Chapter 3
Gemma woke to her father screaming a long trail of profanities.
“You think this is funny?” He yelled from downstairs. “Come out, you little weasels! I’ll wear your spine around my neck, you hear?”
Gemma jumped off the bed. Her two cloaks were in disarray. She hopped around noisily to free her legs, and then bolted into the hall and down the stairs.
Gus was standing in the doorway facing out. It was a sunny morning; Gemma squinted against the glare of the snow.
“You were right,” he said, stepping aside to give her some room.
About two feet from the threshold lay a thick cord, braided from their rabbit snares. Three white pelts were also present, carefully laid in a line with fur facing up. The little skulls lay in a pile, all crushed just like before.
On the thick snow was an abundance of footprints, and now there could be no doubt as to what made them. The four-fingered handprints were smaller than Gemma’s, each digit appearing thick and wrinkled. The kids had been wearing gloves, but not boots.
“What do they want?” Gemma asked. “What’s this supposed to mean?”
“Just a harmless prank,” Gus said. “We have food still, but no fresh meat as you can see. Keep your eyes open today. We may meet this party soon.”
By the light of day the farmhouse did not seem as scary. While Gemma made breakfast Gus went outside and dug out some of the first floor windows.
“Those kids flew away,” he reported when he returned. “They took off facing the city, but that may be another part of their trick. It doesn’t matter. If we do not see them today we will close this door and post a watch tonight.”
They kept a small fire burning at the front door. Gus found some brooms in a closet, and soon Gemma uncovered a section of floor behind the table that wobbled ever so slightly under her feet. She swept it as well as she could; some of the dust was caked on. A large round handle lay flat inside a groove filled in with sawdust and wax.
Gus could barely lift the door; it was a lot bigger than Gemma had expected. Beneath was a staircase into a cellar with walls of yellow clay.
“There,” Gus breathed, dropping heavy door under the table. “I’ll take a look. Stay up here.”
Taking a lit sliver he stepped into the darkness. The cellar was much bigger than Gemma expected. Her father’s light grew dimmer and dimmer.
“Hey, Gemma,” he called at last. “There are some ropes down here. I’m going to toss you a bundle. It’s heavy.”
Gemma sat down and raised her arms in front of her. A large blue-and-yellow ball flew out from the darkness, trailing several loose ends. Her brain said something was wrong before she caught it, but she did not realize the problem until the dense, inch-thick coils started squirming in her arms.
Gemma shrieked and threw the bundle straight up; a mistake. It hit the ceiling with a muffled thud, and dozens of dazed snakes rained down.
Gus, who had put out his light, was rolling around at the base of the staircase laughing. Gemma sat trembling amidst the slowly writhing snakes, her heart tackling her ribcage like an angry boar. Every hair and feather on her body stood straight up, so that she looked to have doubled in size.
“Ah… I’m sorry Gemma,” Gus gasped when he could speak again. “I… I HAD to do it! Look at you! Oh… It’s worth it!”
Gemma grabbed one of the snakes and flung it down into the cellar. It landed harmlessly beside Gus and resumed its harmless squirming.
“There’s way more down here,” he said. “You start skinning those ones! I’ll be a moment!”
#
When it was all done Gemma laid twenty-two snake skins on the snow. The meat she placed on top of the wood pile. She had seen garter snakes only once before; the flesh was not substantial and full of little bones, but any food was considered good in wintertime.
The cellar had become a very successful hibernaculum. The snakes were all rolled into one big mass. There must have been hundreds. Gemma went down the stairs just far enough to see them before retreating to the fire.
Gus found some old porcelain bowls and six candles, but nothing to eat. The candles were enough for Gemma.
It was about noon when Gus replaced the cover on the cellar. Gemma smothered the fire with a few handfuls of snow and repacked her bag.
“Stay with me today,” Gus said as they stood outside the door taking stock of the land.
Behind the house were apple trees just as promised; a whole forest of them planted in neat rows, covering at least two hills. Most of them were twisted and gnarled, branches reaching up and down and getting tangled with their neighbours. Dry brown pomes dangled from some of the branches, and the ground was carpeted with fallen leaves.
“They’re still here at least,” Gus said.
