Keeping Holiday (13 page)
T
he new light in the darkness had nothing eerie about it. It beamed bright, white, and cheerful. It merely had to appear for Dylan and Clare to feel their despair and confusion melt away. As it drew closer, the children saw that it came from a tall candlestick, held high. Wondering at a mere candle this bright, Clare saw, on the right and on the left, the walls of the alley they had felt for so unsuccessfully. The alley extended just a little farther, then came to a dead end at the back door of a shop. In the window, a sign read, “Holiday Village Candles.”
The children stared at the man who carried the candle and who walked briskly toward them. A stiff white apron covered his clothes, almost to his ankles, but it did not slow him in the least. By the candle’s clear light, splatters, in a rainbow of colors, stood out all over the apron. Its two large pockets had been crammed full of candles. Dylan and Clare saw the ends peeking out. From the man’s shirt pocket, where usually pens would appear, more candles peeked out. When the man reached the children, he stopped, looking down at them with a serious expression. But behind his spectacles, his dark eyes twinkled.
“You must be the candlemaker,” Dylan said.
With his free hand, the man patted a candle-stuffed apron pocket. “Good guess,” he said, the slightest hint of a smile playing around one corner of his mouth. “Were you looking for my shop?” Dylan and Clare nodded eagerly. “This way, then,” he said, turning toward the door they saw just ahead. “It’s right here.”
“Then we were almost there!” Dylan said.
The candlemaker stood still and turned his head to peer at Dylan over the tops of his spectacles. “Of course you weren’t,” he replied. “You would never have found the way by yourself.” Dylan opened his mouth to ask a question, but the man had started off again and, in spite of his snow-white hair, he walked so quickly that Dylan and Clare had to hurry to keep up. Together they entered the back door of Holiday Village Candles.
The candlemaker set his tall candle down on the counter and blew it out, since there was no need for it inside. The shop’s many windows all stood open. Through them, Clare saw the garden that surrounded the little store on three sides. Sunlight streamed in at these windows and, outside,
birds twittered and sang. A calendar hung on the wall. Glancing at it and at the clock near it, Dylan, amazed, realized that it was still morning on the same day they had entered the dark alley. It had
felt
like a lifetime of darkness! Then he saw an open door leading out into the garden. Clare had already walked through it, and Dylan followed. A bench sat squarely in the center of the yard where no shade reached. Gratefully, Dylan and Clare sank down onto this bench and turned their faces, eyes closed, up to the sunlight.
Dylan and Clare took their time soaking up light. When they finally reentered the shop, the candlemaker was busy in back, in the work area. The smell of melting wax reached the children as they surveyed the contents of the shop. “Who ever would have thought there could be so many different kinds of candles?” Clare murmured.
Shelves lined the walls between the windows. Candles of all varieties filled every inch of every shelf. Long tall tapers and round little candles that were almost balls, thick sturdy candles and tiny little delicate ones, plain white candles and candles in every bright or pastel color imaginable—the shelves held all these. Out on the floor, tables and racks that turned held more candles. Some had been carved into exquisite forms, and some even into tiny scenes. Dylan and Clare kept busy for some time, calling back and forth, “Hey, look at this one!” and “Come see this!” At some point, Clare realized the candle-maker was leaning in the doorway between his shop and his work area, watching them. “These are wonderful candles,” she said to him.
Once again, he almost smiled as he said, “Want one? You may choose one for free, you know. Any one you like.”
“Thanks!” the children said, and went back to looking at candles with renewed interest since now they each needed to make a choice. Clare chose a little wax scene with a wick, but, of course, she had no intention of ever lighting it. It was too pretty for that. Dylan chose a tall elegant taper. He thought his mother might like it. They brought their choices to the candlemaker, who wrapped them carefully in boxes, to prevent their being broken in Dylan’s pack.
Once Dylan had safely arranged the candles in the pack, the candlemaker said, “That’s that! Anything else I can do for you?”
“Well,” Dylan answered, “we were wondering what you could tell us about the Founder. That’s really who we’re looking for, and Missy Mistletoe, back at the park, told us you might be able to help us.”
“The Founder, is it?” said the candlemaker. “For one thing, I work for the Founder. He’s the one who called me to work here, making candles. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“Did you build this shop?” Clare asked.
“Oh, no, it’s much older than I am,” the candlemaker replied. “Holiday Village Candles was one of the first stores in Holiday. As soon as building began on the ruins of the old city the tyrants had ruled, the Founder insisted that there be a candle shop, because people must have light. Holiday is full of light now—all kinds of lights, not just candles. Surely you’ve seen them? Little white lights, bright colorful lights, strings of lights, all kinds. And there are still plenty of candles. But the candles came first, from right here in this shop.”
“Why not put some lights in that alley?” Dylan asked. “This shop’s almost impossible to get to!”
Frowning slightly, the candlemaker stared Dylan full in the face. “What do you mean ‘almost?’” he said. “I tell you, you would never have found the way by yourself. The alley is left over from the rule of the tyrants. Before, when the tyrants reigned, the darkness covered the whole city.” Clare shuddered. “The tyrants liked it that way. It kept their subjects from escaping. How could they get away when they couldn’t even see where they were going? When the Founder chased out the tyrants, he chased out the darkness as well—except in that alley. But it won’t last forever. There are plans to demolish it one of these days.”
