Winter's Light (2 page)

The farseer’s eyes sought Lamara now and, despite the cold, she felt her face flush with heat. ‘Come forward, Lamara, daughter of Myrlye and Dathur. Come to your farseer and let us begin.’

Swallowing nervously, Lamara went to him. He looked down at her and whispered, ‘Do as we discussed. Remember, it is a simple thing to open a door. One must merely grasp the handle and pull.’

Lamara nodded and hesitantly stepped up to the dais. Approaching the portal, she could see her face reflected in the central disc’s midnight-black surface, pale and uncertain. Her red hair whipped about her head like the flames of the acolytes’ torches. Licking her dry lips, Lamara placed her hands on the stone. She was shocked at how warm the surface felt, as if the stone had just been lifted from a fire. She closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind. For some reason all she could see was the image of her mother’s tear-stained face.

She was going to fail.

There was no power in her. There was nothing but doubt and fear. Behind her the acolytes began to hum, their deep, resonant voices harmonising together in a single note which sent chills down Lamara’s back. Somehow the hum helped her to think more clearly and focus on the image she needed to build. She pictured a door, a simple wooden door with an iron latch. She could see the swirling knots of the wood, the dull lustre of the iron latch and then the latch was lifting . . .

Another sound now rose above the acolytes’ hum, a grinding sound. Lamara dared to open her eyes and saw the outer ring of the portal begin to turn. Her heart began to beat faster.
It was working!
Now the inner ring began to turn, rotating in the opposite direction from the outer ring. The rings moved faster, gathering speed until the carved runes blurred, became indistinguishable. Something else was happening – the black stone beneath her palms was growing hot. Uncomfortably hot.

Lamara’s excitement turned to panic. The heat coming from the portal was incredible. Sweat began to trickle down her face, running into her eyes and making them sting. The humming of the acolytes filled the air like the buzzing of flies over a dead animal. Her eyes widened as the surface of the black stone started to lose its consistency, a weird green light rippling across it. If she applied pressure, Lamara knew she would push through the stone, push through to the other side.

Suddenly she had a frightening conviction –
this was wrong!
She should stop now or risk a horrible punishment. The gods were angry with her. With a small cry Lamara stumbled backwards from the portal and fell roughly to the ground. The rings continued to turn, sending off green sparks that lit the darkening sky.

The farseer barely glanced at her lying on the ground as he strode towards the portal.

‘No!’ Lamara cried out weakly. Stretching his hands out the farseer placed them on the black stone. His face relaxed into an expression of rapture and then darkened. Lamara was close enough to see the farseer’s hesitation quickly turn to fear as the stone liquefied, surging over his hands, up to his forearms, like mud. Suddenly, the farseer whipped his head around, screaming in panic.

‘Help me, you fools!’

The sparks intensified with the speed of the rings, a brilliant wheel of green light. Lamara squinted into the shimmering radiance, unable to move, paralysed with fear. It was as though the farseer was standing before a great eye, rimmed with emerald fire. Two of the braver acolytes rushed to his aid and took hold of his arms which were now submerged to their elbows in the rippling black stone. Green sparks lashed out from the whirling rings, striking the acolytes and knocking them backwards. The acrid smell of burnt flesh polluted the air.

Howling in terror, the farseer was drawn deeper into the stone, almost to his chest. He glanced down at Lamara one last time, wide eyes staring from an ashen face, and gasped, ‘It was never meant to be opened! Never —’ and then he was violently sucked inside the stone. Lost in its pulsing, dark heart.

Chapter 1

Winter ran through the woods, dead leaves crunching beneath her feet. The moon shone overhead, but it was a moon she’d never seen before. It was a deep violet shade, and the light it cast was sickly and unreal. The ragged white thing flitting through the treetops behind her cackled again. A horrible sound that made Winter’s racing heart shudder in fright. It was playing with her.

If she could make it to the church then she might be safe. Surely such a profane creature could not enter hallowed ground.

By the moonlight she could see the trees thinning up ahead. A shadowed structure stood hunched in the clearing. The church – Pilgrim’s Lament. In the back of her mind a voice of caution cried out as she pushed through the branches into the clearing. She was too scared, too panicked to heed it.

The thing cackled behind her again, louder now, but Winter sensed a note of uncertainty in its tone. A faltering quality that suggested it was no longer confident the game was already won. Taking the cracked stone steps two at a time Winter rushed to the arched doorway, reaching for the handle. It was locked, and for a moment she despaired. Then she remembered who she was.
What
she was. A Key. Sure enough, the door now turned easily beneath her hand and Winter stepped into the church. The thing cried out in fury at her back, just as she slammed the door shut, locking its rage outside.

Panting breathlessly, Winter slowly turned around. She was not alone. She had made a mistake. Better to face the monster outside than this. Looking at the gruesome tableau at the end of the church, terror washed over Winter, leaching the strength from her legs and stealing the scream even as it rose to her lips.

