by Sarah Mussi
‘Did you bump your head badly?’ asks George, full of concern.
‘No,’ says Davey. ‘I’ve no head injury, no swelling and no bleeding.’
‘Exactly as I thought,’ says Gran. ‘These are not normal times. You are here for a reason and, when the time comes, you will remember what that reason is.’
‘Well, I was just trying to be helpful,’ says Rhi a bit huffily.
Gran sits down in her rocking chair. ‘Now.’ She folds her hands on her lap. ‘I want to know everything.’ She rummages in the B&Q bag then passes lengths of copper piping round to everyone. ‘First things first, and please use the piping at all times.’
‘Oh crikey,’ says George, ‘not more enchanted plumbing.’
Rhiannon holds her bit of piping suspiciously, as if it’s still attached to a toilet cistern and has somebody’s you-know-what running through it.
Gran smiles. ‘It’s been washed, Rhiannon,’ she says. ‘Now, as you’re telling me, eat your supper while it’s hot.’ And, ‘there’s juice on the table’. She fixes George with a steely look. ‘Whatever’s wrong with you, Sior? Go and make some more tea.’
George rolls his have-pity-on-me eyes and makes what looks like a witch’s hat over his head with both hands before disappearing to put the kettle on.
We sit at the table and eat while Gran commands us through her piping. ‘Start at the beginning, and don’t stop until I know every last detail.’
So we use the piping and tell her everything: right from meeting Rhi at the hotel, to the lambs and the wolves, to digging up the heart and my trance. Davey listens intently as well. From time to time, he asks questions about Oswald and the history of the dragons, but mostly he just strokes his wispy beard and listens.
I don’t say anything about meeting Henry though. Gran gives me an odd look. It’s almost impossible to put anything past her. But I simply shrug. I don’t know why I don’t tell them. I’m just not ready to discuss Henry in front of everyone (i.e. George) yet.
At first, Gran doesn’t say anything. She just nods. Then she asks to see the mirror. I pass it to her, a bit worried that she’ll do what I did, and end up in the in-between world with Henry.
She looks at it.
She runs her fingers over it.
She looks into it. I gulp.
Nothing happens.
And then she looks at me. Pointedly. And I can tell from some expression deep in her eyes that she knows I’ve been through the mirror.
‘Ellie,’ she says (through her bit of piping), ‘that was very reckless of you. You must not go there again.’
Davey seems thoughtful. (He hasn’t touched a bite.) Perhaps he’s trying really hard to remember what his mission is. (I’m on my third crumpet.) At Gran’s words, his trance breaks. He gently squeezes my arm (rather too long) and says, ‘You’ll be all right, I’ll take care of you until Henry needs you back. You stay with me – you’ll be fine.’
Which is weird, because I didn’t tell him about Henry either, plus the squeezing.
‘Hmmf,’ snorts George. ‘We will take care of Ellie, you mean.’ He narrows his eyes at Davey.
‘Who’s gonna take care of me?’ wails Rhiannon.
‘Now, Rhiannon,’ says Gran, ‘you’re going to have to start taking care of yourself, and make an effort to help undo the problem your foolish spell created.’
Which shuts Rhiannon up.
Davey mumbles, ‘I will help you too, Rhiannon. I am ready to dedicate my life to taking care of you.’ Davey starts squeezing her arm now.
Rhi looks at him in horror and mumbles, ‘S’ok. Don’t worry.’
The rest of us top up our plates a second time with waffles, beans, tomatoes and slices of a Spanish omelette that has miraculously been discovered under the bacon and ham platter. Davey still hasn’t touched a thing.
‘It’s the little things in life that matter to me,’ adds Davey, ‘and you were so worried about the possibility of concussion, Rhiannon. I can never repay you for that kind thought.’
‘Eat up,’ says George, through a large mouthful of bacon. (Yuck, see what I mean about boys?) He pushes eggs and chipped-up potatoes in Davey’s direction.
‘It’s not high tea the boy needs,’ says Gran. ‘It’ll be salt and bread; that’ll be it. I’ll get it for you.’ Gran dives back into the kitchen and produces a small brown loaf. ‘Here you are. The salt is on the lazy Susan,’ she adds.
