Burnt Snow

by Van Badham

  Van Badham is an award-winning playwright, critic and screenwriter who also writes for radio, television and music theatre. Born in Sydney, she lived in Wollongong for many years and now resides in London with her boyfriend, a spathiphyllum plant and an extensive collection of spooky films on DVD. Burnt Snow is her first novel.

  Van Badham can be found online at

  www.vanbadham.com

  VAN BADHAM

  Burnt Snow

  THE BOOK OF THE WITCH

  First published 2010 in Pan by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Limited

  1 Market Street, Sydney

  Copyright © Vanessa Badham 2010

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher.

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

  Badham, Van.

  Burnt snow / Van Badham.

  9780330425728 (pbk.)

  Teenage girls–New South Wales–Fiction.

  A823.4

  Typeset in Minion 11/14pt by Midland Typesetters, Australia

  Printed in Australia by McPherson’s Printing Group

  Papers used by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd are natural, recyclable products made from wood grown in sustainable forests. The manufacturing processes conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin.

  These electronic editions published in 2010 by Pan Macmillan Australia Pty Ltd

  1 Market Street, Sydney 2000

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the publisher.

  Burnt Snow

  Van Badham

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  978-1-74262-242-2

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  978-1-74262-240-8

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  www.macmillandigital.com.au

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  To my Nanna, who taught me how to read books,

  and Emily Finlay, who encouraged me to finish this one.

  In loving memory of Heikki Vilkman, and that last

  magical summer on the lake.

  Prologue

  There were twenty-eight of them surrounding me, and they all meant me harm.

  In the half-light glow of the burning torches, and the shadows of their hoods, their faces were masks of impending violence. They all had weapons. Amongst their number were several men large enough to kill me with their bare hands – but it was the smallest one, the girl holding the white-handled knife, who frightened me the most.

  The boy squirmed, half-conscious, on the wooden frame to which they’d tied his body. He struggled weakly against his bonds – and now I, who should have been his saviour, was also a prisoner.

  ‘This marriage contract is blood for blood,’ said the girl in a dark voice. Her hand flashed towards me and torchlight flickered on the blade of her knife. I fell back, gasping. I thought she’d missed me until I felt wetness pool across my shoulders to my collarbone, then a sharp sting. I looked down: my white robe was collared with dark, shining blood. She’d cut me from shoulder to shoulder. ‘This is your wedding dress,’ she hissed.

  Two of the Finders came towards me. Blood streamed from my wound and now my eyes also streamed with tears. The boy squirmed again – the drug was wearing off, and whatever they intended to do to him he would not suffer painlessly.

  ‘Please … Please … It’s not him you want!’ I pleaded with the girl. ‘He hasn’t caused any of this, I swear it! I swear!’ Rough hands tore at the ropes tying my hands and the bonds came loose. I was shoved towards the boy. His eyelids were opening. He’d be conscious in seconds.

  A voice amongst the Finders barked, ‘Return the demon to his hell!’

  ‘No!’ I screamed. ‘Kill me! He’s innocent!’

  I heard his voice slur, ‘Sophie … ?’

  I fell at the girl and snatched at her soaking robe. ‘Don’t kill him! Don’t kill him!’ I screamed, but the Finders tore me from her.

  ‘Sophie, where are you?’ he mumbled.

  I sobbed. In the fracas, I’d torn the girl’s hood from her head. She shook out her hair and smiled. Her voice was tiny.

  ‘I have no intention of killing him,’ the girl purred.

  The chant hummed amongst the Finders: ‘MOR-si-an … MOR-si-an … MOR-si-an!’

  ‘Sophie!’ he cried.

  The girl roared to the crowd, ‘We have brought him down!’ Her eyes flashed to me then, and her words were for me alone: ‘It’s you who will finish it.’

  The chanting thundered – and the hilt of the white-handled knife was thrust into my hand.

  PART

  ONE

  1

  I didn’t want to leave Baulkham Hills Girls High, but Dad insisted that Yarrindi would be a great change. I didn’t care that Baulkham Hills was suburban; I’d been there eighteen months and made two good friends, Lauren and Sue, and I was finally doing better in assessments than I had in years.

  Dad did what he always did when a change of job was coming. He would start with, ‘Sophie, how’d you feel about living next to a forest?’ or ‘How’d you feel about a big fat house in the burbs?’ These questions were designed to con me into believing I had a choice in where we moved.

  This time Dad banged into the lounge room where I was going over my Modern History homework. He was swinging his briefcase in his hand. ‘Sophie, how’d you feel about moving to the prettiest tourist town on the south coast?’ he asked with his trademark excitement.

  ‘It’d be the worst idea ever,’ I said, sliding my feet off our red couch. ‘It’s final term of Year 11 – the exams are less than twelve months away.’

