Winter Magic

by Abi Elphinstone

  Then I hear it. A low growl. I hold my breath as I turn my head in the direction we’ve just walked. Only a few paces behind us, a dark grey shape materializes out of the falling snow. I grip Evelyn’s hand tightly in mine.

  A wolf.

  Evie and I both take a step backwards towards the gate, the cold iron pressing against our backs. The wolf takes a step forward, head low and swinging from side to side. Its amber eyes are fixed on us, and I don’t dare to break eye contact.

  I still have the backpack on the ground from when I searched for the invitation. Slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements, I take out a metal thermos carrying hot chocolate I’d made for the road.

  The wolf takes another step, stalking us. There’s another growl from a second wolf, this time from our left. Further away than the other, but getting closer.

  The first wolf leans back like he’s about to pounce, and I know we can’t wait any longer. I launch into a sprint along the gate, pulling Evelyn with me. At the same time, I rattle the metal thermos along the rails, attempting to make as much noise as possible – both to scare away the wolves and to wake up the elves to rescue us.

  Beside me, I feel Evelyn’s hand heat up with magical power. ‘Evie, no!’ I cry out. The last thing we need is for Evie’s magic to go crazy in the Wilds and blow us up – even before the wolves can eat us.

  ‘Argh, I forgot!’ Her hand goes ice-cold, but grips mine even tighter, her nails digging into my skin. Without magic, she’s just as powerless against the wolves as me.

  Now there’s no mistaking that there are other wolves chasing us along the edge of the gate. When I whip my head around, I count at least four shapes, slippery as shadows, tracking us through the forest. My mind whirls, trying to think of a plan, the fear of the wolves on our tail and the jangle of the metal-on-metal jarring my nerves . . .

  ‘Miss Kemi! This way, quickly!’

  The raspy voice is an answer to all my prayers. A metre or so ahead, there’s a small hole in the ground beneath the gate, and a little face – not much bigger than my fist – peeks its head from beneath the bars.

  ‘There!’ I shout at Evelyn.

  ‘We’ll never fit!’ she screams.

  But I don’t give us the opportunity to debate. The wolves sense they’re about to miss out on their dinner, and they change direction. I can smell them now more than see them, the metallic tang of stale blood on their breath and the strong musk of their fur . . .

  Evelyn’s right. The hole does look too small for us. Still, I drop down into a slide, heading feet first. We slip through the hole – which is deeper than it looks – and I crane my neck back, just in time to see the bars lower on the snapping jaws of the wolves.

  We crash-land on a pile of soft snow.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I ask between pants of breath, laying my hand on her own heaving back. Her white puffy jacket is torn down one side, her wig askew and half covering her eyes.

  Too late, I realize an unoriginal gift from a department store would probably beat getting mauled by wolves. Oops.

  To my relief, she smiles. ‘Are you kidding? I’ve never felt more alive! I really thought we weren’t going to make it! And without the need for any magic at all. Now where’s that elf who saved us?’

  ‘Good point.’ I stand up and take stock. We’re inside a tunnel, the walls gleaming with compacted snow. It’s just big enough for me to stand, although the bobble on top of my hat brushes the ceiling.

  I shout, ‘Hello!’, only to be greeted with an echo. I wonder what’s happened to the cheery, welcoming elves I’ve seen in the movies. They definitely weren’t supposed to be this mysterious. The elf that saved us also looked suspiciously young. I hope this isn’t one big practical joke to get the princess here, for some reason. ‘I think the only thing we can do is keep going. Maybe he’s gone to let the others know we’ve arrived?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ she says, and I grin at her optimism. She stands up, too, brushes herself down and pulls off the wig. ‘I don’t need this any more?’ I shake my head. ‘Then I’m ready.’

  Our footsteps are the only sounds – strange, again, in a place that’s supposed to be in its busiest season. I expected to see toy-makers at work, or at least some sign of industry. We pass a cut-out in the snow, filled with the most incredible ice-sculpture of a reindeer. Or, at least, once it might have been incredible. Now the reindeer’s antlers are half-melted stumps, its face a lump of ice. This must be where the tours pass through. If they were running.

  ‘Do you think this is . . . normal?’ Evie asks.

  ‘Most definitely not.’

