Winterwood (10 page)

Then the smoke thinned and he saw the doorway ahead, the cold wind from outside creating a zone of clear air. The others had already passed through and Anders ducked his head and ran harder, his lungs fighting for oxygen as he caught up to his family. Together they sprinted across the village square and towards the dirt path beckoning from the other side.

The moment they reached the path, the woods closed in around them and created a tunnel through which they raced, the bellowing of horns behind them a constant reminder of Death on their heels. The thrumming of hoofbeats a moment later only added to the terror fueling their muscles. In another breath, the baying of the hounds added to the din.

“How far?” Paul gasped. Anders shook his head. The walk from the Veil to Ulaf's tree was a blur in his memory. He'd been too intent on finding shelter to pay attention to the distance they'd traveled.

“A shortcut lies ahead.” Ulaf pointed forward, where the path split. A narrow trail led to the left, while the wide main trail continued forward.

There was no time to ask questions. Ulaf turned onto the smaller path and they stayed with him, trusting his sense of direction. The snow grew deeper, threatening to drag down their legs. Anders had hoped the narrow trail would slow their pursuers, but the baying only grew louder.

“The Veil.”

Anders saw it at the same time. A widening of the trail, and in the center, a shimmering rainbow of color, a diffuse curtain that turned the trees behind it into wavering, distorted shapes.

“Hurry,” he urged the others. “Don't stop.”

It took less than a minute for them to reach the Veil, but in those seconds Anders feared they wouldn't make it. The pounding of hooves had become a thousand kettledrums, a hundred thunderstorms behind them, the force of it shaking snow from the trees. He refused to turn and look back, his ears telling him all he needed to know. The King was close, the hounds closer.

He watched the people ahead of him disappear into the Veil; Ulaf, Paul, Anna, the boys swallowed by the divide between the worlds.

Two steps later he crossed the boundary and all sound and light ceased to exist. For less than a heartbeat, longer than a lifetime, he existed in absolute nothing, a place bereft of matter and energy.

And then reality returned. His feet came down hard on modern blacktop and he stumbled, his arms windmilling as he fought to regain his balance. Streetlights illuminated a silent, empty Main Street. Up ahead, Ulaf and the others waited for him, relief etched on their faces.

“Keep going,” Anders said, forcing his legs back into motion. The Hunt would be there any second.

“Safe we are,” Ulaf raised a fist, a smile pulling up the corners of his beard. “The Hunt cannot return twi—”

The elf tumbled over in midword, a three-foot arrow protruding from his chest.

Anders turned. Thirty feet back, the Holly King sat atop a giant reindeer, the points of its antlers sharp as knives and its eyes red as fire. A dozen ogres mounted on smaller deer gathered behind him, all armed with bows or swords. The hounds waited to either side for their master's command to charge.

“Ho!” the King roared, his voice echoing up and down the street. The Hunt leaped forward, the King in the lead, his massive axe in hand.

Anders looked around. They were still blocks away from the house. Darkened stores and restaurants offered no safety. Up ahead, a stoplight swung back and forth in the wind, its green glow—

A memory rose up in Anders's mind. Something his father had told him as a child.

“There are only two ways to defeat the Hunt. Join it or take yourself to a crossroads.”

A crossroads. Like a four-way intersection?

“Come on.” Anders pushed the others toward the center of the road, directly under the traffic light.

“What are you doing?” Anna tried to break free. “We have to run.”

“No time. Kneel down.”

“But—”

“Trust me, please.” He stared into his daughter's eyes. An arrow struck the ground nearby, the metal head throwing up sparks as it zinged by.
Please, daughter…

“All right.” She knelt, pulling the children down with her. Anders joined them, his knees touching the road just as Paul cried out and grabbed his arm. Blood flowed from between his fingers and he collapsed next to his wife. Anders prayed his father had gotten the old tales right. He put his arms around Anna and Paul and held on tight.

