by James Nicol
A few minutes later, the cart rattled out across the bridge near the South Gate. The rain had swelled the grassy puddle, leaving the ground so flooded that the meadow between Lull and the Great Wood looked like a giant lake that stretched all the way from where the Torr River used to be visible. Lull now looked like a little island floating in a sea, ringed by a forest.
‘My word,’ Arianwyn sighed.
‘Oh, this isn’t anything much at all, Miss Gribble,’ Mrs Parkinson sang as she flicked Elouise’s reins. The wheels of the carriage trundled through the floodwater. ‘Ten years ago, the water came right up to the gates and flooded part of the town.’
‘Do you think it will get as bad this year?’ Colin asked, peering up at the grey sky.
‘I shouldn’t think so. Rain’ll stop in a day or two, I’d say,’ Mrs Parkinson replied cheerfully. ‘And it won’t be so damp in the Great Wood anyway once we’re a ways in. On you go, Elouise, there’s a girl.’
And Mrs Parkinson had been right: once they had passed under the cover of the trees of the Great Wood, the ground became dry and firm, and Elouise was able to move quicker. Her bridle jingled as they moved on under the dripping canopy. Arianwyn, Salle and Colin hopped down from the cart and followed behind, Mr and Mrs Parkinson chatting with the rest of the cutting party cheerfully from their seats.
Soon the cart rumbled into a clearing and Mr Parkinson called, ‘This is the best spot.’ There was a wide clearing, the old trees forming a natural circle. Arianwyn could see that two of the trees had died, one already half toppled over into the clearing.
‘So do we just start cutting?’ Colin asked, picking up a small axe.
‘Gracious, no!’ Mayor Belcher said. ‘We can’t just start cutting – not until Miss Gribble has asked permission from the spirits that live in these trees.’
Arianwyn turned in surprise. The mayor seemed to know all about spirits all of a sudden – perhaps because it was to do with Yule.
The mayor gestured towards the two dead trees. ‘After you, Miss Gribble.’
Arianwyn stepped forwards until she was standing before the first fallen tree.
‘Gentle spirits, we thank you for protecting these trees and for their gift this Yule.’
She reached forwards, sketched Ert-e – the earth glyph – against the rough dry bark of the dead tree stump and waited.
She could feel a breeze move through the wood. It was followed by the rustle of leaves about her feet and then several faint lights began to emerge from within the trunk. Rising out through the bark and drifting up into the air above the fallen tree, the lights caught on the breeze and then drifted away, like dandelion seeds.
She heard the oohs and aahs of the group watching near the cart and Elouise gave a gentle snort as several spirits drifted towards her. And there in the swirl of the spirit light, Arianwyn saw a shape. But not just any shape!
It was such a surprise that she gave little squeak of excitement.
There in the blur of lights from the tree spirits hung a new quiet glyph!
Arianwyn scrabbled quickly in her satchel to retrieve her notebook and a pencil. But it was buried in the bottom under an apple, a spare scarf and other clutter. In frustration she cast the bag aside and grabbed a twig. There in the soft earth of the Great Wood she quickly sketched the shape, noting the soft lines and curves of the new quiet glyph.
‘What’s that?’ Mrs Parkinson asked, coming to stand beside Arianwyn and staring at the glyph, hastily drawn into the ground.
Arianwyn turned. ‘Nothing – just . . . part of the spell. You carry on with the cutting now!’ She blushed a little and grabbed up her bag. She felt elated. It was as though the spirits had given her a gift all of her own, enabling her to see another of the glyphs she held somewhere inside herself. She found the notebook and started to sketch the glyph from the ground on to a blank page, lost in the shapes and lines for a moment.
Mrs Parkinson clapped her hands together and said, ‘Right, m’dears. Let’s get to work! Logs won’t chop themselves, you know!’
They were soon all employed with different tasks, helping to saw the huge old trunks into the Yule logs or collecting fallen twigs and branches for kindling. Mayor Belcher – who was getting in the way far more than he was actually helping – was sent to collect more miselberry sprigs and winterthorn branches around the edge of the clearing. ‘Stay nearby and call if you need anything!’ Arianwyn had cautioned as he walked reluctantly away from the main group.