  ‘Oh, good, me neither.’ She edges closer to me, and a knot forms at the base of my throat.

  This present had better be worth it. If you even get one, an annoying voice says in my brain. Nothing about this feels right, but I can’t think that way. I can’t have dragged Evie into all this danger for nothing.

  ‘Maybe when we reach the end of this tunnel, we can get some answers. That elf must be here somewhere.’

  I nod, hoping she’s right. He’s gone to alert the others, I tell myself. The thought distracts me from watching my step, and I slip on an icy patch. My legs splay in separate directions, my arms windmilling, and I collapse onto the ground.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Evelyn gasps.

  ‘Fine, I think. But it might be time for these.’ When I’m sure of my footing again, I open the backpack and pull out two sets of crampons – spiky soles that we can strap to our shoes to prevent us from slipping.

  ‘My boots have never been so undignified,’ Evie says, stomping into the ground to test the strength of the spikes.

  ‘At least you’re not going to make an undignified fall on the ice, like me!’

  ‘True.’

  ‘Oof, no wonder my bag was so heavy,’ I say, pulling out a pair of small ice picks as well. If I’d searched the bag thoroughly beforehand, maybe I could have used them against the wolves. Serves me right for not thinking I’d need to be prepared.

  Wrapped around the ice picks is a note from Kirsty: IN CASE OF A FALL ON ICE: Do *not* try to stop yourself with your crampons – you will only break an ankle! Use the ice pick to slow your fall. Then help each other!

  Evelyn grimaces. ‘Come on – this is the home of the Svenland elves, not some kind of perilous mountain climb.’

  No, not a perilous mountain climb. But maybe . . . I remove my glove and touch the tunnel walls, snatching my hand away at the bite of cold. I remember something I read about Svenland, and how it is dominated by great oceans of ice. ‘I think we’re inside a glacier? That means there might be cracks or crevasses we could fall into. Watch your step.’ As if in response, the tunnel groans, the ice shaking beneath our feet. I don’t like this one bit; no matter how much Evelyn is enjoying herself. The situation is too unpredictable, too out of my control for me to be comfortable. ‘Okay, let’s not mess around. We need to find that elf – and if we can’t, then we need to get out of here.’

  Crampons on, we pick up the pace. It takes a few steps to get used to the extra grip, but we walk with a lot more confidence now. Within only a few minutes, we reach the end of the tunnel.

  I stop dead, and Evelyn almost collides with my back. I look up, struck still with awe. Hanging above us are constellations of snowflakes, each at least as big as the palm of my hand, forming a snow-white web across the ceiling of the huge cavern. The walls have changed from bright white to azure blue, so blue I wouldn’t be surprised if we’d walked into a cave of sapphires instead of ice.

  ‘Look, there’s a door over there,’ says Evelyn, pointing to a spot on the far side of the cave. ‘It’s opening!’ she says with glee.

  A head pops around the door and we get a good glimpse of a real Svenland elf – the same young one as before. He’s got a small, sharp face, every part of him angled to a point – from his nose to his chin to his diamond eyes – but his broad smile makes him at least seem friendly. He beckons us with a gloved hand, then disapp
ears behind the door again.

  ‘Wait!’ I cry out across the cavern, but he’s gone. ‘Argh, are the elves really this annoying?’

  ‘At least we’re getting somewhere,’ says Evelyn. She squeezes my arm. ‘The wolves were just a little setback, right?’

  ‘Right,’ I say. I try to match her smile, but it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. My first footstep into the cavern produces an echo that in turn makes the ceiling of snowflakes shake and tinkle, like a wind chime in the breeze.

  I exchange a glance with Evelyn, trying to ignore the ominous sounds from above us. Evie talks to break the tension. ‘So have you thought at all about a present for Zain? I mean, it’s not exactly like Midwinter is a surprise . . .’

  ‘I know, but with all that’s happened this year, it kind of slipped my mind. Plus,’ I glance sideways at her, ‘some people are really hard to buy for.’

  Before Evie can reply, a snowflake the size of a dinner plate lands a few steps away from us. It doesn’t land softly, drifting to the ground like normal snow. It lands like a ninja weapon, one sharp point slicing into the ground.

  ‘Oh, dragons,’ I say. Then we run.

