by Amy Wilson
He starts digging around in his pockets. He’s kind of long and lean, and he always wears dark colours. Tonight he’s got combats on and a black hoody; plenty of pockets to search through.
‘What are you looking for?’ I ask eventually.
‘Here,’ he says, pulling out a small knife with a wooden handle. ‘Do you think this will do?’
‘For what?’ I ask, shuffling back, a chill spreading over my scalp.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he says. ‘For the ice cream, obviously.’
‘Well, I’m not going to be using it,’ I say.
‘You don’t want any?’ He looks up, genuine surprise on his face.
‘No!’
‘You don’t mind if I . . .’
‘Go for it,’ I say, shaking my head as he snaps open the lid. Man, does he like ice cream. That, or he hasn’t eaten yet today. He wolfs down about half of it without looking up. It’s making my teeth ache just to watch him.
‘So, about everything,’ I start eventually, getting a bit bored of waiting while he stuffs his face. ‘You were going to tell me . . .’
He stiffens, and stabs the knife into the remaining ice cream, putting it down hard on the ground.
‘You’re sure you want to know?’ he asks. ‘You look a bit wild about the eyes already.’
‘I keep getting this feeling.’ I shrug. ‘It’s probably nothing.’
‘What feeling?’
‘Like someone’s spying on me.’
He frowns. ‘When? Where?’
‘I don’t know. Through the window at home, on my way home from school.’ I try to brush it off. ‘I’m probably just feeling spooked about everything else. I haven’t actually really seen anything. Would there be something? Are there creatures like that, who follow people and spy on them?’
‘There are all sorts of creatures out there,’ he says, his eyes roaming the dark field. ‘I don’t know why they’d be stalking you, though. You’re probably right about being spooked. I guess it’s a lot to take in, if it’s all new to you . . .’ He turns to me. ‘You really didn’t know anything, till now?’
‘Nothing,’ I say, my voice tight. ‘A week ago everything was just normal. Mum used to tell me these fairy tales, but I thought that was all they were. Stories. I had no idea . . .’ There’s a little tug in my chest when I think of how simple things seemed then. When the only mystery was over the identity of my father, and it could have gone so many different ways. ‘Anyway. What about you? How long have you known you were different?’
‘Always,’ he says. ‘I grew up with the fay, mostly. I’ve never really known anything else. So –’ he stands – ‘here’s the deal. If I tell you stuff – about me, and the rest of it – you have to swear you’ll never say where you heard it.’
‘OK, I swear.’
‘Properly, I mean. Put your hand on the bark –’ he reaches up and puts his hand against the tree – ‘here, and swear on Mother Earth that you will never tell anyone where you learned of what I’m about to tell you.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he says. ‘This isn’t playtime, Owl. The stuff you want to know is serious.’
‘I swear on Mother Earth that I will never tell anyone where I learned of what you’re about to tell me,’ I say, putting my hand on the rough trunk of the old tree as a sudden wind rushes over the field, blowing my hair up around my face and making the branches of the tree shudder.
‘Good,’ says Alberic. ‘Let’s walk.’
‘Walk?’
‘I’m not made of frost,’ he says with a grin, ‘even if you are. The ground is already freezing here.’
I scramble up and he hands me the ice-cream tub, taking the knife out and licking it clean before putting it in his pocket.
‘You’re sure you’re done?’ I ask.
‘Yes, thank you,’ he says, looking up at the sky. ‘We’d better be quick. There was talk of snow today and Jack will be about at some point. I don’t really fancy bumping into him, right now.’
‘Is he that bad?’ I remember that hungry grin, the inhuman way he moved, and shudder at the memory, quickly looking over my shoulder as if he might be there. Nothing. Nothing but darkness and shadows, and the golden glow of the streetlights.
‘Not bad,’ Alberic says. ‘Just very . . . Jack.’
‘What does that mean, though?’
‘He’s an elemental, and one of the stronger ones. There’s him, North Wind, the Lady of the Lake, and a couple of others we don’t have so much to do with here. They’re not like humans, not like anything else at all, really.’
