The Ice King (A Witch Ways Whisper)

by Helen Slavin

  Time skewed. Vanessa felt it shift beneath her and looked up from the slides and her notes. The workroom was in darkness except for her work light and the light from the shadows shifting on the floor. She checked her wristwatch, relieved that she seemed only to have been daydreaming for fifteen minutes, it must be the cold. She thought she might need to fetch herself a mug of tea, stave off the cold of the workroom. She glanced up at the clock on the workroom wall and her heartbeat jumped a little, the clock face showing that not fifteen minutes, but three hours had passed. She checked her watch. There was a distinct time discrepancy.

  She looked over her notes, she had been sitting looking into the tiny world of the ice fragments before her, except, what had she drawn? The strange lines and curves reminded her of something, she tugged at her mind trying to pull the memory free. The bark in the wood. The lines and markings that she had sketched were the ones that she had seen in the lichen, in the bark. She put the pencil down and took a deep breath. Once again she noted the anomaly between her own wristwatch and the clock on the workroom wall.

  She turned, her foot unhooking from the stool at the countertop, reaching towards the floor. She stopped herself. The shadows shifted and flickered like the wind through the trees, and yet, when she looked up there was no moonlight outside, just the cold white downward light of the boundary light marking the end of the building. She looked at the shadows again, hooking her foot back onto the stool, shifting her position round.

  The shadows filled the floor. They were beautiful, tree boughs and branches splintered into twigs, the light danced and blinked. Fierce little shafts of light. Diamond white. Snow white.

  The light in the wood. The light with no visible source. Again, Vanessa felt the conflict inside her, the lifetime of Havoc Wood clashing against her hard won scientific knowledge. Outside, the storm clouds lowered, the wind battered at the building shaking the artificial security light on its bracket. The light, Vanessa saw, was at the wrong angle to create the shadows, not to mention the absence of a tree through which the light would cast such shadows. She watched the storm rattle the light, the dodging downward V of yellow. It bore no connection to the bright white light, to the crisp dark shadows.

  Vanessa concentrated hard, she could sense, at the edge of her mind, the drift she had felt in the wood. There had to be some way of quantifying this, of recording this. She thought of her data from the day at the inlet, everything out of kilter.

  She reached into her sweatshirt pocket for her compass and, before she looked at it, she could feel the movement, the steady whirling of the needle. Its steadfast activity settled her despite the oddity of it. She put the compass back into her sweatshirt pocket. Record. Her own drawings were unreliable, just as her readings had been. There had to be a way to record.

  She reached around onto the worktop for her camera and began taking a series of pictures of the floor. There was some element to the shadows that was pricking at her mind as she looked at them through the viewfinder but she couldn’t quite place it. She continued to take photographs. As she stepped down from the stool she was aware suddenly of a smoky, honeyed scent. She felt as if she was on an edge, that the stool was too high from the ground and if she put her foot down she would, without a doubt, fall. As the panic seized her the alarm sounded in the corridor, the blaring wail reaching right into Vanessa’s already panicking chest and punching her heart.

  Dr Hardy, Dr Crowe and Dr Byrne were at the far end of the corridor by the emergency exit. The door there, a heavy duty corrugated metal affair, was ringing like a church bell. As she ran up the corridor, she could hear the heavy pounding on the metal and the shouts on the other side of the door.

  “Help me. HELP ME…Let me IN…” Bale’s voice was tangled up into the wind and the sound of him pounding on the door, again and again.

  “What’s happening?” Vanessa hurried up. Byrne turned to her.

  “Bale’s outside. He’s in trouble. The door won’t open.”

  The assembled academics were struggling to open the bar mechanism.

  “Is he drunk? For God’s sake let him in…” Dr Byrne barked.

  “Why isn’t it opening? For Christ’s sake…” Dr Hardy was protesting “Christ, what is happening here? What the hell is going on out there? Has he been at that ruddy still again?”

  “Let him in.” Dr Byrne’s voice was hard, knocking against the pounding on the door.