  Mum was repotting some rosemary on the bench between the lounge room and the kitchen. Her sapphire pendant glimmered at her neck. ‘You’ve never shown much interest in exams before,’ she said.

  ‘Dad,’ I said, ignoring her, ‘I finish high school in a year. Can’t we wait twelve months? Then you and Mum can go wherever you like. Bermuda. Chicago …’

  But now Dad was ignoring me. ‘You’ll love Yarrindi!’ he said. ‘It’s got a lighthouse!’

  2

  I spent the last few days at Baulkham Hills Girls being dour with Lauren and Sue.

  Lauren is a sarcastic redhead; Sue’s a quiet nerd. They had originally been part of a bigger group of girls who’d become too nerdy for even Sue to bear. When I arrived we formed a trio, even though we didn’t have the out of school adventures of the cooler people in our year. Sue wanted to do Medicine at university and spent all her after-school hours studying. Lauren wanted to study Law but was smart enough to top most of her subjects without trying, so she and I used to devote our time together to watching DVDs and occasionally pressuring Sue to see a movie. As a group, we hovered in the social netherworld between out-and-out nerds and girls who just didn’t care what people thought of t
hem.

  ‘What’s your new school like?’ asked Sue. ‘Does it have a good reputation?’

  ‘It’s just normal,’ I said. ‘Mum’s checked it out. It’s co-ed.’

  ‘That could be really distracting,’ said Lauren. ‘How many years has it been since you’ve seen an actual boy?’

  ‘I’ve survived co-ed schools before,’ I told her. ‘Besides, it’s not like I’m trying to get into Medicine or anything.’

  3

  My family have always moved around a lot. My dad is an accountant whose particular talent is administering the finances of sports clubs. There was a golf club in Palm Beach that Dad helped to make solvent and when it was, we took off for a dog track in Canberra. Over the years there have been rugby clubs and sailing clubs and even a few sports equipment stores. Another golf club brought us to Yarrindi.

  To my mum it has never mattered whether we’ve been in the burbs, coast or city – she’s always been able to find herself a job. My mother has a knack for plants, and with the changes in location she’s worked on lavender farms, in garden centres and at more florists than I can count. Not long after the removal van arrived at our new house in Yarrindi, Mum popped out to buy milk for afternoon tea, and she returned with an announcement that she’d found a teashop to work in, and she’d start on Monday. They made their own brews, she said; they were impressed she knew so much about tea.

  This was on our first day here. I hadn’t even seen the famous lighthouse yet.

  Our new home did have a lot of light and a huge garden, and – what Mum had left out as a ‘surprise’ – a view of the ocean from the back deck. The house itself wasn’t very big and my expectations weren’t high when I walked into my bedroom for the first time. The removalists had hastily whacked my bed against a wall and shoved my desk against another, and lamps and bookshelves were in odd places. Even so the room was surprisingly big. Above the bed, a wide picture window captured a view of the sea.

  The house was perched on one of the hills that surrounded the town. The garden was as wide as the house and rolled down a slope into bushes, before a further incline dropped into someone else’s garden. There were trees bordering the fences between the properties on our left and right, but they didn’t obscure the view.

  After most of the boxes were unpacked I wandered, barefoot, out into the backyard to explore. The garden had a green, hypnotic quality. I stood on the grass looking out at the sea. It was twilight, and the sky was a soft purple. The air smelled like saltwater and night flowers.

  Some of the crankiness I’d been holding onto since Dad had told me about this latest move began to ebb away. It really was a pretty place to live. From where I stood, I caught on the horizon the little lighthouse blinking lights onto the bay. A new place, I reasoned, meant a new start. With so many moves, I’d learned how to be the ‘new girl’, but this time – I don’t even know where the feeling came from – I decided I would also be a new person.

  I inhaled deeply. I liked the taste of the air here.

  Suddenly I sensed someone beside me. I looked around. It was my mother, in her paisley ‘house kaftan’. Her chin-length hair was burgundy in the low light. She copied the deep breath I’d just taken, and looked out to sea.

  ‘I took my shoes off too,’ she said, and she reached out for my hand.

  I took it, but for the first time in my whole life I felt that she was standing too close.

  4

  I promised Dad before I went to sleep in my new room that I’d make my bed properly, but I didn’t. Sapped of energy after a day of unpacking, I just closed the door, tore off my clothes and threw on a T-shirt before I crawled under a duvet and passed out.

  I woke in a beam of light so strong and warm that I was sweating. Sitting up in bed, I was able to appreciate the awesomeness of the view in the picture window. There were vines growing over the fence next door, but beyond that were rows of trees cascading down from backyards onto the edge of the town and the bay. The dark blue of the ocean horizon fought the light blue sky for brightness. It was a beautiful day.

  I dragged my satin dressing-gown from one of the garbage bags scattered around my room, and padded out towards the kitchen for some breakfast.

  Mum and Dad were already up. A pot of tea and some slices of toast were laid out for me on the dining room table. Sunlight streamed in through the glass sliding doors.

