Winter Magic

by Abi Elphinstone

  The little elf’s hand flutters to his chest. ‘Us? Ask for help from humans?’ He blinks several times, processing my question. ‘You don’t understand . . . we never write to the outside world without receiving a letter first. It is our Midwinter Law. That’s why it was a stroke of fortune that you wrote.’

  ‘Fortune?’ I blink, unable to comprehend how close the world has come to disaster. You’re the only alchemist who would have written to them, I realize. Letters to the Svenland elves are written by children. Or by teenagers in a bind. I shake the fear away and slip into alchemist-mode. ‘Okay. Do you have any alchemical ingredients here at all? Phoenix feathers? Yak’s milk?’

  Uyuni shakes his head.

  ‘Then I need to get back to my lab, at home. Do you have a Transport panel?’ I scan the room, looking for a large, mirrored surface that could send me back home in an instant. Transporting would definitely be the fastest way for me to get back to the lab so I can start mixing.

  To my horror, he shakes his head again. ‘No, we don’t deal with any of that kind of human technology.’

  ‘Then how am I going to mix the cure?’

  ‘Well . . .’ He squints at me. ‘You humans are too big for the traditional chimney method I would have suggested.’

  ‘There’s no way I’m fitting through our fireplace at home! It’s half blocked up!’

  ‘Hush, hush.’ After a few moments, he snaps his fingers. ‘Aha! Have you met our friendly neighbourhood reindeer?’

  ‘Reindeer?’

  ‘Why, yes! They’re how we get around in Midwinter – I know just the one that will be perfect for our cause.’

  ‘Fine,’ I say. Then I scream. One of the wolves from outside the compound has followed us inside. His vicious teeth are bared, his hackles raised . . . until Uyuni reaches inside his pocket and pulls out a treat. Then the ‘wolf’ turns as friendly as a teddy bear, rolling on the floor with his paws up. I blink and see that it’s not a wolf at all, but a huskie . . .

  Uyuni sees the look on my face and has the decency to look sheepish. ‘The “wolf chase” was one of the precautions set in place by Snorri in case anyone from Sventown tried to enter the compound. As were the snowflakes, and the holes in the snow. We don’t want the infection spreading to the outside world. Not in this highly contagious form.’

  No, not with all the children around, I think. Sneasles might be nasty in adults, but in the young and vulnerable it really can be deadly. Then I frown. ‘But you knew I was coming? Why didn’t you clear the “precautions”?’

  Uyuni’s pointed face twists into a sly grin. ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten why you came here.’

  I hold my breath. Evelyn’s perfect present.

  ‘It is all part of the plan – if you can save us.’

  I swallow hard. ‘If you say so.’

  Cure the elves. Save the princess. Get the gift. Simple, right? Oh, but first . . . ride a reindeer.

  No problem. Gulp.

  The reindeer takes the bright orange carrot from my hand, his slobber covering my mittens. I make a special effort not to grimace. We’re about to share a long journey together and I don’t want to offend him.

  ‘You two should get along,’ says Uyuni. ‘Your name is Sam, and his is Sami. There aren’t any special tricks to riding our reindeer,’ he continues, stroking the white fur underneath the reindeer’s chin. ‘I’ll tell him the destination – you just hold on tight.’

  I bite my lip and catch one of the reindeer’s deep brown eyes. He munches away on the carrot, not appearing too bothered that he’s about to fly me to Nova. ‘Are you sure there’s no other way?’ I ask.

  ‘There’s no time for anything else.’

  I nod, but it’s more to give myself encouragement than to accept Uyuni’s words. I grip the front and back of the saddle and launch my legs over the reindeer’s shoulders. I lean forward and whisper in his ear. ‘Okay, Sami . . . it’s just you and me.’

  My legs snuggle into his thick white fur, and already it feels different from the very small amount of horse-riding I’ve done in the past. I’m much higher on the reindeer’s shoulders than I would be on a horse, and there are no stirrups for me to put my feet into. ‘Uyuni, what should I do with my—’

  There’s no time for questions. Uyuni takes a handful of elvish dust from a pouch at his side and throws it over me, then slaps poor Sami on the haunches with the flat of his palm. Sami takes two steps forward and then a flying leap into the air. I have no choice but to fall forward onto Sami’s neck and grip his fur as tightly as I can.

