Frost Dancers: A Story of Hares

by Garry Kilworth

  Life was very good for the hares, now that the flogre had gone, and they lived it to the full. It was a world of cabbages, and carrots, rich grass and beets, swedes and turnips, and a host of other vegetables. The jills grew fat, while the jacks waited anxiously for the days to pass. Sunsets came and sunsets went, and the earth grew warm and sweet.

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Bubba had suffered the indignity of capture and he was mortified. Now he was in a cage, out in the garden where the nets had caught him, next to an aviary full of twittering balls of feather that others might call birds, but were like mites to him. Bubba had now resigned himself to spending the rest of his life behind wire netting.

  He wondered how the tower was faring without him. And what would he do now that the tower’s advice was not available? Nothing, for there was nothing to do, except watch and wait, and shuffle along an inadequate perch.

  Bubba didn’t mind the man. The man was like mother had been, gentle with him. The man had soon realised that Bubba was a special creature, an almost-man himself, had let Bubba sit on his gloved wrist, and fed him tidbits of meat. It brought back memories that had Bubba swaying on his perch and crooning to himself. He wondered if he was going to be able to stay with the man for the rest of his life, or whether he would be sent away to another place.

  There were many other creatures in the house, all manner of juicy rabbits and succulent ducks, and little morsels of guinea pigs and gerbils which would go down in one swallow. Bubba eyed these creatures with some attention, wondering if he would be given any of them by the man.

  There was one creature Bubba did not like, and that was the dog. The dog was big, larger even than Bubba, and it had a special place beside the man. It followed the man around as if it owned him. The dog tried to talk to Bubba, spending a long time in front of his cage, but since Bubba knew no languages he could neither understand nor answer. He wondered if the dog were threatening him, in a kind of soft silky way, telling him that if he tried to escape he would leap on him and tear him to pieces? Bubba decided this must be so, for why else would the creature bother to talk to him? Bubba did not like the dog. The dog had a flabby look about it, while Bubba was fit and lean, and Bubba was convinced that in a fight between the two of them, the dog would lose. If he ever got the chance, Bubba was going to kill the dog.

  Besides the man there was another human in the house, a female of the species. Bubba had not had anything to do with women before, and only knew that when his mother had brought one home once, he was locked in the woodshed for a few hours. When he had been allowed back into the house, the woman was gone, and there was a funny smell left behind.

  This woman smelled of rich orchids, the kind of scents that were locked in Bubba’s memory from the land of his birth. She was soft and delicate, with sky-blue eyes, and wore colourful clothes. Bubba did not like the woman. She touched the man too often, putting her arm around his shoulder as he worked, touching his hair, his cheek. Bubba did not like her caressing the man, it made him feel angry inside. If Bubba got the chance, he was going to kill the woman.

  Out in the garden cage, Bubba was able to observe all life, and he noticed the new things coming over the sky, the dark shapes that looked like stiff replicas of Bubba. Bubba knew men better than hares knew men, and he knew almost immediately that these were machines fashioned by humans. They were like the machines that ran on wheels, along the black highways, except that these flew through the air. There was nothing to fear from such things, for they were only carriers of people. You could shriek threateningly at these machines, challenging them to fight, and they would do nothing but maintain a motionless silence. They were big, and looked menacing, but they would do nothing but obey the whims of men.

  Bubba knew this, for lodged in his brain was a faint memory of being carried by such a thing, from there to here. He did not recall where there had been, but it was different from here, having heat and jungle and wide rivers and mountains.

  Bubba’s cage was high enough off the ground for him to be able to stare out over the narrow river that wound its way through the meadows at the bottom of the slope. He enjoyed just resting on his perch, with the breeze ruffling his feathers, and taking in all the small movements out in the fields, along the river, down by the stream. There was a family of narrow, sleek mammals that lived in the stream, which would have made tasty eating, had Bubba been free to indulge himself.

