The Snow Wolf, chapter 3: The Two Witches of the Shetland Islands
THE SNOW WOLF
Summary:
While on his undercover mission to the werewolves, Remus disappears. Tonks sets out north, across countries and islands and frozen terrain, on a quest to find the man she loves and reclaim him from the clutches of a powerful magical beast. Along the way, Tonks meets many who help - or hinder - her quest, until at last she reaches the Arctic archipelago of Svalbard to face the dreaded Snow Wolf himself.
Chapter 3: The Two Witches of the Shetland Islands
Tonks stood on the little rocky beach beneath the cliff where the woman’s cottage perched, and gazed northwards out to sea. The waves were choppy and grey and the wind was raw again, now that she was no longer within the confines of the enchanted garden. Her cloak wasn’t really warm enough for this weather. Tonks wrapped her arms around herself and squinted harder out over the slate-coloured expanse of the North Sea.
She hadn’t particularly wanted to accept a favour from the person who’d tried to steal her memories, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of other options. Go north was the only lead she had to follow, and she’d run out of land to do it on. All that remained was the open sea. So she’d decided she might as well see what she thought of this fisher that the woman with the garden would send. The fisher’s boat was supposed to arrive now, around dusk. Which was why Tonks was standing on this desolate shore, straining to catch any glimpse of someone approaching over the sea.
There: a dark speck of motion made itself known in the distance, through the encroaching gloom. As Tonks watched, the speck grew larger until she could make out the outline of a small fishing boat. It had a blue-painted hull, and perched atop that was a small wheelhouse painted white, large enough perhaps for two people to hunker down and shelter inside it, but only just.
Sooner than Tonks would have thought, the boat was nearly at the shore, bobbing on the swell a stone’s throw out from the land. A head poked out of the wheelhouse and the boat’s pilot proved to be a woman. She had white, flyaway hair that flew in every direction around a wrinkled, weather-beaten face. A black weatherproof cape flapped around her shoulders, making her look like an oversized bird.
“Can’t come any closer, too many rocks!” the woman yelled over the susurration of the surf. “You’ll have to wade out. It’s shallow here. You can dry off when you get on board.”
It was hard to properly express chagrin at the thought of plunging into the icy sea when all communication was conducted via shouting, so Tonks simply called back, “All right!”
She made sure her wand was secure, bunched her cloak up high around her shoulders so at least that wouldn’t get wet, then took a big breath and plunged into the water fast, before she had a chance to think too much about it.
She shouted at the cold of it. Even with the water only up to her hips, it felt as though the ocean had its grip on her whole body, trying to drag her under with its chill that shivered straight into her bones. Tonks shouted aloud in defiance as she forced her legs forward through the water, shouted to remind herself that she was alive and not the ocean’s prey, until finally she stood abreast of the bobbing fishing boat. She was waist deep in the water, shivering convulsively and stymied by this last and seemingly simplest step, the need to somehow heave herself on board despite the paralysing cold that gripped her limbs.
The fisherwoman reached out with surprisingly strong arms and hauled Tonks onto the deck of the little boat, where she landed, gasping.
“S-so c-c-c-cold!” Tonks shuddered, barely able to speak for the chattering of her teeth.
The fisherwoman looked distinctly unimpressed. She pursed her lips at Tonks, which deepened the weathered lines around her mouth. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? Dry yourself off and come inside.”
Tonks nodded, her head bobbing erratically from all the shivering and shuddering. She fumbled in her robes for a bit before her numb fingers finally managed to withdraw her wand. She cast a strong drying charm on her wet clothing, then a warming charm for good measure. When her shaking had slowed to the point that she thought she might manage to stay steady on her legs, Tonks cautiously stood.
The fisherwoman had disappeared back into the little wheelhouse, so Tonks followed her and found the woman at the tiller, coaxing the boat back into motion. Tonks wondered if it ran on petrol, or magic, or some combination of both. There were so many things she would be curious to ask about the boat under other circumstances, but this was hardly the time.
“Er, so,” Tonks said, though the woman looked very caught up in her work and not at all interested in Tonks standing there beside her. “I don’t know exactly what agreement you’ve worked out with the woman with the garden, but I certainly can pay you for this trip. It seems like you’re going an awfully long way out of your way, and I do have gold -”
“Don’t want your gold,” the woman interjected curtly. “A dream or two’ll do.”
“A - dream?”
The woman nodded once, sharply, then for a moment she did turn and look at Tonks. “It’s a long crossing,” she said a little more gently. “Ten hours or so, and that’s if the weather’s fair. We’ll be travelling overnight and there’s little enough to see out here in the nighttime, my lass. You might as well curl up on that pile of rope there and try to get some rest. And if you’re visited in the night by a dream or two, so much the better. That’s payment enough for the likes of me.”
Tonks found this enigmatic in the extreme, but she also knew better than to argue. If this woman was willing to take her halfway to Norway for the price of a dream, Tonks would take that offer.
And what then, when she got to Shetland? Which was, after all, still in the middle of the sea and doubtless not nearly as far north as she needed to go.
Well, she would just have to figure it out once she got there. The best she could do was to keep travelling, keep moving, and never, never give up.
So she pulled her cloak around herself, huddled down until she was somewhat comfortable on the thick rope that lay coiled along one side of the little wheelhouse, tucked her head into the crook of her elbow and determinedly told herself to sleep.
