The Rise of Winter Read online

  PRAISE FOR: THE RISE OF WINTER

  “Filled with pulse-pounding action, otherworldly characters to root for, and a timely message about the state of our planet, The Rise of Winter soars.”

  — Joel A. Sutherland, author of Summer’s End and Haunted Canada

  “Both a hopeful, and harrowing, look at the future of the only planet we have ever called home.”

  — Kevin Sylvester, author of The Almost Epic Squad: Mucus Mayhem

  “A timely, thought-provoking page-turner.”

  — Heather Camlot, author of Clutch

  “An environmental and metaphysical fantasy, The Rise of Winter is entertaining as it introduces a new world and leaves a great deal to explore.”

  — Foreword Reviews

  PRAISE FOR: FROM ANT TO EAGLE

  Winner — Silver Birch Fiction Award

  Finalist — Red Cedar Award

  Finalist — Rocky Mountain Book Award

  Finalist — R. Ross Annett Award for Children’s Literature

  Silver Winner — Foreword INDIES

  “Absolutely terrific.”

  — Paulette Bourgeois, Author

  “An honest portrayal of love, loss, and friendship.”

  — School Library Journal

  “This is a story of emotional truth that is sure to captivate readers of all ages.”

  — Ashley Spires, Author and Illustrator of The Most Magnificent Thing

  “A moving and ultimately hopeful book.”

  — Booklist

  “Tender, direct, and honest.”

  — Kirkus Reviews

  Text Copyright © 2019 Alex Lyttle

  Cover and internal design © 2019 Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.

  Interior Illustrations: Copyright © 2019 Sydney Madia

  Illustration of Turtle: Copyright © 2019 Aidan Peirce

  Map: Copyright © 2019 David Allen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by Central Avenue Publishing, an imprint of Central Avenue Marketing Ltd.

  www.centralavenuepublishing.com

  Published in Canada. Printed in United States of America on acid free paper.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Lyttle, Alex, author

  The rise of winter / Alex Lyttle.

  (Terra protectorum)

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77168-158-2 (softcover).--ISBN 978-1-77168-159-9 (EPUB).--ISBN 978-1-77168-160-5 (Kindle)

  I. Title.

  PS8623.Y88R58 2019

  jC813’.6

  C2018-905944-3

  C2018-905945-1

  To my four children:

  Amelia,

  who “might” one day read this book,

  Kipling,

  who wishes this book were a video game,

  Ireland,

  who would read this book if it were made of chocolate,

  and Huxley,

  who would eat this book if he could only get his hands on it.

  I love you more than words can express.

  The Guardians

  Nacadia

  The earth speaks,

  Her voice a ragged whisper.

  Her lungs are choked with soot,

  Her throat dry.

  Do you hear Her?

  It is the voice of an old woman,

  though She is still young.

  PART 1: THE COVE

  HIGH ATOP MOUNT SKIRE, A SNOWY OWL SITS PERCHED ON THE side of a dark pool, hidden in the rocky crags. This is not a typical place for an owl to rest—but this is not a typical owl, nor is it a typical pool.

  The owl looks up from the still water, her short neck craning sideways so she can watch as the sun puts its final touches on the day. Mount Skire is the tallest of the Great Barrier Mountains—a range of towering peaks stretching across the entire continent, separating the country of Nacadia from the Forgotten Lands. From her lofty vantage point, the owl can see most of Nacadia spread out before her like a patchwork quilt. To her left is a dense forest extending from the base of the mountains toward Grander’s Bay and the Western Ocean; to her right, rolling foothills undulate toward the northern coast. Small towns connected by dirt roads dot the interior countryside, while a single cloud of smog hangs in the distance over the capital city of Olport. Miles away on the eastern coast, too far to be seen, the owl’s home lies hidden in a sandy cove, waiting for her return.

  Another stiff breeze blows, ruffling the owl’s feathers, revealing hidden silver plumes that shimmer in the dying light. Daylight will soon be gone, and the owl will have the answers for which she has come.

  As the minutes pass, it grows darker. The ocean glows a reddish hue as the sun slips behind the horizon, until the rich darkness that follows envelops everything like a dense fog. Even with her keen night vision, the owl can barely make out the pool beneath her.

  So, she waits …

  And waits …

  Until it starts.

  A single photon of light cuts through the sky before growing to a gentle yellowish-gold beam that brightens the side of the mountain. A large moon has begun to rise, bathing everything in soft gold light.

  “Luna Aurum,” the owl whispers.

  In the distance, the ocean appears as a vibrant expanse of glittering waves, while the trees of the forest glow like copper and glass. Finally, when the moon is directly overhead, the owl sees what she has come for.

  Thin ripples disturb the surface of the pond, although the mountain is still and the wind has stopped. An image begins to form within the ripples. The water settles and the vision becomes clear: an orca, powerful and black, cutting through rough ocean waves.

  “Very well,” the owl whispers to no one. “Cano it shall be—it is as expected.”