  “It won’t…open…I can’t get…” Dr Crowe grunted in effort. Dr Byrne rummaged in a nearby store cupboard, retrieving a can of WD40. The sickly clag-scent of the oil choked at everyone, making them cough as she sprayed it liberally over the mechanism. Dr Crowe fell back from the door.

  “What the hell are you doing? It’s too slick now…For PETE’S sake.” Dr Crowe beat on the door. As he did so the noises from outside stopped abruptly just as the alarm shut down. The silence threw everyone for a moment and then Dr Byrne, gathering her thoughts, leant her weight against the door mechanism, the bar shifted along its track and the emergency exit opened.

  Outside the storm had dropped into sudden silence, the sky ink black above them. The cold screamed in at them but, after all the knocking and pounding there was no one on the other side of the door.

  “Where the hell is he?” Hardy strode out into the bitterness “Bale? BALE? BAAAAAALE?” his voice was damped against the cold. They listened, there was no answer.

  “I don’t understand…” Dr Byrne stepped out, her hand fiddling with the switch on their million candle power torchlight. The batteries were duff and despite her efforts to shake the thing into life the torchlight remained resolutely dark.

  “He’s got to be here…” Crowe’s feet crunched in the snow, the harsh light of the centre reached out for a few feet. There was something just beyond its leading edge.

  “Bale you out here?” Crowe’s voice ought to have sounded angry but it didn’t. “Bale. This isn’t funny.” Crowe moved forward into darkness. Hardy took a few steps behind Crowe, raised his hand above his eyes to peer into the iced darkness. “Bale?” his voice was lower now, the uncertainty evident as he stepped cautiously forwards. Dr Byrne knocked the torchlight against the side of the door and the batteries sputtered it into dim life. Dr Byrne moved out to where Hardy was standing. As she did so Hardy turned and vomited.

  “What the…?” Byrne took step after step towards him, her pace increasing. Crowe’s voice rose out of the darkness.

  “Everybody inside. NOW.”

  Only after they slammed the door shut did Vanessa see that the snow on their boots was red with blood.

  The concensus of opinion was that Bale had been attacked by a polar bear as he’d gone back out to the comms mast. The meeting in the common room was sombre and the company fell into a deep silence riven only by the sound of the storm rising once more around them. The wind was battering at the roof, the insulating panels just above their heads were bowing in and out with the concussion of air through the roof.

  There was no way to communicate their current distress to any authority.

  “We should retrieve the remains.” Dr Byrne sat forward, Dr Crowe was shaking his head.

  “We do no such thing. Whatever’s left the bear can have, means it won’t be hungry when we head out there tomorrow to fix the comms.”

  Dr Byrne did not disguise her outrage.

  “Don’t look like that… I’m talking sense. You go and pick his bones out of the bear’s teeth if you want but I will not be doing that. Bale won’t care, he’s dead.”

  Crowe’s ire was rising and Dr Byrne was about to protest but Hardy interrupted.

  “There’s another storm coming. If the roof holds we might make it to the morning.” he said “I’m instigating emergency protocol one.”

  Drs Crowe and Byrne looked puzzled.

  “What the hell is that?” Dr Byrne was rifling through the company regulations.

  “Everyone is confined to their quarters. Kit yourselves up to keep warm and we’ll s
it it out, bears and weather, both.” Dr Hardy stood up “In the morning we’ll sort out the comms problems and radio in for a rescue plane. We are officially done here.”

  He reached for his half-finished packet of biscuits and headed to his room.

  Vanessa had thought that she would not sleep as the wind rattled at the narrow triple glazed window in her quarters but she dozed as the tiredness of the last few days crept over her like a blanket of snow, drifting and layering her into a deeper sleep.

  It was warm lying here in the dream and she was speckled with the tree shadows so that it was like sleeping in a forest. She dreamt in colour; gold and green, and tonight there was the scent of smokey honey, of wool and tobacco and leather. Her dream self saw him, the dream stranger, in the corner of the room. He was watching her, stepping forward, closer, closer, come closer her dream mind called to him.

  The dream stranger did not seem so strange when his hands slid around her waist and she turned into him, feeling his beard brush against her ear as his head turned to greet her. His salt and pepper hair slightly draggly, so she lifted her hand, pushed it behind his ear so that she could have a better look at the dream stranger’s face.