The thunder of the Hunt reached a deafening crescendo and Anders ducked his head, certain he'd made a mistake, that this was the end…

Cold enveloped him, worse than any winter wind, worse than falling into a frozen lake. The cold of deep space. He felt his flesh hardening, his blood turning to ice. Ghostly images flashed by, their phosphorescent shapes passing through clothing and bodies, sucking heat and life as they went. Someone screamed. A tremendous pressure built in Anders's head, like diving too deep in a lake. He cried out and pressed his hands over his ears.

And then it all stopped.

Thunder, screams, bitter cold. All of it gone in an instant.

Anders looked up. A hundred yards down the road, the Holly King glared furiously in their direction, the Hunt lined up behind him. When he made no move to charge again, Anders let out a sigh.

The old tales had been true after all.
Thank you, Vater.
That was twice his father had saved him, once as a child and now again. A debt that could never be paid. At least not until the afterlife.

“Prepare to die, mortals,” the King shouted. The ogres cheered and shook their weapons, but none of them moved forward. Even the hounds remained in place.

Nick whimpered and Anders put a hand on the boy's back.

“Not tonight,” Anders called out. “We're safe as long as we remain within the crossroads. And we can stay here until morning, while you must return to Winterwood before light strikes the horizon.”

The Holly King lowered his axe. His eyes narrowed. One of the hounds howled in frustration and the ogres muttered curses.

“So, you know the old ways. But there will be other Hunts.”

Anders nodded. “And we'll be safely inside, with warm drinks and gifts. You'll never have us on your table, Father Ice.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who knows what the future holds?” the King kicked his stag, which reared up on its hind legs and let loose an angry shriek. “Ho!”

The Hunt stormed forward and Anders ducked. Once more the supernatural cold swept through him as the riders and their mounts turned into harmless phantoms, spectral hooves drumming the ground but impotent against flesh.

When the last of the riders passed through, Anders turned to watch the flickering Veil fold in on itself behind the Hunt. A brisk wind whistled to life and Anders felt it tugging at him, trying to draw him into the shrinking Veil. Ulaf's body tumbled down the street and vanished into the metaphysical curtain just before it closed with a
pop
.

The wind died away, leaving the five of them alone on the road.

“Is it over?” Paul lifted his head.

Anders let out a heavy sigh. “Yes. The Hunt won't be returning tonight.”

“Can we go home now?” Jake asked.

“We sure can.” Paul ruffled his son's hair, then winced.

“You're hurt,” Anna said, taking his arm and pulling back the torn sections of sleeve to reveal a long, deep gash that still bled heavily. Blood stained his pants as well where the Yule Lad had bitten him.

“Gonna be tough explaining this to a doctor,” Paul said. His face didn't mirror the humor in his words. In fact, Anders thought, he looked about ready to faint.

“Keep him steady,” he told Anna. “Let's get him home.”

Anders took Jake's and Nick's hands and started walking, his mind already on what the morning would bring. The boys—and their parents—would be changed greatly by the events of the night. Would Anna forgive him for everything that happened? Or would she blame him for all the boys' problems down the road too?

Did he deserve that blame?

I did what I promised. I brought them home alive. Whatever happens—

A long, rumbling growl echoed through the streets. Anders looked back, expecting to find a truck or plow heading toward them.

Instead, he saw a large shadow slide between two houses across the road. A bloodcurdling wail followed a moment later.
No. Not here.

“Run,” he told the boys, letting go of their hands.

“Grandpa?” Nick looked up at him, his eyes wide.

“Run. All of you. Run!”

Anders swatted Jake in the rear and he let out a yelp.

“Now! It's the Jólaköttur.”

Anna pushed Paul forward. “Listen to him!”

“What?” He looked around.

“The Yule Cat.” As if in response to its name, the angry yowling pierced the night again.

“Take Nick.” She grabbed Jake in her arms and started to run. Paul lifted Nick and followed.

“Grandpa,” Jake shouted. Anna stopped and glanced back.

“Go on,” Anders said, waving for her to keep moving. “I'll lead it a different way and meet you at the house.”