  Only sheer alchemist’s curiosity forces me to keep my eyes open. The experience is similar to Transporting, except that Sami does actually appear to be doing some work. With every step he takes, the miles disappear, and although I can tell there is wind rushing by at terrifying speeds, I don’t feel any cold. Still, I nuzzle deeper into Sami’s neck, willing him not to make any sudden movements. I’m only holding on by the strength of my thighs and the grip of his fur in my mittened fingers.

  Within minutes, the bright lights of Kingstown come into view. So that’s how the elves manage to get presents to the special children all over the world on Midwinter. Despite the chill in the air, warmth spreads through my toes, and I can’t help but grin widely. The elf-magic is pure joy, and it’s the feeling that Svenland elves spread to children around the world. I need to cure them to make sure it stays that way. It can’t be gone for ever.

  Lost in my thoughts, I cry out in shock as Sami’s hooves hit our rooftop. It must have snowed here, too, as there’s a dusting of white powder on the tiles. ‘Uh . . . Sami, do you think you could land on the ground, rather than the roof?’

  The only reply I get is a whuff from his nose, and he lowers his head to lick the snow. He doesn’t budge, and when I attempt to use my legs to guide him towards the edge of the roof, he gives me a stubborn shake.

  Sliding from the saddle, I whisper silent curses to elves and reindeer and all things Midwinter. I’ve never set foot on our roof before – it’s just not something that I would ever do in my ordinary life. But since becoming one of the most famous alchemists in Nova, nothing about my life is ordinary any more.

  At least Sami won’t be noticed. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember that Svenland reindeer (and their riders) under the influence of elvish dust are invisible – hence why there have never been any sightings on Midwinter night. I hope that’s true. I’ll have a hard time explaining myself otherwise.

  The magic only works while I’m touching Sami, and I let go very reluctantly. I drop to my knees and creep to the edge of the roof on the street-side, but there’s absolutely no way to get down. Towards our back garden, there’s a drainpipe that leads to our kitchen extension. It’s going to have to do.

  Taking a deep breath, I lower myself slowly off the roof, grateful for the crumbly brickwork on the back of our house that enables me to dig my toes in to get some grip. I slide down the drainpipe inch by inch, my face pressed so close to the metal that it stings my cheek. Higher than I would like, my foot slips and I have to let go. I land on the ceiling of our kitchen with a thump.

  From there, I clamber down our rose-bush fence and into our garden, grateful that there are no sharp thorns in the wintertime. When my feet touch solid ground, I could almost kiss it. Instead, I look up to make sure that Sami is still waiting for me. He seems patient enough. I’m not looking forward to the climb back.

  My watch tells me that it’s just gone noon – it’s barely been two hours since I met the princess. Did that really happen so quickly? Thankfully, it’s Sunday, so our store is closed and my family have gone out for last-minute Midwinter shopping – I won’t infect them. I still have no time to lose, as they could return at any moment. I creep into the kitchen.

  There’s no sign of anyone. Thank the dragons for that.

  I run as fast as I can through the kitchen and into our laboratory, heading straight to a drawer in the lab that is painted bright red. Inside, I
pull out a paper mask that I secure over my mouth to prevent me from breathing the disease on any more surfaces. Lab containment rules: in case of infectious disease. There’s also a pair of gloves, which I put on, and a jar of specially mixed anti-magical-disease spray, which I use to wipe down every surface I might have touched since I opened the door in the kitchen. Lastly, I go around and secure every lock in the house. No one is going to be allowed in until I’ve finished the cure.

  I hope Grandad’s game takes a nice long time, and the rest of my family doesn’t return from their Midwinter shopping until I’m outta here again. Otherwise, they’re going to be very confused when they try to enter.

  Once everything is sanitized and locked up, I get to work.

