by Sarah Mussi
‘But you won’t be around if you go off with Ellie!’ shrieks Rhiannon.
‘It’s not going to be much fun, Rhi,’ I say. ‘Besides, you haven’t even got any winter gear.’ I cast a critical eye over her bizarre outfit. ‘Oh, and you’ve only got one boot. Stay by Gran’s fire if you can’t go home yet.’
‘I can borrow Gran’s wellies,’ whines Rhi. ‘Wellies fit everyone.’
‘Mother Jones is right.’ Davey says carefully through his copper piping. ‘We must leave as soon as we are able; every minute strengthens the arm of the White One. Soon there will be no way that we will be able to get through to Cadair Idris. When Oswald realises that is where we are bound, he will try to cut off all roads, all highways.’
‘And without the Land Rover, they know there’ll be no way through the mountains on foot,’ says George.
‘Cadair Idris?’ I say.
‘Yes,’ says Gran. ‘Did I forget to mention that? Cadair Idris is one of the last great mountains in the south of Snowdonia.’
Huh?
‘It’s where you’ll find Idris Gawr,’ she says.
‘Oh, I see.’ I reply, not seeing anything.
George turns on the telly, tunes it to the news. ‘Better get the weather forecast then.’
The TV local news headlines blare out:
‘Mysterious weather conditions attack North Wales.
Temperature in Blaenau Ffestiniog lower than in the Arctic Circle.
The spring holiday season badly affected.’
‘Idris Gawr is the giant who sits on the top of Cadair,’ explains Gran.
Oh. OK. Giant. Mountain. Miles away. Fantastic. Marvellous.
Hang on. Giant?
The urgent headlines banner scrolls across the bottom of the TV screen: TRAFFIC ALERT: BREAKING NEWS! ALL ROADS OUT OF LLANBERIS PASS CLOSED. RESIDENTS ADVISED TO STAY INDOORS.
‘Oh Hell!’ says George.
‘Sior!’ exclaims Gran.
‘So can I come?’ says Rhi.
‘Absolutely not,’ I say. ‘It’s miles away and you’ll have to climb a mountain Rhi. Snow. Cold. Icy slopes. On foot. Think about it.’
‘This is the work of Oswald,’ says Davey mournfully. ‘Nobody but Y Ddraig Goch can unfreeze his grip now.’
Y Ddraig Goch.
Henry.
My Henry.
Davey drones on: ‘The whole mountain range will be a death trap. There will be accidents – terrible accidents, hikers slipping on treacherous cliffs … ’
My hand tightens on the mirror. I just want to be with you.
‘People freezing to death on camping trips, Arctic winds that no sheep can survive … ’ adds George with a grin.
Oh great Snowdon, show me the way to help Henry.
Gran grows quite pale and sits down. Her rocking chair squeaks on the flagged floor. ‘The beginning of the end,’ she whispers.
‘What do you mean?’ I say.
‘There is an old prophecy,’ she says, ‘that when the spring brings winter, when friend turns on friend, when the son of prophecy is no more, the world shall come to end.’
Fabulous. Wonderful. Cheerful even.
George makes a X-finger sign in Gran’s direction, says, ‘Step away from the prophecy, folks’. Then he goes out and returns with coats, daypacks and an assortment of extras. ‘Never give up hope. We have Land Rover plus LURVE! And besides, they’ll probably get the snowploughs out soon.’
‘Not up here,’ I say, catching some of Davey and Gran’s gloom.
Rhiannon grabs a daysack. ‘I. Am. So. Going. Too.’
‘Sior is right. All is not lost,’ Gran announces suddenly, almost shouting down her piping. ‘I have an idea. I’ll get to work on it straight away.’
‘But I still don’t understand about Idris Gawr?’ I say. ‘Do you mean like a real giant?’
‘Obviously,’ says George. ‘That is the meaning of the word giant. You know – big. But don’t worry, he’ll be no match for me.’