  Besides himself there were one or two other raptors in the garden, though they were all kept well apart. There was a large owl, a hawk of some kind, and two harriers. These birds all stood, inert figures on their perches, as if they were carved from granite. Motionless, timeless as fossilised life forms, they regarded some unfathomable point deep in the universe with glittering eyes. Behind those eyes was a cryptic knowledge of something terribly swift, and sharp, and deadly. They shared, with Bubba, a secret knowledge of weightlessness, of swift flight, of lightning movements and meteor-fast falls from incredible heights, of rapid lancing kills. Theirs was a world of either dark brooding stillness, or bright blinding speed.

  Bubba did not like these creatures with their prehensile claws and fatal eyes, and had decided he would kill one or all of them, if he got the chance.

  Chapter Forty Eight

  There was spawn of frogs, toads and natterjacks in the ponds, the frogspawn in clouds and that of the toads and natterjacks in strings, like the discarded black pinpoint-eyes of small birds. The sticklebacks would eat a few before they grew tails and hatched, and then carnivores like the waterboatman would sting and feast on many more. Only a very few would live to grow into adults, become giants, and take their revenge on their former persecutors.

  To the hares the appearance of the spawn was just one of the numerous signs of seasonal change: nature is a clock with ten thousand hands. Eyebright was thirty-three days into her pregnancy and had only between seven and twelve days to go before the birth. She was fit and healthy, and all seemed well. Several other jills were in the same condition.

  Skelter felt a deep sense of satisfaction at how things were finally turning out. Then Reacher’s ghost-hare appeared to him one morning in a dream, and the sunhare knew that something momentous was about to happen. He discussed this with the other hares, that night, under the totem.

  ‘This morning,’ he explained to the others, ‘I dreamed I saw my ghost-hare, running alongside a hedge. Has anyone else dreamed of their ghost-hare recently?’

  There were one or two murmurs of assent: about as many as Skelter expected, for few hares were sensitive enough to see their guardians, even in their dreams. Many said they had felt the presence of something from the Otherworld while they slept.

  ‘It’s possible,’ said Reacher, ‘that something is about to happen to all of us, not just an individual. Now, we know that when our ghost-hares appear to us while we sleep, it can be a good or a bad sign. How do you all feel about this?’

  Moonhare remarked, ‘The flogre has gone. I expect that’s what it is.’

  Reacher argued, ‘But that’s not something that’s about to happen. It’s over and done with.’

  The next to speak was Headinthemist. ‘I have been consulting the wych elm twigs, and the patterns of white pebbles turned over by the plough, and everything augurs well. My own judgement is that the ghost-hares are pleased with our progress as a colony. We are about to have a birthing, of several jills and to increase our number. We are fertile. We are strong. We are increasing. Surely, this must please our ancestors?’

  This was something that had not crossed Reacher’s mind and he had to admit that things were going very well for them all. Perhaps the ghost-hares were giving them a sign that they were on the path to contentment, and to remain that way? After all, they had been persecuted for so long now, and at times in danger of being wiped out completely, so a peaceful future was indeed something quite momentous.

  For once, Skelter agreed with Headinthemist, at least with her point about recent changes being for th
e good. Although he did not believe in her magic he felt she had intuitively grasped at the truth.

  ‘I think there may be something in what Headinthemist is saying. We all dream of ghost-hares from time to time, and while I personally don’t think we can interpret these dreams into anything real, I do think they come at times of change. I think that the recent changes have been to our advantage, but the concerns of the past are still lingering and causing us to dream. I wish there was someone more knowledgeable than me who could convince you of this.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask your pal the hedgehog?’ said a jack sarcastically. ‘I thought she was a great friend of yours, and she’s supposed to know everything.’

  Skelter stared at the jack before saying, ‘That’s a very cruel thing to say, especially since I told everyone I saw Jittie squashed on the highway.’

  ‘Well, there’s a funny thing,’ said the jack, ‘someone must have pumped her up again, because I saw her this morning looking like a balloon covered in pine needles.’

  The jack glanced around the circle of hares, seeking approval of his witticisms, but no one commented. They were all watching Skelter, who was looking dangerous.