She too patrolled the edge of the trees, checking for signs of hex or dark spirit creatures lured by the human activity in the wood. There could well still be skalks and night ghasts and who knew what else in the Great Wood, just waiting for someone to wander off.
After a couple of hours the cart was loaded with a good pile of wood. Salle and Colin were handing out sandwiches and small metal cups of vegetable soup for the cutting party’s lunch. Everyone was just tucking into the picnic when there was a loud scream from beyond the clearing. Followed by: ‘MISS GRIBBLE!’
It was, unmistakably, Mayor Belcher.
Chapter 18
RESEARCH
h, snotlings!’ Arianwyn spat. Casting aside her sandwich, she ran off out of the clearing, leaping over the neatly stacked pile of logs that had already been gathered and heading in the direction of the mayor’s frantic shouting.
She didn’t have to run far to see the mayor half collapsed and backed up against the trunk of a huge oak tree. His bunches of miselberry lay discarded on the ground around him. ‘Miss Gribble!’ he shouted again. ‘It’s going to attack me!’
Arianwyn still couldn’t see what ‘it’ was. She had slowed to a walk, now that the mayor was in sight. A crackling stunning orb flickered and sparked in her open palm.
‘Oh my goodness!’ the mayor moaned.
As Arianwyn drew closer she could see at last what was standing in front of the mayor. She felt relief wash over her as the silver antlers of a stagget caught the afternoon light.
It was a female, quite small, and she was watching the mayor as though fascinated by him. ‘It’s all right, Mayor Belcher. She’s not dangerous.’
Arianwyn scanned the stagget for signs of hex. The last stagget she had seen had been one ravaged with hex in the Great Wood, a male that had attacked Miss Newam and Colin and their feyling friend, Tas. Arianwyn had banished it, an illegal spell for which she had nearly lost Colin’s friendship.
The memory of it came back, hot and urgent.
‘What does it want?’ Mayor Belcher asked, glancing across at Arianwyn.
She didn’t answer, but moved forward carefully. She was almost sure that it would spook at any second and run back into the wood.
‘It wants the miselberry.’ A high-pitched voice sounded from behind Arianwyn, making her jump.
She turned to see Estar standing in amongst the brown and orange ferns. ‘Staggets enjoy eating miselberry leaves, surely you knew that, Arianwyn?’ He smiled.
‘Oh, Estar!’ she sighed. ‘It’s so good to see you!’ It really was; she had felt so bad about the way they’d left things last time, even if part of it had been caused by a spell. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around her small blue feyling friend, their disagreement forgotten, she hoped.
‘Miss Gribble!’ Mayor Belcher called again.
Arianwyn turned back to the mayor. ‘Just give it some of the miselberry leaves,’ she said.
The mayor reached out a shaking hand of pale green miselberry towards the stagget. She eyed the bunch of greenery for a few moments and then slowly, carefully, reached for it and gently bit off a mouthful. She chewed for a few moments before stretching forward again and taking another delicate bite.
Then, silently, the stagget turned and moved slowly off into the woods once more, casting a brief look back at Arianwyn and Estar as she went.
‘Oh, not you again!’ the mayor sighed when he saw Estar following Arianwyn back from the cover of the ferns.
Estar bow
ed low, a single slender hand held across his chest. ‘Mayor Belcher.’
Arianwyn helped the mayor to his feet, and as he dusted himself off he said, ‘I found something odd over here, Miss Gribble. What do you make of it?’
Arianwyn and Estar followed him a little further along a dirt track to another much smaller clearing. There were signs of a campfire and the earth in the clearing was all flattened. ‘Someone has been here,’ the mayor said, gesturing to the blackened remains of the fire.
‘And recently,’ Estar said as he picked up a piece of charred wood and sniffed it.
‘But who?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘Everyone knows that the woods are out of bounds.’
‘Well, it looks to me as though someone has been making a camp here nevertheless.’
‘Not more feylings on their way to Edda?’ Arianwyn asked, looking at Estar.
He shook his head. ‘We have had no more new feylings arrive for many weeks now,’ he said sadly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Arianwyn said.
‘Well, many of us were lucky and we should be thankful for that,’ Estar said.
