by Pat O'Shea
They stood and revelled in it.
‘It’s like an ORMOUS marshmallow,’ Brigit breathed with the deepest admiration.
As they walked through the snow that had settled close to the forest, they sank at every step; but when they walked in the open where the snow was frozen it bore them well, except for Cooroo. For a while all stayed perfect, and they looked around them and at the sky with the greatest pleasure and feelings of possession.
But in the end the wind came again and found them out. If anything, it was more cruel than before. In moments the snow fell twisting and swirling again.
‘Oh well, we creep on,’ said Cooroo.
Pidge could well see that even the fox was tired. He sank to his haunches step by step. His head drooped and he was panting slightly. By this time he was completely covered in snow, and it occurred to Pidge that it would be quite difficult for anybody to actually see them when they were all dressed in white.
Now the wind whipped their coats open and played round their bare knees, soon making them numb with cold. Ice needles spiked into Cooroo’s nose.
They trudged on, bending into the wind. From a long way away came the faint baying of the hounds.
‘They are well-astray and no better off than we are; let that hearten you,’ said Cooroo.
The wind stole tears out of their eyes and pinched their faces.
‘I feel so tired,’ Brigit said weakly. ‘Wouldn’t it be nice to make a snow bed and lie down for a while?’
‘We daren’t, Brigit. We must get as far from the hounds as we possibly can,’ Pidge answered sympathetically.
By now, he could no longer tell whether or not he had legs. Everything felt numb and mechanical. He listened to the snow creaking under his boots. It let him know that at least he was still walking.
‘It’s no good,’ Brigit said with a moan. ‘I have to lie down or I’ll die.’
‘If you lie down, you will die. You’re too young to know it but it’s true. Snow isn’t as soft as it seems and it can kill,’ Cooroo said firmly.
‘I don’t care,’ she cried, her knees buckling.
‘Come on! You must keep going whatever it costs. Keep moving! Force one foot in front of the other. Keep going!’ Cooroo shouted.
Pidge stumbled in closer to Brigit to catch her arm and help her on. More than anything in the world, he wanted to lie down himself, but he knew that Cooroo was right.
A tall shape loomed in front of them suddenly. Because of the falling snow it had been impossible to see where they were going and, as there was a great, natural, muffling silence, they hadn’t heard anything approach.
They stopped dead and peered ahead to try to make it out.
It was the Great Elk.
Chapter 33
HE stood motionless in the swirling whiteness, a living assertion of dignity and power.
They looked up at him with gladness as he turned his massive head towards them; already the snow was turning him white.
‘I will help you,’ he said.
At once Pidge felt greatly comforted. The Elk turned to Cooroo.
‘It is an ill thing to be hunted, is it not so, Little Red Dog?’
‘Oh thank you, Great Elk,’ said Brigit. Thank you very much.’
Slowly, carefully, the Elk bent his forelegs and knelt.
‘You are still too high,’ said Pidge.
The huge animal folded in his back legs and lay on his side.
‘Climb up and hold on tight. You also, Little Red Dog.’
Pidge helped Brigit to scramble up and when she was settled he sat in front of her, so that he could shelter her from the savage wind.
‘It’s no good,’ Cooroo called. ‘I am not able to climb without footholds. It’s because I have paws and not hands and feet.’
‘If you don’t, you’ll never be able to keep up. You’ll get left behind,’ Pidge cried desperately.
‘Then I must follow on after you,’ Cooroo said, with resignation.
‘No!’ Pidge said in a shout. ‘We’re not leaving you behind now. You’ll never find us again if we do.’
‘You’ve got to come with us or it’s just not fair!’ Brigit called to him tearfully.
‘I’ll give you a lift up—wait a second,’ said Pidge and he slid back down onto the snow.
He grabbed Cooroo by the thick hair that grew at the scruff of his neck and with his face set for the effort, he pushed and half-hoisted him up onto the Elk, hoping that he was not hurting either animal. With this help, Cooroo, who was making bucking movements, got near to the Elk’s shoulder where he lay in a sprawl.
