Snow, page 3
She had her people recording everything in pictures. She told me people in the city where she came from liked to see how people like us lived. I couldn’t see the sense in that because how she carried on weren’t how we lived at all. Outside the chateau people were labouring over growing food and tending animals and clearing snow from spouts and roofs so they dint collapse on our heads. What she was doing had nothing to do with getting prepared to survive through another season of long nights.
It were the last time she made me sit for one of her family portraits, when I were getting a little older, primped and preened and kicking my heels with a scowl on my face, that she finally cracked. The scene were all faked for the picture. She had people dressed up in costumes, a Cook, a Hunter, a Milkmaid, a Groom, her idea of mountain folk. Rain stood at the front, swathed in silks and feathers such as no sane mountain person wore for the sensible reason they’d soon lose their fingers and toes from frostbite. No one there were the real people doing that work, them being too busy actually doing those jobs to spare time for dressing up.
The photographer, travelled up from the city, suggested I be put more in the front, that people were asking to see more of the girl, dark of hair and eye, and with the cross face. Who is she? What’s her story? He said they wanted to know.
My stepmother was furious with me for stealing the attention away from her. Even though I had no interest in doing so. I were only there because she had someone drag me out from under Cook’s table. It led to angry words for it were the false accusation that I could not bear. I wanted no part in her performance, and I were doing nothing but what I were told. To be accused of having too much pride and attention-stealing was more than I could take.
She pulled me by the arm out to the hallway and yelled at me there.
‘You’re a selfish wee brat and nothing but trouble!’ she told me. ‘I try my best to give you a chance of a better future but you’ll never come to nothing.’
‘You int my mother, so it’s none of your concern what happens to me,’ I answered back coldly.
‘You’re a dirty little stray and I don’t know why my husband ever loved you,’ Rain told me, hands on her hips and swaying over me in a fury.
I pushed her. I were only ten years old but on her teetering high heels she were easily overbalanced and when she fell it were backward down the stairs.
She tumbled all the way to the bottom, flinging out her arms to catch herself and then screeching when they bent back underneath her the wrong way. She only stopped when she hit the bottom stair and then were deathly still.
I’ve kild her, I thought, with my child’s mind.
And then her people rushed down to her and I saw she weren’t dead at all, just hurt a bit but making it seem worse than it were by crying and putting on a trembling in the finger she pointed at me.
I was struck all over with horror. What were I thinking trying to kill a person? That weren’t how I’d been taught by my gentle father. I covered my mouth with my hands and said I was sorry over and over. But her pride was dangerous damaged and my sorries were not accepted.
Soon after that I were locked in the tower room.
I weren’t a hunter, even now I had my knife back. Mushrooming was my only skill but I didn’t fancy the eating of any fungus I saw growing on the trunks of the trees we passed. I sucked on snow when I became thirsty but the body gets dryer in the cold than you’d think and my mouth was parched as a stone. The bear cub stopped to lick the bark of trees so I followed her lead and found some relief in the moisture to be had there. At what I judged to be midday, I sat in the snow to rest. The cub climbed into my lap and curled up for a nap. Tame as a housecat she were already, though she took me for her mother, and I were just a poor milkless substitute. The warm honey of sleep started beckoning me afore long so I forced myself up and to keep on the move.
We followed deer trails in the main, the forest being too dense to forge our own path. The deer were in no hurry was the problem, and they wandered from one clearing to another in no particular direction. I could see where they’d been scratching the snow away to graze on what little grass they could find there. We came upon none of the animals as we travelled, for they smelled the she-bear and were out of our way quick.
As we trudged over the snow, the forest darkened, and it weren’t just the sun sinking in the sky after its short work of the day. The trees grew closer together and there were more of the giant cold-bearing types with thin needley leaves that whisper together in the high branches. It’s a known fact that trees have more to say to each other than people are smart enough to realise. They talk together with their roots, sending chemical signals and passing them along through the closely woven web of forest.
I had the feeling that our arrival was expected long before we passed under the branches, and now all that was left were gossipy chatter about my business. I tried to ignore them. If they were to be no help, it just seemed mean to talk about me out of my hearing. The little bear seemed spooked, like as me, and stuck to my heels.
But then our luck turned, or perhaps the trees were not as set against us as I’d taken them to be, for we came across a branch, cracked but not fallen away from its trunk, forming a shelter covered with snow. I crawled in head first and found a cosy cave there. For sure, it were another bed of ice, but with my furs and the little bear it soon warmed up enough to sleep once again. This time my dreams were of food, and not the bowls of nothing much that I’d been fed all those years in the tower room, but instead all the meals I’d had before that. I dreamed of Cook’s spiced buns and rabbit stew and crisp potatoes and roasted birds and smoked fish traded with those from down the valleys where lakes and rivers were not frozen over. And mushrooms and cheese and cream and milk. My stomach ate itself through the night and when we woke early the next morning I had cramps from hunger.