Blake lay stretched upon the rotten church altar, his shirt ripped from his body exposing his bruised and bloody torso. His head lolled to the side, pain-filled eyes boring into hers. Three Skivers stood over him, their inhumanly wide grins gleaming in the purple moon glow spilling in through the damaged roof. In unison, they chattered a demonic greeting to her and then returned to the task at hand. The tallest – the master – held a pair of scissors in one hand, in the other, Blake’s life force. Winter could see the pulsing sphere of brilliant red light spilling between the creature’s bony fingers. As Blake writhed in pain, the master began to snip the red luminescent tendrils connecting Blake to his life force, his spirit, his soul. Winter found her voice and screamed, ‘NO!’

She started to run down the aisle towards the altar, hoping she might be able to stop the master somehow before he cut the last glowing fibre. Something was wrong though – her feet moved sluggishly as if the ground had turned to molasses, slowing her progress. She wasn’t going to make it! The instant she reached the base of the altar the Skivers and Blake vanished into the violet darkness, leaving her alone.

No, not alone.

There was a deafening pounding on the door, followed by the sound of splintering wood and the front doors were thrown open. Claudette stood on the church’s threshold, her eyes bright with madness and hunger. Winter was paralysed, rooted to the spot with a mixture of terror and grief, watching as Claudette began to walk towards her. Every time the Demori stepped out of the smoky moonlight into the shadows, she reappeared impossibly closer, closing the distance between them with a scant number of steps. Now she was almost upon Winter, Claudette opened her mouth, her jaw unhinging like a snake. With the stench of foul breath filling her senses, Winter closed her eyes, tensing for the pain, tensing for the end.

It didn’t come.

Instead, Winter jerked awake, sitting up in the blue-tinged darkness of her room, her hand clutching at her chest. Outside she could see a crescent moon shining in the sky, a lop-sided Cheshire grin. Its light was blue. Not the crazy violet glow of the dream.

Nefertem sat at the foot of the bed, watching her curiously.

‘Sorry for waking you up,’ Winter said to the cat, her voice a little shaky. Her heartbeat had finally begun to slow again, but she still felt the residual adrenaline racing through her veins like liquid fire. The ginger tabby yawned in response and closed its eyes, content to go back to sleep as there was no immediate danger.

Winter flopped back down onto the mattress and sighed wearily. She looked over at the lodestone lying on her bedside table. The rough surface of the green crystal reflected the stray moonbeams falling in through the window. Picking it up, she held the necklace tightly like a talisman and closed her eyes.

‘Blake,’ she whispered into the dark.

Chapter 2

The smell of burning toast roused Winter from the half-sleep she’d fallen into. Blearily, she opened her eyes and gazed out the window at the overcast sky. Its dour light reflected her mood. Her head felt too tight, like somebody had dropped it in a vice and compressed it. She was tired of feeling this way. Tired of waking up after a night of bad dreams, feeling like she hadn’t slept at all. Nefertem was nowhere to be seen, which meant he’d already left to seek his breakfast.

As Winter pulled on her dressing gown, the smell of burning pricked her nostrils again. Either the house was on fire or Lucy was cooking breakfast. Distantly, she could hear the sound of something sizzling in a pan. Usually her sister left for work before Winter rolled out of bed. What was the occasion?

Before braving the kitchen, Winter ducked into the bathroom to splash some cold water on her face. She doubted it would wash away the shadows from beneath her eyes but it might shock some life back into her pale features. Lucy had been watching her like a hawk lately so she didn’t want to risk arousing her suspicion by looking exhausted and stressed. Last week she’d brought up the topic of therapy again much to Winter’s irritation. There was no way she was going to see a shrink.

What could she talk about? Blake? Her Demori lover who had the power to travel through shadows and had shown Winter glimpses of another world, a place of monsters and magic called the Dead Lands. Could she tell a shrink about that night in the church on Owl Mountain? How Blake had been forced to murder his demented twin sister Claudette to protect Winter, before making an even greater sacrifice – offering his soul in place of hers to the dark forces – the Skivers – that laid claim to it. Could she explain how she’d watched helplessly as these grinning monsters coldly cut out Blake’s life force before returning to the Dead Lands? How not a night had gone by without her agonising over what had happened to her love’s spirit in that otherworldly realm. There were things in the Dead Lands worse than Skivers. Dark beings called the Malfaerie, related to the Demori by blood, but lacking any of their despised cousins’ humanity. Or mercy. These creatures feasted on mortal essences like they were chocolates. To know this was where Blake had been taken was almost too much to bear, but she didn’t think talking about this pain with a medical professional was a smart idea. A story like hers would guarantee a one-way trip to the loony bin.

Of course her sister didn’t know what she’d been through. Lucy thought Winter was just experiencing some delayed grief about their parents’ death, and for all Winter knew maybe she was. It had happened nearly a year ago, but maybe it was tied up, along with Blake, in that black webbing of misery and pain she felt strangling her heart. It was amazing that she wasn’t a twenty-four-hour-a-day blubbering mess. She had to stay strong. For Blake. He’d given up so much for her, the least she could do was endure this period of darkness and hope that the light was on its way.

