Winterwood (4 page)

Smoke rose from thick branches tunneled out to form chimneys and from the numerous fire pits, redolent with the odors of burning wood and cooking food. The ripe stink of manure wove its way through the other smells like an unwanted guest.

On its own, the village made for an astounding sight. But it paled in comparison to the edifice that loomed over everything, a structure carved from a single, immense trunk, a tree whose twisting, deformed branches rose hundreds of feet in the air, higher than the fires' glows could reach, and whose width spanned the entire back of the clearing. Lights blazed in dozens of windows and from numerous spires that overlooked balconies and terraces.

A shiver ran down Anders's spine, not from the cold but from the aura of foreboding the village and its giant castle gave off. Despite the old-fashioned style of the architecture, the dark wood, with its knots and gnarled branches and lack of color, exuded a feeling of danger rather than hominess. Even the nostalgic smells of roasting meats, baking dough and burnt pine failed to evoke good feelings. The odors arrived greasy and polluted, despoiled in some odd manner, as if contaminated by the malevolent beings who'd created them.

“What is that place?”

The quavering voice behind him made Anders jump. With a start, he realized he'd been so focused on the village that he'd forgotten Anna and Paul. Worse, he'd forgotten they were intruders in enemy territory, standing right out in the open for all to see.

“Paul, look at me.” Anders spoke in a firm voice then waited until he had his son-in-law's attention. The younger man took a deep breath, and although he still looked shaken, he no longer appeared ready to break down. “I'm going to give you the quick version.”

“Quick version of what?”

“Everything you know about Christmas is a lie, a watered-down version of the truth. There is no Santa, no bringing of presents, no Rudolph guiding a sleigh. The reality beneath it all is a legend older than time, the legend of the Holly King who rules Winterwood, the land we're in now.”

“It's all true? The Yule Elf? Winterwood? The Holly King?” Dark circles stood out under Anna's eyes, giving the appearance she'd gone days without sleep, but Anders knew it was shock. The shock of her boys going missing, and now an added attack on logic as her childhood nightmares came true. It hurt Anders to see her that way; hurt even more to know that in some part, he'd caused it. However, it couldn't be avoided. Not with the clock ticking down on them.

“Yes.” Anders wanted to say more, but the fear in his daughter's eyes stopped him. What good to say “I told you so”? It would only add to her pain.

“Goddammit, will somebody tell me what's going on?” Paul looked from his wife to Anders.

“The celebration of Yule, the three longest nights of the year, is much older than the Christmas you know. It's the time when the Holly King's reign over the world comes to its annual end. On each of the three nights of the solstice, Krampus, the Holly King, takes his forces out on the Wild Hunt. He travels the world on an enormous stag, with his hounds and his soldiers by his side. Between the hours of nightfall and dawn, he and his men capture anyone they find and bring them back. At the same time, his sons—the Yule Lads—ride out and kidnap boys and girls who've been bad. The Yule Elf, the creature you met at your house, the one who sent us here, it's his job to make sure good children don't get taken. Parents are supposed to leave presents for their children under a decorated tree or wreath to show the Yule Elf that their children had been good.”

“And that's what happened to Nick and Jake?”

Anders nodded. “I believe the Yule Lads took them, and they're being held down there.” He gestured at the village.

“Then we have to go get them,” Anna said.

“No. We have to find shelter. You're not dressed for this weather.”

But where? Simply hiding behind a tree wouldn't be good enough. And they certainly couldn't go down into the village. As he peered out at the forest, Anders noticed several of the tree houses were dark inside.

Does that mean the owners aren't home?
The village seemed busy enough. Perhaps everyone was hard at work, preparing for…

The feast. He didn't want to think about it, but he couldn't stop the words from appearing in his head. The following night would be the annual festival of the solstice, when the Holly King and his men celebrated the end of another year and enjoyed the spoils of the Hunt, while Winterwood closed itself off from the world until the following fall.

A festival whose menu included anyone captured during the Wild Hunt or by the Yule Lads.

No. I won't let that happen to my grandchildren.

Anders put a finger to his lips and then motioned for Anna and Paul to follow him. Crouching as low as his age-stiffened back allowed, he moved from the shadows of one tree to the next until they reached the nearest darkened home. He peered into the single window and saw a small room with a lone candle stub burning on a table, its feeble flame nearly gone.