  The image disappears, leaving the glassy pond with only the reflection of the owl and the golden moon above. The bird stands watching, anticipating. The whale was not a surprise, but there will be more. She stays, waiting for the real reason she came to this pool.

  The ripples appear and dissipate again as another image forms.

  The face of a young girl. Her raven-black hair falls twisted beside a pale, freckled face. Framed by the ringed locks are two emerald-green eyes with pupils shaped not like an ordinary girl’s, but oval—like those of a cat.

  The owl closes her large, yellow eyes and nods. “So,” she says, “it is to be the girl. Many will not be happy with the choice.” She opens her eyes and sighs. “But if it is the heart’s decision, I shall make it so.”

  With one last look at the girl’s image, the owl spreads her wings and rises from her stony perch into the night sky above. The moonlight glistens off her silver feathers as she flies to the Cove to prepare for the ceremony.

  Chapter 1

  I NEVER KNEW MY FATHER. ASIDE FROM TELLING ME HE’D DIED when I was very young, Granny never spoke of him, which was odd because she spoke about my mother, who had died during childbirth. She told me that my mother had been sweet and kind, and loved my father immensely. But my father … not a word. Any time I’d try to ask questions she’d close up like a clam, with a tight-lipped frown. I knew something was odd that day when she finally did mention him.

  Come to think of it, a lot was odd about that day.

  For starters, I counted eleven cars on my walk to school, which was two more than I’d ever counted before. Every day, someone in town was trading in their horse and buggy for one of the Society’s new Dorf Model Bs, and it felt like the whole town would soon be overrun by those metal beasts.

  But I guess that wasn’t so strange. The Society had built new roads, and the price of their cars had dropped. Plus, everyone said driving made getting around easier.

  I suppose the first really unusual thing happened at lunch. Right around the time I was getting my butt kicked by Penny and her cronies.

  “WHAT KIND OF name is Winter, anyway?” Penny asked, pushing me against the brick wall of the school. “Who names their daughter after a mythical season where cold stuff falls from the sky? Your parents must have been weird. It’s probably a good thing they’re both dead.”

  I tried to take a swing at Penny, but Carly and Marly—the Twin Terrors, as I liked to call them—grabbed my arms and pinned them to the wall.

  “I bet your parents were freaks just like you,” Penny continued. “They probably had the same weirdo eyes. What are you, some sort of cat?”

  I gritted my teeth. Penny was right. Cat-like eyes did run in my family. My cousin Alectus had them, Granny’d had them before she went blind, and apparently, my father had had them, too (or so my uncle said).

  Cat eyes.

  A family trait.

  Lucky me.

  Nothing helps you fit in at school like being different. I could probably write a short book on all the names I’d been called. And I’d pretty much started answering to cat calls in the hallways.

  “You know what I wish?” Penny asked, her face so close I could see every bump and boil on her skin.

  “That the Society would invent a cure for acne?”

  It
was a stupid comment. Penny pummeled me in the stomach for it, and I felt the air leave my lungs. I should’ve kept my mouth shut, but I was never good at that.

  “No,” Penny growled. “I hate that they let a freak like you into my father’s school. It makes us all look bad. Besides, grade nine is hard enough without having your eyes to give us nightmares.”

  Marly and Carly laughed right on cue. They were Penny’s goons and followed her everywhere. Aside from the fact that Marly wore her blond braid over her left shoulder while Carly wore hers over her right, they were almost identical—like two giant, ugly bookends. They followed Penny around because her father was the principal of the school, and it basically gave them immunity; they could do whatever they liked.

  “You think about my eyes while you’re sleeping?” I said between gasps. “That’s sort of creepy.”

  Penny’s face contorted into an ugly scowl. She reminded me of a comic-book character, as if steam were about to pour from her ears. She punched me harder, and this time I crumpled.

  “Any more funny comments?” she asked.

  It took me a minute to stand back up, and I shook my head to concede. Penny turned to Carly and Marly. “What should we do with her today, girls?” she asked. “She’s in a particularly hilarious mood. We’ll have to fix that.”

  “We could take her behind the school and pound her,” Marly suggested.

  “Yeah, we could pound her,” Carly agreed.

  Poor twins, they were about as smart as two rocks.

  “Nah, I’ve got a better idea,” Penny said, grinning and turning around to face the sidewalk at the front of the school. “You see that group of boys over there?” She pointed to some kids from our class, standing by the road. “I want you to crawl over to them and purr like a kitty cat. Since you already look like one, you might as well act like one, too.”

  I groaned inwardly. I would have preferred the pounding. The last thing I wanted was to make a fool of myself in front of the boys.

  When I didn’t immediately get down on all fours, Marly and Carly pushed down on my shoulders. They were both almost six feet tall and stronger than anybody in the school. There was no resisting.

  “Good,” Penny said, once I was down in the crawling position. “Now start moving.”

  I slumped my head low so that my hair fell over my face, hoping it would hide my identity, and started crawling across the lawn. Penny’s white sneakers followed closely beside, while the twins brought up the rear.

