Winterbringers

by Gill Arbuthnott

  “The ice. Is it always like that?”

  “Ice? What are you talking about?”

  “Look for yourself.” He handed her the torch and she disappeared into the passageway.

  A couple of minutes later she re-emerged, looking puzzled.

  “That’s totally weird. I’ve never seen that before. It’s not even cold enough for there to be ice.” She glanced at her watch. “George should be finished by now. Maybe he’ll know why it’s like that.”

  “Can I have another look?”

  “Sure.” She passed him the torch. This time, he shone the light at the roof, looking for signs of water leaching in, but the stone above his head was dry. He turned the light to the ice at the end of the passageway.

  “What the …” he muttered, moving closer.

  The spur of rock that had been poking through the smooth surface of the ice was now no more than an egg-sized bump.

  The ice was growing.

  As he was about to call Callie, he heard her shouting. “George – come here! There’s something strange in the cave.” He looked over his shoulder and saw her silhouetted against the bright halo of the entrance. When he turned back, the piece of rock he’d been looking at was barely visible any more.

  Moving the light across the ice, he was again about to call to Callie when something made him gasp and jump backwards. His elbow hit the wall hard and the torch fell from his tingling fingers and went out.

  With a yelp, he scrambled backwards from the passage into the main chamber of the cave and stumbled out and on to the beach. As he did so, he blundered into Callie, George beside her.

  “Josh? What’s wrong?”

  “I … nothing. I dropped your torch; I’m sorry. I think the ice is getting thicker.”

  Callie gave him a strange look, but said nothing.

  “Let’s have a look then,” said George, pulling his car keys from his pocket. Josh wondered what he was doing until he saw a little torch like Callie’s attached to it. He strode into the cave.

  Callie turned to follow him. “Are you coming?”

  “In a minute. I just want some fresh air.”

  She gave him another funny look, then followed George. Left alone on the beach, Josh listened to his heart slow down to something like normal.

  He ought to go back in.

  His feet didn’t seem to want to take him.

  Come on. You’re being stupid.

  He forced himself into the mouth of the cave just as Callie stepped from the passageway.

  “The torch is fine,” she said, waving it. “I think you’re right about the ice,” she wrinkled her nose, “but I don’t understand how it can be doing that.”

  “Very interesting,” said George, emerging behind her. “I’ve never seen that before, or heard of such a thing. We’ll ask Rose, Callie. She knows lots of things that I don’t. We’d best be getting back now anyway. I’ll take you round to the cottage Josh.”

  The rain had gone off. As they walked back along the beach towards the car Callie looked sidelong at Josh. “Are you all right? You were really pale when you came out of the cave and bumped into me.”

  “I’m fine. I bashed my elbow really hard on a rock when I dropped the torch. That must be why I was pale,” he lied.

  She didn’t look convinced.

  He couldn’t tell her the truth. She’d think he was off his head. He couldn’t tell her what had frightened him so much that he’d dropped the torch, because obviously she and George hadn’t seen it, so obviously he’d imagined it.

  Obviously. But it still seemed real. He’d shone the torch across the ice, and for a moment, he’d seen a man’s face behind it, watching him.

  ***

  Rose listened intently to George and Callie’s description of the mysterious ice in the cave, brows drawn together in concentration.

  “What do you think, Rose?” said George.

  She dusted flour off her hands. “It all sounds very interesting.”

  “But what do you think could be causing it?” asked Callie.

  “Causing it? I’ve got no idea.”

  Later, when they were eating their soup at tea time, Rose said suddenly, “George, did I remember to tell you I’m meeting the girls for coffee tomorrow?”

  “I don’t believe you did, my dear. Or perhaps I just forgot. Usual time?”

  “Yes. Pass the bread please Callie.”

  ***

  All that evening, the image of what he’d seen in the cave drifted through Josh’s mind, and he could do nothing to dislodge it.