Time passed strangely, as Tonks huddled on her pile of rope and swayed hazily between sleep and wakefulness. Again, as when she had been running with the wind, it felt as though many days passed in the course of that one night, though she found it impossible to say for certain. Whenever Tonks surfaced into wakefulness long enough to look out through the open door of the wheelhouse, the sea was stormy and dark and brooding, cold rain lashing down at a slant against the churning grey waters.
And whenever she slipped far enough down into sleep to dream, the dreams seemed to rush past as smoky figures on the night winds. Tonks saw Remus on the back of a huge, white wolf, riding the howling winds through the air. Then he was lying flat on his back in a blinding expanse of snow, pinned in place by a paw that the enormous wolf pressed down against his heart.
Tonks gasped awake, so real had it seemed, but of course there was nothing there to see but the white-haired fisherwoman hunched under her big black rain cape, hands on the tiller, staring out into the limitless darkness of the ocean and the night.
The next time Tonks awoke, the sky was a little lighter, with the barest hint of pale dawn creeping up from the unbroken line of the horizon in the east. And Tonks was sure she saw the woman gone from her place in the wheelhouse, and instead there was a big black raven flying out ahead of the boat, flapping its wings and keeping just above the spray. But Tonks fell asleep again and when she awoke of course it was just the fisherwoman, steering her boat, and not a bird at all.
They reached land as true dawn broke, and steered towards a little rocky shore that looked much like the one they’d left behind on the mainland. Here, though, at least the woman was able to manoeuvre in alongside an abandoned dock, instead of making Tonks wade through the water.
“Here’s where you go ashore,” the fisherwoman grunted from her tiller, as the boat bobbed gently against a decaying wooden pylon.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you?” Tonks asked, fighting down a yawn and shivering in the dawn chill as she prepared to jump from the boat’s edge to the dock.
“Already did,” the woman said, and Tonks looked over at her in surprise.
“The wolf has not harmed him,” the woman said, more softly. “He lives still.” For just a moment she turned around and looked Tonks full in the face. Her eyes were pale grey and piercing, and Tonks shuddered as she understood what the woman meant. She’d actually seen Tonks’ dreams? Did that mean that what Tonks had seen - Remus held captive by an enormous wolf in a realm of snow - was real?
“But is he -” Tonks started.
“There’s magic on Shetland, if you know where to look,” the fisherwoman said, facing forward again. The wind was kicking up and she was wrestling with the tiller to keep her boat even with the dock. “Witches and wizards here, more than you’d think. Two witches, in particular. One’s something of a princess, you could say, from a long line of Shetland mages. Other one is her partner, chosen for her wisdom. Folks seek them out for advice when there’s something they’re searching for. Hop out now, would you, or you’re going to have to swim.”
Startled, Tonks turned and made the jump across the gap that was indeed widening between the boat and the dock. When she looked back, the woman was already steering her craft away.
“Wait!” Tonks called. “These two witches - where will I find them?”
“There’s a castle!” the woman shouted back over the rising wind, sounding unconcerned at her own lack of specificity. “Walk north through the isles and you’ll find it.”
“Thank you!” Tonks yelled over the whipping of the wind, not sure if the woman could still hear her. She thought she saw the woman shrug, looking almost irritated at the appreciation.
Then the boat lurched, and its engine growled, and then it was truly out of range of any conversation.
Right. Find a castle somewhere on these islands. Well, at least that was a bit more specific than all this vague ‘go north’ business. Tonks wrapped her inadequate cloak around herself and picked her way up the rocks of the shore, heading for the more level land above. There, a grassy expanse stretched out ahead as far as she could see, with no one and nothing in sight.
There was nothing for it but to start walking.
She walked long enough that she lost track of time. The position of the sun was no help, since it was hidden behind deep layers of clouds. And all the time she walked, Tonks’ mind worried helplessly over the mystery of what had happened to Remus.
The awful thing was, he’d gone on the mission knowing how dangerous it was. The Order had needed someone who could blend in among werewolves and there was Remus, perfect for the job and so stupidly, marvellously loyal. There was never any doubt that he would go.
Tonks couldn’t blame him, of course - in his place, she’d have done the same.
But did he understand how terribly he was missed?
Squinting out over the sea as she walked more or less parallel to the long, jagged coastline, Tonks examined what little she knew of Remus’ disappearance.
It didn’t seem like the straightforward violence of a feud between werewolf packs. That wouldn’t account for the terror in the eyes of the young werewolf who’d first directed Tonks north. Nor did it bear any of the hallmarks that would suggest the malicious cruelty of Death Eaters. If the Death Eaters had managed to pick off a member of the Order, they would be gloating about it.
Fenrir Greyback, too, would be gloating.
Who, then?
She came up with no answers.
At long last, around what Tonks judged to be roughly mid-afternoon, she reached a narrow road and was able to continue on that, instead of over the rougher open terrain.
After what seemed another age, she heard a rumbling behind her on the road and turned to see a car rattling towards her, an old Vauxhall in an indeterminate mustard yellowish colour. Muggle or magical? It was hard to tell at a distance.
Tonks flung out an arm as the car drew near, and it coughed to a halt beside her.
The driver leaned out his window, a man of perhaps sixty with a weather-beaten face and a battered cap on his head. He raised his eyebrows at her in greeting and said, “Afternoon.” She still couldn’t quite guess whether he was a wizard or not, though she wished she could. It would change a lot about how and how much she asked him.