‘I may need a little time, so you rest while I prepare,’ Gran instructs.
Rhiannon starts choosing the prettiest outfit from the assortment of snow gear.
George stands on a chair beating his chest going, ‘Fee Fi Fo Fum, Idris Gawr can kiss my bum’.
Honestly. Sometimes George is so V V V immature; I am even beginning to think Rhiannon might be suitable for him, after all.
Davey starts praying. Fervently. ‘Into your hands we commend ourselves and those we love. Be with us still, and when we take our rest, renew us for thy service … ’
He is definitely a v v v pessimistic person.
I try not to worry. As I feed Ceri all the leftover sausages, I tell her, ‘You had better eat as much as you can, because it’s going to be a long walkies’.
—
It turns out Gran’s ‘preparations’ take a little longer that expected. After about an hour she informs us we can’t leave until first light.
Then she is adamant that no one can take care of Davey, except her. On strict instructions, he is put in the tiny loft above the spare room, where he seems to want to lie on a mat. Frankly, I think that’s taking the whole hippy thing too far. But Gran doesn’t even try to get him to sleep on the bed. Instead she sends me and George up with hot-water bottles and extra duvets.
Anyone would think he actually was a monk or guru.
Rhiannon predictably insists she has to sleep ‘somewhere very comfortable, like George’s bed,’ and that she ‘can’t possibly share it with Ellie’.
So George ends up on the sofa, and I end up on a put-you-up on the landing.
But I don’t mind. At all.
Because when I’m sure everyone is asleep, when all the lights have gone out, when I’m hidden from the entire world, with Gran’s old blankets pulled over my head, I slide the mirror out from under my pillow.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.
I dare myself.
I flick my phone on and shine its torch on the mirror.
I take a deep breath.
And then I look into it.
My heart pumps. A strange, half-excited, half-terrified butterfly flutters around my stomach. I watch my breath steam up the mirror’s glass. As it fades, I feel it pulling me in. I close my eyes, trembling with excitement. I say to myself: let Henry be here. Let Henry be here. Let Henry be here. I squeeze my eyes tight, and then I flick them open.
I am once again on a mountainside …
TWENTY-FOUR
I am standing on a rocky incline. I look around. I can’t quite place where I am. I know Snowdon like I know my mother’s face. And yet I have never seen a peak like this before. It sweeps down to the shores of a lake. It’s not Llyn Ffynnon-y-gwas, nor any llyn I know.
I squint up towards where the summit should be. But there’s no summit there, only a long saddleback range. I look back at the lake; it’s deep turquoise blue. Its aquamarine colours shine up at me. This is not a lake I’ve ever seen before either.
‘That’s because this is not a lake on Snowdon,’ says Henry.
My heart leaps.
It’s him!
I know it’s him. It’s his voice. I tremble all over with excitement. I’d know his voice even in my dreams! It’s seared into my very soul.
He is my dreams.
My pulse starts dancing.
I wheel around, ‘You’re here!’ I shout, looking wildly around for him.
‘Yes, I’m here,’ he says. ‘You know, I will wait for you – through eternity – wherever you go.’
And suddenly here he is. Right beside me!
I throw my arms around him. He pulls me close.
He kisses me.
I kiss him.
A lovely shiver runs right through me. Electric. Awesome. This is just where I want to be. Here with Henry, just kissing.
‘But where is here?’ I ask at last.
‘This is Llyn Cau on Cadair Idris.’
‘Cadair Idris?’ I say. ‘That’s weird, that’s the
mountain of Idris the Stargazer.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘You know everything, of course!’ I say.
I don’t ask him whether he knows when I go to the bathroom, or if he watches me. For obvious reasons.
‘Yes. I see everything,’ he says. ‘Dragons have excellent eyesight.’
I blush.
That means He. Must. Have. Seen. Me. In. The. Bathroom.
Aww-kward.
‘Dragons can see into the past and into the future,’ explains Henry, ‘but that does not mean what we see will necessarily come to pass.’