  “I got a lot done today,” said Anna. “I think I’ll give myself tomorrow morning off. We’ll go into St Andrews and do something. I take it lunch wasn’t as bad as you expected?”

  “No. Callie’s okay when you get talking to her. And I hardly saw the dog.”

  “Told you.”

  “I hate it when you say that.”

  “I know.”

  ***

  Unobserved by anyone now, the ice advanced to the end of the narrow passage then beyond, hour by hour, inch by inch, until the moonlight gleamed off a great slab of ice that filled the cave mouth. A trickle of water came from it and sank immediately into the sand.

  As the night wore on, the trickle of water continued and the ice slowly receded, retreating back to the passageway, leaving behind in the centre of the outer chamber what it had carried with it.

  A man.

  Curled on the floor, icy and soaked, barely breathing, hair darkened by water, his hands clawed into the sand as if to hold himself to the earth, so that the ice could not carry him back again.

  After some time he gathered the strength to raise his head.

  “Come back,” he whispered.

  Come back.

  The words floated into the middle of Josh’s dreams. Fast asleep, he saw the face of the ice-man. Come back, he said, and Josh woke with a jump, his heart pounding.

  ***

  It was frosty the next morning, white tips to every leaf and blade of grass.

  “Frost in July!” said Anna. “This would never have happened when I was young.”

  They drove down the long hill towards St Andrews, a skyline of towers and spires, the sea shining on their right, steel blue.

  “I bet that’s cold,” she went on.

  “Mmnnn … I’ll stick to the pool thanks.”

  They found a parking space near Janetta’s ice cream shop.

  “Come on. Let’s go up St Rule’s Tower.” She pointed to a tall, square tower beside the ruined cathedral.

  “Why?”

  “It’s a great view from the top. Come on, you’ll like it once you’re up.”

  “It’s the getting up I don’t fancy.”

  “My son, the couch potato.”

  ***

  In the West Port Café, Rose Ferguson sat at a table with three other women about her own age, admiring a new hat one of them had just bought.

  “It’s lovely, Bessie,” she said, “but tell me – why do you need another new hat?”

  Bessie Dunlop smoothed the scarlet feathers around the crown and shrugged. “I just like to buy them. Then I know I’ll always have the right one if I’m invited anywhere fancy.”

  Isobel Adam brought four chocolate biscuits out of her bag and handed them out, rather surreptitiously, to the others. “I don’t know who you think is going to invite the likes of us anywhere fancy enough to wear that!” she said mildly.

  Bessie sniffed dismissively and put the hat back in its box. “Speak for yourself dear. At least I’ll be ready. I might go on an exotic holiday like Barbara does and have to dress for dinner.”

  “I’ve never had to wear a hat for dinner,” said Barbara Napier, “I don’t know anywhere that exotic!”

  “Anyway, that’s enough about hats and holidays. Rose, when you asked us to meet here yesterday, you said it was important. What’s going on?”

  They all turned to Rose, attentive and serious now.

  “Girls, I thin
k things are coming to a crisis.” She told them what George and Callie had seen in Constantine’s Cave.

  “Do they have any idea what it means?” asked Barbara.

  “George has an inkling, though even he has no idea how bad things would be if this really is the start of the Black Winter rising. Callie …” She shook her head. “We must find a way to put this right. We’ve all seen how the weather is changing and how the changes are speeding up. We must find a way.”

  Isobel put a hand on her arm. “I know my dear, but haven’t we been trying for years already? What can we do that we haven’t done before?”

  They fell silent.

  ***

  Josh was relieved to hear his mum breathing harder than him as he came out behind her into the cold sky at the top of the tower. He looked round.

  There was a solid looking wooden barrier to keep anyone from getting right to the edge.

  “Huh! When I was a student you could sit right on the edge if you wanted to. Blooming health and safety people! Anyway, they can’t take away the view. I told you it was worth it.”