Ah, I get it! Lightbulb moment. Davey is one of these new-age hippies who only eat raw food (or bread and salt). And are always wandering around on auspicious dates, checking out standing stones and researching ley-lines and being experts on all that random woo-woo stuff.
Davey helps himself to a thick crust of Gran’s best homemade. ‘Thank you so much Mother Jones,’ he says, being very careful to use his piping. ‘You are so thoughtful. It’s the little things that count.’ He pauses, as if once again, he’s searching his memory. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t introduce myself. It’s very kind of you to trust me to help you with your quest … I know I have some mission to accomplish … perhaps this is it … ’ his voice trails off.
‘Yes, yes,’ says Gran. ‘Try not to worry about it.’
And try not to keep repeating it, I think.
‘And I have a feeling too, that something bad is going to happen … ’ says Davey. ‘If I could only remember … ’
Gran sighs. ‘You just eat. I need a bit of peace and quiet to think things through.’
I look at Davey. I too know that foreboding feeling. I tell myself, there’s something about this person; it’s the second time he’s triggered your memory.
And I remember the dream: the dark cloud over the mountain.
I remember Henry’s warning.
‘It’s coming … you must be prepared.’
And I know Davey’s right.
Something bad is going to happen.
TWENTY-TWO
We all fall silent. Despite the fire, the air in the cottage grows colder. Gran puts a fresh log on the embers and sinks back in her rocking chair. She glances towards the window, and for one ghastly minute, I think she’s about to make us listen to Rod Stewart again.
‘Can you imagine?’ says George hissing quietly through his piping, right into my ear. ‘If it never stops snowing, you will so need taking care of – you’ll need skin-to-skin contact to keep you warm.’
‘Stop it,’ I bat his pipe away. I swear a bit of chewed bacon rind shot right through it and hit my cheek! Honestly! Gross or what?
But it is getting colder. And it’s a kind of unhealthy chill, like however much you try to stay warm, it gets inside – into your bones – and makes your teeth rattle. How can it be so totally sub zero, and getting colder, on the first day of March?
Davey whispers, ‘Tis the Fimbulvetr’. Like he can read my mind. ‘Tis all part of the bad things I feel coming … during the Fimbulvetr, there will be no let-up in the cold.’
Is it me, or is Davey just a teensy bit gloomy?
Rhi rolls her eyes. ‘Le Fimbulvetr … what the heck’s that?’1
‘What he means is,’ says Gran, ‘without the fire of the Red Dragon to battle the White Dragon, ice and snow will triumph – unless Oswald is defeated, it will be winter forever.’
Davey looks up at Gran. He nods his balding head. ‘You understand,’ he says.
I make evil eyes at Rhiannon: All your fault.
Rhiannon shoots back aggrieved innocence: I’ve said sorry.
But I understand too. When that girl fell on to the crystals, she fulfilled the magic of Draco. And now Oswald’s back for another seventy-two years. Another seventy-two years of winter. Maybe more.
Without Merlin’s Magick, maybe forever.
Maybe the next ice age!
‘Yes,’ says Gran. ‘Oswald’s back and he’ll have his day, until things are put right in Snowdonia. And I think, Davey, this is part of your mission.’
I look at Rhiannon again with: So you’d better help too.
Rhiannon looks back at me with: Watch this then.
‘Put right?’ says George. ‘How?’
‘Use your piping,’ scolds Gran.
Rhiannon turns to Davey. ‘I’ll try to help you remember stuff,’ she says, doing an excellent version of: I Am Now Being Uber Helpful. ‘How. Old. Are. You. Davey?’
Davey looks at her, puzzled.
Gran turns to me. ‘Now, what news of Henry?’
‘Not really much,’ I lie. I’m sooooo determined to help Henry, but what if it doesn’t fit with the plan to stop Oswald? If I tell her everything … well, I remember how last Christmas she actually tried to stop me being with Henry …
Rhiannon gives up trying to ‘help’ Davey and puts her piping down and her headphones on.
