Free Cloud and Ashes: Three Winter's Tales by Greer Gilman Page A

could see the long rise of Hawker Fell. “Little enough dancing for the bride,” he said. “And the bairn his own piper."
    "Brave company,” the stranger said. “Here's one will look for you.” He held a bone hairpin in his dark-gloved hand. “By this token, you are bid."
    Kit took it in his hand, bemused. “Did she give—?"
    "Is't yes?"
    "Aye, but—"
    Then the horseman sealed his bidding with a cold kiss, full on his mouth. Tongue, teeth, and all. Kit knew no more.
    * * * *
    The wind is braided in my lady's hair.
    Margaret. As thou sleep'st, a storm is rising. Ah, thou hear'st it, even in thy dream of Cloud. But thou art fathomless, thy sleep is ocean. Cowrie'd by thy cheek, thy hand curls inward, closing on the dream that spills away like starry sand. A shutter claps. The hangings of thy bed conceive; the clawed rings inch and jangle. Nearer. On thy coverlid, thy book, left open, stirs. The leaves lift, turning backward in the tale. Unwintering. Again, the dead girl turns and speaks; she plays in greenwood, in the spring of hope.
    How cam'st thou by thy book? Dost know? I tell thee, there are rare things in thy bower, which is all thy world. See, that orange by thy pillow. Pith and bittersweet and curving. And when broke, a puzzlebox of sweets. Thy bedgown, of an antick fashion, rich but sadly tarnished with the salt. That rod of shrewd whalebone, that also I felt. Thy comb. And not least, the drowsy wine they gave thee. Aye, the physick and the cup.
    All tangled in her seine.
    But seldom now.
    I have seen my lady with her braid undone, all naked in her glass.
    Here's a knot, says Morag with the comb.
    Thou do. Undo.
    Another.
    Seven. And no more.
    And with each knot, the wind rose, howling, and now and now the lightning slashed, it winced and slashed, and then the clouts of thunder jarred. By the sixth, it was beyond all noise: one lightning, and a judder in the bones. And when the waves broke—It was Annis falling. It was burying alive in shards of sky.
    I have seen ships cracked like jackstraws.
    I have found things, walking by the sea. A coffer, cracked and spilling cinnamon and mace. A virginals. A bacca pipe, unbroke. The Nine of Bones. And sailors: drowned and shattered, drowned and frozen, trodden into sand. And some that Morag finished. I have found an orange lying by a tarry hand.
    * * * *
    Thea blew her nails and huddled, pinch-faced. Kit rubbed his legs and sighed. So much for begging. Stones for breakfast and a long draught of Cloud ale; stones in shoes; dog's music at the last three farms; and brats at the packbridge with a hail of clods. And now they'd tumbled down a scree. He'd go home if he knew where home was. They were nowhere, halfway down a fell, and sliding from its bony knees. The tops were hid in dour cloud. “Here's kites,” said Thea. Higher up, they saw a shepherd, stooping with his burden of a creel of hay. His crouching, prying, flying dogs made bow-knots of a bedlam of sheep. Querulous and unrepentant Maudlins all, a-burst with bastard lambs, and fellowed with their doting Toms, the crazed and kempy wethers and the horn-mad tup. All trundled to fold. “On dirty toes,” said Thea. “Same as us."
    To the north, they saw the bruised sky blacken, and the bentgrass flinch and shiver in the rising wind. “Coming on bad,” said Kit, standing. “We'll lay up.” Even as he spoke, the snow came, like a fury of ghosts.
    Nowhere.
    "Hey!” cried Kit. Stifled. Gloved hands of snow laid hold of him, clapped eyes, mouth, ears. Seen out by February's footmen, to a ditch and crows.
    "Hush,” said unseen Thea. They could hear the sheep rattle and the shepherd call.
    "Way here! Way here, Maddy. Come by, Gyp."
    Kit caught hold of Thea's wrist, and scrabbled up the hillside toward the voice. Not far, they'd not get far in this. “How far—?” bawled Kit.
    A lean ghost, swathed in sacking. “Get by, thou bloody fool! Down dale."
    "Where—?"
    "Dog'll tek thee.” Something like a hollybush