  Even Josh was impressed. On one side the sea, gleaming like sheet-metal; the town spread like a quilt around the base of the tower, and beyond, farmland and hills to the edge of vision, all silver-chilled with the last of the frost.

  He leaned as far as he could over the wooden rail.

  “Didn’t anyone fall off when you could sit on the edge?”

  “Not as far as I know. I mean, it was pretty obvious you’d to be careful not to lean too far back. They had to watch out for drunken students of course, but they just didn’t let them up. It seemed to work.”

  Josh was looking at the landscape below them again. “It’s frostier that way than it is down towards the village.”

  She screwed up her eyes against the sun and the frost glitter to see better. “Yes, you’re right. Maybe because we’re nearer the sea. I think I remember reading that keeps the land warmer. I mean, you hardly ever get snow right down by the shore anywhere in Scotland, even now.”

  Josh remembered the ice in Constantine’s Cave and wondered about that. A voice said in his ear, “Come back.” Startled, he whipped round, half-expecting to see the man from the ice, but there was no one on the tower besides the two of them. He gave a shudder, the hair standing up on the back of his neck.

  “It’s freezing up here. Let’s go down.” He shivered.

  “All right.”

  Now that the ice-man was back in his head, he wouldn’t leave Josh alone, the face in his memory, the words unavoidable. He must have imagined it, but he could still remember the shock of fear when he saw the face. He had to go back to the cave. That was the only way he’d be able to get rid of this feeling that he couldn’t put a name to.

  They went for hot chocolate, then shopped for food. As they drove back to the cottage Josh said tentatively, “I might see if Callie wants to do something this afternoon, if that’s okay.” Anything to derail his imagination.

  “Of course. Why don’t you invite her over for a swim or something?”

  “Yeah, might do. You can drop me at her house as we go past, then I’ll walk up to the cottage.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, of course. What do you mean?”

  “Offering to walk. That’s not like you.”

  “Must be the country air or something.”

  ***

  Callie came to the door with a tortoiseshell kitten climbing up her sweater.

  “There’s no one else in,” she said. “Just me and Chutney Mary, not even Luath.” She turned and went inside, leaving him to follow.

  “Chutney Mary?”

  She detached the kitten from her chest and held it out to Josh. “This is Chutney Mary.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, she has to be called something and George and Rose don’t seem to think Come-here-you-stupid-cat is good enough.”

  The kitten was trying to chew his thumb off. “Ouch. I never knew their teeth were so sharp. Isn’t Chutney Mary a bit of a … weird name?”

  “Probably no weirder than any other name seems if you’re a cat.”

  There didn’t seem to be an answer to that.

  “What do you want anyway?”

  “I wondered if you wanted to come over to the cottages, if you’re not doing anything. We could have a swim, or watch a film or play pool or something. Only if you’ve nothing better to do of course.”

  Why did he always feel such a prat when he talked to her?

  To his surprise she looked delighted. “Can I come with you now? I’m bored out of my mind.”

  “Eh … yeah. Of course.”

  “Hang on, I’ll just shut Chutney Mary away so she doesn’t shred all the curtains.”

  She disappeared with the kitten and reappeared a moment later with a heavy jacket over her fraying sweater. “Right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Bathed in golden light, we followed the path through groves of oak and birch and rowan, and other trees that we did not recognize. The sun cast rippling patterns of light and shade on the bark and at our feet, as a breeze moved the leaves above us.

  We moved, speechless, as though we were caught in a dream. Perhaps we were.

  The path rose steadily. We walked one behind the other, Beatrix in front. She stopped suddenly, and Janet and I caught up to her and together we looked out from the edge of the wood.

  Below us was a grassy valley, smooth as a bowl, wide and shallow. It seemed to catch all the light in the sky and throw it back. And at its centre, like the pupil of an eye, was a building such as we’d never imagined, much less seen.

