The Frost Child by Eoin McNamee Read Free Book Online

steadily over the snowbound landscape. Nothing could be more beautiful, Cati thought. She turned to look at Owen. The worry in his eyes had been replaced with excitement. With a flick of his wrist he turned the Wayfarer so that she was heading straight into the heart of the northern lights.
    Martha looked after them for a little while, then fetched her coat. She had work to do. She walked into town, slipping on the frozen path in her hurry. If the
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    Harsh were going to invade, then the people had to be got out. The Harsh would not allow civilians to stand in their way.
    She feared that she might have to persuade the people of the town to leave, but when she reached the square she was met by a motley convoy of old buses. The buses were already full of old people, and children were running around in delight, throwing snowballs at each other.
    Martha caught sight of Mr. Mulligan, the head of Owen's school. He looked tired and worn, but his face brightened when he saw Martha.
    "The government ordered us to evacuate this morning," he said. "There's more snow on the way, and they can't guarantee food for us if the roads are cut off."
    "It's probably for the best," she said. "Where will you go?"
    "There's an old army camp up the coast. They're putting us there."
    "You're doing the right thing."
    "Do you think so? The town's a bit of a ruin right now, but I'm fond of it. I hope we won't be gone long."
    "I hope so too." She smiled.
    Martha spent the day helping the townsfolk load up the convoy, offering a smile, soothing a crying child, or helping a frantic parent. She chatted to grandmothers about things that happened long ago and to teenagers about things that were yet to come to pass. And when at
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    last the convoy pulled out, there was a cheerful atmosphere, the townspeople full of strength and hope for the future. She waved at the last bus, then stood alone in the square, the snow around her reddened by the setting sun.
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    Chapter 6
    "Unfurl the sail!" Owen shouted. Cati scrambled over the deck and stood on top of the wheelhouse. Above her was the great wheel of the northern lights, and far, far below she could see mountains. For a moment she was paralyzed. One slip and she would be gone, tumbling into space.
    "Cati!" Owen shouted. With frozen and trembling fingers she began to unfasten the ties that held the sail to the mast. After what seemed like an age, the sail opened out. She stepped back in wonder, almost forgetting that she was far above the ground. The sails were shimmering and translucent, much larger than the sails of any yacht. They appeared to reach out in front of the Wayfarer for hundreds of feet and to billow far above her. It seemed to Cati that the sails were made of the same magical substance as the northern lights themselves, if that was possible.
    "Cati," Owen shouted again, and leapt forward,
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    grabbing her jacket and pulling her back. In her wonder she had stepped to the edge of the wheelhouse roof.
    "Sailing was never really my thing," she muttered, picking herself up from the deck, but Owen did not answer. He was absorbed in the movement of the Wayfarer , the way she rose and pitched and responded to the slightest movement of the tiller. He looked over the stern and saw that the land had disappeared and that they were now sailing over a great lake of time itself, the little tiller carving a trail of phosphorescence in the surface as they went.
    For a while Owen delighted in the Wayfarer , feeling almost at one with the boat. If he wanted greater speed, he leaned forward and the sail grew even larger. If he leaned back, the boat slowed. The Wayfarer skimmed lightly along, but Owen could see that a less able craft would soon be in trouble. They started to scud up the sides of huge waves of dark matter and plunge down the other side. It felt as if they were sailing on an ancient and perilous sea.
    "This is different from the first time, on the way back from Hadima," Cati said. It was true. Then,