Before Pidge clambered back up himself, he leaned into the wind and struggled through the snow until he could peer up at the Elk’s head.
He screwed up his eyes against the blinding snowflakes and whispered:
‘Could you take us towards the mountains, please?’
The Elk was silent and made no sign of having heard.
For a moment Pidge stood in the blizzard wondering if he should risk saying it again in a much louder voice. But he thought he heard Brigit moaning and he turned away.
He gripped and he climbed until he was placed between Brigit and the fox. And then, inch by inch, the Elk righted himself while they responded by shifting and wriggling with matching caution, to centre themselves on his spine when he at last stood upright.
Now Pidge took off his gloves and gave them to Brigit to hold. While the Elk waited he felt in his pocket and found the squashed balls of spider-rope. Taking a kneeling position he passed the ropes several times around Brigit’s body, doing his best to make her secure. First he fastened an end of a rope to the Elk’s hide by sticking it on, as Mawleogs had done, and he didn’t fail to do this kind of bonding as many times as he really thought he should, although his hands were getting very cold.
When he was sure of Brigit he settled back in his place and did the same for himself and Cooroo. He didn’t bother with reins. At last he felt that they were as ready as they’d ever be, and he took his gloves from Brigit and with the greatest difficulty, he put them on his now frozen hands.
And now the Elk began his journey.
Soon they were going at a good speed with the Elk galloping as smoothly as he could so as not to shake them off. The wind whipped their faces. Ice crystals fringed their eyes. But it was so much easier now. All the slogging labour of walking had gone and it was simply a question of not falling off and of enduring the cold.
At times Pidge fancied that he was riding and controlling a horse, and at those times he would press a knee against the Elk’s hide and imagine that the Elk obeyed him.
Although he trusted the ropes, he kept his arms stretched out in front of him clutching at the Elk with his gloved hands. In this cradle, Cooroo lay shivering and very soon Pidge’s muscles ached from the strain. He worried about Brigit sitting behind him. Even though her arms were clasped about his waist, he feared that she might fall off without his knowing. But when she laid her head sideways against his back and he felt her weight, he was reassured.
Sometime during the journey, it came into Pidge’s mind that this was forever. They just went on and on through the storm, with unchanging sheets of whiteness on either side and they seemed to be going nowhere.
Abruptly it stopped snowing and it was possible to really see. Pidge couldn’t help but gasp in wonder, not only at the beauty the snow had created, but because at some distance ahead of them, a light was glittering in the moonbright night.
What could it be?
It seemed natural that the Elk should head in the light’s direction. The patient animal slowed down and walked. In time they reached the place where the light sparkled in the crisp night air.
It was a lantern tied in a tree and it swung to and fro in the wind.
What does it mean—is it a trap—why would someone tie a lantern in a tree except as a guiding light—or is it a lure? Pidge’s thoughts wandered uncertainly, muddled at this new confrontation.
H
e tried to stare against its light to see if the lantern had any trace of gold about it, but his eyes felt too tired for the effort.
‘This place is good,’ said the Great Elk. Immediately the responsibility of decision was removed from Pidge’s dulled mind.
The Elk lowered himself once again; but nothing could make getting down an easy matter; for, in spite of their coats, they were frozen into a terrible stiffness and every joint, muscle and bone ached unbearably. The Elk held himself very still, until at last they were standing painfully beside him.
‘Look!’ cried Brigit. ‘Smoke!’
It was true.
Just a little way in front of them the snow had formed a long low ridge. From a bump in the middle of the ridge, a thin plume of smoke was rising. At once they realized that there was a house. It was obviously built in a hollow or the roof wouldn’t be so low. The whole house was completely covered in snow.
In a second the Elk had started to dig, his forehooves working at a terrific rate. Clouds of snow came flying backwards and upwards, and landed with muffled thuds at the base of the tree.