‘And you grew up with all of them?’
‘Since I was small,’ he says, avoiding my eye as we head towards the river.
‘What’s it like?’
‘They’re big characters – kind, cruel, wild, nurturing, all the things you’d expect from nature, I guess.’ He grimaces, as if it’s an effort to talk about it. ‘It’s not a bad place to grow up; you’re never alone, never without some kind of mischief going on . . .’
‘And Mother Earth is in charge of it all? What’s she like?’
‘I’ve never met her!’ he says incredulously. ‘She’s Mother Earth!’
I blink at him, feeling out of my depth. What do I know about anything? If I hadn’t lived through the last few days I’d be laughing in his face about now.
Alberic sighs with exaggerated patience. ‘She’s the leader of the fay, and of all the natural world,’ he says. ‘She’s the head of the Royal Court, of course, but nobody’s seen her for a long time. I mean, she’s not exactly one of the fay, she doesn’t involve herself in all the everyday stuff.’
‘OK.’ I nod. ‘So what does the court do then?’
‘Keeps an eye on things generally.’ He shrugs. ‘The leaders meet in the Old Druid Wood every few months to make decisions on her behalf. It’s an ancient fay site.’
‘Is Jack fay? Does that make me half fay?’
‘Yes,’ he says, looking me up and down as if wondering if I really measure up to that.
‘What kind of fay-creature are you?’ I ask. It sounds awful, as soon as it leaves my mouth. Alberic shakes his head with a smile. ‘Sorry,’ I add, ‘but I mean, if I’m Jack Frost’s daughter, then that makes some sense, because of all the frost. But you have the thing with the wind, and all the leaves – what’s that?’
‘Autumn,’ he says. ‘My father is connected with autumn. He’s part of the court, but he’s not as powerful as yours.’ His eyes darken as he speaks and he picks up his pace.
‘And how do you . . . I mean, how do you control what you do?’
‘There are risks.’ He shrugs. ‘Being half human isn’t exactly normal there. I always knew I had to be careful not to get lost in the magic of it all. I’ve got to look after my human side too . . .’ He gives me a sidelong glance. ‘Guess we both do.’
‘But if you’re half human . . .’
‘Only physically,’ he says. ‘Anyway. Enough about me. What about you? What’s it like growing up normal? What’s your Mum—’
But I don’t get to hear what he was going to ask, because, as we get to the river, a roaring wind seems to pick up out of nowhere, pushing our hair and clothes back, making me stagger. Alberic grabs my hand and pulls me into the old tunnel beneath the bridge, swearing.
‘That was the wrong way to come,’ he says, his eyes darting out into the black of night.
‘Is it Jack?’ I try to peer around him but he shoves me back into the damp stone wall.
‘No. It’s Boreas, the North Wind.’
‘Is that so bad?’
‘If he were to see us together – that could be bad.’
A piercing, shrieking gust barrels visibly down the tunnel, rippling the air. Alberic pushes back against me, as if to hide me completely, as the enormous figure of an old man with a long beard appears at the end of the tunnel, starting towards us.
I struggle against Alberic, partly out of pride and then because it’s ha
rd to breathe against his back, and then there’s another commotion: the sound of cannons firing, or of rocks being thrown into the water. It takes me far longer than I’d like to extricate myself, and, by the time I manage to break free, the old man is nowhere to be seen.
‘What’s going on?’ I demand.
‘Jack called him out,’ Alberic whispers, his hand still on my arm, stopping me going forward. ‘We’ve got the two of them out there, now. This is a nightmare!’
‘Why?’ I hiss, pulling away from him. ‘What’s wrong with you? I thought this was your kind of thing!’
More booming, more howling.
‘What are they doing out there?’ I ask curiously.
‘Playing,’ Alberic says in a disgusted tone, sliding down the wall of the tunnel to sit on the ground. ‘You go and join them if you like; I’m staying here.’
