The Snow Spider Trilogy. Jenny Nimmo
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in stories. They’re not real people. You can’t be descended from a story.’
‘You don’t know,’ Gwyn began to gabble desperately. ‘I can make the wind come. I saw another planet last night, very close. It was white and the buildings were white, and there was a tower with a silver bell, there were children, and this is the most fantastic part, I could hear them in a pipe that came from . . .’
‘You’re mad! You’re lying!’ Alun cried bitterly. ‘Why are you lying? No one can see planets that close, they’re millions and millions and millions of miles away!’ And he fled from Gwyn still crying, ‘Liar! Liar! Liar!’
‘How d’you know, Alun Lloyd?’ Gwyn called relentlessly. ‘You don’t know anything, you don’t. You’re ignorant! I know what I know. And I know what I’ve seen!’
He had gone too far. He realised that before Alun sprang through his gate and followed his brothers up the path to the house, slamming the door behind him, to emphasise his distaste for Gwyn’s conversation.
Gwyn was alone on the lane with Nerys, Nia and Kate. The three girls had lost interest in their posies and were staring at Gwyn in dismay. He could not bring himself to speak to them, and so passed by in an awkward silence.
Half a mile further on he reached his grandmother’s cottage and, knowing she was the only person in the world who would believe him, unceremoniously burst in upon her. He was astonished at what he saw.
Nain had sewn up the red velvet dress. She was wearing it; standing in the centre of her room like some exotic bird, surrounded as she was, by her flowering plants and gaudy paraphernalia. She had something shining on her forehead, huge rings on her fingers and, round her waist, a wide bronze chain.
‘Nain!’ said Gwyn, amazed. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m staying here,’ his grandmother replied. ‘This is my castle; I have to defend it.’
She was talking in riddles again. Gwyn decided to come straight to the point. ‘Nain, I had something else from the wind last night: a silver pipe, and there were voices in it, from far away.’
‘Ah,’ said Nain. ‘Even when men whispered, Math could hear them; he could hear voices beyond any mortal ear! The pipe is from him!’
‘And something happened,’ Gwyn went on, ‘in Arianwen’s web!’
As he spoke his grandmother began to move about her room, but Gwyn knew she was attending to his story, and when he mentioned the girl in the web, she hovered before a huge gilt-framed mirror at the back of the room and said softly, ‘Gwydion Gwyn, you will soon have your heart’s desire!’
‘My heart’s desire?’ said Gwyn. ‘I believe I am a magician but I am not strong yet. I don’t know if these things are happening to me because I have the power, or if they would have happened to anyone.’
‘You’ve forgotten the legends, haven’t you, poor boy?’ said Nain. ‘I used to read them to you long ago, but your father stopped all that when Bethan went; he stopped all the fun, all the joy. But he couldn’t stop you, could he? Because you are who you are! Now I’ll read you something.’
In spite of the multitude of books scattered about the room, his grandmother always knew exactly where to find the one she needed. From beneath a blue china dog, supporting a lopsided lampshade, she withdrew a huge black book, its leather cover scarred with age.
‘The legends,’ she purred, stroking the battered spine. It looked so awesome and so old Gwyn half-expected a cloud of bats to fly out when his grandmother opened it.
She furled the train of her velvet dress around her legs, settled herself on a pile of cushions and beckoned to him.
Gwyn peered at the book over his grandmother’s shoulder. ‘It’s in old Welsh,’ he complained, ‘I can’t understand it.’
‘Huh!’ she sighed. ‘I forgot. Listen, I’ll translate. “At dawn rose Gwydion, the magician, before the cock crowed, and he summoned to him his power and his magic, and he went to the sea and found dulse and seaweed, and he held it close and spoke to it, then he cast it out over the sea, and there appeared the most marvellous ship . . .”’ She turned the next few pages hurriedly, anxious to find the words that would convey to Gwyn what she wanted. ‘Ah, here,’ she exclaimed. ‘Now you will understand. “Then Gwydion’s son subdued the land and ruled over it prosperously, and thereafter he became Lord over Gwynedd!”’ She closed the book triumphantly.
‘Well?’ said Gwyn. ‘I don’t think I understand, yet.’
‘He was our ancestor, that Lord of Gwynedd,’ said Nain, ‘and so, it follows, was Gwydion.’
‘But they’re in a story, Nain.’ In spite of himself Gwyn found he was repeating Alun’s words. ‘They’re not real people.’
‘Not real?’ Nain rose tall and proud, out of her chair. ‘They’re our ancestors,’ she said, glaring at Gwyn, and she slammed the book down upon others piled on a table beside her.
Gwyn winced as a cloud of dust flew into his face. A tiny jug tottered precariously beside the books, happily coming to rest before it reached the edge of the table.
‘But how do you know, Nain?’ he quietly persisted.
‘How do I know? How do I know? Listen!’ Nain settled back on to the cushions and drew Gwyn down beside her. ‘My great-great-grandmother told me. She was a hundred years old and I was ten, and I believed her. And now I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone, not even your father. She was a witch, my great-great-grandmother. She gave me the seaweed and the brooch and the whistle. “Keep it for you- know-who,” she said, and I did know who.’
‘And the broken horse?’
Nain frowned. ‘I am afraid of that horse,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I tried to burn it once, but I couldn’t. It was still there when the fire died, black and grinning at me. I believe it is a dreadful thing, and she thought so too, my great-great- grandmother. She tied a label on it, “Dim hon! Not this!” for it must never be used, ever. It must be kept safe; locked away; tight, tight, tight. It is old and evil.’
‘I’ll keep it safe, Nain. But what about the scarf ? She didn’t give you the scarf, your great-great-grandmother?’
‘No, not the scarf. That was my idea. I found it on the mountain, the morning after Bethan went; but I didn’t tell a soul. What would have been the use? I kept it for you.’
‘Why for me?’
‘Can’t you guess? I knew you would need it.’
‘And are you a witch too, Nain?’ Gwyn ventured.
‘No,’ Nain shook her head regretfully. ‘I haven’t the power, I’ve tried, but it hasn’t come to me.’
‘And how do you know it has come to me?’
‘Ah, I knew when you were born. It was All Hallows Day, don’t forget, the beginning of the Celtic New Year. Such a bright dawn it was; all the birds in the world were singing. Like bells wasn’t it? Bells ringing in the air. Your father came flying down the lane, “The baby’s on the way, Mam,” he cried. He was so anxious, so excited. By the time we got back to the house you were nearly in this world. And when you came and I saw your eyes, so bright, I knew. And little Bethan knew too, although she was only four. She was such a strange one, so knowing yet so wild, sometimes I thought she was hardly of this world; but how she loved you. And your da, so proud he was. What a morning!’
‘He doesn’t even like me now,’ Gwyn murmured.
‘No, and that’s what we have to change, isn’t it?’ Nain said gently.
Gwyn buried his face in his hands. ‘Oh, I don’t know! I don’t know!’ he cried. ‘How can a spider and a pipe help me? And what has another world to do with Bethan? I’ve just had a