The Ice Garden

by Guy Jones

  ‘Night, little one.’

  ‘Night, Mum.’

  It was only when she was sure her mother was safely returned to her own room that Jess let out a long juddering breath.

  That was close, she thought. Too close.

  She waited for half an hour, and then made her way out into the gale.

  It was an almost physical relief to step through the gap once more, like coming up for a lungful of air. And yet all at once a sense of dread came creeping up on Jess, a whispering worry about the stranger she’d seen watching from the woods.

  Her imagination had always been her best friend. She had trained it – honed it to be as powerful as it possibly could be, to feel as real as it possibly could feel. But it wasn’t real. Not real in the way this place was. This strange place. This empty place. This place with its purple sky that didn’t burn her skin. Her place. And now it had been invaded. There was nothing for it but to find the stranger. To find answers to the questions suddenly running wild inside her. With an effort, she pushed her fears to one side and went forward.

  She took a small trail through the great beds of Snowbuds and Frostblossom – naming them as she went – until she came to a mass of high, white bushes. The vegetation formed a long wall, in the centre of which was the entrance to the Maze.

  She made her way cautiously, rounding two sharp corners first left and then right. The hedges on either side were at least three times her height. Their branches were twisted and tangled, each one adorned with hundreds of silver-blue leaves. Here and there hung groups of blood-red ice-berries. But the strangest thing was that the paths were completely clear, as if the bushes had been deliberately pruned back. Pruned by who? she thought. What if the stranger wasn’t an intruder from her world at all? What if it was the person who tended the garden?

  After a few more turns she came to a junction that led off in three directions. She paused. After all, a child alone probably shouldn’t enter a labyrinth. But, given that she was already hopping back and forth between two worlds, she decided she could probably just about manage it. Besides, her footprints in the snow would show her the way out again.

  As she went deeper the bushes reached over at the top to form a high arch. The sky was obscured and every step took her further into inky darkness. Chills raced down her spine, and she walked more and more slowly until she finally came to a stop.

  What on earth are you doing, Jessica? she heard her mother ask inside her head. This is very silly and very risky, don’t you think?

  ‘I don’t mind taking risks,’ Jess replied to her imaginary parent. ‘Do you know how boring it is for me every day?’

  We’ve talked about this, darling, she heard her mother say. Things are what they are. And you’ve lots to be thankful for. So why don’t you turn round, come home and get back into bed?

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I find out who’s been visiting my garden.’

  And how will you do that?

  ‘I’ll keep looking.’

  You could get lost. You could fall and be hurt. There’s no one around to help you.

  ‘I won’t get lost.’

  Don’t forget, I’ll be waking up soon.

  ‘I know.’

  If I’m not awake already. Her mother’s voice became a flickering fork-tongued hiss. I’m awake right now, Jessica, I’ve walked into your room and found that my daughter has been turned into a clumsy pile of pillows. My heart is shattering, darling, breaking into pieces all over your bedroom floor . . .

  Jess shut the door on the voice and locked it tight. That wasn’t her mother; it was her own guilt slithering and coiling around her brain. But what choice did she have? Without the garden, she’d be reduced once more to her stories and to conjuring up phantom friends in a deserted playground.

  She forced herself to go deeper into the Maze, choosing turnings whenever it felt the right thing to do. On she went, trying to focus on nothing but where she was, what she was doing at that very moment.

  She rounded a corner and all at once the breath left her body.

  Standing at the end of the passage was a figure.

  A boy.

  A boy made of ice, shining blue and white.

  ‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Jess felt as if she’d stood up too quickly from a hot bath. Her head swam. He’s made of ice, she thought. The stranger wasn’t from her world after all. His eyes were blue jewels under lashes of glistening frost. His body was an intricate web of interconnecting icicles. But despite all that, he was undoubtedly a boy, of about her height and age. And he’s barefoot, she noticed. It had been a footprint that she’d seen.

  ‘I said, what are you doing here?’ he tried again, voice rising. She noticed flurries of snow that swirled and whipped around his feet in time with his angry words. ‘What are you doing in my garden? You don’t belong here.’

  She couldn’t help but flinch. His garden – not hers. Not a sanctuary after all.

  ‘I’m talking to you!’ he called, and an icy blast of wind suddenly rattled through the Maze.

  ‘I’m not doing anything wrong,’ she protested, taking a few paces back in case the boy was dangerous.

  ‘You’re in my garden,’ he snapped, eyes glittering with anger.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘Why are you in my garden?’

  ‘I found it.’

  ‘Found it how?’

  ‘I don’t know, I just found it. I didn’t think there was anyone here.’ She could hear the defensive whine in her voice.

  ‘I saw you in the woods.’

  ‘I thought so,’ she replied.

  ‘So you did know someone was here, then,’ he said, in triumph.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose. But I meant at first. I didn’t know there was anyone here at first. And then I realized there was.’

  ‘And you still came back.’

  She noticed the boy’s fingers were trembling. He was scared too. He was scared of her. She took a step towards him.

