Winter Wood (25 page)

Celandine blinked and turned away from the fire. Was it one of
them
who had spoken those words? A picture came to her of that little brown face, the eyes so wide and fearful – but not in the trees this time. No, he was on the ground, head barely rising above the tall grass. Then grabbing at her sleeve . . .

‘
Gorji
is get you!'

Gorji? Who or what was Gorji? Celandine pinched the sleeve of her cardigan between finger and thumb and tugged at it, closed her eyes and felt again the sensation of being pulled forward, scrambling to her feet and following . . . following . . .

. . . through the dock leaves and the nettles and the long summer grass, stumbling around the crest of Howard's Hill, the tiny figure always ahead of her, and then . . . he just disappeared.

He was gone, and her memory gone with him. She could recall nothing beyond that point.

Oh, but this was progress! At least she had something more to work with – another few steps to add to her dance. She would whirl through those steps again and again, and perhaps her feet would remember more and carry her forward of their own accord.

Back to the beginning of the sequence, then: Fin, standing in the tall grass, reaching forward to grab at her sleeve . . .

She saw him in more detail this time, and some of her original emotion swept through her. The
realization that such a being had truly existed, and that this had truly happened to her was overwhelming. This was no longer just a picture-memory, or some half-forgotten dream. This was real. The little bead of blood on his shoulder . . . the long black hair all dusty with summer pollen . . . the ragged waistcoat . . . she was not imagining these things. This was recollection, as real as her memory of Freddie, clumping down the wooden stairs in his new army uniform.

‘Is
Gorji
come! Is
get
you!'

She caught something of his voice – a throaty little whisper – and it was both exhilarating and frightening to hear. She was getting somewhere, she really was, but who knew what terrors might be lurking along this dark pathway? Is . . .
get
you . . .

Tap-tap
. It was only a brief knock at her door, but the sound made her jump.

Carol Reeve put her head into the room.

‘Miss Howard? Are you awake?'

Celandine wished that she could pretend that she wasn't. She liked the woman well enough, but she didn't want company. Not right now.

‘Yes. Come in, Mrs Reeve.'

Carol crossed the room and sat on the arm of the wing-backed chair, her hands in her lap. She had brought a waft of floral scent into the room. Something new . . . different to the perfume she normally wore. Freesias? No . . .

‘I've just been talking to Elaine, and she was telling me about your upset. How are you feeling now?'

‘Oh. Much better, thank you. It was just . . . oh,
some silly thing. I think I must have been half asleep and having a bit of a bad dream. I wouldn't want to be the cause of any worry.'

‘Hm. Well . . . it's our job to worry – or rather to care. What was the dream about? Can you remember?'

‘No, not really.' She wished that Carol would go away, and let her
think
.

‘Elaine wondered if it had anything to do with Midge. She thought that perhaps the girl had . . . frightened you in some way.'

Yes, she had. Something that Midge had done had frightened her very much. That tapping sound had terrified the life out of her, and yet she couldn't say why. Even now her heart was beating a little faster at the memory of it.

She realized that she'd paused for too long.

‘No! Nothing to do with Midge at all. It was just a dream.'

‘Would you rather she didn't come here for a while? Midge, I mean. You see, I'm beginning to think—'

‘No! Of course she must come! I
must
see her!'

Carol stood up. ‘Well, if you're absolutely sure, then of course I wouldn't want to upset you by keeping her away. All right, then. I'd better carry on and do the rounds. I'll tell Elaine that I've had a chat with you, and that as far as I'm concerned it's business as usual. Anyway, I'm glad you're feeling better. So. I'll say goodnight, then, and see you in the morning? Elaine will be along in half an hour or so, to help you to bed.'

‘Yes. Thank you, Mrs Reeve. See you in the morning.'

‘Night, then, Miss Howard.'

‘Goodnight.'

As Carol closed the door behind her, another faint trace of perfume was wafted on the air. It reminded Celandine of something so strongly: someone that she had once known, perhaps, or some place that she had once been. . .

‘Blinder . . .'

Where
had
she heard that word before? Celandine sighed. It was no good trying to force anything to come through. She could only sit here with her eyes closed and wait. Sit here . . . and be calm . . . breathe in the sweet scent of lavender . . .

Lavender. Of course – how silly of her not to have recognized it straight away. Carol Reeve's perfume was lavender.

But the smell of lavender didn't make her think of Carol Reeve. It made her think of . . . darkness. Yes, of darkness, and the muffled sound of children's voices, playing quietly somewhere. But that could be anywhere. Celandine breathed slowly in and out. The scent of lavender was fading now, and the half-memory that it had triggered was fading too. She couldn't catch it, couldn't put herself in that place where she had once been. Perhaps it was unimportant, and unconnected to her search. But if anyone had asked her what the smell of lavender reminded her of, she might have said, ‘Underground.'

LITTLE-MARTEN AND
Henty had never been as warm and comfortable in their lives. The box-crib that they had made for themselves was well sheltered from wind and rain, and the open-sided wooden tree dwelling was as safe as any place they could hope to find on Gorji territory. From this high viewpoint they could watch the comings and goings of the giants, and if sudden danger should arrive they were prepared for it. They had planned an escape route along one of the low-spreading branches of the cedar tree. Their combined weight at the end of this branch caused it to dip close enough to the ground for Henty to be able to jump without hurting herself. With a little practice of this manoeuvre they were certain that they could be out of the tree and away into the thickets soon enough, should it become necessary. Little-Marten could of course have floated straight down from the platform itself, but that would have meant leaving Henty to fend for herself and he would never do that.