“Good afternoon,” Tonks said, trying to sound very casual, as though she often went for walks along desolate roads in far-flung corners of these isles. “Do you happen to be heading towards -” And then she stopped, remembering that she didn’t even know the name of this castle she was looking for. “…Towards the north?” she finished lamely.
The man’s eyes twinkled. “Aye. You could say so.”
“And is there… is there a castle, somewhere up that way?”
The man’s gaze sharpened from a twinkle into definite curiosity. “And what castle would that be? One that’s home to two wise witches, perhaps?”
All right, then: the man was a wizard. Even if he was driving a very Muggle vehicle. And that meant there was nothing to lose by asking.
“Yes,” Tonks said. “Those are exactly the two witches I’m trying to find. Do you know the way there? There’s something I need to ask them.”
The man looked her up and down, then nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “you won’t be the first. Folks come from far and wide to seek their counsel.” He nodded again, this time briskly. “Get in. I’m going that way, or most of it. I’ll drive you there.”
“I - all right,” Tonks said, surprised by the offer but grateful. “Thank you.”
They rattled along northwards for the rest of the afternoon. A sombre dusk was falling by the time the driver pointed and said, “Up there.”
A castle perched on a crag some distance ahead. It was not large, but it was old and solidly built of stone, and it made an imposing outline there against the evening sky. Though she could see the castle in its complete form, somehow Tonks could tell that Muggles looking at it would see only an old ruin, just as they did with Hogwarts.
“The car won’t get much closer than this,” the man said. “That’s a powerfully magical place there and Muggle things go haywire if you get too close. But I’ll drive you as far as the road goes, and you can walk from there.”
“Thank you,” Tonks said, the words feeling inadequate. First the fisherwoman, then this man, offering so much help to a stranger. “I don’t know where you intended to drive today, but I can tell you went out of your way for me. Can I pay you back for the lift somehow?”
The man shook his head. They were jostling now over a rutted track, the very last section of the road. “The mage and her companion will know I brought you to them. Keeping in their good books, that’s all the currency I need.”
He let her out where the dirt road dead-ended in a field that contained several sheep, grazing unconcernedly. Then he carefully backed the yellow Vauxhall around and pulled away.
Tonks turned her eyes up to the looming castle, the home of this Shetland mage who was said to be so wise. It was too much to hope that a witch on a remote Scottish isle would know exactly what had happened to Remus hundreds of miles away in an entirely different part of the country. But there was the chance she might at least know something.
Tonks started up the hill. When she reached the top, she found the castle’s great wooden door flung open, no moat or portcullis or guards to block her way. That seemed a tad eccentric, but then what about this journey hadn’t been eccentric? Cautiously, Tonks stepped between the massive stone walls.
The inside of the castle was utterly opposite to the impression made by its outside, with all that hulking stone. Inside, the walls were draped with tapestries in warm colours, and soft light emanated from some unseen source. Tonks stood in a narrow entryway, but she could see up ahead that the passage opened into some sort of great hall at what must be the centre of the castle.
Tonks glanced behind her, out through the doorway of the castle where the last, weak light of evening filtered in. When she turned to face forward again, a woman stood in front of her.
“Hello,” the woman said, smiling. She had long, dark hair and a flowing robe, and she wore a simple circlet of bronze about her forehead. Tonks saw at once why people referred to this woman as a mage, not merely a witch or even a sorceress. There was something timeless about her, as though she had sprung up out of the ground or emerged from one of the ancient stone circles that still dotted the British Isles.
“Good evening,” Tonks said. “Er. I hope I’m not intruding?”
The woman shook her head. “No seeker is unwelcome here. That’s why our doors always stand open. The castle knows the difference between a threat and a seeker of wisdom. Won’t you come inside?”
Without requiring a response, she turned and walked deeper into the castle, towards the great hall at its heart. For a brief but unpleasant moment, Tonks thought of the woman with the garden, who had seemed kind but harboured such unpleasant intentions. Did Tonks dare to walk into a complete unknown again?
Yes, because she had no choice. She had to find Remus. And to do that, she had to trust anyone who offered even a chance of telling her where he might be.
The woman - the mage - led the way into an enormous, high-ceilinged hall, larger than ought to be possible from the castle’s size as seen from the outside. It made Tonks smile, and the familiarity of it set her a little more at ease. Whether it was musty old canvas tents or grand stone castles, magical folk never could resist making improvements to their dwellings.
Despite its size, the hall wasn’t unwelcoming. Here, too, the whole space was suffused with warm light, and the floor was soft and pliant beneath Tonks’ feet. In fact, when she looked more closely, it appeared to be covered in live moss, as though an entire forest floor had been transplanted inside the castle.
Two thrones stood at the far end of the hall, each one carved from a single, massive tree trunk. In front of one of them stood a second woman, shorter and more solidly built than the mage, and with hair the colour of honey. The mage crossed the room to this second woman, ascended the two steps of the dais on which the thrones stood, and reached out to take her counterpart’s hand in an affectionate clasp.
“Our visitor,” the mage said.
As one, the two women turned to look at Tonks. Then they both sank gracefully onto their thrones.
Tonks stepped forward, stopping a few paces short of the dais, where she could look at both of them. How did one address ancient mages? ‘Ma’am’? ‘Your highness’?
Fortunately, the mage spared Tonks the difficulty of deciding by speaking first. “Now,” the dark-haired woman said, “what is it that you seek?”