“Are they still good?” Gemma asked, walking up to one of the trees. It was much taller than she expected. Its smooth bark was cracked in places, and she could see a burl on one of its thick branches.
“I’m no earth pony,” Gus said. “I only half-remember how an apple tree should look.”
He threw aside his cloak and flew up to the lowest branch. Gemma watched him from a safe distance. Brittle branches fell with one or two swings from his hatchet. There was a good pile of firewood when he returned to the ground, yet the tree looked not much smaller than when he started.
“Just like that,” he huffed, wiping his head with his discarded cloak. “You try one. I’ll tell you where to cut.”
It was hard work. Apple wood was tougher than the small bushes she was used to. The rounded branches were hard to stand on, and shook violently when she brought her axe down. Her arms were numb when Gus waved her down.
“That’s good,” he said, returning her two cloaks.
Gemma looked to the rest of the orchard. It now seemed to her an endless forest. Slowly she sat down with her mouth hanging open.
“Enough for today,” Gus said. “We have time still.”
“How did the ponies ever do it?” Gemma wondered.
“There were many of them,” Gus said. “That house used to be full all the time. And they didn’t try to do it all at once.
“Come on. There must be lots of supplies left in these houses. And if others are here, we should get more cider tonight. Who know how many they brought? I don’t want to sit here chewing on snakes while Goldenhands drink this town dry.”
The nearest house turned out to be a candle maker’s shop. The ponies, or perhaps the other griffins, had taken most of the candles, but Gus found a block of wax and six long red candles tucked away at the back of a drawer. In place of a wick each candle had a feather at its core; a Pegasus feather, which burned bright and hot but also very quickly.
Gus surveyed his surroundings with increasing regularity as the day faded. Gemma made a habit of checking over both shoulders before turning into a new street, but the city was as quiet as ever. They spoke loudly and often, and listened intently when they stopped. No answer ever came.
They found the doorless tavern just as Gamma had left it. Under a beautiful crimson sky they entered. Gus lit a single candle and placed it on the bar. It burned like a torch.
Gemma watched the door while her father went into the cellar to tap a new keg. She hated how the door only revealed a tiny sliver of the darkening street, yet had not the courage to go outside alone.
The candle was already half spent when Gus returned with two bags of cider. He replaced the trap door and kicked some dirt over it before he could leave in peace.
Gemma held onto the candle until it fizzled out, leaving behind nothing but a half inch of blackened quill in her hand. She reached for another one, but Gus stopped her.
“We’ll need them later,” he said. “Stay close to me for now.”
In the dark the building seemed twice as big. Still there was no sign of other griffins, and no new footprints in the snow. In the darkness speech felt like a crime. Gus had his hood down despite the cold, his head swiveling constantly in search of danger.
Despite her unease Gemma started to nod off. Her eyes locked onto the street in front of her, half-perceiving black stone and white snow and a handful of twinkling stars. Everything seemed just out of focus; just a little more light and she would recognize the buildings.
Up ahead at an intersection there was a blueish stone that bulged too far out of the wall. Gemma frowned.
It turned around instantly, and Gemma stared dumbly into a pair of big bright eyes before the thing disappeared.
“Stop!” Gus yelled, pouncing into the next street.
Gemma came to her senses and took off after him. In the next street a tiny black figure was running at full tilt, kicking up chunks of snow in its wake. Its short legs were no match for the bigger griffins, however. Gus had stretched his one step head start into a ten metre gap; on flat ground Gemma ran faster than ever before, but still could not match his strides.
The child turned a sharp corner, forcing Gus to stumble but giving Gemma some time to catch up. They were less than five metres behind, and now Gemma saw that the cloak was not completely black. Dark grey swirls defined its hem, and there was a blue patch on the back in the fashion of Gemma’s unicorn-made cloak.
Gus threw off his cloak and pounced. The child cried out, and though Gemma could not understand what he said she recognized the language.
Dazzling white light filled the street, accompanied by a loud pop. Gemma was instantly blinded, and Gus was thrown backwards by the apparition. Gemma shielded her eyes with one hand and squinted into the light. It was like looking at the sun.
With another pop the world was dark again. Gemma curled up in the snow and kneaded her sore eyes, too scared to move.
Gus picked her up and hugged her tight. His heart was pounding as fast as hers.