I don’t even bother to try to understand. If dragons have such amazing, wondrous eyesight, good for them. As for me, I can’t really see past tomorrow, and how I’m going to manage spending multiple hours in the freezing cold with Rhiannon and George and Davey – on any kind of road trip – without going bananas.
‘But why are we here?’ I ask.
‘It’s the mirror,’ says Henry. ‘The mirror you found with the heart is a very powerful witch’s mirror.’ He kisses the top of my head and snuggles me tight up next to him.
I shiver with delight.
‘It belonged to Nimue, the Lady of the Lake. You can see many things in it, including me.’
‘I only want to see you,’ I say. ‘But it seems to be showing me a very nice turquoise lake on Cadair Idris as well.’ I put my arms round him. I kiss him back, on the cheek. (!! <3 <3 <3!!) I’m so happy.
‘And that is no accident either,’ says Henry. ‘It means there is something about this lake that we ought to understand.’
‘Well, come on, Mr Dragon Eyesight Foresight Know-all,’ I say, ‘tell us.’
‘Ah,’ says Henry, ‘seeing into the future is not as easy as you might imagine. It is like a mountain walk. If you take this track, you see one view; if you take another, an entirely different vista opens up. And it is uncertain and dangerous to trek unknown paths. If you act on such visions you may change the future for the worse. What you fear may become real, and what you hope for may be lost.’
I think I understand.
‘And anyway, I only have eyes for you. Which colours everything. And all prophecy is veiled from me.’
‘Oh Henry,’ I say, ‘then, why don’t we climb up on that rock over there, and just sit and be together?’
‘Ellie, you think of the most delightful things.’
Why bother about anything else if we can just be together?
‘But don’t underestimate your witch’s mirror,’ says Henry. ‘It will have powers even I can’t see. We should at least try to understand why it has placed us here below the Bed of Idris.’
I wave the mirror in front of his face. He smiles and shrugs. I laugh. He grabs hold of my hand, and together we walk along the shore of the lake, leaving footprints behind in the damp sand.
Everything is so perfect.
We reach the bow of the llyn, where it curves around under the mountainside. We climb up on to a great boulder that’s rolled right to the water’s edge. The boulder has a conveniently flat surface, with just the right amount of space for two people to sit closely cuddled up.
Everything is just how it should be.
The stone ledge has even been warmed by the afternoon sun.
And we kiss and hold each other.
And we laugh and look into each other’s eyes.
And we skim pebbles out over the lake.
Little ripples swell back at us.
Henry has his arm around me. I have my head on his shoulder. And we gaze out into blue sky. And the sun shines down. And a gentle, warm breeze caresses the skin of my face. And the water gently laps the shore. And Henry turns his face towards me. He raises my chin up and our lips meet.
And we kiss again.
And this one is the best kiss ever.
It is sweeter than any kiss I’ve ever had.
And Henry smells of honeysuckle and warm sunshine and all the perfumes of the mountain. And I want to be with him, kissing forever.
Suddenly he draws back.
His grip on my shoulder tightens. ‘Look,’ he hisses.
I turn my face away from him and look down over the lake. There in its centre, I see a slow whirlpool is forming.
‘There!’ points Henry. ‘There, Ellie!’ The ripples on the whirlpool spread outwards. They gain speed and smack at the base of the boulder.
I feel his grip upon my shoulder weakening. I whip my head around.
HENRY!
He’s fading.
And all the fiery loveliness of him is evaporating. I’m sitting next to a ghost.
He struggles to speak …
‘This is what the mirror is trying to show you … ’ shouts Henry. His voice is weak, hardly there.
I stare at the centre of the lake and right in the bullseye of the whirlpool something is bubbling.
Something huge and angry is making the turquoise llyn boil.
And rise up in a terrifying fountain.
A wave of frothing, angry liquid.
And I am alone on a boulder, over unknown waters.