‘How are things at Edda?’ Arianwyn asked as they turned and followed the mayor back to the others.
‘Complicated, but well enough under the circumstances.’
‘And how is Virean?’ Arianwyn asked, thinking of the white feyling she had met and the connection that clearly existed between the she-feyling and Estar.
‘She is quite well.’
Arianwyn saw the slight blush under his blue skin. ‘Thank you so much for coming back,’ she said gently. ‘I know you must be in demand in Edda at the moment.’
‘Not at all.’ Estar smiled and asked, ‘And the glyphs?’
‘One new one,’ Arianwyn said. ‘Came just now – when I wasn’t even thinking about them.’
‘How surprising,’ Estar said, though he didn’t sound surprised at all. ‘Excellent, you’ll have to tell me all about it.’ Then he clapped his hands together and said, ‘So how do you humans celebrateYule?’ His yellow lamp-like eyes twinkled in the gloom of the Great Wood.
‘Oh, don’t ask,’ Arianwyn moaned, and then in a whisper asked, ‘What do you know about frost phoenixes?’
‘I brought everything that was in the library about the old frost fairs.’ Salle smiled as she placed a small collection of what appeared to be little more than pamphlets in front of Arianwyn. Then she quickly pulled off her coat and wellingtons and joined the others before the small fire.
They had returned from the Great Wood and the cutting ceremony soaked through. And now Arianwyn, Colin and Estar sat on the floor of the Spellorium wrapped in towels and blankets, sipping on hot chocolate. A collection of socks hung damply over a wooden airing frame before the small pot-bellied stove.
Arianwyn leafed through the first of the pamphlets. It was mostly full of old photographs of women in very old-fashioned clothes skating on the wide section of the River Torr that skirted the edge of Lull.
‘Any luck, Colin?’ Arianwyn asked over her shoulder.
Colin and Estar were searching through some of the old ledgers that dated back to the time when Miss Delafield’s sister had been Lull’s resident witch.
‘Effie would have been the last witch to have presided over a frost fair here,’ Colin said. ‘There must be something we can use!’
‘Oh, look, is this her?’ Salle flipped around one of the small booklets she had brought back from the library. The photograph showed a young witch with tumbling blonde curls. She stood on the bridge that crossed the River Torr near the East Gate while others walked or skated below on the frozen river.
‘Yes, that’s Effie. She looks a little like Miss Delafield, don’t you think?’ Arianwyn asked, peering closer at the photograph.
Effie’s mouth was open, as if she was in the middle of saying something – or casting a spell perhaps? There was a bright flashing blur of light across the top half of the photograph.
‘Is that the frost phoenix?’ Arianwyn asked, her fingers resting against the picture. ‘How did Effie summon it?’
‘Ah, here we are. I’ve found something,’ Colin called, his voice full of excitement. But his enthusiasm was only very brief for then . . . ‘Oh dear.’
‘Oh dear what?’ Arianwyn asked.
‘Well, put it like this,’ Estar chipped in, leaning over Colin’s shoulder to look at what he’d found. ‘How are you at singing?’
‘Singing?’
‘There’s a song to summon the frost phoenix – the only way to summon it, it would appear,’ Estar said with a slight sniff.
‘I can’t sing!’ Arianwyn squeaked in shock. She looked at Estar and Colin and then Salle as though one of them would offer an answer.
‘Oh dear – not even a teeny bit?’ Salle asked.
‘Not well enough to be singing in front of the whole of Lull!’ Arianwyn collapsed into the small armchair beside the pot-bellied stove which was full of bright orange embers.
The Spellorium fell silent.
‘Do you have the music in those pieces of paper?’ Salle asked.
Estar and Colin quickly searched through the books and letters until Colin gave a triumphant ‘Ah-ha!’ and held out a small slip of paper that was marked with musical notes and words. At the top was a picture of a most marvellous-looking bird in full flight, a long tail trailing behind and snowflakes dotted around it.
‘Look, Wyn – it’s not very long,’ Salle said, smiling. ‘Want to give it a quick go?’
‘No, Salle – not even a little bit.’
Salle laughed quietly. ‘Who’d have thought after everything you’ve faced you’d be scared to stand up and sing a silly old song?’