While the Elk was digging, Pidge glanced around at the near surroundings and was startled to find that they were at last among the mountains and that they were now in a valley. The valley was broad and they had come all the way along it; and it is no wonder, he thought, that we seemed to be travelling through sheets of whiteness for such a long time, when the mountains are completely covered in snow.
He watched the Elk again. It was clear that he had incredible strength. He had already carried them for miles and miles on his back, as if they were no more than straws, and now, even with all this digging, still his breath came evenly and without effort.
As the snow was being cleared away from the hollow in front of the house, great lumps of it dropped from the walls to the ground. A small lighted window appeared but they couldn’t see in through it, as it wasn’t made of glass. It seemed to be made of thin honey-coloured horn.
A big blob of snow fell from just under the thatch, uncovering a sign. It read:
And then there was a door.
‘I will leave you now,’ the Elk said, and before they could realize it, he had leaped out of the hollow and was out of sight. The snow was falling again but they could hear him galloping away. They hadn’t even had the chance to thank him for all that he had done.
Pidge read the sign, again thinking that he didn’t really like signs. Up until this, all of the signs they had come to had always led to something not right. As he was thinking this, the lantern flickered and went out, making his heart jump. Could it be possible that the Elk had brought them to a wrong place after all? But he wouldn’t do that, would he—unless, Pidge thought with a thrill of fear—unless he was not the same Elk; and how could we have known for sure with all that snow?
He looked at the door. Good or bad, he decided, we must get inside and get the cold out of our bones.
He knocked, courage in his closed fist.
‘Come in! Come in!’ called a voice from inside.
Pidge opened the door.
The first thing he saw was an enormous hearth blazing with a luxurious fire of turf and huge logs. On a little stool by the fire sat a tiny old man.
‘That’s right. Come in. Close the door against the cold,’ he said in welcome, and he picked up a quantity of dried furze and threw it into the flames, where it crackled and sent merry sparks flying up the chimney.
He looks like a dwarf, thought Pidge.
Chapter 34
‘YOU’RE welcome! Welcome to the Half-Way House and I’m Sonny Earley! Always a smile and a how-de-do here!’ He leapt as nimble as a goat off the stool and came towards them with his arms held out in friendship.
And Pidge thought: This time I’ll be careful and I’ll not be too quick to trust him.
‘Let me help the small one over to the fire—you must be near dead with the cold,’ the little man said kindly.
He cradled an arm round Brigit and led her to the hearth, where he helped her off with her coat and boots. He drew a small plush armchair close to the fire and he helped her to sit down.
He pulled up another chair ready for Pidge and from a cubby-hole he took a fat sheepskin and threw it down on the hearthstone for Cooroo. With no hesitation at all Cooroo crossed the floor and stretched himself before the generous fire.
‘My kneecaps feel as if they’re made of concrete,’ whispered Brigit, and she shivered.
‘Of course they do, my poor child,’ agreed Sonny Earley, and his little adam’s apple bobbed up and down with emotion like a very fast yo-yo.
He rushed away somewhere and was back in a twinkling with a couple of fluffy blankets in his arms. He glanced at Pidge who was still standing just inside the door, his wistful eyes staring at the fire as if he couldn’t see enough of it.
‘You’re dripping there like a bit of wet seaweed. Get the coat off and come to the fire and unfreeze yourself,’ said Sonny encouragingly.
Pidge came to the heat of the fire, shrugged off his boots and coat, and accepted the blanket that was handed to him. He wrapped himself gratefully in it and sat down, while Sonny got Brigit to stand up so that he could drape her well and then he put her sitting again.
