The Rise of Winter, page 2
“What is that?” I asked, reaching out to touch the necklace.
She yanked it back abruptly, knowing, even without vision, exactly what I was doing.
I pulled my hand away, irritated. Why was she always so secretive? I didn’t doubt that she loved me—she’d looked after me since I lost my parents—but sometimes she still treated me like a child.
“Why can’t I look at it?” I asked.
Granny hesitated. I could see that she was thinking hard about something. She turned back toward me and held out the necklace.
“Really?” I said, reaching to take it.
The moment my fingers touched the smooth rock, a jolt shot through my hand and up my arm.
“Ouch!” I yelled, yanking my hand away.
One of the gold etchings around the edge of the stone glowed a deep green, and Granny’s mouth twisted into a frown.
“So it is,” she whispered.
“So what is?” I asked, shaking my hand and inspecting it. There didn’t appear to be any marks or burns.
Granny stood up and held out the necklace again. I hesitated to take it, the pain in my fingers still lingering, but like the glowing green of the symbol, it faded quickly. I reached out and took the necklace, and this time there was no jolt.
It was smooth like glass and heavier than I’d expected. I turned it around in my hand and looked at the symbols. There were twelve around the edge, each in the shape of a different animal. In the middle were three more: a drop of water, mountains, and three swirling lines.
“What is this?” I asked.
“Old,” Granny replied.
I rolled my eyes. “No, I mean, where did it come from?”
Granny exhaled slowly as if carefully choosing her words.
“Your father had it the day he died.”
I was shocked. Granny never spoke about my father. Ever. And suddenly she was offering information?
“It was my father’s?” I exclaimed.
Granny shook her head adamantly. “I did not say it was your father’s. I said he had it the day he died.”
I was suddenly filled with an overwhelming need to ask questions. “Where did he get it? What do you mean it wasn’t his? Did he steal it?”
Then another thought crossed my mind: If my father had it the day he died, then Granny must have had it for years. Why had she never shown it to me?
Granny took the necklace back and tucked it into a blue velvet pouch before putting it into the top drawer of her dresser.
“What are you going to do with it? If my father had it last, maybe it should be passed down to me.”
“Maybe,” Granny said, “but right now I’m hungry. Let’s go eat.”
And just like that, the discussion was over. It was the longest conversation we’d ever had about my father.
Chapter 3
AS GRANNY SET ABOUT MAKING DINNER, I GATHERED THE GARBAGE and went to take it out back. The evening air was warm and the sun was already hidden behind the trees, causing shadows to wash over the porch. With the rainy season over, the air felt dry. It probably wouldn’t rain again for weeks.
The bag was heavy and banged noisily as I dragged it down the stairs to the bin. I opened the top and threw it in.
CRASH!
On my way back to the porch, the thought of that strange necklace troubled me.
Why had Granny kept it from me for so long? I didn’t have any siblings, so shouldn’t my father’s treasures be mine? I hated how secretive she was about him. She still hadn’t told me how he’d died! Sometimes I wished—
“Woo-wee, dinner is served!”
I spun around mid-thought. Someone had spoken behind me.
I scanned the backyard quickly, but didn’t see anyone. “I-is someone there?” I called.
The orange grove was shadowy and dark—was someone hiding there? Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me again, like with the sparrow.
I climbed the porch steps to go inside, and the voice spoke again.
“Sure would be easier if I were a little taller,” it said.
This time I was sure I’d heard it. I turned and went back down the stairs, looking around. Again, I saw no one—only the fat raccoon that lived under our deck, who had apparently come out to sniff through the garbage. He was sitting on top of the garbage can trying to pry off the lid.
“Did someone say something?” I called out.
Nobody answered me, but I’d obviously startled the raccoon. Its ears twitched and it turned around to face me, then craned its neck left and right as if searching for something.
“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone here but me,” the voice said, and this time I was certain it had come from the raccoon.
“You—you can talk?” I asked.
The raccoon’s jaw dropped and its eyes widened. “You—you can understand?”
We stood staring at each other for what felt like an hour.
“I must be dreaming,” I finally muttered, backing away from the raccoon but tripping on the bottom stair and falling on my butt in the process.
“Oh, Terra, I’ve finally done it,” the raccoon said, jumping from the top of the garbage can and shaking its head. “One too many cans of Meatys! And I knew it, too! I kept saying to myself, ‘Don’t do it, Proctin, don’t eat the Meatys, it’s not real food.’ But did my stomach listen? Noooo. It kept on growling and saying, ‘More, more, more!’” The raccoon placed its tiny paws over its eyes and fell over backward. “Look what I’ve done! My poor brain, the largest of its kind, ruined! I mean, take my beauty, sure, but my brain? Oh, not my brain!”
The raccoon lay on the ground, smacking its paws against the sides of its head, tail swishing back and forth in the air, wailing over and over, “My brain! My brain! My brain!”
Dream or no dream, I couldn’t help but laugh. I walked over and looked down at the raccoon while it continued its fit.
“I beg your pardon,” I said.
“And I begged for more Meatys!” cried the raccoon.