‘Ellie … ’ warns Gran.
‘OK. He said when the crystals were broken … ’ I pause. George is glowering at me.
I look at Gran. (I just hate it when George is mad at me about Henry.)
‘Continue,’ says Gran.
I look at George again. (I let one shoulder rise and fall. Like, what’s the big deal – you know I love him?)
Davey smiles like an encouraging guru.
I take a deep breath. ‘He said his heart was tainted, and he’s got to rejoin Draco.’
Gran frowns.
George smiles. (How could you George?)
Rhiannon sings out loud, ‘All of me oooo – ooo-ooo – loves you … ’ She points playfully at George and bobs along to her headphones.
I look at her too with: Why are you flirting with George when we’ve all got to go on a desperate mission and I have got to appear before a magistrate due to your stupid love spell and now the rest of mankind is probably doomed?
She pretends not to understand.
Davey nods his head again, ‘Yes, it surely is the Fimbulvetr’.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I won’t believe it’s the Fimbulvetr yet. And anyway, Henry can put a stop to it. We – I mean I – can save Henry too. Probably. Definitely. All we have to do is find the Stargazer, who can talk to Draco and get him to persuade Draco to send Henry back.’
‘Is that all?’ smirks George.
‘Yes.’ I narrow my eyes at him.
‘Aw, so sorry to say “bye-bye” to ol’ Hen, then,’ teases George.
‘You must save him, Ellie,’ says Davey, carefully using his copper piping. ‘And we will help you; for only dragons can fight dragons. Only fire can fight ice. Only … ’
Fight Fire with Fire. Henry told me to remember that too.
‘Oh yes, we must rescue Henry,’ agrees Gran.
Phew. I breathe out. I didn’t realise how tense I was about telling them.
George shakes his head in mock dismay, and does throwing-himself-off-a-train-in-despair gestures.
Rhiannon stands up and wraps her arms around George’s neck in a throttle hold, singing (she has a nice voice actually) ‘Loves you so much ooo – oooo – oooo … ’
‘The Stargazer,’ hisses Gran, so that her piping positively whistles, ‘is Idris Gawr.’2
I start to smile. There is a way to save Henry. Get Stargazer. Beg Draco. So I take a big breath and add the difficult bit: ‘Henry said to cure his heart, it’d take one girl’s blood to purify another’s … ’
He didn’t actually say that, I did. But it’s the same difference.
‘And I will make you mine … ’ trills Rhiannon, draping herself over George.
She is being majorly annoying. Though George seems to enjoy it.
Gran goes rather pale. I watch her closely. I cross my fingers. Please don’t let Gran change her mind about helping Henry.
George leans over to me and says, ‘I won’t allow it. I will not allow you to shed one drop of blood. Not to purify anything.’
‘It’s not up to you, to “allow” it or not,’ I say.
‘Then I won’t come. I won’t help you find this Idris Gawr.’
‘Yes, you will,’ I say.
‘Oh, OK,’ says George.
How easy was that?
‘But only because you’ll go anyway,’ says George. ‘And you can’t blame me for trying.’
Gran, still very pale, leans over and pokes George with her piping. ‘This is no time to be difficult, Sior. Of course you must go. You must find out from Idris Gawr what can be done.’
Davey carefully puts his pipe to his lips, ‘We must speak with Idris Gawr before the vernal equinox, before Draco turns in his precession, before Oswald has a chance to freeze springtime.’
Then he just sits there munching on his dry bread. Every now and then, he dips it into the salt pig. As you do. If you are some kind of religious, hippy person with a memory-loss problem. He’s probably forgotten how good bacon tastes.
‘Will you come with us to see Idris Gawr?’ I ask Davey. ‘Gran seems to think you’re part of this.’
He looks up at me, his eyes very pale and far away. ‘I think I may be of use … I’ve followed everything that you and Mother Jones have said: until the heart is purified, the dragon cannot return … the witches’ spell must be broken … it will be winter forever … all of Wales will suffer unless the Red Dragon returns … Oswald wants to control the Golden Throne … that’s all I think. I’m trying to figure everything out … put it all in order, you see?’