  ‘Restful slumbers?’ asked Dad.

  ‘What’s the time?’ I responded.

  ‘Almost noon,’ said Mum. ‘I’ll add some cayenne pepper to some lemon juice if you want a wake-up shot.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ I said, reaching for a cup and the teapot. That odd feeling from yesterday, of her standing too close, came back to me. How many girls at my new school would be drinking cayenne pepper and lemon juice for breakfast on a Sunday morning?

  I sat in the chair opposite Dad. He had a newspaper in front of him. He smiled. ‘Your mother’s sorted the kitchen, but we may need your help with the lounge room. How did you go with your room last night?’

  ‘I just went to bed,’ I confessed.

  ‘Soph,’ Mum said, with clear parental disapproval in her voice, ‘you want to get yourself set up, don’t you? This isn’t a holiday. You’re back at school tomorrow.’

  ‘I thought I’d get my bearings before I unpacked,’ I said. ‘You’ve both seen the town, I haven’t. I thought I’d take a look around.’

  Mum was in the kitchen now, already clearing away my breakfast dishes. ‘I think that’s a good idea, Sophie,’ she said. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  It wasn’t what I wanted to hear.

  5

  After a shower, I came out of my bedroom in a black blouse, a pair of light cotton trousers and black canvas slip-ons. Even though it was October, in Baulkham Hills I had still been wearing cardigans; the sunniness of the day outside made me think that in Yarrindi I wouldn’t need too many layers.

  My mother disagreed. She ordered me back into my bedroom to change into jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. ‘And put a hat on,’ she called after me. I knew I would be too warm in what she wanted me to wear, but an argument would get me nowhere. I changed as directed, except for the hat. It was my first day in a new town and I didn’t want to look like a shapeless slob the first time I stepped out of the house.

  In a half-unpacked toiletries bag on my dresser I found a tube of sunscreen and dabbed some of that on my face instead.

  When I came back out, my mother had one of her hats in her hand.

  ‘I’m not having you burn,’ she said, shoving the hat at me.

  ‘I’ve got sunscreen on.’

  ‘You’re too fair. Hat, please.’

  I grimaced, but put the hat on my head. It was black, one of those folding cotton hats with a broad brim, the kind they make you wear at primary school. The kind my mother wore when she was gardening. I didn’t think I’d meet any potential friends on a walk down to the bay, but I still pulled the brim as far down over my face as I could.

  ‘Wait,’ called my mother as I walked to the front door, ‘I’ll just grab my handbag.’ A moment later she jogged to the little landing.

  ‘What’s that?’ I asked of a black lump of material in her hand, but I knew the answer.

  ‘A hat!’ she said, putting it on her head. It was exactly the same as the one she’d made me wear. ‘We can be twins!’

  I was struck by a wave of social dread, but I opened the front door without saying anything.

  ‘Have a nice time,’ sang Dad as we left the house.

  6

  Our street was Boronia Road, and the houses on it were much like ours: modern, with big windows and lots of shrubs and trees. We walked down Boronia and only lost the blue horizon line when a tall gum tree or the occasional maple or oak rose out of someone’s front garden.

  My mother talked, but I was only half-listening. I heard, ‘Big year for you … Chance for all of us … So important to your father …’ and my mind wandered to the shops that m
ight exist in Yarrindi, and clothes I might buy that were more flattering than what I wore now. I’m not a big girl, but the wrong kind of clothes can make me look big. I was sure that the long-sleeved white T-shirt I’d donned to appease Mum made me look like a snowball. I wondered how much money I had in my savings account. My Finnish nanna, Mum’s mum, sometimes dropped surprises for me in there without saying anything.

  As we walked, Boronia turned into Frankston Avenue and I found myself staring down from the crest of a wide street with a daunting slope. This, obviously, was the street that ran all the way into the township – I could see the glass of shopfronts twinkling at its base.

  ‘The walk down’s all right, but the walk back up’s a killer,’ Mum said. I didn’t need to be told. Each step I took down the street made me aware of each I’d have to take back up. Already I was sweating in my clumsy clothes.

  ‘There’s a school bus,’ Mum said. I wasn’t reassured.

  ‘What’s beyond that scrubland?’ I asked, pointing behind the row of houses on the south side of the street.

  ‘A road goes up there. There are rock cliffs, and a lookout for tourists, but it’s mostly just scrub.’ Something darkened in her voice. ‘I don’t want you going up there.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘It just doesn’t look very nice,’ she said, fixing cold eyes on the street ahead.

  It was irritating that she already seemed to know everything about this town. It would have been nice to find some places on my own. She must have noticed me looking disappointed, because she said, ‘I’ll get Dad to pick us up from town if you don’t feel like walking home.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said, trying to hide my weird feelings towards her. Everything she said was annoying me, for some reason.