  She didn’t say hello, as her mouth opened to take in a breath, his mouth closed over hers and she was lost in the kiss, desire heating her hips as he shifted his weight, his eyes looking down at her, intense, one green, she saw, oh, and one brown.

  “There’s no time.” he said and kissed her again, his hand sliding down to rest on her hip, Vanessa pulling him into her, pressing herself into the shape of him before waking up with a start.

  It was pitch dark and the wind sounded panicked. Dark. Pitch dark. Utter dark. No. Vanessa let her eyes adjust. There was the faintest light from the emergency lighting in the hallway, a dim orange glow.

  Vanessa was not sure what any of the emergency protocols were, Dr Hardy had mentioned an employee manual on her arrival and never got around to finding her copy. He had not thought it was her responsibility to know much more than where the emergency exits were in case of a fire. It felt colder than it should so Vanessa made a guess that the power was out. In the darkness she fumbled around for her outdoor kit, pulled on her ski pants and gloves, zipped up her jacket and headed out into the corridor.

  No sound except for the wind. No, that was wrong. There was a knocking sound, a rhythmic donkdonkdonk that was coming from further along the corridor. Vanessa turned, there was something hard and heavy bouncing towards her, a football, no, curved oval, more like a rugby ball. Dr Byrne was alongside it, running as if she was part of the rugby game, her arms were widening, ready to tackle Vanessa.

  . Before Dr Crowe’s head took its last bounce and rolled to a stop at the scuffed and grubby metal skirting Vanessa and Dr Byrne were running through the workroom door.

  Dr Byrne was careful, closing it quietly behind her, shoving her weight against it to slide the bar into place.

  “Help me….” she was already dragging at the countertop, the metal legs screeling protest against the concrete floor as Vanessa pitched in behind her, jamming the counter behind the door.

  “The workroom is the oldest part of the building.” Dr Byrne’s voice was breathless and panicky “…and made from sheet steel. The door here is thicker and heavier too because it was once the outside door. You understand?” Dr Byrne looked earnest and terrified. Vanessa understood completely that the recitation of facts was the only thing tethering Dr Byrne to sanity.

  “You know, compared to this place the rest of the research centre is made out of paper.” Dr Byrne gave a short uneasy laugh.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. Something attacked. Hunters?” Dr Byrne’s eyes were wide with fear, making her look almost childlike.

  “Hunters? Hunting the bear?” Vanessa asked, her heart jolting with confusion. Dr Byrne’s breathing was short and tight as the two women stood looking at each other.

  “Bear. Beasts. I don’t know. I don’t know. Crowe is dead. Obviously.”

  “What should we do?” Vanessa had only one thought in her head, that she must hide, but that didn’t seem very pragmatic. Hiding just left you open to being found, surely. Eventually. “What about fixing the comms mast? Send a signal?”

  Dr Byrne was struggling to master her breathing and shook her head.

  “Vanessa…” she panted “Something is badly wrong here and no one is coming for us…” her breath was wheezing horribly now, her voice a distant ghost of itself “…we’re cheaper to lose than a company helicopter…” wheeze, gasp, wheeze, “…and besides…” wheeze, wheeze, suck, sputter, “…. most of us are dead.”

  She fell forward, like a tree, her bodyweight crushing Vanessa against the barricade they had made.

  “Dr Byrne…?” Vanessa was pinned, Dr Byrne’s face loomed close, her last breath expiring against Vanessa’s cheek, her body limp and wet. Vanessa struggled sideways, holding Dr Byrne upright as best she could.

  “Dr Byrne?” as Vanessa reached up to Dr Byrne’s face she saw her own hand blackened with blood in the glow of the emergency lighting. Dr Byrne’s body was too weighty for her, as Dr Byrne’s body slipped down, Vanessa was dragged with it.

  The blood was warm as the last of it pumped over her, Vanessa, struggling to shift the body off her could feel where the torso was slashed open. She gave a little moan of terror and her mind, repulsed and frightened, forced strength into her arms. She pulled free of Dr Byrne’s corpse.

