Free In The Grip Of Old Winter by Jonathan Broughton

while, but if he stayed to clear the snow, then who knew
what tricks she might play to come after him.
    He left the path and hurried
towards the old tree. Better to return to the past, perhaps there the riddle
with the seal-amulet might be easier to solve and if he stayed there long
enough, time here might move far enough forward for Almina to give up the
chase.
    The charred branch stood
before him and he dropped his shovel and gripped the branch tight.
    Dark and light flashed in
quick succession. This time it stopped in the dark. He didn’t expect that and
his chest tightened. He thought to go back and wait for daylight, but how to
avoid Almina? He might hide, but that gave her the chance to find him.
    His eyes ached as he peered
around. Above, hundreds of stars glittered, though the moon, if it shone,
didn’t penetrate through the thick tangle of branches. He faced in what he
guessed must be the general direction of the manor. Not a single light shone to
guide him and even the manor’s outline failed to stand out from the surrounding
trees.
    Not a sound, except his
breathing. If he walked in a straight line, he’d reach the manor, though he had
no idea what to do when he arrived there. Did Tobias patrol on the tower at
night? That risk needed to be taken if he wasn’t going to stand here in the
cold until dawn.
    His eyes adjusted to the
gloom and the tree trunks emerged as darker shadows against the undergrowth.
Did the wood seem denser than he remembered, or was that just imagination?
    He turned his back on the
charred branch, he must try hard not to veer off to the left or right, and with
an outstretched arm, he took one step and then another.
    To keep in a straight line
proved impossible. He lost all sense of direction and stopped as panic tingled
in his stomach. A glance back didn’t help, for the charred branch might be
anywhere.
    His legs trembled and he
leaned against a tree. Perhaps if he stayed here and waited for day? That might
be hours away if the night was young.
    A flash of light erupted like
the brightest firework and Peter covered his face and recoiled. The hiss and
crackle of a great burning sounded close and he dared to peep through his
fingers.
    Before him, in an open space
where the house and the manor once stood, roared an enormous bonfire.
     
    ***
     
    His eyes blurred at the
sudden brightness. Sparks shot into the night sky and burning wood showed black
through the orange and red flames.

There stood, in silhouette
against the flames, figures. Men or women, Peter didn’t know, for loose robes
fell in folds around their bodies and hoods covered their heads. Each one
occupied a space an equal distance from the next. They neither moved nor spoke,
yet Peter suspected, though he didn’t know how, that they knew of his presence.
They faced inward, intent on the fire’s ferocity.
    He waited, uncertain what to
do. If one of these figures called, then to run or stay must be his decision.
The chances of finding the charred branch increased, for the fire’s light lit
the forest. Now though, curiosity overrode any sense of immediate danger. What happened
to the house? To the manor? Why did these people stand in silence in front of
such a huge fire?
    He crouched behind the trees
as he moved closer. The fire’s roar deepened and its heat catapulted the sparks
high into the night sky and Peter watched them climb and, through a break in
the trees, saw the stars scattered across a black universe and wondered at how
much brighter they shone and how much sharper they glittered than the stars in
his time.
    “Welcome.”
    Peter tensed and gripped the
tree behind which he hid.
    The deep male voice carried
above the fire’s noise, though it didn’t strain to be heard. “Come closer.”
    As he guessed, these people
knew that he watched. How soon might he reach the charred branch - so stupid to have wandered away just to look at the fire?
    “We are waiting.”
    No chance to escape, but
though deep, the voice