  I crawled until I was a few feet away from the boys and stopped. I couldn’t see their faces, but their shoes turned toward me and they stopped talking.

  “Go ahead,” Penny said.

  When I didn’t make any noise, Penny began shifting back and forth on the spot. She was always trying to impress the boys, but most of them thought she was either mean or annoying. Which was probably why she was always angry.

  A low murmur spread through the boys, and Penny nudged me with her knee. She bent down so that her mouth was beside my ear.

  “Purr,” she ordered.

  “What the heck are you doing, Penny?” one of the boys asked.

  I could sense Penny’s agitation growing as she straightened back up. “I’m just walking my pet around the school,” she said. “What’s the matter, Winter? Cat got your tongue?”

  Marly and Carly forced a laugh, but none of the boys seemed to find this funny.

  Penny bent down again and hissed, “Purr!”

  When I still didn’t make a sound, she kneed me in the side, sending a sharp pain through my ribs. I was about to give in and do what she wanted when suddenly the boys broke into laughter. And not just a chuckle—this was a full-force, stomach-clenching roar.

  It was followed by the sound of Penny screaming.

  I looked up to see two of the boys keeled over, while a third was practically in tears. The whole group was howling and pointing at Penny as if they’d just seen the funniest thing in the world.

  I turned to see Penny standing a few feet away, her hands flapping as she jumped up and down frantically. The twins were desperately swiping at her forehead.

  A small sparrow swooped down near Penny’s head and she shrieked, pulling away from the twins and ducking. That’s when I saw it: a large glob of bird poop running right down her face.

  I couldn’t help but laugh.

  Marly—or maybe it was Carly—tried again to wipe Penny’s face, but it only smeared the glob through her eyebrow.

  A crowd began to form and Penny was hysterical. As much as I was enjoying myself, I decided it was a good time to slip away. I backed up slowly, preparing to make a run for it, when—

  “Bombs away!”

  The shrill voice came from above, and I turned to see a second glob of poop land on Penny’s ear, dangling like an earring. There was another round of laughter and Penny took off, screaming, toward the school.

  The sparrow swooped and pulled at Penny’s hair as she went, causing her to trip over a stray backpack and face-plant on the lawn. The twins rushed to help her up, and the three of them went barreling toward the front doors of the school. All the while, the bird continued to dive at them.

  Only when they had disappeared inside did the sparrow give up. It circled a few times before flying off over my head toward the trees beyond. As it passed I heard the same small, high-pitched voice say, “Serves her right!”

  I looked around to see if anyone else had heard the voice, but no one seemed to have noticed.

  Where had it come from? Had it been from another student? One of the boys? It seemed so clearly to have been coming from above. Almost as if it was from the sparrow. But birds couldn’t talk!

  Was my mind playing tricks on me?

  Chapter 2

  WHEN I GOT HOME FROM SCHOOL I WAS STILL THINKING ABOUT the bird. I paused briefly on our back porch, looking out at the orange grove in our backyard. We lived on the outskirts of Dunvy, a small town in the heart of Nacadia, nearly a five-hour trip to the coast or the capital. It was a quiet town, known for its oranges and sugar cane, but ever since the Society had extended their massive roadway up to the mountains, we’d had a lot more travellers passing through.

  I rested my chin on my hands, leaning on the railing. I must have hit my head on the wall when the twins pushed me. Maybe I had a concussion and that’s what made me think the bird was talking.

  I shook my head.

  Yes, I concluded, I must definitely have a concussion.

  I took one last look across the yard, breathing in the rich scent of citrus before going inside.

  I dropped my bag carelessly on the kitchen floor and walked into the living room.

  “Granny?” I called.

  Normally when I got home, Granny would be sitting in her worn-out armchair by the window, but the chair was empty.

  That was unusual.

  “Granny?” I called again, this time louder.

  Granny was stone-blind but her hearing was better than anyone I knew. Besides, the house wasn’t big. She should have heard me.

  So, where was she?

  I ran up the stairs to look in her room.

  “There you are,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief. She was sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the dresser and holding something in her hand. I moved around to see what it was. It looked like some sort of stone, only it was white, like pearl, with gold etchings carved into its surface. Granny was rubbing the face of the stone and mumbling under her breath. She appeared to be in a kind of trance, and still hadn’t noticed me.

  “Granny?” I said again.

  I got close enough to see the object more clearly—it was a necklace with a circular stone pendant the size of my palm, mounted on a gold chain. The etchings were symbols, some running around the outside edge of the pendant like numbers on a clock, and more in the middle. I leaned in closer to see what they were.

  As I did, I brushed against Granny’s shoulder and she jumped.

  “Great Terra!” she yelled, while at the same time I jumped higher and yelled something less appropriate.

  Granny turned around. “I didn’t see you,” she said with an embarrassed grin.

  It was her favourite joke. Of course she hadn’t seen me—she had lost her vision in a farming accident a long time ago, or so she said. Two large scars ran straight down her face, passing through each of her eyes.