  The snowflakes slice the air around us, whistling past like multi-pointed throwing knives. One whizzes close to my jacket, ripping my sleeve before I can dodge it. Adrenaline and fear pump through my veins, my legs careening towards the door. Evelyn’s right behind me, but the crampons make it difficult to move with any real speed, as they dig stubbornly into the ice.

  Just ahead, there’s a dip in the snow. I leap over it, crashing against the door. I tug it open, then turn to help Evelyn through. ‘Watch the snow!’ I shout, but I’m not clear enough. Evelyn thinks I mean the snowflakes, and she looks up.

  ‘Jump!’ I cry, but it’s too late. Her foot sinks into the dip. In a split second, my worst nightmare comes true: the ground opens beneath her feet – a hole hidden by the snow – and Princess Evelyn of Nova disappears into a crevasse. I jump forward, but the ceiling of snowflakes comes crashing down and I’m forced to retreat into the safety of the next tunnel. There’s a sound like the slam of a wooden door from where Evelyn disappeared.

  ‘Evie!’ I scream.

  But the princess is gone.

  There’s a sharp cough from behind.

  I turn slowly from the wall of ice, wiping tears from my cheeks before they can freeze in place. If Evelyn’s hurt or worse . . .

  Six elves are in front of me. There’s no sign of the friendly elf from before and they look different from the elves in the reference books and movies I’ve seen. Their eyes are hard and sharp, glinting like black diamonds in the flickering torchlight – the only colour an unusual ring of bright blue around the edges of their irises.

  ‘Please, please help me!’ I choke out. ‘My friend might be hurt . . .’ My words die in my throat as I register that four of the elves are pointing icicle spears at my middle.

  An elf steps forward, swathed in an elegant reindeer fur coat. His head only comes up to my waist and he wears a circlet of holly and rich crimson berries on his thick head of dark hair. His paper-white skin is wrinkled with lines, but – as he comes closer – I can see that the lines aren’t like normal human wrinkles. It looks instead like his skin has been touched by Jack Frost – delicate spindles of ice making patterns on his skin like a windowpane.

  ‘Who are you?’ the elf says, his voice like gravel. ‘What are you doing here? This place is closed to humans.’

  I shake my head. ‘I came with my friend, and she’s fallen down a crevasse. I have to find her! Now!’

  ‘Your friend is safe,’ says the elf with a sneer. ‘How you managed to get so far is another story. Explain yourself!’

  ‘She’s . . . safe?’ I almost fall to my knees in relief – I’m only held up by the thought of not impaling myself on those pointy spears. Then I explode. ‘Where is she? Take me to her! She’s . . .’ She’s the Princess of Nova is what I want to say, but I hold my tongue. I don’t know what these elves want from me – they don’t appear to have been expecting us. I hold my head high. ‘You invited us! Here, look – I have a letter, signed by a Snorri Elf.’

  The elf frowns. ‘That is not possible . . . I am Snorri Elf and I have invited no one to North Svenland all winter. It is strictly forbidden.’

  My mouth opens, but no sound comes out. I have no answer to that, because if he didn’t invite me, then who did?

  There’s a commotion from behind Snorri, and a high-pitched voice says, ‘Wait, wait!’ The four scary ice-spear-pointing elves grumble as they’re pushed apart by the young elf who saved us from the wolves and waved to us from the doorway. ‘I invited her,’ he says, between gulps of breath. He’s leaning on his knees, panting hard. He’s dressed much more like the traditional images of a Svenland elf – with a red pointed hat, red scarf, green vest and tights, and little red booties. His irises are only tinged with a pale blue. I ball my hands into a fist, barely keeping myself from exploding with rage. He’s the one who led us into this.

  I’m not the only one who’s angry. Snorri looks ready to turn the spears on the young elf, too. ‘Uyuni, explain yourself.’

  ‘Grandpa, I’m sorry. When I saw her letter, I had to respond. This is Samantha Kemi.’

  The emphasis on my name makes me blush, but the old elf remains unmoved.

  ‘Samantha Kemi, you know, the great alchemist who won the Wilde Hunt?’ the young elf rambles on. ‘She can help us; I know she can!’

