Midwinter Folk

Rebekah Clayton

Description

When Rowan's parents divorce, her brother Luke turns 'cold and strange', and suddenly Rowan starts hearing voices. Is someone stalking her or is she going mad? London is caught in the grip of the coldest winter on record. The Thames freezes over and the streets are half-buried by snow.Rowan soon realises that Luke has been snared by the enemy; the voracious Hunters who want 'power over all', and finds that she is running for her life across the increasingly bizarre landscape of the frozen city. It takes a journey into the treacherous depths of Midwinter to save not only Luke, but all that she holds dear."The old lady looked long into Rowan's eyes. In the green depths Rowan thought she could see faces amongst leaves, human-like, creature-like, deer running in the shadows of a great forest. "They are in for the kill, Rowan. Remember you have allies. But take care, for 'The Hunters' have many spies."

Sujets

• London
• Grand Londres
• Greater London
• Gran Londres
• Children's

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 octobre 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781838596781
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 3 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2019 Rebekah Clayton
Original cover illustration by Amanda Clark

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.


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ISBN 978 1838596 781

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Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
For Katie and Rohan, my dream children.
May you always chase white rabbits.




In memory of Betty and Ricky:
you taught me to love.
Contents
Part One
Unreal City
1
Shadow
2
Whispers
3
Luke
4
The Fàinne Duilleoga
5
Finn
6
River of Ice
7
The Ice Fair
8
Stolen
9
A Letter
10
Gallows Yard
11
Underground
12
The Veiled Woman
13
The Parting
14
Smoke
15
Fever
16
On the Scent

Part Two
Unquiet Slumbers
17
Tea for Two
18
Snarl
19
The Cat Speaks
20
Holly and Ivy
21
A Winter Garden
22
Gypsy
23
A Visit to Grandma’s
24
The Spiral Staircase
25
Freya’s Wood
26
Mulo
27
Hag’s Knoll
28
The Book of Green Magick

Part Three
Undiscovered Country
29
The Greenwood
30
Summerland
31
The Journey Begins
32
Fog
33
The Black Sea
34
Gorg
35
Kitchen
36
The Mess
37
The Midwinter Feast
38
Mask
39
Prisoner
40
The Sleeping Chambers
41
Sacrifice
42
The White Tree
43
The Ice Door
Part One
Unreal City
1
Shadow
In the deep, winter twilight snow was falling and, with each silver-soft footstep, Rowan caught her breath. She knew that she was being followed.
A sensation, thin and spiderish, prickled at the back of her neck. She had felt it before. Something was close behind, breathing, watching, its pace slow and deliberate. Sometimes she thought it might be a man, and sometimes a dog. But there was never any sign, or sound, no crunch of feet on snow, no tell-tale footprint.
She paused, her breath misting on the icy air. Whatever it was, it wasn’t like the others: the poor grey people, stooped against the bitter cold, who hurried past as if they were invisible. No, this was different. There was a sense, a scent of something strange and far away. And, if she was quick, she might just catch it. Heart pounding, she spun on her heel and stared hard through the dancing flakes.
But it had gone.
Before her were the frozen city streets, half buried by drifts; traffic lights standing blind and purposeless; pedestrians trudging through deep snow. London, in its shroud of soft white silence, seemed like a city of ghosts.
Suddenly, powerful headlights dazzled, a grinding engine shattered the stillness and a shower of flakes rained down upon her, making Rowan gasp and splutter. A huge snowplough lurched around the corner, trundling its way past the formless, white humps of abandoned cars.
Rowan shook herself free of the icy particles swirling in its wake and looked again. Did it even exist? This thing . Was it all in her mind? She steadied herself against a wall, feeling sick, and closed her eyes.
Now the voices would come.
It happened like this: the peculiar feeling of being followed, then voices. She had tried to ignore them; after all, only mad people heard voices, didn’t they? At once soft carillons shivered through her head: strange, unearthly, pure. Where did they come from? Where? She gazed up into the star-flecked sky.
“Look where you’re going!”
A man with a big, black dog jostled past, forcing Rowan to one side. The dog snarled, baring yellow teeth.
“I’m s-s-sorry,” Rowan stuttered and stumbled into the path of a lady with a walking stick.
“Mind yourself, dearie.”
Rowan, mumbling a second apology, crept back to the shelter of the wall. The voices were still inside her head, clearer now, like flowing water. She gazed at the straggling lines of people tramping back and forth, heads down. How could they not hear something so sweet, and so sad? For a moment she forgot the bitter cold, the churning fear.
But the voices were fading. A last few silver notes shimmered and then she was plunged back into the dull twilight. Rowan stamped her numbing feet, shifted her school bag to the other shoulder and turned towards home.
On the corner of the high street a newspaper man, half crouching over a brazier of hot coals, bawled out the latest.
“Big freeze set to last ’til April! Country running out of fuel.”
His sandwich-boards trumpeted headlines: “Midwinter Madness”, “Blizzard Britain”, “Snow, Snow, Go Away!”
A small crowd had gathered.
“Worst winter on record. Power cuts threatened,” he sang out, brandishing a folded paper at an old lady who seemed to be wrapped from head to toe in woollen scarves. “That’ll be fifty-five pence, my darling.”
“I reckon it’s worse than the winters of ‘forty-seven’ and ‘sixty-three’ put together,” the old lady said. “Thought we had it bad then, but the past few weeks, oh my Gawd!”
“We’re living like Eskimos,” chipped in a man with a frosted beard. “Bleedin’ government should do something about it!”
“They say another ice age is coming.”
“The Gulf Stream has slowed down, that’s what it is,” responded a bespectacled young man.
This last comment caused a chorus of protest: “What do them bloomin’ climate people know anyway!”
Rowan hurried on. Grown-ups always seemed to be arguing. No one could agree why the blizzards had come. She’d seen coverage on the news. The entire country was buried under a thick blanket of snow. Trees groaned after each fresh fall. Telephone lines and electricity cables snapped like guitar strings. Even the sea was beginning to freeze, with ice floes in the Channel.
Suddenly, Rowan stumbled. She felt a nauseating wave of panic. It was there! The thing! She could feel it, watching. And she wanted to get away.
Rowan began to run, as best she could through the snow; past shops, bright with lights and Christmas decorations. She wished she could tell someone about what was happening, about the crazy, scary thoughts in her head – but who? Usually she would have poured her heart out to her best friend, Jashan, or Mum. But this was so out of the ordinary, so weird . Jaz would think she was joking. Being followed? Hearing things! “Get a