Arianwyn knew she had meant the words to be light and fun but they hit her straight in the chest. Salle must have noticed as she quickly stepped forwards and, taking Arianwyn’s hand, said, ‘Well, how about if we sing it together then? Look, it’s only a few lines really. It’d be over in less than a minute. Would that work, do you think?’ She looked at Estar and Colin.
‘I don’t see why not.’ Estar shrugged. ‘I imagine the song is mostly symbolic; as long as Arianwyn completes the spell correctly beforehand there is no reason to assume that this frost phoenix won’t appear as everyone seems to think it might. How thrilling!’
Arianwyn smiled at Salle. ‘Oh, all right – as long as you promise to stop boggin’ well going on about it!’
Salle beamed and did a little dance across the Spellorium while Estar and Colin laughed and clapped.
Chapter 19
The WINTERTHORN QUEEN & THE YULE LORD
arly the next morning Arianwyn hurried down into the Blue Ox to find her grandmother drinking tea quietly and alone. ‘Everyone has already gone,’ Grandmother said. ‘What have you got to look forward to today?’
‘The mayor is handing out the Yule logs this morning in the town square. Apparently, I have to be on hand too.’
‘Well, why not sit and join me for a drink before you go?’ She reached for the teapot as Arianwyn sat down and snatched up a piece of warm toast from her grandmother’s plate, the butter oozing gently down its sides.
They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, Grandmother flicking through some post that had arrived for her.
Arianwyn was just about to ask her grandmother what she had seen in the flames of the fire but at the last moment she changed her mind, scared to know the answer, and asked instead, ‘Have you heard how Gimma is getting on?’
‘I did make enquiries before I left Kingsport, but nobody seems to know who it was that was stationed at the Alverston house. And now the council is in recess for the holidays and apparently Constance, the High Elder, is off travelling somewhere. I doubt we will find out more until the New Year.’
‘Where has the High Elder gone?’ Arianwyn asked.
‘On some sort of tour of the kingdom apparently.’ Grandmother sipped her tea and carried on reading her letters. ‘Don’t worry, Gimma is better off with her famil
y. Safe in Kingsport, away from the hex.’
Arianwyn hoped that was true.
The town square was packed with people, many hidden underneath umbrellas, all crowding around the Parkinsons’ cart as the mayor handed out theYule logs. ‘Yule blessings to you all,’ he called cheerfully as he handed a large chunk of wood to a family.
The town band played some bright Yule tunes as the rain continued to fall. Arianwyn made her way to the cart with Grandmother and Miss Delafield close behind. As soon as Mayor Belcher saw her he stopped handing out the logs and clapped his hands together – glaring at the band until they fell silent.
‘Ladies and Gentlemen. I am pleased to say that Miss Gribble has consented to help us with some of the traditional Yule festivities this year. Tomorrow we will assemble on the East Gate bridge for the summoning of the frost phoenix.’
The sound of excited cheers filled the town square.
‘And I am also pleased to say it is time to announce who will be this year’s Winterthorn Queen.’ More enthusiastic cheers rose from the crowd. Arianwyn felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see her father behind her, as Mayor Belcher started what sounded like one of his legendary and lengthy speeches.
‘What’s all this about then?’ Arianwyn’s dad asked, gesturing to the cart and Mayor Belcher.
‘He’s just been handing out theYule logs, and now he’s going to announce who is the Winterthorn Queen!’ Arianwyn said.
‘Oh, we can’t miss that, can we?’ Sergeant Gribble smiled.
Arianwyn gave a small laugh as the mayor cleared his throat after a pause and continued, ‘So, without further ado, I am very pleased to announce that the town council has named . . . Salle Bowen our Winterthorn Queen for this Yule!’
The town square burst into a roar of cheers and clapping.
Arianwyn turned, searching for Salle in the crowd. She saw a flash of a faded red coat and then Salle was hurrying forwards as everyone continued to applaud.
Mayor Belcher helped her up on to the back of the cart and placed a crown that was woven with winterthorn, ivy and red and green ribbons on her head. The crowd shouted again, there was a round of applause and several loud whoops of delight, the loudest being from Aunt Grace and Uncle Mat.