  ‘You’d better be right, friend,’ said the highlander slowly, ‘because if you’re not, we’re going to have a confrontation, you and I.’

  ‘Suits me,’ said the jack, and shrugged, before going off with one of his pals to the corner of the field.

  Skelter told Eyebright where he was going, made sure she was settled for the night on a good feeding ground, and set off for Jittie’s old rabbit hole, fully convinced that he was going to have to return and fight the jack in the morning. As he had guessed, the rabbit hole was empty, and he set his jaw and prepared his powerful hind legs for the coming battle.

  Just as he was about to take off for home, there was a rustling in the hedge, and a snout appeared. Then the rest of the creature, and it was indeed Jittie, struggled through a hole until she stood before the jack.

  ‘Jittie!’ cried Skelter. ‘I thought you were dead!’

  The hedgehog looked at him with an annoyed expression. ‘Why should you think that? Who are you anyway?’

  ‘Why, it’s me, Skelter, the highland hare.’

  Jittie snorted, blowing up dust with her rubbery nose. ‘I can’t be expected to remember every creature in the neighbourhood.’

  Skelter took this blow philosophically. ‘I thought we were friends. I saw your body, squashed on the highway, and believed you dead. I came to make sure.’

  With these words the hedgehog’s expression softened a little, and she waddled to the entrance to her nest. For a moment she busied herself with the leaves and straw inside, then turned and faced the hare. ‘All right, yes, of course I know you. But I don’t want to be bothered with other creatures all the time. I told you when I first met you, Skelter, that I wasn’t a sociable animal. I keep myself to myself.’ She stared at him fixedly for a minute, before continuing with, ‘Squashed on the highway? That was Blik, an old friend of mine. I saw him too, poor old devil. He was on his last legs anyway. We all look alike to you, us hedgehogs, don’t we? I expect he did it on purpose.’

  ‘Did what on purpose?’

  ‘Stayed out in the road, until he was run over. It’s the hedgehog way of avoiding the ailments that old age brings. A road death is quick and clean, not slow and lingering, like illness.’

  ‘Hardly clean.’

  ‘Well, quick and painless then. Now what is it you want, highlander, before my patience runs out.’

  Skelter explained to her about the ghost-hares, and asked if she had any ideas.

  ‘You want me to tell you if your colony is going to be subject to any disasters?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Skelter, ‘and more specifically, the kind of disasters we’re likely to get.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re an impossible creature. There must be a list as long as this field, of potential disasters. My advice to you is wait until it comes, if it comes, then act on impulse. If the urge is to run, then run, if not, then freeze. What else is there to do anyway?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right, when you put it that way. The hares are not likely to vacate their territory because of a feeling. They’ll need proof, which isn’t available, and the omen need not be bad anyway. Maybe it is a good happening coming?’

  At that moment there was a roar from above, and Skelter instinctively cringed as a rigid bird went overhead. It was considerably lower, here over Jittie’s field, than it had been in either Whinsled Lea or Booker’s Field.

  When the thing had gone, he straightened up, feeling a little abashed at his behaviour. Jittie was looking at him as if he were a worm.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re frightened of aircraft?’ said Jittie.

  ‘Aircraft?’

  ‘That’s the general name for them amongst the animals. I was talking to a seagull the other day, and she was telling me that these aerial machines are quite common in other parts of the country. Humans use them like cars apparently, to get around in the sky. No end to their deviousness, is there? Human hawks. Anyway, there’s a piece of land that’s been flattened and concreted just west of the island, on the mainland …

  ‘I know it,’ cried Skelter, ‘I passed it on a bike.’

  Jittie frowned and looked aggravated. ‘You’re not going to tell me you can ride a bicycle? I don’t expect you know what a bicycle is, either.’

  ‘No, no,’ cried Skelter, ‘don’t be foolish. I was captured by a human in the church tower, and another human … well anyway, the man rode the bicycle, while I was perched up behind, in a cage. I saw the machines at work on the land, and a fence going up. Listen, someone told me that hedgehogs often climb those chainlink fences. You haven’t been inside that place, have you?’