Tonks breathed deeply and straightened her spine. She had to believe that these women would be able to help her.
“I’m looking for a friend,” she said. “A very dear friend. The man…that I love. He’s gone missing and I know he wouldn’t have left by his own choice. Someone who was there when he was taken told me to ‘follow the wind to the north.’ It doesn’t sound like much, I know, but it’s all I’ve got to go on. Also, I think there may have been a wolf involved, but I saw that in a dream, so I’m not sure.” The words tumbled out, now that she’d started. “I made it this far by always heading north, and I heard that you’re wise and that you help people who are searching for something.” She spread out her hands in supplication. “Can you help me? I’ll do whatever it takes to find him. I know he would do the same.”
The dark-haired mage fixed gentle eyes on Tonks. “Where was he, when he disappeared?”
Tonks hesitated. How much should she tell? Some things were Remus’ secrets to share, not her own. “Er…in Scotland. But living on a moor, much further south from here.”
The fair-haired wise woman spoke for the first time, and her voice, like her hair, was as smooth and rich as honey. “You’re concealing something,” she said, but there was no accusation in the words, only such infinite tenderness that Tonks felt unexpected tears prickling at her eyes. Suddenly she missed Remus hard, even more fiercely than when she’d first heard he was missing. Tonks saw the mage reach for her partner’s hand, their fingers twining in a sharing of strength and support, and Tonks missed Remus like a hole was being cut out of her chest.
“He’s a werewolf,” she gasped around the pain. “That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? He’s a werewolf, and he was living with a werewolf pack, and he disappeared.”
The two women both looking down at her like that, with such boundless compassion, was almost the worst thing of all.
“Ah,” said the dark-haired woman.
“If that is the case,” said the fair-haired woman, “if he is a werewolf and his disappearance is otherwise unexplained, it’s likely he was taken by the Snow Wolf.”
Though she’d never heard those words before, they sent a chill straight down Tonks’ spine.
“What’s the Snow Wolf?” she managed to ask, though the words came out on a gasp.
“The Snow Wolf lives near the top of the world, on the archipelago of Svalbard,” the fair-haired wise woman said. “He does not often venture south, not more than once in a generation. But when he does, it is werewolves that he targets. Those who are, like him, both human and not. He is known to abduct them back to his fortress in the north. So far as I know, the Snow Wolf had not left his icy stronghold in many years. Perhaps it was time.”
“But what - what does he do with the werewolves he takes?” Tonks asked, feeling cold shivering all the way through her.
“No one knows for certain,” the dark-haired mage said gently, “since those he takes do not generally return. The Snow Wolf is very powerful, and very, very old. He may use the life force of those he takes to fuel his magic in some way. Or perhaps it simply amuses him to have their mortal company for a while.”
“Remus,” Tonks gasped. She could see him in her mind, in something very nearly like a vision: Remus held captive by a great, white wolf amidst a glittering, terrible expanse of ice. She remembered the dreams she’d had on the fisherwoman’s boat, too, and shivered.
“How do I get there?” she begged the two women. “How do I find this Snow Wolf?”
The women’s gaze never left Tonks, they didn’t turn to look at each other, but Tonks nonetheless felt the ripple of understanding that passed between them.
It was the dark-haired mage who spoke. “Dear one,” she said, “the Snow Wolf is a dangerous predator with powerful, ancient magic. He is difficult to find and impossible to approach in safety. Are you certain this is what you want to do?”
“Yes,” Tonks said. “I’m certain.”
“Very well,” the mage said. “If you are determined, then we will do what we can to help you in your quest.” Her tone shifted, becoming matter-of-fact. “How are you at defensive spellwork?”
“Good,” Tonks admitted. This was one area where she didn’t mind being immodest. Both because it was true, and because there was no point lying about your skills when it came to magical duels. Any untruths would be revealed the moment a battle started. “I’m an Auror with the Ministry of Magic. I’m young, but I’ve trained well.”
The mage gave a thoughtful nod.
From beside the mage, the wise woman asked, “And your heart? You’ll need more than magical ability to face the Snow Wolf; you’ll need great bravery and clarity of heart.”
“I - I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Tonks said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “But if you’re asking whether I’m sure about this quest, or about Remus? Yes, I’m certain. On both counts. I don’t give up on something once I’ve started.”
This time, the two women did turn and look at each other. Then they nodded.
Their decision thus apparently reached, they rose from their thrones and set about preparations. They gave Tonks a thick winter cloak, heavy mittens and fur-lined boots for the Arctic journey she would undertake. Then the fair-haired wise woman told Tonks that she was welcome to stay as their guest in the castle, since night had fallen, and in the morning she herself would bring Tonks to the south of Norway by Apparition, if she wished.
“But that’s as far as I can go,” the woman said. “The witches and wizards of the northern countries are our sisters and brothers, but I myself am of this land. My magic is strongest here, when I am at home in Shetland.”
Tonks nodded, grateful beyond measure to have someone who could take her the next step of the journey - and to have a clear goal at last. She was grateful, too, that she would be crossing the cold, churning breadth of the Norwegian Sea by Apparition rather than in another fishing boat.
Tonks adjusted the clasps of her new cloak and looked at her fair-haired guide. “How soon can we leave?”
“At first light,” the woman said. “There’s no time to lose.”