ACT TWO
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the caldron boil and bake;
Eye of newt and toe of frog,
Wool of bat and tongue of dog,
Adder’s fork and blind-worm’s sting,
Lizard’s leg and howlet’s wing,
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth boil and bubble.
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn and caldron bubble.
Cool it with a baboon’s blood,
Then the charm is firm and good.
Song of the Witches: ‘Double, double toil and trouble’
by William Shakespeare (from Macbeth)
Day Two: 10 March
Out of the Darkness
TWENTY-FIVE
ELLIE’S PHONE Second Day of the Magic – 10 March 04.50
Status: seeking stargazing giant
Recent updates between Ellie and Sheila:
Ellie
Look – I know it’s a kind of running joke all this *Henry is mine* thing, but I’m starting not to, like, LOVE it. I don’t find it very funny any more. I’m going through a bit of a rough time – which you’ve probs heard about – AND I’ve got a court case hanging over my head. It’s really distressing. Henry is his own person and doesn’t belong to either of us. Sorry to sound boring. I’ll try to lighten up, I promise. Got to get through the next couple of days and then maybe we can meet up? Love U, Obvs.
Sheila
It’s not a joke.
Ellie
?
Sheila
Henry can either *choose* to be with me or flap his little wings and buzz off. Mwahaha!
Ellie
I don’t know why you’re being like this.
Sheila
I DID tell you it was WAR ages ago, you nitwit.
Ellie
OK, look I gotta run, like I said I’ve lost my sense of humour.
Sheila
Soz – just winding you up – not. Where the heck are you anyway? And when shall we meet again? When the hurly-burly’s done?
Ellie
When the battle’s lost and won by end of 20 March (hopefully if I’m not in jail).
I tuck my phone away with the mirror and the heart. Sometimes I just don’t get Sheila. Why carry on teasing me, when she knows it’s upsetting?
Is she that insecure? Does every new boy on the block have to have gone through her hands first, before anyone else gets a look in?
Why doesn’t she target George and start peeing off Rhiannon, then?
Sigh.
I end up waking George up, when he should be all tucked up and warm and fast asleep. If it’s possible to be all of those things on a two-seater sofa.
‘Has Sheila ever come on to you?’ I ask.
I he
ar the wind battering the cottage, rattling the windows.
‘Not my type,’ he says rolling over, stretching and throwing out his arms to me.
‘Why not?’
‘My type is smart and kind and totally gorgeous-looking and brave and funny and her name starts with an E.’
‘Oh, shut up.’
‘Are you feeling cold? Wanna climb in?’ George winks at me. ‘Get one up on Sheila?’
‘I had a nightmare,’ I say, folding my arms and frowning at him.
He shakes his head at me and says, ‘Don’t. Use. The. Mirror. I know it’s hard, but don’t trust it.’
I don’t try to explain. I don’t understand it myself, so I say, ‘Let’s get up – get ready’.
George smiles, ruffles my hair and doesn’t say anything snarky or rude. George is so totally like that. All he says is ‘Ellie … ’ Then, to make things easier: ‘Gosh this must be my lucky middle-of-the-night – to be woken by the loveliest girl in Snowdonia. What did I do to deserve such a treat? Tell me immediately and I’ll do it again and again and again and again … ’
‘Shut up,’ I repeat, ‘and get up.’
‘I’m up already,’ says George, brightly. ‘Sometimes I sleep in my clothes.’
YUCK. Boys.
‘I’m worried,’ I say. ‘We have so little time – it’s nearly dawn already and we’re into the second day. We need to get the Land Rover packed and started. Maybe we should do it before Rhi wakes up and starts whinging. And before Gran starts taking more precautions.’
Gran’s preparations could easily involve more plumbing, tealeaves and Tolkien mumblings. Perhaps some dried fruit and a sleeping potion – who knows?
‘OK,’ he says. He frowns at me a bit.
‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I don’t mean to be nasty about Rhi, but I’m still mad at her, and really I am just thinking of Gran.’