“No, I beg your pardon, as in, excuse me.”
“You’re excused,” said the raccoon. “But I’m not. How can I excuse myself when I’ve gone and ruined everything?”
A little frustrated, I reached down and touched the raccoon on its shoulder.
Immediately it stopped its woeful cries and looked up at me.
“You touched me!” it said, shooting up from the ground onto its paws.
I pulled my hand back. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to get your attention.”
“No, no, you touched me,” it said again, this time with excitement in its voice. “Do it again!”
I was confused, but reached my hand forward and felt the soft fur behind the raccoon’s neck.
“Aha!” cried the raccoon. “You’re real!” It jumped toward me and wrapped its little arms around my leg. “Absolutely, physically real! I can touch you!”
I shook my leg slightly, trying to get it off me without seeming rude.
The raccoon stepped backward and lifted its paw into the air with a flourish. “My name’s Proctin,” it said.
Alright, so it wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me after all, I thought.
I reached my hand forward, quite aware that if anyone saw me at that moment they’d think I’d lost my mind. “Winter,” I said, shaking the raccoon’s paw. “Pleased to meet you.”
“To think I’ve lived in your house for ten years and we’re only just learning each other’s names,” said the raccoon.
“Under,” I said.
“Under?”
“You’ve lived under my house for ten years. I hear you going through our garbage at night. You live under there.” I pointed beneath the deck.
“If you knew where I lived, why didn’t you ever say hello?”
“I didn’t know you could talk.”
“Of course I can talk,” Proctin said, indignant. Then his head drooped and his eyes looked sad. “My mother used to say I talked too much.”
“Well, until now, I guess I never understood you,” I said.
As I spoke, I mulled this over in my head. I had never spoken to an animal before, had I? I mean, I’d spoken to the odd dog passing on the street, but as far as I knew they had never understood me.
“Do you talk with any other humans?” I asked, but the raccoon was no longer listening. He had crept back over to the garbage and was standing on his hind legs, trying to reach the lid. He hopped and managed to lift it slightly before it fell back in place.
“Here, let me help you,” I said, walking over and lifting it for him. “Just try not to make too much of a mess. You do know I’m the one who has to clean up after you in the morning?”
“Sorry about that,” Proctin said. “I’ll do my best.” He hopped on top of the garbage and started tearing through the debris.
His mood seemed to have changed at the mention of his mother and he no longer appeared interested in continuing the conversation. I watched for a moment before going back into the house.
I didn’t say anything about the raccoon to Granny over dinner. In fact, I barely said anything at all. I was in a daze and worried she would think I was crazy. But something about the thin-lipped smile on her face made me think that maybe she already knew.
That night when I climbed into bed, I sat absently staring at my geography textbook. I couldn’t focus. There was too much to think about—the laughing sparrow, the necklace in Granny’s dresser, but mostly, the talking raccoon that had called himself Proctin.
What a weird day, I thought, putting the textbook aside and grabbing my journal off the bedside table. It had been an eventful one and it would take me a while to write it all down.
Better get started.
Chapter 4
IT FELT LIKE I’D ONLY JUST CLOSED MY EYES WHEN I WAS wrenched from sleep by a scraping sound on glass.
The room was black, except for a tunnel of golden light projecting through the window onto the opposite wall. In the centre of that projection was the shadow of a bird—tall and rigid with a short neck and a curved beak.
I climbed from my bed and looked outside. A large, golden moon hung over the distant mountains, illuminating the orange trees and yard. A tree branch swayed gently by the window—but there was no bird on it.
I spun around to the light on the wall to find the bird’s shadow had disappeared.
Or had it even been there in the first place?
I rubbed my head, worrying about the long-term damage from my likely concussion. I was tired, but too unsettled to sleep, so I stood staring at the moon—full, clear, and golden. It was bigger than I’d ever seen it and gave the odd impression that it was sitting on top of the mountains.
The mountains …
For as long as I could remember, I’d felt a weird pull toward the mountains, as if they were the north end of a magnet and I was the south. At night, I’d sit by my window and watch them. It sounds odd, but it felt as if they were saying my name. I didn’t know why; I’d never been to the mountains, never even been close. I spent my school days with Granny in Dunvy and the rest of the year on Pitchi, an island off the coast of Olport. My Uncle Farlin lived there with his son, Alectus. It wasn’t always a pleasant experience—my cousin saw to that—but it was the only other home I’d known.
So why did I feel as though the mountains called me?
No one lived up there, as far as I knew, and there was nothing beyond them but the Forgotten Lands. There were rumors about what existed in the Forgotten Lands—endless sand, swamps with toxic air, landscapes torn apart by windstorms and earthquakes—but they were all exactly that: rumors. No one had ever gone to the Forgotten Lands. No one was crazy enough to try. Except, perhaps, the Society. Kids at school said the Society was planning an expedition. But kids were always making up things about the Society. Some even joked that the Society would one day go to the moon. As if that were possible. Still, it was hard to put anything past the Society, with all they’d invented in such a short time. “The future is forward,” or so their slogan said.
Something howled in the distance, low and forlorn.