(Continue to CHAPTER FOUR)
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Summary:
While on his undercover mission to the werewolves, Remus disappears. Tonks sets out north, across countries and islands and frozen terrain, on a quest to find the man she loves and reclaim him from the clutches of a powerful magical beast. Along the way, Tonks meets many who help - or hinder - her quest, until at last she reaches the Arctic archipelago of Svalbard to face the dreaded Snow Wolf himself.
Chapter 3: The Two Witches of the Shetland Islands
Tonks stood on the little rocky beach beneath the cliff where the woman’s cottage perched, and gazed northwards out to sea. The waves were choppy and grey and the wind was raw again, now that she was no longer within the confines of the enchanted garden. Her cloak wasn’t really warm enough for this weather. Tonks wrapped her arms around herself and squinted harder out over the slate-coloured expanse of the North Sea.
She hadn’t particularly wanted to accept a favour from the person who’d tried to steal her memories, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of other options. Go north was the only lead she had to follow, and she’d run out of land to do it on. All that remained was the open sea. So she’d decided she might as well see what she thought of this fisher that the woman with the garden would send. The fisher’s boat was supposed to arrive now, around dusk. Which was why Tonks was standing on this desolate shore, straining to catch any glimpse of someone approaching over the sea.
There: a dark speck of motion made itself known in the distance, through the encroaching gloom. As Tonks watched, the speck grew larger until she could make out the outline of a small fishing boat. It had a blue-painted hull, and perched atop that was a small wheelhouse painted white, large enough perhaps for two people to hunker down and shelter inside it, but only just.
Sooner than Tonks would have thought, the boat was nearly at the shore, bobbing on the swell a stone’s throw out from the land. A head poked out of the wheelhouse and the boat’s pilot proved to be a woman. She had white, flyaway hair that flew in every direction around a wrinkled, weather-beaten face. A black weatherproof cape flapped around her shoulders, making her look like an oversized bird.
“Can’t come any closer, too many rocks!” the woman yelled over the susurration of the surf. “You’ll have to wade out. It’s shallow here. You can dry off when you get on board.”
It was hard to properly express chagrin at the thought of plunging into the icy sea when all communication was conducted via shouting, so Tonks simply called back, “All right!”
She made sure her wand was secure, bunched her cloak up high around her shoulders so at least that wouldn’t get wet, then took a big breath and plunged into the water fast, before she had a chance to think too much about it.
She shouted at the cold of it. Even with the water only up to her hips, it felt as though the ocean had its grip on her whole body, trying to drag her under with its chill that shivered straight into her bones. Tonks shouted aloud in defiance as she forced her legs forward through the water, shouted to remind herself that she was alive and not the ocean’s prey, until finally she stood abreast of the bobbing fishing boat. She was waist deep in the water, shivering convulsively and stymied by this last and seemingly simplest step, the need to somehow heave herself on board despite the paralysing cold that gripped her limbs.
The fisherwoman reached out with surprisingly strong arms and hauled Tonks onto the deck of the little boat, where she landed, gasping.
“S-so c-c-c-cold!” Tonks shuddered, barely able to speak for the chattering of her teeth.
The fisherwoman looked distinctly unimpressed. She pursed her lips at Tonks, which deepened the weathered lines around her mouth. “You’re a witch, aren’t you? Dry yourself off and come inside.”
Tonks nodded, her head bobbing erratically from all the shivering and shuddering. She fumbled in her robes for a bit before her numb fingers finally managed to withdraw her wand. She cast a strong drying charm on her wet clothing, then a warming charm for good measure. When her shaking had slowed to the point that she thought she might manage to stay steady on her legs, Tonks cautiously stood.
The fisherwoman had disappeared back into the little wheelhouse, so Tonks followed her and found the woman at the tiller, coaxing the boat back into motion. Tonks wondered if it ran on petrol, or magic, or some combination of both. There were so many things she would be curious to ask about the boat under other circumstances, but this was hardly the time.
“Er, so,” Tonks said, though the woman looked very caught up in her work and not at all interested in Tonks standing there beside her. “I don’t know exactly what agreement you’ve worked out with the woman with the garden, but I certainly can pay you for this trip. It seems like you’re going an awfully long way out of your way, and I do have gold -”
“Don’t want your gold,” the woman interjected curtly. “A dream or two’ll do.”
“A - dream?”
The woman nodded once, sharply, then for a moment she did turn and look at Tonks. “It’s a long crossing,” she said a little more gently. “Ten hours or so, and that’s if the weather’s fair. We’ll be travelling overnight and there’s little enough to see out here in the nighttime, my lass. You might as well curl up on that pile of rope there and try to get some rest. And if you’re visited in the night by a dream or two, so much the better. That’s payment enough for the likes of me.”
Tonks found this enigmatic in the extreme, but she also knew better than to argue. If this woman was willing to take her halfway to Norway for the price of a dream, Tonks would take that offer.
And what then, when she got to Shetland? Which was, after all, still in the middle of the sea and doubtless not nearly as far north as she needed to go.
Well, she would just have to figure it out once she got there. The best she could do was to keep travelling, keep moving, and never, never give up.
So she pulled her cloak around herself, huddled down until she was somewhat comfortable on the thick rope that lay coiled along one side of the little wheelhouse, tucked her head into the crook of her elbow and determinedly told herself to sleep.