“But meantime, the only way to your shop is through the alley,” Dylan said. “That seems awfully dangerous.”
The candlemaker almost smiled. “Not to worry,” he said.
“The Founder’s very careful about not losing anyone. That’s why he sends me out with my candle several times every day, looking for people just like you who are on the way to the candle shop. It’s part of my job.”
“But what if you miss someone?” Dylan wanted to know. “It’s awfully dark out there, and it really
is
big, isn’t it? Or did it just
seem
big?” Dylan glanced at the door leading to the alley, but it shut out the darkness, and he could see no trace of it.
“Oh, that darkness is much greater than you could ever imagine,” the candlemaker assured him. “But I’ve never missed anyone who was supposed to get to my shop. Never.” He shook his head with certainty. “It’s not possible.”
“But we heard other people out there,” Clare protested. “Why haven’t you led
them
out?”
“You mean the D Der’s—the Darkness Dwellers?” the candlemaker asked. Both children nodded. “I’ve invited them plenty of times,” he said. “But they never want to come.”
“How did they start living there in the first place?” Dylan asked.
“They’re left from when the tyrants ruled,” the candlemaker said. “They settled in there back then, and they never wanted anything different. When the new Ruler came and drove out the tyrants, they actually resented it! They liked things the way they had always been. So there they stayed. Later generations were born there, in the darkness, and they all liked it too. So I go in sometimes, but I only make them angry. They don’t want light.”
“That’s crazy,” said Clare, shaking her head. “Why would they prefer that hideous darkness to light?”
“They don’t want anyone to see what they’re doing,” the candlemaker answered. “If they came out into the light, everyone would see.”
“What
are
they doing?” Clare asked.
A brief shudder flitted across the strong features of the candlemaker’s face. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he answered, “and, trust me, you don’t want to know.”
“Say!” A new idea had struck Dylan. “You said the Founder sends you out to find people who are looking for your shop, and you said that you never miss anyone who’s supposed to find it. That almost sounds like—” Dylan hesitated, reluctant to speak his thought out loud.
“Yes?” the candlemaker folded his arms and tapped his foot with a trace of impatience. “Go on. Say it.”
“Well, it sounds like—like maybe the Founder knew we were coming,” Dylan said.
With a nod, the candlemaker answered, “Of course he did. And?”
Encouraged, Dylan continued. “And maybe he knows we’re trying to get into the real Holiday and get authorized so we can come and go whenever we want.”
“Young man, that should be obvious to you by now,” the candlemaker replied. “How do you think you got this far? I mean, I’m guessing you got stuck in a cave, but a voice called you out and you ended up in Life Forest. Right?” Dylan nodded. “And I’ll just bet, somewhere along the way, you realized you’d lost your visitor’s pass, but when you got to the park, you learned your fine was paid in full and another pass was waiting. Am I right?”
Dylan nodded again. “But how did you know?” he asked. The candlemaker chuckled ever so briefly and ever so quietly. “Oh, it just comes with working here for so many
years. There’s a kind of pattern I often see.”
Even more encouraged, Dylan went on. “Well, if the Founder knows we’re trying to get authorized and if he’s been sort of working things out to help us, well, he probably
will
authorize us, won’t he? And where can we find him? I’d really like to meet him.”
The candlemaker’s eyes twinkled. “You know what I’m going to say next, don’t you?” Dylan’s face fell as the candlemaker began, “You don’t find the Founder, he finds you—” Dylan sighed and finished along with the candlemaker, “He’s not just the Founder; he’s the Finder too.” There was a brief pause, then, still in unison, they said, “That rhymed.”
The candlemaker chuckled. “You’re getting it,” he said. “But don’t be discouraged. And you’re right—there’s nothing more important than finding the Founder. So let me tell you what to try next. Surely you’ve noticed that, in between Holiday Village here and the real Holiday proper, there’s an odd-shaped mountain, not very wide but very tall. It really just goes straight up then straight down again. You’ve noticed that, right?” The children nodded. “Have you seen the little building at the top?” Neither of the children had. “Not surprising,” the candlemaker continued. “It’s a pretty small building. Well, the building is a little church—very, very old. It has bells up in the tower. Those bells can tell you about the Founder. I suggest you go talk to them.”
“We don’t have to go back the same way—through that darkness—do we?” Clare asked.
“Oh, no,” the candlemaker shook his head. “Just go on out into the garden and through the gate. Follow the street to the right and just keep going. You can’t miss it, because you’ll always see the mountain in front of you. And the church is the only building on it. But,” he added, “if it’s an easy stroll you’re wanting, this isn’t it. That mountain’s high and steep; only serious hikers get to the top.”
“But it can be climbed, right?” Dylan double-checked.
The candlemaker nodded. “It can be climbed,” he assured them, “as long as you really want to climb it.”
The two cousins thanked the candlemaker for his help, for the candles, and for his advice. Then they were out the door, through the garden, and heading off down the street.