  There was little in Vanessa’s head save for fear and emergency lighting. All her functions were shutting down to fuel the pumping of adrenalin. There was no space for thought, only fear. She was curling inwards until a tiny voice in her head said ‘hide’ and she began to crawl along the floor towards the corner where the countertop turned ninety degrees against the wall and created a Vanessa sized space.

  Daylight woke her from a stiff and shallow sleep. She listened carefully. There was only silence. As she unfolded herself from her hiding place she did not look at where Dr Byrne’s body lay in a frosted black pool of blood.

  It was just shy of two weeks before the supply plane arrived. Vanessa could not wait that long for help.

  There was only one way out of the workroom and so she mustered all her strength and screeched the counter back into place, slid back the door bolt and hesitated. She had no idea what or who was out there. Her hands were shaking and her muscles pinched with pain and cold.

  She made a slow progress through the research centre. The common room wall had been ripped out and Dr Crowe’s body sat, headless and frostchewed at the snowblasted table. There was no sign of the attackers, ursine or otherwise ursus maritimus, ursus arctos, ursus arctos horribilis, Vanessa’s mind began to follow Dr Byrne’s example. Polar, brown, grizzly.

  She needed to act. ursus maritimus. She needed to survive. ursus arctos She needed to fix the comms mast, ursus horribilis she needed to contact the outside world and get out of here.

  The gloves were restrictive at the best of times but today they were worse than useless. There was no way that Vanessa could take them off, her hands would freeze in the vicious wind that was, once again, searing across the landscape. The sky was resolutely dark where it should be the unending half-light of midsummer as Vanessa had dug out a torch from the store and hitched it to a belt around her waist, it clanged now as it knocked against the tower.

  The wind tried to pick her off the ladder, her fingers barely able to hold. She was too cold, there was no warmth inside the centre now with the power out. She had no idea how to restart the generator, no one had shown her how and there were no instructions in any of the files or folders. As she climbed the tower she thought of fire, of soft flames. She would make a fire.

  The thought of that warmed her mind and she tackled the comms mast. Dr Bale had been on the computer prior to his own demise and Vanessa had worked out that the satellite dish was connected correctly but had in fact been shifted out of alignment by the recent heavy wea
ther. With this knowledge she felt strong, as though she knew what to do. It would take a few adjustments and then she would be connected to the world once more.

  Except that in the night the storm had split the dish, the crack was a hairline fissure through the top left quadrant of the dish. Vanessa, perched on the structure, and the breath breathed out of her and was snatched into the prevailing wind. There was nothing to be done about this, she could not even cry, her face was too cold. She could not move for a moment and so she remained, clinging to the skeleton of the tower. She shut her eyes for a second or two, searching for her strength. When she opened them the sky was no longer dark, instead it was lit by a shimmering curtain of green.

  Aurora.

  A memory pinked in Vanessa’s head. A day at the lake. A snowglobe in the eye of a pike. Just when she thought she did not have any more adrenalin, her body called in emergency supplies.

  Faltering step by shaky step back to earth Vanessa stood in the snow as it whirled about her. The wind tugged at all her clothing, pushed at her back, shoved at her front. She had no idea what she was doing.

  Fire. Yes. That would be good. That was what she was doing.

  She dragged the sled indoors to help her move Dr Byrne’s body. Since the wall had been ripped out of the common room it seemed sensible to keep both bodies in there. Ursus Maritimus, Polar bear.

  The snow had blown inside her hood and leeched into her base layers. She changed out of one set of Arctic gear into another and warming herself with thoughts of the fire she would make. It was not a difficult task, her mother had taught her how many years ago and there was plenty of flammable stuff in the centre. There were the wooden joists in the roof of the common room, where it had fallen in, that would burn for the longest.

  Once her stock of fuel was neatly stacked in the kitchen she realised that she could not make a fire, there was no chimney, no means of opening one up without freezing to death. At first a bleak panic swamped her and then she remembered the air vents. An hour in the store room turned up some metal pipe for a flue, a half roll of ceiling insulation that might prove useful and some duct tape.