Time passed strangely, as Tonks huddled on her pile of rope and swayed hazily between sleep and wakefulness. Again, as when she had been running with the wind, it felt as though many days passed in the course of that one night, though she found it impossible to say for certain. Whenever Tonks surfaced into wakefulness long enough to look out through the open door of the wheelhouse, the sea was stormy and dark and brooding, cold rain lashing down at a slant against the churning grey waters.
And whenever she slipped far enough down into sleep to dream, the dreams seemed to rush past as smoky figures on the night winds. Tonks saw Remus on the back of a huge, white wolf, riding the howling winds through the air. Then he was lying flat on his back in a blinding expanse of snow, pinned in place by a paw that the enormous wolf pressed down against his heart.
Tonks gasped awake, so real had it seemed, but of course there was nothing there to see but the white-haired fisherwoman hunched under her big black rain cape, hands on the tiller, staring out into the limitless darkness of the ocean and the night.
The next time Tonks awoke, the sky was a little lighter, with the barest hint of pale dawn creeping up from the unbroken line of the horizon in the east. And Tonks was sure she saw the woman gone from her place in the wheelhouse, and instead there was a big black raven flying out ahead of the boat, flapping its wings and keeping just above the spray. But Tonks fell asleep again and when she awoke of course it was just the fisherwoman, steering her boat, and not a bird at all.
They reached land as true dawn broke, and steered towards a little rocky shore that looked much like the one they’d left behind on the mainland. Here, though, at least the woman was able to manoeuvre in alongside an abandoned dock, instead of making Tonks wade through the water.
“Here’s where you go ashore,” the fisherwoman grunted from her tiller, as the boat bobbed gently against a decaying wooden pylon.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you?” Tonks asked, fighting down a yawn and shivering in the dawn chill as she prepared to jump from the boat’s edge to the dock.
“Already did,” the woman said, and Tonks looked over at her in surprise.
“The wolf has not harmed him,” the woman said, more softly. “He lives still.” For just a moment she turned around and looked Tonks full in the face. Her eyes were pale grey and piercing, and Tonks shuddered as she understood what the woman meant. She’d actually seen Tonks’ dreams? Did that mean that what Tonks had seen - Remus held captive by an enormous wolf in a realm of snow - was real?
“But is he -” Tonks started.
“There’s magic on Shetland, if you know where to look,” the fisherwoman said, facing forward again. The wind was kicking up and she was wrestling with the tiller to keep her boat even with the dock. “Witches and wizards here, more than you’d think. Two witches, in particular. One’s something of a princess, you could say, from a long line of Shetland mages. Other one is her partner, chosen for her wisdom. Folks seek them out for advice when there’s something they’re searching for. Hop out now, would you, or you’re going to have to swim.”
Startled, Tonks turned and made the jump across the gap that was indeed widening between the boat and the dock. When she looked back, the woman was already steering her craft away.
“Wait!” Tonks called. “These two witches - where will I find them?”
“There’s a castle!” the woman shouted back over the rising wind, sounding unconcerned at her own lack of specificity. “Walk north through the isles and you’ll find it.”
“Thank you!” Tonks yelled over the whipping of the wind, not sure if the woman could still hear her. She thought she saw the woman shrug, looking almost irritated at the appreciation.
Then the boat lurched, and its engine growled, and then it was truly out of range of any conversation.
Right. Find a castle somewhere on these islands. Well, at least that was a bit more specific than all this vague ‘go north’ business. Tonks wrapped her inadequate cloak around herself and picked her way up the rocks of the shore, heading for the more level land above. There, a grassy expanse stretched out ahead as far as she could see, with no one and nothing in sight.
There was nothing for it but to start walking.
She walked long enough that she lost track of time. The position of the sun was no help, since it was hidden behind deep layers of clouds. And all the time she walked, Tonks’ mind worried helplessly over the mystery of what had happened to Remus.
The awful thing was, he’d gone on the mission knowing how dangerous it was. The Order had needed someone who could blend in among werewolves and there was Remus, perfect for the job and so stupidly, marvellously loyal. There was never any doubt that he would go.
Tonks couldn’t blame him, of course - in his place, she’d have done the same.
But did he understand how terribly he was missed?
Squinting out over the sea as she walked more or less parallel to the long, jagged coastline, Tonks examined what little she knew of Remus’ disappearance.
It didn’t seem like the straightforward violence of a feud between werewolf packs. That wouldn’t account for the terror in the eyes of the young werewolf who’d first directed Tonks north. Nor did it bear any of the hallmarks that would suggest the malicious cruelty of Death Eaters. If the Death Eaters had managed to pick off a member of the Order, they would be gloating about it.
Fenrir Greyback, too, would be gloating.
Who, then?
She came up with no answers.
At long last, around what Tonks judged to be roughly mid-afternoon, she reached a narrow road and was able to continue on that, instead of over the rougher open terrain.
After what seemed another age, she heard a rumbling behind her on the road and turned to see a car rattling towards her, an old Vauxhall in an indeterminate mustard yellowish colour. Muggle or magical? It was hard to tell at a distance.
Tonks flung out an arm as the car drew near, and it coughed to a halt beside her.
The driver leaned out his window, a man of perhaps sixty with a weather-beaten face and a battered cap on his head. He raised his eyebrows at her in greeting and said, “Afternoon.” She still couldn’t quite guess whether he was a wizard or not, though she wished she could. It would change a lot about how and how much she asked him.