Standing over the basin, Winter tied her red hair back and stared critically at her reflection. The same pale face, smattering of light freckles across the bridge of her nose and dark blue eyes she saw every morning stared back. Almost unaware she was doing it, Winter summoned the Sight.

This ability had been bestowed – or awakened – by the first kiss she’d shared with Blake on the cold sand of Lighthouse Beach. It allowed her to see the Occuluma – twin flames that burned deeply in the pupils of all living things. By studying these flames she could estimate a person’s life span – kind of like a battery reading. The colour of the flames blazed a constant spectral blue unless you were a Demori like Blake, in which case they glowed emerald.

As Blake had explained, every living thing had a prescribed beginning and end – a life path. However, it was possible to avoid your natural end, to cheat destiny, either accidentally or on purpose, and when this happened the colour of your Occuluma transformed from blue to a malevolent crimson. But in doing this you risked a much worse fate than death. Once marked with the red Occuluma, your soul became available for collection by the Skivers.

Winter’s eyes had once glowed with this frightening red light, but because of Blake’s sacrifice she’d been saved and her light now shone a healthy blue. Still, every time she glanced at her reflection Winter half expected to see the crimson flames return.

Looking at her reflection, she saw the twin flames burning in her pupils and was comforted by both their brilliance and their hue. It didn’t look like she was going to die today. Grimly satisfied, Winter left the bathroom and went to see her sister.

Lucy was standing over the stove, protecting her pale green pharmacy uniform with their mother’s faded floral apron as she fried bacon in a pan. The bacon was clearly done, yet Lucy seemed oblivious to this fact. She glanced up at Winter’s approach and smiled broadly.

‘Morning, Win. You’re just in time. I was about to wake you up.’

Suspicious, Winter took a seat at the kitchen table. Lucy had already poured her a glass of orange juice. ‘What’s the occasion?’

Lucy brought the pan over and scraped the bacon onto her plate, which already held two pieces of burnt toast and a splatter of watery, scrambled eggs.

‘It’s not every day my little sister graduates.’ She handed Winter a fork and knife. ‘Dig in.’

Winter frowned for a moment, realising she’d completely forgotten she was supposed to graduate today. Lately her memory seemed shot to pieces. Noticing her sister hadn’t joined her, she asked, ‘You’re not eating?’

‘Already have,’ Lucy said, leaning against the kitchen counter and sipping her coffee. ‘I’ve got to get going soon.’

‘Looks great,’ she said, poking at the blackened piece of bacon before deciding the eggs were probably a safer bet.

‘Are you excited?’ Lucy asked, watching her closely over the brim of her coffee cup.

Winter attempted to adopt an appropriate expression of anticipation. ‘Sure am. It still feels a little unreal. Like I’m going to get up there and Principal Sorensen is gonna say, “Sorry kid, looks like there’s been a mistake. You’re with us for another year.”’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘We’ll see.’

Winter forced some more of the eggs down, feeling self-conscious beneath Lucy’s gaze.

‘There’s . . . um . . . something I was going to ask you,’ Lucy said hesitantly.

Winter stiffened, preparing herself for another ‘mental health’ discussion, but was surprised by what came out of her sister’s mouth.

‘Do you mind if Dominic comes to the ceremony today?’

‘Um . . . sure.’ Winter shrugged, unable to restrain a smirk.

Dominic Westlake was a drug sales rep Lucy had met at their father’s old pharmacy where she worked as a dispensary assistant. New to town, Dominic had asked Lucy out on the pretence of wanting a local to show him the sights, but it was pretty obvious to Winter that he was interested. Sure enough they’d started dating properly a couple of weeks ago.

Winter had only met Dominic once, but the impression he’d left had been blandly favourable. In his late twenties, he was tall and surprisingly athletic-looking for a guy who spent his whole day driving around selling antihistamine tablets. Dominic was not particularly handsome or charming. In fact he was kind of quiet. Quiet and with his thick, black glasses, a little dorky. Perfect for Lucy.

‘He might not come,’ Lucy added, ‘but I thought I’d ask him anyway.’

‘You go girl,’ Winter said, forcing a weak smile. She wanted to be happy for Lucy but she could only muster up the illusion of the emotion. Her heart was too heavy.

Lucy nodded, flushing an adorable pink colour. ‘Okay, I guess I’ll see you at lunchtime then. I’m looking forward to it.’ She gathered up her purse and car keys from the table.

‘Thanks for breakfast,’ Winter called after her as she ducked into the hallway and headed down to the garage. Moments later the car started up and Winter heard the
BEEP BEEP BEEP
of the old station wagon as it backed down the driveway.

Winter sat a moment later in the kitchen listening to the fridge buzz softly and then stood to get dressed for her last day of school.