  ‘Don’t try anything!’ he barked, and the snow in front of him whirled up into a small tornado, no more than shin-high, that skittered towards her before breaking apart.

  She held both palms up in a gesture of peace.

  ‘Just stay where you are,’ he said.

  ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘My name’s Jess.’

  The boy considered this. ‘You’re not made of ice,’ he said at last.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How’s that possible?’

  ‘Well, because I’m a girl.’

  ‘And girls aren’t made of ice?’

  ‘No, but boys aren’t either. No one is.’ Jess felt her fear start to ebb away.

  ‘I’m a boy and I’m made of ice.’

  ‘I meant no one is where I come from.’

  ‘And where’s that?’

  From the real world, she thought. ‘Through the crack in the wall.’

  ‘You found that?’

  ‘Well, yes.’

  ‘You found the opening?’

  ‘I mean – it wasn’t on purpose. I just stepped through a gap and here I was.’

  The boy seemed to relax just a little at that, as if something suddenly made sense. ‘And if no one’s made of ice where you come from, then what are they made of?’ he asked.

  ‘Of normal stuff. You know, skin and bone and muscle and things.’

  He shuddered. ‘I don’t know what any of that is, but it all sounds disgusting.’

  Jess smiled. ‘I suppose it is, in a way.’ She took another step towards him.

  ‘Don’t try anything,’ he said again, but with rather less conviction than before.

  ‘Try anything like what?’

  ‘Anything bad.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  The boy frowned and shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

  He looked so small and fierce that Jess couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘What?’ he demanded.

&n
bsp; ‘Nothing, just . . . You’re not what I was expecting.’

  ‘Well, what were you expecting?’

  It was Jess’s turn to admit she didn’t know.

  ‘Then how can I not be it?’

  The boy had a point, but Jess wasn’t about to concede that. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked. ‘I mean – do you have a name?’

  ‘Of course I do. It’s Owen,’ he said.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to meet you, Owen.’

  ‘It’s nice to meet you too.’ He set his face. ‘As long as you’re not an enemy, I mean.’

  ‘I’m not an enemy.’

  ‘Right, but you’d be a pretty stupid kind of enemy to just come out and admit you were an enemy, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I think if I was an enemy, I’d be the kind who goes around shouting about how awful I was so that everyone would be afraid of me.’

  ‘Well, that makes me feel a bit better, then.’ A shy grin flickered across the boy’s face and she saw that his teeth were like rows of delicate needles.

  ‘Your garden’s beautiful,’ she told him.

  The fissures deep inside Owen’s body glowed red for a moment, like blown coal.

  ‘I mean, I haven’t seen much of it. I’ve had a little look around. I saw quite a lot from up at the Throne.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The Throne. That’s what I call that big chair-like ice cube up on the hill. I suppose you’ve got your own names for things, though, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, not really.’

  ‘So how does that work? Like, how do you explain where you’ll be?’

  ‘Explain to whom?’

  ‘To the others.’

  ‘What others? I’m the only one here.’

  Alone, thought Jess. All alone.

  ‘Do you want to see something good?’ the boy asked, brightly, all his earlier anger and suspicion now gone.

  ‘What?’

  He smiled again. ‘I’ll show you,’ he said, and held out his hand. As Jess took it she jerked backwards from the fierce cold that jolted into her like an electric shock, even through the thick wool of her gloves.

  But Owen had already spun on his heel and dashed away. She set off and careered through the Maze after him, heart hammering in her chest with the effort of keeping pace. He was impossibly sure-footed. While she skidded and slipped like a baby deer, he never once stumbled. He kept just ahead of her, glancing back now and then with a broad smile plastered over his face. ‘Keep up!’ he shouted, laughing.

  Jess found herself giggling as she ran – two activities that make each other more difficult but are none the worse for it. She was doing it. She was really doing it. She was playing outside with another child. Before long the two of them were in fits, gasping for breath as they went. When Owen laughed, he glowed from within. It was like the final moments of sunset – colours catching, flaming and dying away.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Jess called. ‘Do you even know the way?’

  It didn’t make any sense. The Maze hadn’t looked all that large when seen from the Throne. Yet here she was, hurtling around corner after corner, further and further, never along the same trail twice, as if she was in a vast labyrinth that covered the entire garden.

  ‘How big is this place?’ she shouted, and heard a bark of laughter from her companion as he vanished from sight.

  Her breath was ragged and the smell of blood caught in her nose. ‘Owen?’ she said. Then louder, ‘Owen!’ She rounded a corner and there were suddenly thousands of passages to choose from, far more than should have been able to fit into such a small space. Each of them led into darkness, gaping like the mouths of some many-headed creature. She was panting, drenched in sweat, laughing no more. This is impossible, she thought.

  There was a rushing sound that might have been coming from inside her head. She could swear that shadows were leaking from the tunnels in front, spilling across the ground towards her feet. The blackness was deep and rich and hungry. She took a few steps back. Don’t let it touch me. Please, don’t let it touch me. She thought she heard a voice, speaking to her from the dark. What are you? The words were in her head, hissing and spitting, but they weren’t her thoughts. What are you, girl?