  Its walls were not of stone or brick or daub and wattle, but of living wood. The white trunks of birch trees, slender as dancers, were linked and coiled about with great stems of roses and honeysuckle. It was a palace: one that had grown, not been built. Arched doorways pierced walls of leaf and blossom, but there were no doors to bar our way and still no sign of anyone.

  We stood on the edge of the wood, appalled now by our effrontery. I tugged at Beatrix’s sleeve, to say “Let’s go back,” but as I did so, a Kingfisher flew out of the wood behind us and swooped down and in through one of the windows.

  As it did so, the spell of silence that seemed to bind the place was broken and we became aware of the plash of water, the noise of insects, birdsong and voices from within the palace.

  Before we could move forward or back, a woman walked out through the main doorway. She stopped just outside, looked up to where we were and smiled.

  “Come down,” she called, “since you have found your way into my Kingdom.”

  Clinging to each other, we began to make our way down the grassy slope. She walked towards us. Her feet were bare, and where they touched the grass, tiny flowers of white and gold sprung up in her footprints. Trembling, we walked to meet her and when we drew near, sank to our knees before her, not daring to look up.

  “Why have you come here?” she asked, and then we had to look up at her in all her fearful beauty.

  Her ageless face was full of wisdom as well as loveliness. Poets would write verses, but I cannot, so here is the best I can remember: eyes the blue of a summer night, lips like poppies, hair to her waist that seemed like petals and oats and sunlight and streamers of high cloud. Her dress was a gauzy thing of shifting patterns, green and blue and chestnut, like a butterfly’s wing or a Kingfisher’s feathers, traced over and over with rippling veins of gold.

  We had found the Queen of Summer.

  ***

  4. Constantine’s Cave

  Although she had lived in Pitmillie all her life, Callie had never been to East Neuk Cottages before, which seemed strange when they were so near, or so Josh thought.

  She was fascinated by the place, by what seemed to her the enormous choice of things to do. In the pool, she spent ages just floating on her back, staring happily at the roof as Josh swam and dived around her.

  “This is the
warmest pool I’ve ever been in,” she announced, by way of explanation. “Mostly I swim in the sea.”

  Josh spluttered. “You’re joking! Here? It must be freezing.”

  She turned and disappeared below the surface, sleek as a seal in her tatty old black costume. Josh had never met anyone with such a total lack of interest in what they wore. She’d have been bullied mercilessly at his school. He was ashamed to realize that he would probably have joined in.

  But here, she was so confident that she made it seem as though everyone else who fussed about brands and labels was mad and she was the sane one. He wondered what happened to her at school in St Andrews.

  After they’d swum Callie persuaded him to go for a walk. It didn’t take much persuasion, since he’d been looking for a chance to ask about going back to Constantine’s Cave.

  “I’ve never walked round here before,” she said. “It’s weird now I think of it. I suppose I’ve always thought of it as somewhere that’s only for the people staying in the Cottages; but I don’t suppose it is.”

  They had wandered along a path between drystone walls that marked the edges of fields, and were now cutting across an area that had been planted with row on row of trees. There must be thousands, thought Josh, and even he knew that they were proper trees, not grotty forestry plantation conifers. Not that he could have put a name to any of them, mind you.

  They were back on a narrow grassy path now, behind a thin screen of taller trees. Suddenly Callie stopped him with a hand on his arm, a finger to her lips. She pointed through the trees. Josh looked and saw three deer grazing in the adjacent field, quite close, oblivious to their presence. He’d never seen wild deer before and he watched them for several minutes. Then he must have moved without realizing, and their heads swung up together and they raced off.

  “Well, I would guess that you haven’t seen anything like that before?”

  He shook his head, not rising to the bait, and walked on.

  A bit further on was the ruin of a cottage, half obscured. They ducked through the doorway. It smelled of damp, and of old wood, and after a few minutes they shoved their way out through the ivy again and cut back towards the Cottages by the side of a tiny stream, almost hidden between its overgrown banks and overhung by bushes and small trees.