The soft Gorji bindle-wrap would go with them, they had decided, when the time came. It was too precious
a find not to keep, although too bulky to carry easily. They solved this problem by cutting off the end of the sack, so that it was of a length more suited to their size. Little-Marten spent some time hacking the thing apart with a tinsy knife, and Henty then folded the rough edge and stitched it with fishing thread. It was good – not rainproof, but wonderfully warm. And they could always cover it with one of their own oilskin bindle-wraps to keep out the wet.

The birds in the trees about them, they noticed, were far tamer than the few that now remained in the Royal Forest. It was plain that the ruddocks and throstles that dwelt here had less to fear from the Gorji than their forest cousins did from the Ickri. No archers prowled this peaceful copse, ready to shoot down anything that moved, no snares were set for the coneys that fed unconcerned at the very borders of the settlement.

And so it was with them. Henty and Little-Marten had been among the Gorji before, and had suffered no hurt at their hands. Consequently they were wary, but unafraid. Even the great roaring machines that came and went, so alarming at first sight, seemed to pose no real danger. Such things were apparently confined to the enclosure, and never ventured beyond those bounds.

The distant voices of the Gorji became familiar to them, after a day or two. Midge they immediately recognized – the maid who had come to the woods – and the other maid and youth who had been there on the terrible day of the felix. But this was the first time
they had been able to observe full-grown giants going about their business – those who commanded the machine monsters, and the man and woman who gave them their orders. Were they such a fearful race? They carried no recognizable weapons, built no fires upon which to roast their victims, dealt none of the death and destruction that all childer of the little people were told was the Gorji way. The Wisp, who nightly fished the Gorji wetlands, returned with tales of such deadly encounters and hair's-breadth escapes as would freeze the blood of the listener. So brave those fishers were, to dodge the giants' flashing blades and skip beneath the bellies of their ferocious hounds for the sake of a string of eels. But the one old hound that Henty and Little-Marten saw looked scarce able to walk. Perhaps the fishers' tales were exaggerated after all.

A string of eels, though. What wouldn't they give for a nice piece of baked eel now? Warm and dry they might be, but they were becoming desperately hungry. Their store of food had long gone, and there was very little in the trees and bushes about them that they could eat. Little-Marten was no hunter – had never used a bow and arrow or killed in his life. His position as Woodpecker had excused him such tasks. Neither was Henty any expert forager. She had picked mushrooms and blackberries, but the daughter of Tadgemole had not been expected to seriously grub for survival. Both had relied on others to provide for them. Come the spring and summer there would be roots and nuts and fruit for the taking, but how should they live until then? To escape, and
to be together – this had been their only thought. Beyond that there was no plan. Now they were going to have to learn how to winter off the land.

‘What do the Gorji eat?' Little-Marten wondered. ‘Do 'em grow tiddies like the Naiad?'

It was worth finding out – though how they would cook a potato should they find one was an unanswered question. They could hardly be lighting fires so close to the Gorji settlement.

‘We'll go and see,' said Henty, ‘come moon-wax.'

It was late into the night before the last of the bright lights of the settlement was extinguished, and even then there remained a faint blue glow from one of the high windows. But now was the time, if they were to risk it at all.

Little-Marten and Henty descended the rope ladder, and silently made their way through the copse. The air was cold and still – dangerous, for any little sound they made would carry clearly on such a night. High up on their platform perch with a view of the world about them they felt safe enough, but down here on the ground and in darkness was a different matter. They would not want to meet the Gorji hound at this level, old and feeble though it might be.

As they stepped from the copse onto an open stretch of short-cropped grass, a pale moon appeared, slyly showing its face from behind the clouds. More danger – for now they could be seen as well as heard. The pair quickly crossed the grass and moved around towards the back of the dwelling, where the shadows were deeper.

Henty grabbed Little-Marten's arm. ‘Hst! What's this?'

Little-Marten looked down at the ground. A cabbage. And another . . . and another. They had stumbled upon a vegetable patch, and so quickly that they could hardly believe it. Their instinct had been proved right: the Gorji lived as the Naiad did, cropping the land for their food.

But when they crouched down to examine this treasure, they were disappointed. The cabbage plants were ancient, with leaves as tough as snake's hide and already reduced to tatters by slugs and winter frost. Little-Marten and Henty moved around the frozen plot, the soil solid and lumpy beneath their feet. They found other plants – tough stalks and half-exposed roots that they didn't recognize – but all of them the neglected remains of a season long gone. There was no food for them here.

Move on, then. They tiptoed along the pathway that surrounded the massive building, and came to a stone construction that jutted out, like a smaller dwelling added to the first. Here there was an open entranceway. Little-Marten and Henty peered inside as they moved past, hanging back, ready to run if necessary. The enclosed space was dimly illuminated by some circular object fixed to the far wall. They saw that there was another door, this one shut, a wooden bench . . . some long garments hanging above it . . . and a row of giants' boots, arranged into pairs, the biggest of which were almost as tall as themselves. Henty and Little-Marten lingered for a few moments,
fascinated by this glimpse into the Gorji world. But they could see nothing here that was of any practical use to them, and so they pressed on, retreating from the light and silently rounding the darkened corner of the building . . .

Hssssssschhhhhttt!
A ferocious explosion of hissing and snarling burst upon them from the shadows, so sudden that they fell against one another in terror. Fiery yellow eyes glaring down at them from above . . . fangs drawn back, spitting hatred . . . their enemy, their nightmare, here to haunt them again. The eyes widened, fixed them to the spot in their chilling gaze, then seemed to shoot straight out into space. Henty and Little-Marten instinctively ducked, but the beast had already launched itself. To their amazement it flew straight over their heads. They saw it land in the light of the open doorway behind them, a shock of black-and-white fur, frantic claws scrabbling for purchase on the frosty stone. In an instant the thing had gone, a final yowl of outrage trailing its disappearance into the night.