“Good afternoon,” Tonks said, trying to sound very casual, as though she often went for walks along desolate roads in far-flung corners of these isles. “Do you happen to be heading towards -” And then she stopped, remembering that she didn’t even know the name of this castle she was looking for. “…Towards the north?” she finished lamely.
The man’s eyes twinkled. “Aye. You could say so.”
“And is there… is there a castle, somewhere up that way?”
The man’s gaze sharpened from a twinkle into definite curiosity. “And what castle would that be? One that’s home to two wise witches, perhaps?”
All right, then: the man was a wizard. Even if he was driving a very Muggle vehicle. And that meant there was nothing to lose by asking.
“Yes,” Tonks said. “Those are exactly the two witches I’m trying to find. Do you know the way there? There’s something I need to ask them.”
The man looked her up and down, then nodded slowly. “Well,” he said, “you won’t be the first. Folks come from far and wide to seek their counsel.” He nodded again, this time briskly. “Get in. I’m going that way, or most of it. I’ll drive you there.”
“I - all right,” Tonks said, surprised by the offer but grateful. “Thank you.”
They rattled along northwards for the rest of the afternoon. A sombre dusk was falling by the time the driver pointed and said, “Up there.”
A castle perched on a crag some distance ahead. It was not large, but it was old and solidly built of stone, and it made an imposing outline there against the evening sky. Though she could see the castle in its complete form, somehow Tonks could tell that Muggles looking at it would see only an old ruin, just as they did with Hogwarts.
“The car won’t get much closer than this,” the man said. “That’s a powerfully magical place there and Muggle things go haywire if you get too close. But I’ll drive you as far as the road goes, and you can walk from there.”
“Thank you,” Tonks said, the words feeling inadequate. First the fisherwoman, then this man, offering so much help to a stranger. “I don’t know where you intended to drive today, but I can tell you went out of your way for me. Can I pay you back for the lift somehow?”
The man shook his head. They were jostling now over a rutted track, the very last section of the road. “The mage and her companion will know I brought you to them. Keeping in their good books, that’s all the currency I need.”
He let her out where the dirt road dead-ended in a field that contained several sheep, grazing unconcernedly. Then he carefully backed the yellow Vauxhall around and pulled away.
Tonks turned her eyes up to the looming castle, the home of this Shetland mage who was said to be so wise. It was too much to hope that a witch on a remote Scottish isle would know exactly what had happened to Remus hundreds of miles away in an entirely different part of the country. But there was the chance she might at least know something.
Tonks started up the hill. When she reached the top, she found the castle’s great wooden door flung open, no moat or portcullis or guards to block her way. That seemed a tad eccentric, but then what about this journey hadn’t been eccentric? Cautiously, Tonks stepped between the massive stone walls.
The inside of the castle was utterly opposite to the impression made by its outside, with all that hulking stone. Inside, the walls were draped with tapestries in warm colours, and soft light emanated from some unseen source. Tonks stood in a narrow entryway, but she could see up ahead that the passage opened into some sort of great hall at what must be the centre of the castle.
Tonks glanced behind her, out through the doorway of the castle where the last, weak light of evening filtered in. When she turned to face forward again, a woman stood in front of her.
“Hello,” the woman said, smiling. She had long, dark hair and a flowing robe, and she wore a simple circlet of bronze about her forehead. Tonks saw at once why people referred to this woman as a mage, not merely a witch or even a sorceress. There was something timeless about her, as though she had sprung up out of the ground or emerged from one of the ancient stone circles that still dotted the British Isles.
“Good evening,” Tonks said. “Er. I hope I’m not intruding?”
The woman shook her head. “No seeker is unwelcome here. That’s why our doors always stand open. The castle knows the difference between a threat and a seeker of wisdom. Won’t you come inside?”
Without requiring a response, she turned and walked deeper into the castle, towards the great hall at its heart. For a brief but unpleasant moment, Tonks thought of the woman with the garden, who had seemed kind but harboured such unpleasant intentions. Did Tonks dare to walk into a complete unknown again?
Yes, because she had no choice. She had to find Remus. And to do that, she had to trust anyone who offered even a chance of telling her where he might be.
The woman - the mage - led the way into an enormous, high-ceilinged hall, larger than ought to be possible from the castle’s size as seen from the outside. It made Tonks smile, and the familiarity of it set her a little more at ease. Whether it was musty old canvas tents or grand stone castles, magical folk never could resist making improvements to their dwellings.
Despite its size, the hall wasn’t unwelcoming. Here, too, the whole space was suffused with warm light, and the floor was soft and pliant beneath Tonks’ feet. In fact, when she looked more closely, it appeared to be covered in live moss, as though an entire forest floor had been transplanted inside the castle.
Two thrones stood at the far end of the hall, each one carved from a single, massive tree trunk. In front of one of them stood a second woman, shorter and more solidly built than the mage, and with hair the colour of honey. The mage crossed the room to this second woman, ascended the two steps of the dais on which the thrones stood, and reached out to take her counterpart’s hand in an affectionate clasp.
“Our visitor,” the mage said.
As one, the two women turned to look at Tonks. Then they both sank gracefully onto their thrones.
Tonks stepped forward, stopping a few paces short of the dais, where she could look at both of them. How did one address ancient mages? ‘Ma’am’? ‘Your highness’?
Fortunately, the mage spared Tonks the difficulty of deciding by speaking first. “Now,” the dark-haired woman said, “what is it that you seek?”