I’ll be doing Rain’s own dirty murdering job if I die of starving out here, I told myself. All my body wanted was stay in our cosy cave the rest of the day and forever, but I forced myself to dig out the overnight snowfall and crawl out into the morning. The little bear were even more sad and slow than I and poked out her nose and none else. I staggered a few steps and turned back.
‘Come on, Little Bear,’ I called. ‘We can make it. This day will bring a meal for me and milk for you, but not by hiding away. At least we’re under the sky and finding a life to live.’ And with that, she scrambled to her feet and padded unsteadily after me.
It were clear the deer trails were leading downhill. I kept my back to the weak light filtering through the cloud cover as much as I could soas to be headed west in the direction the hunter had told me. There were nothing else to be done except place one foot in front of the other and keep it up. I dared not stop at all for fear I’d never get going again and my mind went as blank as a frozen lake.
Not even the wild dogs that I could hear from time to time, getting braver and moving closer, stirred alarm. They barked out short calls to each other now and then, shadowing us off to the side and keepen downwind. No doubt they were puzzling out the strange mixture of bear carcass, live bear, and human girl scents and thinking it best to keep a distance to be on the safe side. Dogs are smart though and it wouldn’t be long before they took a risk to come closer and then they’d figure out I was fooling them. The bear cub and I needed to cover some ground.
Little Bear stuck to me like my shadow, having her own animal senses for danger. The dogs were closing in, figuring out, slow liken but certain, that this odd party of girl and bear were going to be their next meal. And so, with my brain so hungry and frozen, it took me a while to see that we’d left the forest and even more surprising was the snow had thinned and we were crossing over tussock country. No doubting the ground was still frozen, but it was this country the deer came to for their grazing for the most part and then they took cover from dogs in the forest the rest of the time.
My eyes were not used to seeing colours that weren’t white or whiteness, or grey or greyness, so the tawny golds and brown-greens of tussock country shot some alertness into my blood. And it were just as well because the dogs could clearly see now that I walked on two legs, and they had broken from their loping into trotting, rounding us up from the rear and no doubt driving us into the jaws of their packmates waiting out in front.
I broke into a run downhill, the hillside becoming steeper.
‘Come on, Little Bear,’ I urged the cub as she scrambled to keep up with me over the uneven ground.
If I wanted to avoid the dogs’ trap I had to outsmart them, because there was no way my two legs were outrunning their four. So I took a sharp turn and headed along the contour of the hillside instead of making my way straight down which were the way my tired legs were telling me to go, and the way the dogs were pressing us along to.
Headed this way brought us onto the path of a young dog, gold of coat, with a bull-shaped head and lips lifted in a snarl, now standing his ground and me and Little Bear pounding toward him. His weight shifted to his hind legs as we came closer and I read inexperience in the whites of his eyes. The pack had put him out on the flank to watch and learn, and now he weren’t sure what to do.
I put my head down and bent into a crouch as I ran, bringing the she-bear’s head and snout down in a fearsome display of charging bear and, just to be sure, I started up shouting and roaring as I ran toward the gold dog.
It were too much confusion for him and he retreated. This broke the line and Little Bear and I raced through. We had a start and it would take the pack a minute to sort themselves back into the hunt. It weren’t much of an advantage but we weren’t dog food yet.
Little Bear was slowing, and too heavy for me to pick up and carry. So instead of leaping over tussocks in panic, I picked us a path around them and she kept up better. Glances to the side told me the dogs were forming up around us again. Those left behind had run hard to catch up. The harder the run, the more desperate it made them. But those dogs weren’t the only ones desperate on that hillside. Me and Little Bear were two nights in the cold with empty bellies and this run was our last before we dropped dead in our tracks, so we knew to give it all we had.
My breath was ragged and burning in my throat, my chest heaving, and legs, which weren’t strong to start with, turning to jelly.
And then I spied it, in a valley beneath us: a row of cabins set against a steep rocky wall, deep in shadow. I had to pick our descent on the run, as there weren’t time to stop and find a line, so we ended up slipping down a field of open scree the last part, Little Bear on her front in a long skid, me on my backside, hands and elbows getting cut up as I tried to control my slide. We hit the bottom and rolled to a stop. Looking up, the dogs had halted at the edge, looking to their she-dog leader for orders. She backed away and turned to circle around. She were wise enough not to risk the soft pads of paws on sharp slate.
I ran to the closest cabin and turned the handle. Bolted. Three more I tried before I found one mercifully left unlatched and Little Bear and I fell inside and slammed the door after us. I leaned my back against that solid lump of wood and never more grateful to a door and four walls would I ever be. Little Bear lay on her side, panting and frothing at the mouth. I could see her ribs rising and falling even through her thick fur. The babe were not yet weaned and were far from done with her mother’s milk for fattening up. Two days without that rich food plus some hard running and she were down to her last reserves.
I set aside my she-bear scruff, hauled myself to my feet for the cub’s sake more’n mine and started to rummage through the cabin for food. I’d seen no livestock near the settlement so I had little hope of finding any fresh cow or goat milk, and there were nothing but maps and tools stored in the cupboards. I cursed myself for being in such a panic to get in. I shoulda looked for the mess hut. There weren’t any point finding shelter and then still starving to death with dogs howling at the door.