  She stumbled backwards and to her horror found that the hedges had closed up behind her, blocking off her escape. The blackness snaked closer and closer. It was almost at her toes. She closed her eyes.

  Nothing.

  Her lids fluttered open and there was just one passage left, curving gently away in front of her. She took a few steps forward, half expecting some shadowy limb to dart out and grab her. But none came. The path led her out of the Maze and on to the top of a sharp rise. Owen was there, leaning against a tree.

  ‘What was that?’ Her voice cracked in her dry throat.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  ‘That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t like anything else that’s happened here. That wasn’t . . .’ She couldn’t find the words. She blinked away the tears that threatened to come. Stop it, Jess, she told herself.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ he said. ‘I was waiting. What took you so long?’

  She searched his face for signs of a lie. ‘Then you didn’t do that? It wasn’t you?’

  ‘What wasn’t me?’

  ‘There was something . . .’ she said. ‘It was coming for me.’

  ‘There’s nothing in there. Just hedges.’ Owen frowned.

  ‘And the Maze,’ she went on, ‘it was different. Larger. Much larger than I thought. How can that be?’

  ‘The garden’s bigger than it looks, Jess.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It has layers,’ he said, opening his arms. ‘It unfolds. At least, it does for me.’

  She sat down heavily, her legs aching. Was it true? She realized how little she really knew the garden. She wasn’t like this boy of ice.

  ‘How long have you been here, Owen?’ she asked.

  He didn’t answer. Instead he turned and pointed. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘this is what I wanted you to see.’

  She caught sight of it at once – a steep, smooth groove that snaked down the hillside to the garden below. ‘It’s a slide,’ she said, delighted. In the open, under the gentle sky, the darkness of the Maze felt far away.

  Owen went first, turning to give a last piece of advice. ‘Make sure you lift your legs when you get to the bottom,’ he said.

  As he hurtled down she thought of all the girls who went to normal schools and lived normal lives who would never in a million years do something as ridiculous as this. And she thanked her lucky stars that she’d never be normal.

  Jess launched herself over the edge and flew down on her bottom, her body flung from side to side like a doll in the hands of a toddler as she sped round the bends. Something caught her eye as she went, moving in the sky above her. It was a fat, fluttering creature with its ears stretched wide. My Flying Elephant Mouse! she thought, and screamed with delight. She’d have to give him a name!

  All of a sudden she saw the ground rushing up at her, lifted her legs just in time, and was propelled, spinning, across the ground until she came to an almost dignified halt.

  ‘Perfect landing,’ she said.

  ‘Not bad for a first time,’ corrected Owen.

  Jess picked herself up. ‘Shall we do it again?’

  The next three days went by in a blur. Each day she suffered in the suffocating summer heat and every night she wrapped herself in the cooling breeze of the ice garden. More than once her mother asked if everything was all right and she had to say yes, even though that was a lie. Because things weren’t all right. They were wonderful. She couldn’t concentrate on her lessons or the pile of books stacked up by her bed. She had no interest in what was on television, or in playing cards. She didn’t even want to make up stories, which had been her favourite thing to do for as long as she’d had favourite things. Every time she s
at down to write, her mind would wander to her new friend, and all other thoughts scattered like a startled flock of birds. Apart from the ice garden, only Davey held her attention, and she had no way of seeing him until her next hospital visit.

  ‘What do you do, when I’m not here?’ Jess asked on the second evening.

  ‘Normal stuff,’ Owen replied.

  ‘What’s normal for an ice boy?’ she said.

  ‘I sleep, I eat, I play, I think. Normal stuff.’ He paused for a second. ‘What do you do when you’re not here?’

  ‘Sort of the same,’ she said. ‘And I have lessons.’

  ‘What are lessons?’

  ‘Where I learn things.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Things about the world,’ she said.

  Owen considered this. ‘Don’t think I need lessons,’ he said at last.

  ‘Everyone needs lessons.’

  ‘But I already know everything I need.’

  ‘That’s silly. You can’t.’

  Owen shrugged. ‘What did you learn today?’ he asked.

  ‘Well . . .’ She took a breath. ‘First of all I had maths, but my teacher couldn’t come because he was in bed with the flu so Mum and I did it together instead, but I don’t really think she knew what she was talking about. Then I read a book about the Industrial Revolution.’

  ‘What’s the Industrial—’ started Owen.

  ‘It’s when everyone went from being farmers to working in factories and building machines and those kind of things and, I think, is probably when all the really interesting animals, like unicorns and dragons, were killed off.’

  ‘Right,’ he said, slowly.

  ‘And then I had my French lesson.’

  ‘What’s French?’

  ‘It’s what people in France speak,’ she replied.

  ‘Is France made of ice?’

  ‘Of course it’s not. It’s made of plastic, just like England.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll never go to France either, then,’ he said.

  ‘I suppose not,’ she replied.

  Owen looked so utterly crushed Jess didn’t know whether to fling her arms around him or burst out laughing.

  ‘What?’ he asked, pouting.