Tonks breathed deeply and straightened her spine. She had to believe that these women would be able to help her.
“I’m looking for a friend,” she said. “A very dear friend. The man…that I love. He’s gone missing and I know he wouldn’t have left by his own choice. Someone who was there when he was taken told me to ‘follow the wind to the north.’ It doesn’t sound like much, I know, but it’s all I’ve got to go on. Also, I think there may have been a wolf involved, but I saw that in a dream, so I’m not sure.” The words tumbled out, now that she’d started. “I made it this far by always heading north, and I heard that you’re wise and that you help people who are searching for something.” She spread out her hands in supplication. “Can you help me? I’ll do whatever it takes to find him. I know he would do the same.”
The dark-haired mage fixed gentle eyes on Tonks. “Where was he, when he disappeared?”
Tonks hesitated. How much should she tell? Some things were Remus’ secrets to share, not her own. “Er…in Scotland. But living on a moor, much further south from here.”
The fair-haired wise woman spoke for the first time, and her voice, like her hair, was as smooth and rich as honey. “You’re concealing something,” she said, but there was no accusation in the words, only such infinite tenderness that Tonks felt unexpected tears prickling at her eyes. Suddenly she missed Remus hard, even more fiercely than when she’d first heard he was missing. Tonks saw the mage reach for her partner’s hand, their fingers twining in a sharing of strength and support, and Tonks missed Remus like a hole was being cut out of her chest.
“He’s a werewolf,” she gasped around the pain. “That’s what you want to know, isn’t it? He’s a werewolf, and he was living with a werewolf pack, and he disappeared.”
The two women both looking down at her like that, with such boundless compassion, was almost the worst thing of all.
“Ah,” said the dark-haired woman.
“If that is the case,” said the fair-haired woman, “if he is a werewolf and his disappearance is otherwise unexplained, it’s likely he was taken by the Snow Wolf.”
Though she’d never heard those words before, they sent a chill straight down Tonks’ spine.
“What’s the Snow Wolf?” she managed to ask, though the words came out on a gasp.
“The Snow Wolf lives near the top of the world, on the archipelago of Svalbard,” the fair-haired wise woman said. “He does not often venture south, not more than once in a generation. But when he does, it is werewolves that he targets. Those who are, like him, both human and not. He is known to abduct them back to his fortress in the north. So far as I know, the Snow Wolf had not left his icy stronghold in many years. Perhaps it was time.”
“But what - what does he do with the werewolves he takes?” Tonks asked, feeling cold shivering all the way through her.
“No one knows for certain,” the dark-haired mage said gently, “since those he takes do not generally return. The Snow Wolf is very powerful, and very, very old. He may use the life force of those he takes to fuel his magic in some way. Or perhaps it simply amuses him to have their mortal company for a while.”
“Remus,” Tonks gasped. She could see him in her mind, in something very nearly like a vision: Remus held captive by a great, white wolf amidst a glittering, terrible expanse of ice. She remembered the dreams she’d had on the fisherwoman’s boat, too, and shivered.
“How do I get there?” she begged the two women. “How do I find this Snow Wolf?”
The women’s gaze never left Tonks, they didn’t turn to look at each other, but Tonks nonetheless felt the ripple of understanding that passed between them.
It was the dark-haired mage who spoke. “Dear one,” she said, “the Snow Wolf is a dangerous predator with powerful, ancient magic. He is difficult to find and impossible to approach in safety. Are you certain this is what you want to do?”
“Yes,” Tonks said. “I’m certain.”
“Very well,” the mage said. “If you are determined, then we will do what we can to help you in your quest.” Her tone shifted, becoming matter-of-fact. “How are you at defensive spellwork?”
“Good,” Tonks admitted. This was one area where she didn’t mind being immodest. Both because it was true, and because there was no point lying about your skills when it came to magical duels. Any untruths would be revealed the moment a battle started. “I’m an Auror with the Ministry of Magic. I’m young, but I’ve trained well.”
The mage gave a thoughtful nod.
From beside the mage, the wise woman asked, “And your heart? You’ll need more than magical ability to face the Snow Wolf; you’ll need great bravery and clarity of heart.”
“I - I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Tonks said, looking back and forth between the two of them. “But if you’re asking whether I’m sure about this quest, or about Remus? Yes, I’m certain. On both counts. I don’t give up on something once I’ve started.”
This time, the two women did turn and look at each other. Then they nodded.
Their decision thus apparently reached, they rose from their thrones and set about preparations. They gave Tonks a thick winter cloak, heavy mittens and fur-lined boots for the Arctic journey she would undertake. Then the fair-haired wise woman told Tonks that she was welcome to stay as their guest in the castle, since night had fallen, and in the morning she herself would bring Tonks to the south of Norway by Apparition, if she wished.
“But that’s as far as I can go,” the woman said. “The witches and wizards of the northern countries are our sisters and brothers, but I myself am of this land. My magic is strongest here, when I am at home in Shetland.”
Tonks nodded, grateful beyond measure to have someone who could take her the next step of the journey - and to have a clear goal at last. She was grateful, too, that she would be crossing the cold, churning breadth of the Norwegian Sea by Apparition rather than in another fishing boat.
Tonks adjusted the clasps of her new cloak and looked at her fair-haired guide. “How soon can we leave?”
“At first light,” the woman said. “There’s no time to lose.”
(Continue to CHAPTER FOUR)
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