The last cupboard I wrenched open though were a stash of emergency supplies: a bottle of water, dried venison, milk powder and hard oat biscuit. I mixed up the milk first and fed it to Little Bear off a spoon, whispering to her that it were good food and she had to eat, but then she got a taste for it and lapped it up straight from a bowl. I saved a bit for myself and gave the cub a strip of dried meat. She held it between her front paws all endearing and gnawed on it with her sharp baby teeth. The oat biscuit had to be soaked before I could chew on it and the rest of the water I drank in long gulps, forgetting to leave some for later. I ate half of that hard oat biscuit and then my belly said enough for now. Little Bear curled into my front like she’d taken to doing and we fell deep and heavy into sleep.
Dogs prowling outside and scratching at the door or not, we were done.
The miners
When the miners came back from their long day underground, they were startled to find a girl and a bear asleep in their hut.
Black from head to toe with the filth of the mine where they dug for crumbs of coal that fed the fires that made power for those who could afford it in the city, they were men nuggety of build and rough of tongue. When they poked us awake with their dirty boots, Little Bear whimpered and hid away beneath my furs. I wrapped my arms around her and told them sorry for breaking in and apologies for raiding their supplies but we’d been hunted down by dogs and it were desperation pure and simple that drove us through their door.
‘Where’re you from, girl?’
I were vague. ‘Up the mountain above the snowline,’ I said.
From the hard looks of them, the men carried stories of their own they’d rather not be telling and so had some respect for me keeping mine to myself. Little Bear were explained by the bloody she-bear fur I wore but I led them to believe I’d come across her mother already dead. From lack of food, perhaps, I suggested.
‘There’s so much blasting game for a bear up that mountain she’d only need to stick out a paw to pin down a bunny,’ one of them scoffed.
I said nothing in reply.
‘She’s got a look of Voyager about her, you ask me,’ said one who puffed on a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth.
‘Could be she’s from those folks that wander over from time to time,’ another agreed.
They all considered this as I frowned at them for referring to me as if I weren’t a person sitting right there in front of them.
‘Camp is no place for a girl,’ said the one who I took for the boss.
‘We got nowhere else to go,’ I said, feeling desperation creeping up. ‘Those dogs out there got a nose for us now. Pushing us out will be murdering us both. We won’t take up space.’
‘We all work for our living here,’ said the boss. ‘There’s none to spare for guests.’
‘I’ll work in the mine with you,’ I said. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’
They all laughed, which were plain rude.
‘Seeing as you look weak as water, even accounting for your hidden strength, it won’t be any use at the work we do,’ the boss said.
‘I’ll cook for you then,’ I said reluctantly. ‘And clean.’
They looked at me doubtful liken.
After some more pleading I weren’t proud of, they agreed I could stay awhile.
My offer were brazen since I’d never cooked a meal or washed a dish in my short life. With twelve men in the camp, though, I had plenty of chances to do my work poorly until I had it figured out.
It was rough toil mining the mountain with nothing but hands and picks. The days of big engines and blasting chemicals were behind us, and like all the other trades, the miners were back to the old ways. This made the work hard and the men harder. I found them crude of habit and humour, short of both stature and conversation, their words mostly coming in grunts and outbursts of barking laughter that I could never see the funny side of, and with rare a kind word. I learned quick to keep Little Bear out of their way, for they were likely to give her a boot in the ribs if they felt her teeth coming too close to their ankles.
So I found myself in a trap of a different kind. One made of effort from dawn to dark. The only good part was the men left camp early and returned late, leaving me alone for the daylight hours, short though they were. I taught myself to cook by making a mess and learning from it each time. I served the food and filled their cups with the rank beer they brewed themselves from pine needles.
I had a hut to share with my bear. It were dank and dark but no more so than the tower room I’d left behind. And this one had a door I could open as I pleased. I swept the floor and made myself a hard bed from a pallet and tussock grass. I were allowed to take the wax from the table when the candles were none but stubs and melt them together for a light at the end of my working day. With just this flickering flame to see by, and my cub for company, my hut after a while felt something like home. My mind turned to old habits, following thoughts down memory holes that wound around and around, leading me further and further along dark tunnels.
One morning long ago before I were locked away I crept into my father’s sick room during the weak light of morning. He were on the top floor, down the end of a long hall. To get there I had to sneak past Rain’s sitting room. She kept the door ajar at all times, to watch for people trying to pay visits on my father. This day though, I waited patient liken at the top of the stairs, standing in socks. When I heard Rain begin to rummage about her things, talking to herself softly as was her habit, I hurried past, avoiding all the creaky spots on the old floor. When I slipped in the door I went to my father’s bedside.
‘I’m poorly today, my love,’ he said, coughing. ‘With a thick head and wet lungs.’ He patted my hand. ‘Run away and feed your lambs.’