‘Now take your ease and I will get some food,’ the kind little man said, and he reached into the back of the hearth and pulled forward a big iron pot that was hanging from an iron crook. In seconds Brigit and Pidge were staring into steaming hot bowls of chicken broth in which the fat floated like a thousand golden suns. Two lumps of hot bread, on which the creamy home-made butter was already melting, appeared on little blue plates on their laps. Cooroo was already lapping up his bowlful of broth with bread broken into it. Slap-plap, slap-plap, he went—just the same sound as our dog Sally, but she’s not ours any more, she’s gone, Pidge thought sadly.
Sonny sat on his stool between the two chairs and he helped Brigit to eat her soup, spooning it for her; and she didn’t mind a bit. She was able to manage the last of it herself because she was now warm and her cheeks were the colour of ripe haws. From the feeling of the skin on his own face, Pidge knew that his cheeks were glowing too.
On a shelf there was a cisheen of field mushrooms and Sonny put some to cook on a hot stone, sprinkling salt on the tender velvet of the gills.
‘Only a scratch meal,’ he kept saying.
Pidge stole a look around the room, thinking how cosy and comfortable it looked in the firelight. There was a dresser stacked with sparkling plates and mugs, and on one of the shelves there was a blue jug filled with roses and daffodils, and on a shelf lower down there was a round green pot crammed with primroses. All of the seasons are well-mixed here, thought Pidge, looking at the flowers and the cooking mushrooms, and knowing that, outside, winter ruled.
‘These are out of a nearby lake,’ said Sonny, and he attached some trout with bright spots on them to an iron spit. He stuck them well in above the heat at the back of the fire, where it was just a living glow without smoke.
‘This now is a very muddled kind of dinner,’ he said. ‘I just grabbed what was near to hand.’
‘Don’t worry—I could eat leather!’ Brigit said, and she sounded very contented.
‘Well, don’t eat this,’ Sonny joked cheerfully and he handed her a kind of leather drinking-cup.
He filled it with a glowing red liquid which he poured from a leather bottle.
‘Everything here is nice,’ Brigit said.
‘I’m glad you think so,’ Sonny replied, looking pleased.
He poured out a goblet full of the drink for Pidge, and for himself he filled a drinking horn that was decorated with filigreed silver. When Brigit admired it he told her that he had won it at a fair.
They tasted the drink and it was like swallowing cherries and blackberries and strawberries all at the same time.
‘You wouldn’t like this, Cooroo,’ said Sonny.
‘You know his name,’ Pidge remarked quietly.
‘I
wondered when you’d speak,’ laughed Sonny. ‘But you are right to be suspicious. Friends told me you were coming. From a long time back, like others, I’ve known of you and your journey. And today I had messages that you were coming for sure.’
‘Which friends told you?’
‘Last night, a young merlin came and called me from my sleep. “They are still travelling and they’ve crossed a terrible chasm,” he said. At about mid-day, a thrush flew to my door. “I bring you word,” he said “they are still travelling. Compliments of a party named Needlenose.” And late today, through the white snow came a white owl who tapped on my window-pane to call me out. “They are still travelling in company with one named Cú Rua whose friends say Cooroo; and they are coming into your country,” he said. So I got everything ready for you, as you see.’
There was a pause while Sonny took the trout from the fire and gave one each to Brigit and Pidge on little yellow plates, and he put one in a dish on the floor for Cooroo.
‘Mind the bones now,’ he said.
‘That’s a bit strange about Needlenose,’ Pidge said after a while.
‘What is?’ asked Sonny, as he shared the cooked mushrooms between the two yellow plates.
‘He wouldn’t tell us which way to go, would he, Brigit?’
‘No, he said he couldn’t.’
‘Well then, he said no more than the truth—mind you don’t scald your mouth, the mushrooms are hot.’
‘But, others have shown us the way over and over again,’ Pidge explained. ‘If I’d told that to Needlenose, he might have tried to find a way for us.’
‘You were never shown the way.’
‘Oh but we were! You don’t understand because you don’t know all that has happened,’ Pidge insisted politely.
‘I know every little bit of what has happened. I know that you were taken through the stones at Shancreg by Serena …’ Sonny began.