‘But who is Idris Gawr?’ I ask.
Davey ignores my question: ‘All I need to know now is, should we leave before daybreak?’
‘I’m ready to,’ I say, a sudden urgency catching me.
‘What, before I’ve had a rest?’ complains George. ‘Being with the two most beautiful girls in Conwy, Gwynedd and possibly Dyffd – is extremely tiring work … ’
Rhiannon seems to hear that. She pulls out one of her earphones and yells: ‘Take all of me oooo – ooo – oooo.’
George relents and puts an arm around her.
Sometimes Rhi can be so puke-in-a-bucket.
(I am obviously not jealous.)
‘Yes, you must leave to see Idris as soon as you are able,’ says Gran. ‘Remember, the witches have sped up time; it is nearly the end of the first day. You only have tonight and two more full days.’
I bite my lip.
Only two more days.
Then Henry will be lost forever.
1 Fimbulvetr is the harsh winter that precedes the end of the world and puts an end to all life on Earth. Fimbulwinter (this is the English word for it) lasts for three successive winters where snow comes in from all directions, without any intervening summer. During this time, there will be innumerable wars and ties of blood will no longer be respected: brothers will kill brothers, friends will betray friends.[back]
2 Idris Gawr in English means: Idris the giant. He lives on Cadair Idris, a Welsh mountain, which literally means ‘The Chair of Idris’. He was said to have studied the stars from the top of it and it was later reputed to bestow either madness or poetic inspiration on anyone who spent a night at its summit with him.[back]
TWENTY-THREE
ELLIE’S PHONE 1 March 23.07
Status: Unavailable at the mo (though hopefully with agreement from Draco, maybe … fingers crossed really tight … )
Recent updates:
Meryl
Night hon. See you tomoz?
Sheila
So what does that update mean?
Sheila
I hope you are not getting up to any little tricks without your Frenemy!
Sheila
NB – Don’t forget Henry belongs TO ME.
NBB – Who’s this Draco anyways? Draco Malfoy? Harry Potter?
If it’s a new BF you know the rules: I BAGS him first!
I don’t even bother responding to Sheila. I wouldn’t know where to start. I know I shouldn’t let it get to me. It’s just her weird sense of humour. Ha ha. Puke.
I’m tempted to send a snippy message back, but there’s no point. I’ve been ‘friends’ with Sheila, like, forever, and she’s always been a nightmare. (This
is one of the upsides to having The Street of the Dead as our go-to hang-out place. Obvs. Lol.)
However, I ask myself: is ‘having been friends forever’ really a good enough reason for carrying on being friends forever?
But right now isn’t the time to start sorting all that out.
Friends. They’re complicated.
Speaking of which, Rhiannon is making huge puppy eyes at George. ‘I’m soooo coming with you to find the Stargazer too, aren’t I?’ she says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘And if you’re going to talk about our plans, Use. The. Piping.’
I can’t imagine Rhi being anything other than a total liability, what with all that draping herself over George.
‘Pleeeeease,’ she says through her plumbing. ‘I want to be there for George.’ (See!) ‘And after it’s all over, we can have an Easter party. I could invite Darren down, and we could have a treasure hunt thingy with eggs and things.’ She looks up hopefully at George.
What a really good idea. Not.
Granny Jones brushes her shawl down. The fine lines around her eyes crease up. She sighs. She raises her piping to her lips. ‘Ellie, so much of all this is about you. I don’t know why or what role in the great mythologies of Wales you must play, but I will try to give you the best odds I can.’
‘I don’t know either, Gran,’ I say. ‘It’s not something I’ve chosen – I don’t want to make life harder for you all. It’s sort of chosen me … ’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘Now you, George and Davey must set out immediately.’
‘Where to?’ I ask. I mean, it’d be nice to know.
‘NOOOO! Not without me,’ shrieks Rhiannon. ‘I’m not staying behind. I daren’t go home. What if the Supreme One finds out I showed you where the heart was?’
Ha! That’s her problem. Oh dear that would be dreadful.
‘No one is going to do anything to you – not while I’m around,’ says George.