I suppose I should be a mess by now. I mean, Jack Frost, the North Wind? Boys who make you swear on ancient trees? Skin that frosts over when you’re stressed? I wouldn’t have believed any of it a week ago, but now it’s here, right in front of me, and I recognize that the knock of my heart in my chest isn’t plain fear. I mean, it’s a little bit of fear, sure, but it’s also a massive dose of adrenalin and excitement, because I’m looking out from the tunnel to the sort of sight I thought I’d only ever see in films, or in my own imagination. And it’s wild and scary and beautiful and so elemental and powerful, it’s as though all the world was grey and flat until right now.
Jack Frost is having a snow fight with the North Wind.
I’m guessing normal people just don’t see this stuff. They see the snow being hurled by the wind, they see ice forming off the ridges of the bridge, and then they lower their heads and fight their way through, never seeing the figures who caper and charge at each other.
‘You’re actually buzzing off this, aren’t you?’ asks Alberic, appearing at my elbow, his voice incredulous.
‘It’s amazing!’
‘You’re not afraid?’
‘Well, they haven’t seen us. They’re having too much fun to bother looking.’
He gives me a funny look.
‘I don’t get it,’ I say. ‘Why are you so worried about it?’
‘They’re dangerous!’ he says. ‘These are enormous, powerful beings, capable of mass destruction, and they’re just playing out there! They have serious business, and this is what they spend their time doing. Anything could happen!’
‘You’re scared!’ I say, turning to him properly while the elements rage happily outside.
He flinches away, as if I slapped him. ‘I am not scared,’ he hisses. ‘You’re just being naive. You’ve no idea about the real world, nobody has.’
‘So I’m trying to learn! I want this, Alberic! I want to know more. I want to know him, even if it does scare me! If you don’t like it, you should just go back home and leave me here.’
‘I can’t just leave you!’
‘You can,’ I say, taking a deep breath and trying to reassure him. ‘I’ll be fine. I need to do this. You don’t.’
He gives me a long, level look. ‘Fine,’ he says eventually, putting his hood up and digging his hands into his pockets. ‘But be careful. It might not be what you expect.’
He turns and walks down to the other end of the tunnel, and then he hesitates for a moment, as if unsure whether to leave me here or not.
‘I’m fine,’ I whisper. ‘Just go.’ A thin cloud of vapour comes out of my mouth as I speak, crystallizing in the air and zipping off towards Alberic. It spatters against his back and he turns, shaking his head, before sloping off into the distance.
Whoops! That’s not going to make me popular.
Not that I’m very popular with anyone right now.
Maybe I’ll skip school on Monday.
I turn back to watch the two wintry figures as they start skating on the frozen river. It makes me smile. Alberic’s right. They’re two powerful, elemental figures who look like they’d be all about ruling the world and dominating mankind, and there they are, playing! I venture out of the tunnel as they rush out of sight, and stand there in the blizzarding snow, lifting my head to the sky as the wind buffets me.
‘Aha!’ booms a voice, as the thundering sounds of winter come closer once more. ‘There she is: the little pretender!’
FABLES & EARTH SPIRITS
The North Wind
The ground shook as he strode towards her and when he spoke, the world vibrated with his words. Her stomach turned, and her hair streamed back from her face as he came closer, and she could not understand what he said, for he spoke in the language of thunder and all she could hear was the shudder of his power.
He rose up above her, twice the size of a mortal man, and she lowered her head and gripped herself tight and tried to steal breath from the wind that tore at her. Beneath her feet was a tide of sand that stung her skin and rose up to burn her eyes, and all around them was a howling, desolate void that blocked out the sky itself. In that instant she wished with all her heart that she had not uttered the words that got her there, but the heart does not make much of bargains, and has no power at all over the elements.
‘I cannot change it for you.’
The girl lifted her head, for they were the first words she had truly understood. His blue eyes bore into hers and there was sympathy there, but she saw that it would change nothing.
‘You struggle here and if I could, I would make it less,’ he said, his long white beard dancing with a thousand eddies. ‘But I am what I am and this is my world, child, it is made of all that I am, and all that I am is this . . .’