Anna appeared ready to argue but then nodded and dashed after her husband.

Anders turned his attention back to where he'd seen the shadow. Where had it gone?

The cat leaped out from behind a garage, larger than the car in the driveway, larger than Anders remembered it. Six feet tall at the shoulder, decked out in the gray and brown of a common tabby, mouth open to show teeth capable of tearing a man in half. It covered the length of the driveway in one bound and hit the road at full speed, heading towards the street Anna and the others had taken.

“Over here,
katze!
Remember me? I'm the one you want.” Anders waved his arms. “Come finish what you started.”

The cat skidded to a stop and sniffed the air. It turned its head, pinning Anders with eyes that glowed like alien gemstones. It lowered the front half of its body. Anders saw the tail twitching back and forth, the muscles tensing in its forequarter.

Anders took off down the road, his heart already thumping too hard.
Please, not now. Not until they're safe.
The roar of the Yule Cat shook the air and Anders was transported back in time, no longer running down a Pennsylvania street but a cobblestone road in a German village, a young boy sprinting for his life while the demon cat killed his friends.

For the first time in many years, Anders remembered what it meant to truly be alive, to experience the world with every fiber of his being. The burn of subzero air in his lungs, the crackle of mucous freezing inside his nose. His legs screaming with every stride but nowhere near ready to give up. His pulse pounding in his temples, a liquid drum that drowned out all other sounds except the howling of the beast bearing down on him. He remembered the cat's foul breath, stinking of blood and raw meat and old, rotten flesh. He remembered the way he'd pissed himself that long-ago night and wondered if he'd do it again.

Terror heightened his senses to those of an animal. He smelled snow and chimney smoke and gingerbread and his own sweat. He tasted the winter night on his tongue, a taste so very different from any other season, bitter and almost metallic, like gaseous blood. He experienced exquisite needles of pain in individual teeth as freezing air rushed over old fillings and across receding gums.

Through it all, the diesel-truck growl of the Yule Cat bounding behind him, drawing closer every second. A race he knew he'd never win, but that didn't matter.

They just need to get into the house. We have presents there. Anna will remember what to do with them.

Still, the will to survive remained too strong for him to just stop and let the beast rend him to pieces. Dying was not something he wanted to do, although he'd been prepared for it since the moment he made the decision to summon the Yule Elf and go to Winterwood.

A wave of hot, putrid air washed over him, letting him know his manner of death was about to be decided for him and it wouldn't be pleasant. Despite the inevitability of getting caught, he dodged to his right, turning down a side street in the futile hope of finding a house with lights on or someone with an early morning job getting into a car.

Instead, an icy puddle waited for him.

His feet slipped away from the road and he went airborne. His body twisted around, giving him an unwanted glimpse of the Yule Cat only ten feet behind him. Then he hit the ground hard on his shoulder and thigh. Explosions of pain went off throughout his body and the air
whoosh
ed out of his lungs. Brightly colored stars clouded his vision while he slid across the pavement before coming to a stop against the curb.

By the time his sight cleared, the Yule Cat stood over him, ears pinned back, eyes narrowed, lips drawn back in a snarl. It held one paw up, and again Anders found himself traveling back in time.

The cat raising its paw, exposing claws as long as a boy's hand. Shreds of bloody cloth hanging from them.

The cloth was brown. I didn't notice at the time, but now I remember.
Only one person had been wearing a brown jacket that night, Otto Spreckels. Although he hadn't thought of his old friend in more than seven decades, Anders saw him clearly now through the reverse lens of time, a skinny boy with teeth like a horse and hair that refused to stay combed. No one had ever found his body or that of Heinrich Meier. No one had looked for them, either. There'd been no need. Everyone knew what happened.

There'd been no celebrating in Kappelsbad that year.

A massive blow to his ribs sent Anders tumbling across the road. So intense was the pain that it constricted his throat, rendering him unable to scream. He grabbed at his side and felt warm liquid already seeping through the torn cloth.

The Yule Cat lifted its paw again.