The Spell of Rosette - Kim Falconer [87]
‘Any time, Nellion,’ he mumbled through chattering teeth.
Rosette was in danger—he felt it in every part of his body, cold and rigid as it was. He looked out towards the snow-covered trees, grey-green under a blanket of white. The Dumarkian Woods were slumbering, blurred by the gusts of snow-speckled wind. Was Nell slumbering too? He rubbed his hands together, blowing into them.
To think that Rosette was his link to Earth and she didn’t even know about it, any of it. He’d always wondered why he was so drawn to her, and so uncharacteristically possessive—jealous even. Now it made sense, but what still confused him was his lack of awareness. How could he not recognise her, and Nell? Was life in a Tulpa-body dulling his processes, slowing down his ability to assess and analyse? He was certainly finding it hard to thermo-regulate, and that was new.
‘Come on, Nell. I’m dying here,’ he said, his breath making steam as he spoke.
Finally the cottage door opened and Nell emerged, still talking with Maka’ra. The man was underdressed for the elements, wearing only a woollen sweater and pants tied at the waist with a colourfully woven belt. Maka’ra was a slender man, corded with muscles, his shaved head bare and his plaited beard decorated with small silver rings. He was dark-bronze-skinned, as were many island people, with tattoos on each side of his face in the tradition of their shamans—produced by puncturing the skin with whalebone needles and rubbing ash from sacred fires into the design.
After a few words and gestures, they embraced and Nell waved Jarrod over to her. ‘Are we ready?’ she asked, bright as sunshine.
He shivered, staring open-eyed at Maka’ra. The man was standing barefoot on the ice-encrusted steps. Nell chuckled.
‘I can see you aren’t enjoying the fresh morning,’ she said. ‘Take these. They’ll help.’ Nell handed Jarrod a steaming waterbag to carry beneath his coat and a pair of sheepskin-lined gloves. ‘It doesn’t get this brisk in Lividica, does it?’ she smiled, flipping her hood over her head.
‘Only in an ice box.’ Jarrod shivered, pulling on the gloves and sighing as the blood began to flow back into his fingertips.
‘Have a sip.’ She offered him her small silver flask.
‘What’s in it?’ He unscrewed the lid and took a sniff.
‘A potion,’ she said. ‘It’ll warm you up quick.’
He tilted his head back and took a swig. Heat rushed from his feet, all the way up to flush his cheeks. He smiled, doing up the lid and handing it back to her. ‘That’s magic!’
She winked.
The three walked through the yard to the horses, tethered by the gate. They were sturdy animals, shaggy as bears, one black and the other the colour of fire corals. Nell called it copper-chestnut and said the mare’s name was Wren. Jarrod had never seen such a rich coat on a horse. Of course, he’d never seen so much snow either. In Lividica, you could catch a glimpse of it if you travelled a day’s ride straight up into the Jacor mountain range. But even there it was only a light dusting.
Jarrod leaned against his mount and stroked the solid neck as Nell went back to another low-voiced conversation with Maka’ra. He fidgeted.
‘Patience, Jarrod. We can’t dash off haphazardly.’
‘We do have to dash off, though, if we are to get there in time.’
‘In time for what, I wonder?’
‘In time to…to warn Rosette. To see…’
‘To see that she is safe?’
‘She can chastise me all she likes, once I know she’s all right.’
‘I feel the same.’ Nell lifted her hand as she spoke and turned to wrap it around Maka’ra’s neck. She kissed him before taking one last look at her cottage. The brilliant summer garden was buried under several feet of snow, the trees all bare bones save for the pines laden with drifts of white powder. Only the cobbled path had been shovelled clear, and that was quickly succumbing to a new fall. The Three Sisters circled overhead, strangely silent.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, swinging her attention back to Jarrod.
Finally! ‘Yes, milady. Let’s.’
Jarrod