  The white rage on Snorri’s face fades and more frost lines spread across his face. He faces me again, his eyes wide. He looks . . . relieved.

  ‘She wrote to us?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes, Grandpa, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.’

  ‘Then maybe it’s not too late . . .’

  ‘Excuse me!’ I shout out, unable to keep it in any longer. ‘If my friend is safe, I need to see her RIGHT AWAY.’

  All the elves turn to look at me, and Uyuni shrinks into his scarf. ‘Oh, you can’t,’ he says.

  ‘What? Why?’ I cross my arms over my chest.

  ‘I need you to help us first, and then I will return your friend to you,’ says Uyuni.

  ‘Help you with what?’ I ask, my mind racing at a hundred miles an hour.

  They want Samantha the alchemist, I remind myself, and I look closer at my captors. The Jack-Frost lines spreading across their skin. The blue rings around their eyes.

  As if on cue, Snorri lets out a huge sneeze that covers the guard-elves in front of him with a layer of snow. They don’t flinch, but one of them lowers his ice spear to let out a sneeze of his own.

  They’re all symptoms, I realize.

  ‘Oh, dragons,’ I say, far from the first time today. ‘You all have sneasles!’

  Sneasles – or snow measles – a highly contagious and debilitating disease that is most at home in sub-zero temperatures. Thought to have been eradicated by the start of the twentieth century through vaccination.

  I make a mental note to change my research file: not eradicated. I clamp my hands over my mouth, but I already know it’s too late. I must have it, too.

  Uyuni steps forward, his gloved hands spread in front of him. ‘Another reason I can’t bring you to the princess. Quarantine.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just great,’ I say, my arms folded across my chest. ‘So you trick me into bringing the princess with me so you can use her as a hostage and then infect me with a disease, and you expect me to help you?’

  Uyuni shrugs. ‘Yes. Will you?’

  I swallow and then nod. ‘Do I have a choice?’

  I’m taken to a room equally as big as the one with the snowflakes, where hundreds of cots are lined up in a row, each one only big enough to fit a small child. In every cot, an elf lies prone. It looks as if the entire Svenland elf colony has come down with sneasles – and the sound of sneezing and coughing is almost deafening.

  I spot a female elf in a bed near me, her hair brittle and her skin covered in flaky whi
te patches. As I approach, she lets out a low moan. I take one of her hands and feel her pulse. It’s extremely fast – she’s in the grip of the worst of the illness.

  Sneasles – an old cure is needed. Mix one part dried chilli flakes, two parts yak’s milk, with a phoenix feather, and make sure to administer hot – the steam is part of the cure.

  I could mix it, if I was at home.

  ‘She was one of our head present-makers,’ Uyuni says, from behind me. ‘One of the first to become ill. The disease spread through our colony too rapidly for us to contain it – we only managed to quarantine the very youngest. In the meantime, all present production has come to a halt.’

  ‘But sneasles isn’t a deadly disease,’ I say, scouring my mind for everything I know about the unpleasant sickness. ‘She should recover eventually – maybe a week or two?’

  Uyuni stares me straight in the eye – difficult when he’s shorter than four feet and I’m almost six. ‘But for us, you see, it is worse than deadly.’ He takes a deep breath. ‘What I’m about to reveal to you is a prized Svenland elf secret.’

  I bite my lip. ‘I have to know, so I can help you,’ I prod, when he doesn’t say anything further.

  His eyes dart to Snorri, who gives him the nod of approval. Only then does he continue. ‘The gifts we give at Midwinter spread joy to children around the world, everyone knows that. But there is a second purpose. The act of giving renews our elf-magic, and if we do a good job, the goodwill lasts us all year. If we aren’t healthy by Midwinter, we cannot make any presents. Without presents, we cannot spread joy. Without joy, there’s no elf-magic . . . and there might never be Midwinter gifts again.’

  ‘Ever?’ I gulp.

  ‘Ever.’ The finality in his voice is deafening.

  It takes a few seconds for me to register the gravity of the situation. ‘And you waited until Midwinter’s EVE to ask for help? I don’t understand – don’t you have your own healers?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Our healers have fallen sick as well.’

  ‘But there must be specialist alchemists in North Svenland who could help you,’ I splutter. ‘Any alchemist on the planet would have helped, if you’d asked!’