Coyote, I thought. Common to the area.
I climbed back into bed. If I didn’t sleep soon I’d probably not wake for my alarm. I smiled at that thought. There was a good chance I’d sleep through it anyway.
I don’t know how long I was out before I was awoken by another noise. This time it was a loud thump, and I sprang from my bed.
Okay, that time I definitely heard something.
I stood in the middle of the room, breathing quickly, waiting for something to happen. The house was silent and the air was crisp. I started to shiver in my pajamas and was feeling a bit silly when I saw something moving outside the bedroom window.
I crossed the room to get a better look.
The moon was now half hidden behind a wall of clouds, but despite the dim light, I saw that I was right—something was moving outside. Many things. Large, skulking shadows were creeping across the lawn toward the house. I squeezed my eyes shut and reopened them to be sure I wasn’t dreaming, but the shadows remained. I couldn’t make out exactly what they were, but they appeared to be some sort of animal. Some sort of very large animal. I tried to count them, but there were too many—ten, twenty, maybe thirty?
Something grabbed my shoulder from behind and I screamed.
I spun around to find Granny standing in her nightgown and robe, a fearful look on her face.
“You have to get out,” she said.
I didn’t have the chance to ask what was going on before she handed me a pair of jeans and a shirt. “Put these on. Hurry!”
I didn’t question her. Something in her voice frightened me. Something was very wrong. I threw on my clothes and Granny took my arm, pulling me quickly down the stairs to the living room.
“Wait here,” she said, disappearing into the kitchen. She moved faster than I’d known she could, and reappeared carrying my backpack.
“I’ve got everything you’ll need in here,” she said.
I stared at her in disbelief. “Everything I’ll need for what?”
“Your journey to the Cove,” said a voice from the shadows.
I jumped. I hadn’t noticed anyone else in the room.
A low figure emerged from the darkened corner. It stood a little higher than my knees and seemed to glide across the floor rather than walk. Its body was sleek and long, with pointed ears and a bushy tail. A coat of well-groomed auburn fur shone in the pale moonlight while a streak of white ran from under its snout to its belly. It was a fox—a red fox—similar to the ones that hunted and played in the fields around our house.
“Did you just speak?” I asked.
The creature nodded. “My name is Vulpeera.”
I turned and looked at Granny. “What’s going on? Am I dreaming?”
Granny shook her head. “This is not a dream, though I wish it were. Vulpeera is here to take you to the Cove. Listen to her; she will explain everything on the way.”
I couldn’t decide what was crazier—the talking fox in the middle of my living room or the fact that Granny seemed to know the creature.
There was another loud crash like the one that had awoken me—this time from the kitchen. Wood creaked under the pressure of some immense weight. Something was trying to break through the back door.
Granny and Vulpeera exchanged nervous looks. “Quickly,” Granny said, “this way.” She moved to the far side of the room and opened the door to the basement. “Down here.”
The fox moved toward the door, but I stood still. What was going on? What was outside? Everything around me was moving so fast.
Another crash echoed through the house, followed by the sound of splintering wood as a small piece of the door broke off. I turned to see a shadow run through the kitchen, and Vulpeera’s back arched as she snarled.
The shadow darted around the fox and scurried between my legs. I recognized its black and grey pattern as it crossed through a stream of moonlight.
“Proctin!” I exclaimed.
“What’s going on out there?” he panted. “There are hundreds of them!”
Another crash, this time followed by a scraping sound as whatever was outside tried to claw its way in.
“Quickly, Winter,” Granny said, “we don’t have much time.”
As if to answer her, yet another crash resounded through the house as the door gave way. Two large shadows pounced into the kitchen, but I didn’t wait to find out what they were. I sprinted to the open basement door and leapt through. Proctin and Vulpeera jumped after me, and Granny followed, slamming the door shut just as two loud thumps hit the other side.
“What are those?!” I cried, but no one answered. I was at the top of the stairs and it was completely dark—I couldn’t see a thing. Proctin clung to my leg. Keeping my hand on the cold stone wall, I crept down the stairs and pulled the cord for the light.
The basement lit up and I saw Granny and Vulpeera already standing on the far side of the room, pushing against the washing tub.
Whatever was upstairs was now clawing and bashing at the basement door. Soon they would be through, and we’d have nowhere to go. Why had we come to the basement? There was no way to escape—we were locked in! My hands clenched in fear. Proctin was gripping my leg so tightly I could feel his claws digging through my pants. I tried to pry them free, but his grasp was unbreakable.
Granny and Vulpeera had managed to push the washing tub to the side, revealing a hole in the wall behind it, big enough to crawl through.
“Come on,” Vulpeera said, jumping into the hole.
Proctin released my leg and scurried across the room. He peered inside. “I’m definitely not going in there,” he said. “It looks muddy and dark and cold and—”
Vulpeera’s face re-emerged from the darkness. “Not you,” she growled. “Winter, hurry! Once they find out where we’re going they’ll move to cut us off at the other end.”
I bent down and looked inside the hole. Proctin was right—it did look muddy and dark and cold, but another crash from upstairs gave me the courage to climb in.