  My first stop is the bookshelf in the lab. I search under ‘W’ for ‘Winter cures’ and find what I’m looking for – a recipe book for Winter Ailments and Distresses (including, but not limited to, frostbite and ice blindness). I flip through the book like a madwoman until I find it: Sneasles – a cure. Just as I had suspected. Phoenix feather, chilli flakes and yak’s milk, mixed together until steaming hot. Ah, but there’s something else, too, that I hadn’t thought about. The yak’s milk can’t be reheated by flame once the potion is made. If I need to make sure it’s still steaming when it reaches the elves, I’m going to need lava pebbles, which I can heat up and drop into the mix right before giving the cure.

  Next I have to go into our store itself to collect the ingredients. The Kemi Potions Shop storage system is a series of shelves that extends almost three storeys high, accessible by ladders and pulleys. I clamber up the first ladder with practised speed, heading straight for the ingredients that we need and praying that we have everything in stock.

  Jars labelled ‘phoenix feathers’ and ‘lava rocks’ tucked under my arm – I can get the chilli flakes from our kitchen, and the yak’s milk from the huge fridge in our laboratory – I slide down the rungs of the ladder back to ground level. This is exactly what I live for, and I’m thrilled to be mixing such an interesting potion – rather than the decorative ones I’ve been trying out for Evelyn, or the innumerable cures for the common cold I’ve been mixing for customers ever since winter started.

  As I walk through the threshold from the store and back into the lab, I let out a huge sneeze and almost drop the jars. On the ground in front of me, spikes of frost coat the hardwood flooring like a scattering of icy-white pine needles.

  Highly contagious. Yeah. They weren’t kidding. And spreading fast. If I didn’t have enough incentive to make the cure as quickly as possible, I sure do now. My first job is to bring the yak’s milk and chilli flakes to a boil. I place a stout, black, cast-iron pot onto an open flame, pour in the ingredients and set a timer on my phone. Next up, the phoenix feathers.

  The jar is tightly sealed, and I have to twist with all my strength to get it open. When it finally comes free, I gasp. I rarely get to work with such a beautiful ingredient. Despite the years in storage, the feathers haven’t lost any of their natural lustre. The sharp quill ends are such dark red they might even be black, but the colour progressively lightens to crimson, then burnished orange, finishing in beautiful, bright, golden-yellow tips. These are the feathers that a phoenix sheds naturally, the ones they reject, so I can only imagine how beautiful the real thing must be.

  Out of habit, I consult the recipe book one more time. Next to the image of a phoenix feather, there’s a warning printed in thick bold font: PREPARE FEATHER WITH EXTREME CAUTION. Phoenix feathers have a tendency to combust and dissolve into ash when introduced to the air. Work speedily to avoid this.

  ‘Oh, no!’ I cry out. I quickly spin the lid back on the jar, only now realizing why it was done up so tightly to begin with. In our lab, we have an airless glass box for reactive ingredients, and I curse myself for not thinking about it sooner.

  I rush towards, it, placing the jar inside. Once I press a button, the air is sucked out, making it safe for the feathers. Using special handholds ending in gloves, I remove them from the jar again. All I need to do is strip the fine strands from the central spine of one feather, then mix them into the potion when it’s come up to the boil.

  Don’t combust, don’t combust, don’t combust, I beg as I slowly begin to tear off the delicate strands. They fall onto the base of the box like hair on a salon floor.

  My phone beeps, and I spin around to check on the yak’s milk. It’s just about boiling and there’s plenty of steam rising. I pull on some thick oven mitts and bring the steaming cauldron over to the sealed glass box where the phoenix feathers are.

  Unfortunately, some of them are already turning to ash. ‘No, no, no!’ I say, frustrated at my bad alchemy. Working at double speed, I rescue the strands that haven’t yet turned and bring them out of the box, chucking them into the boiling milk with only half the care I might normally take

  There should just be enough. I now need to leave it to dissolve for half an hour. I take off my gloves and collapse onto the bench, my head dropping into my hands.

  My palms feel scratchy and strangely cold. I lift my head to see white flaky patches covering my palms, and leading up into the sleeves of my hoodie. Not good. Not good at all. My sneasles is spreading at an alarming rate. No wonder the elves were overcome so quickly, with such a virulent strain of the disease at work. Their healers didn’t stand a chance.

  Uncontrollable shivers wrack my body, so I set another timer and curl up on the bench.

