heavier. They were now on the long road that ran across the moors and as the snow thickened to a blizzard, John MacLean reduced his speed to a crawl. A line of pine trees stretched in a straight line to their right and further on, to their left, a glint of light shone from a farmhouse window. Bent forward over the wheel, he concentrated on a road that had, by this time, almost disappeared altogether. As long as he didn’t land in a ditch, that was the main thing, he reckoned.
“There’s a farm coming up, John,” his wife said, rubbing her breath from the car window so that she could see through. “Aren’t you going to stop?”
“I can see people outside in the snow,” Clara said excitedly. “They’re all dressed in white.” She frowned. “That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”
Her father looked undecided for a moment. “Maybe I should stop and pull into the farm,” he said, braking carefully and putting the car into reverse. “I’m sure the farmer would look after us u
ntil the storm passes. Blast! I can’t even see the turning.”
“Do you want me to get out, Dad?” Neil asked.
“No, stay where you are just now, Neil,” his father said, opening the car door and climbing out. “I just want to see if we’ve passed the farm road.”
“Can you see any witches?” Mrs MacLean peered through the open door.
“Not one,” he said, scanning the sky through the swirling flakes. “Maybe this is just freak weather. Everyone’s talking about climate change these days …”
Mrs MacLean turned white all of a sudden and pointed dramatically at the sky behind him. Seeing her look of fear, her husband swung round and stared at the ragged tops of the massive stand of pine trees that lined the road. “Witches! They’re there, John! Hiding among the trees! Look!”
“Mum’s right, Dad,” Clara yelled, winding her window down to get a clearer view. She pointed as the blizzard eased momentarily. “They’re there! Over to your … right …” She gulped and her voice faded as the Queen of the Snow Witches swooped out of the trees towards the car, her witches outlined behind her against a leaden sky.
Samantha recognized Clara immediately. Surely this was the child she’d kidnapped in Argyle a few years back at the request of Prince Kalman. The child who’d somehow managed to escape her clutches! She boiled with rage at the thought, for the prince had been really most unpleasant when he heard she’d been rescued. Samantha smiled malevolently. This was her chance to punish her! She’d bury her under six feet of snow if she had to! “Get them,” she shrieked as she wheeled towards the staring occupants of the car.
“Get in quick, John,” Mrs MacLean said urgently.
“Put your window up, Clara,” John MacLean said, slipping into the driver’s seat and turning the key in the ignition as the witches dive-bombed the 4x4 with inches to spare.
The car started but the engine was rough and, at first, it lurched forward in a series of jerks before moving more smoothly. John peered through the swishing windscreen wipers trying to gauge where the edge of the road was.