  ‘Of course I have. Do you think I’m going to let something get built around here without having a good look at it? There’s nothing of interest there. Just some buildings and a concrete strip where the aircraft run up and down to get enough speed to take off and come down – a bit like swans using the surface of the water. There’s the fence, all the way round though, and only a few humans seem to be allowed there. I saw quite a few hares in there, on the flat grassy area surrounding the concrete.’

  ‘Weren’t the hares worried, about these aircraft?’

  ‘Why should they be? They’re only things after all, and they never leave the concrete. As long as you stay on the grass, you’re safe. A bit like fields and roads. Not only that, the place is so neat and tidy your moonhare would go into ecstasies if she saw it. Straight lines, trimmed grasses, neat fences, flat as an iced-over pond, and hardly a human in sight.’

  Skelter immediately began pining for his mountains at the mention of flatness and said, ‘I don’t see the point of going to a place like that.’

  ‘Neither do I, that’s why I didn’t stay. Some of the hares seem to like the noise of the aircraft – I expect that’s why they stay. Hares are peculiar creatures, you must admit.’

  ‘Some of them,’ said Skelter stiffly.

  ‘Yes, most of them.’

  ‘Matter of opinion.’

  ‘Quite, and that’s mine.’

  They lapsed into silence for a while, before returning to more acceptable subjects, until Skelter finally took his leave of the hedgehog to whom he owed his life, and set off over the fields, back to the place of the totem.

  When he got back to Booker’s Field, Eyebright was anxiously waiting for his return.

  ‘Was she there?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Skelter, his mind still full of the tumbledown mountainsides, ‘yes, she was there. Couldn’t help us though. She said to forget all these signs and symbols, and to take things as they come. I think she’s probably right. We can get as obsessive as a rabbit over such things.’

  ‘What were you talking about all this time?’ asked Eyebright, a little piqued by his long absence.

  ‘Oh, this and that. Mainly about the aircraft – those are the rig
id birds that fly overhead all the time. They’re manmade things apparently. I suppose we guessed that. They carry people and things from place to place. Jittie said the area where they take off and land is fenced in – an orderly sort of place. Sounded pretty boring.’

  ‘Has Jittie been there then?’

  ‘Oh yes, once. She thought it was awful.’

  When Skelter had satisfied her curiosity, he went and had a word with moonhare and sunhare, who were actually less concerned by the ghost-hare dreams than Skelter himself, so they needed little convincing to let things take their course. Jittie was right in any case: what could anyone do before the event? When it happened, that was the time to make decisions. Run or freeze. The only two hare options. Normally, it was run, and when you did so, it was blindly. That was the way of the hare.

  Chapter Forty Nine

  They were all sleeping in the early morning sun when it happened. One or two hares bolted immediately, without thinking or waiting to see what others were going to do. The urge to run was instinctive and there were those whose legs were moving even before they were fully conscious. Others froze for an instant, then they too began running. Skelter and Eyebright were among the last to scramble through the hedge and dash over Poggrin Meadow, past the gibbet replete with the hollow stares of eyeless moles and crows.

  The reason for the panic was a terrible din to the east of Booker’s Field, and it was moving towards the colony as they had been resting around the totem. There was shouting and clashing sounds and whistles and the beating of undergrowth with sticks. It sounded as if the whole human race were moving across the landscape, intent on rousing some sleeping monster buried deep in the earth.

  Skelter, though hysterical, kept Eyebright in view the whole time, and stuck to her heels. Some of the pregnant jills were slow, and their jacks were having to make the agonising decision of whether to abandon them and save themselves, or remain with them despite being helpless to aid them in their flight. Skelter stayed just behind Eyebright, slowing when she slowed, and increasing his speed when she did likewise. In his head was a kind of déjà vu feeling which the fear would not allow him to identify. It was like a fly, buzzing around in his brain, worrying the memory-shadows there.