  When my phone buzzes again, I’m jolted awake. I’ve slept almost the entire time, the sneasles overcoming my immune system and making me drowsy. I rush over to the potion, which has turned a vibrant red. I lean forward and inhale the steam, a soothing sensation spreading down my throat. I sip a tablespoon of the mix, and my head clears, the white patches on my hands fading and the urge to sneeze lessening . . . I’ve made the cure after all.

  I pour the mixture into a heat-retaining flask, then throw some lava rocks in my pocket. I can use the fire there to heat the rocks – and therefore the potion.

  When I look down at my hands again, the symptoms of the disease have disappeared completely. I put the flask into my backpack and set about unlocking all the doors. How I’m going to get back on the roof, I have no idea. Thankfully, when I step into the backyard, I see that Sami has decided to be nice after all, and has come down to ground level.

  ‘Come on, then,’ I say, giving him a tentative pat on the flank. ‘Let’s do this one more time.’

  Uyuni is waiting for me as soon as I arrive back in North Svenland, and together we administer the cure to the elf colony with lightning speed. The lava rocks make the potion bubble and boil, the steam rising into the air and enabling all the elves to breathe a little easier.

  The first to recover is the head present-maker, who introduces herself to me as Layla. I kneel so that she can give me two big kisses on the cheek, before she rushes off to start the production on the presents. North Svenland is instantly transformed. Newly healthy elves scurry on the ice, like ants in a colony, stringing lights and decorating trees. Even Snorri has tears in his eyes when he sees it. ‘I thought this would be the first time Midwinter wouldn’t come to North Svenland – and I don’t think our spirits could have survived that. Is there anything we can do for you?’

  ‘The princess?’ I ask, still nervous that I haven’t seen her this entire time.

  ‘Of course!’ says Uyuni, jumping up and grabbing my hand before Snorri can answer. He drags me through the ice tunnels – and back through the snowflake cavern. I look up in terror, the ninja-like snowflakes back in place, but Uyuni just giggles. ‘Don’t worry any more. Now, I promise, the giant snowflakes are perfectly safe. In fact, they are unique to North Svenland. You won’t see them anywhere else in the world.’

  I look up again, swallowing my fear. He’s right – they are beautiful when I can admire them without worrying they’re going to crash on my head. Combined with fairy lights that another group of elves are setting up, they twinkle a
nd shine like the world’s most perfect chandelier.

  We descend a snowy staircase into a small room, lined with furs. Princess Evelyn is sitting in the centre, a picture book open on her lap, surrounded by tiny elf-babies who are crawling over her and cuddling under her arms. Her brown wig is being used as a pillow for one sleeping baby, and her long blonde hair is curled over her shoulders. She looks up at me when we enter, her bright blue eyes sparkling. ‘Sam, where have you been? Aren’t they so cute?’

  I can’t help but grin. ‘They’re adorable.’ One elf-baby tugs at my trouser leg, and I pick her up. Her cheeks are chubby like she’s carrying two little snow globes in her mouth, with none of the sharpness of the grown-up elves. I laugh as she pulls my bobble hat. ‘Are you okay?’ I return my attention to Evie. ‘It looked like you fell a long way. Are you hurt?’

  ‘You mean you didn’t get down here using the awesome ice slide? I had the time of my life! I’m thinking about installing one at the palace . . .’

  My jaw drops and I turn to Uyuni. ‘An ice slide?’ So it wasn’t a dangerous glacier crevasse after all.

  He winks at me.

  ‘So, Sam,’ continues Evelyn. ‘Did you find out what to get Zain for Midwinter?’

  A flush of heat rises in my cheeks and I wonder if I should just tell her the truth. But Uyuni gives me a warning look and I make up a lie on the spot. ‘I’m not allowed to say – it’s a secret.’

  ‘Well, let’s be getting back so that we can be ready for the Gathering!’ She smiles broadly. ‘This has been a really long yoga session – but it was worth it.’

  ‘We’ll show you the way,’ squeaks the elf-child in my arms, and I lower her to the floor. Evie is led away by an army of young elves, giggling and squealing as they pull her arms.

  When it’s just me and Uyuni left, I turn to him. ‘I helped you with your cure . . . can you help me with my original request? What did all this have to do with finding the perfect present to get the princess?’