He winked, and spread his arms wide, and the wind roared. Tiny figures seemed to ride the storm, whooping and twisting as it tossed them around, their wings like shards of silver. He smiled at their antics but when she tried to look closer they vanished, and the girl wondered if she had imagined them entirely. She thought to ask him but her voice was lost as he stooped low, until his face was mere inches from hers. He was ancient, and yet the years did not show upon his skin, only in his eyes. She marvelled at him even as she knew she should be afraid. There was nothing he could not do here, no battle she could win, should he choose to fight.
‘Go home, child,’ he rumbled. ‘This is not your playground, you are not fay – it is not safe for thee here, and I would not see thee hurt.’
When you don’t have a father you can make up your own version. He’s not going to read you a story, or make fiery chillis that nobody can actually eat, but if he were there, those are the things he’d do. And he’d be tall and broad and a bit messy, a bit absent-minded, and he’d get cross if you messed with his books, but he’d give you great hugs when you needed them and he’d always be there, when you needed help with homework, or had an argument with your mum.
I’ve made up various versions of my father over the years. None of them looked like the figure before me now. Pale as ice and sharp-featured, he stands there as if he owns the world and never had a doubt in his mind. Everything seems to blur around him as he moves in his strange, staccato way, his shadow long and lean behind him in the moonlight. He’s wearing layers of grey clothes, most of them covered in snow, and every time he exhales it lets out a little cloud of ice particles. The figure of his friend is in the distance now, blowing a blizzard around a couple who are rushing along the river path, clinging to each other, heads lowered against the snow.
‘Is that really the North Wind?’ I ask.
‘Who else would it be?’ Jack Frost replies, looking over his shoulder. ‘Though I call him Boreas.’ He turns back to me and frowns. ‘Speaking of names, which have you?’
Can I really tell this creature who I am? Do I want him to know?
‘My name’s Owl,’ I manage, through the roaring in my ears.
‘Owl!’ His eyes narrow. ‘Favoured by Mother Earth . . . But what are you? You have something of a human aspect about you.’
‘I am human! Half human, anyway.’
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sp; ‘Half human . . .’ He narrows his eyes, tilting his head. ‘And what of the other half, Owl?’
‘Do you remember a woman?’ I ask, my voice trembling. ‘Thirteen years or so ago: dark hair, brown eyes, a bit mad?’
He steps back, his face darkening.
‘I’m half fay . . . half whatever you are,’ I whisper, looking up at him, close enough to touch, feeling the cold emanate from him and remembering all the times I wanted him to be there. All the sports days and the nativity plays and the birthdays when his absence was like a physical presence; like a shadow by my mum’s side. All the times I wondered why he wasn’t there.
I mean, not that I wanted Jack Frost to wander in, late and dripping ice, having to stand at the back with Mum because all the seats were full of more organized parents.
‘You’re my father.’
‘That . . .’ he says, looking me up and down, his eyes haunted. ‘That is not possible, Owl-creature. I am an element of nature. Things like family, fatherhood, they’re not a part of my existence; they are of the human domain. However . . .’ His face brightens. ‘You certainly have something of the winter about you. Shall we see?’
‘See what?’
‘Come,’ he calls, racing out on to the icy river. ‘Come and show me what you have, my little pretender!’
I’m standing on the riverbank, watching Jack’s bare feet dance across the ice as though it were a ballroom floor, patterns curling out around him, and I don’t know whether the world is shrinking or growing but there’s an exploding sort of feeling in my chest because nothing is ever going to be the same after today. He shut me down so quickly, rejected me so easily, I can’t help but feel tight and small about it. And yet, watching him out there, so unhindered, spinning in a hailstorm of his own creation, how can I expect anything different? I’m stuck. I can’t move towards him, and I can’t move away. I just stand there, watching him, while a lifetime of hope and despair gets tumbled around my mind. Whatever I thought, whatever I dreamed of, this is it. This is him.