“Hurry,” he whispered, thumbing the iron latch on the rough-hewn door. It opened easily, and they rushed inside, ducking to pass through the arched entrance. Anders shut the door then frowned. No lock, which meant they weren't as safe as he'd have liked.

Anders looked around the small room. The ceiling, although low, allowed them to stand at their full height, with a couple of inches to spare. A fireplace sat cold and dark along one wall, an iron pot hanging over a bed of smoldering embers. A small table occupied the center space, its two chairs the perfect size for children but impossible for an adult to use without risking total collapse. A single pewter mug sat on the table, next to a wooden bowl. The walls were bereft of decorations, save for a few kitchen utensils and animal hides hanging off metal spikes. At the far end, a staircase led up to another level.

The inside of the tree turned out to be warmer than Anders expected, enough so that he found himself able to take off his hat and gloves. Anna and Paul had stopped shivering, and the color was returning to their cheeks and lips.

“You'll be safe here,” Anders said, checking his watch. Not even eleven yet. How had so much happened in less than an hour? Their trek through the snow alone had seemed to take half the night. “I've got to get going. I need to find Jake and Nick before the night passes and we end up trapped here forever.”

“Wait.”

Anders stopped and looked at Paul, alert for any signs the man was going to freak out, as Anna's generation liked to say. But despite the frantic look still lingering in his eyes, when he spoke, his voice was calmer, with just a hint of a tremble in it.

“You said that whoever took our children has them in that village.”

Anders nodded. “Yes. And if we don't get them out before dawn, we never will.”

Paul rubbed his eyes, reddening them even further. With his hair mussed and wet from wind and snow, he appeared more like an escaped lunatic than a bank manager. Next to him, Anna let out a soft moan and put a fist to her mouth. A few tears ran down her cheeks, but she kept control.

“We're going with you.”

Anders shook his head, wishing he could accept the offer. But any potential help would be offset by their having no idea what they were dealing with. He couldn't rescue the children and babysit his daughter and her husband at the same time. “No, you can't. It's too dangerous.”

“Too dangerous? Those are our kids, Anders. And it can't be any more dangerous for us than for you.”

Anders ignored the not-so-subtle reference to his advanced age. “You don't know what to expect down there. I do.”

“So, you'll tell us. Show us. But we're going.”

“He's right,” Anna said, and Anders started to thank her for agreeing with him. Then he saw she was looking at him, was taking Paul's side.

So stubborn. I wonder where she gets that from?
Willa's sarcastic voice, in his head. How many times had she said that to him when she was alive? He took a second to appreciate the irony of the situation, then tried another argument.

“You can't come. You've no coats, no hats. You'll freeze out there.”

Paul and Anna went silent. They looked at each other, each hoping the other would have a solution. When neither said anything, Anders knew he'd won.

Until a voice spoke from above them.

“Perhaps I can help with that.”

Anders's heart banged into high gear as he swung towards the source of the oddly melodic voice. The rush of terror-fueled adrenaline only increased at the sight of a short, stocky figure clad in a green vest and matching pants, descending the stairs. The dwarf-sized man sported a thick, ragged beard that did nothing to hide the lumpy, misshapen face above it. Bushy eyebrows hovered over deep-set, dark eyes. Pointed ears peeked out from between ropes of wild, stringy hair.

Elf!

Thoughts and emotions collided inside Anders, creating a mental traffic jam that rendered him immobile. Should they run before the elf sounded the alarm? Or charge him, subdue him? What if he'd already given some kind of silent signal and others of his kind were already on the way? Indecision anchored Anders in place. He heard Anna's intake of breath, but he couldn't even turn his head to see what she and Paul were doing.

“Please don't be frightened,” the elf said, holding his hands out to the sides. “I have no desire to see you taken captive. In fact, I would like to offer my assistance.”

Anders found himself captured by the elf's singsong tones. Each word arrived like a note in a song, a song with no melody yet delivered, with great beauty despite the high pitch of the voice. Only when the elf stopped speaking did Anders's common sense return.

Why wasn't he calling for help? He didn't even seem upset by the appearance of strangers in his house. His gestures were as calm as his words, his body language relaxed.

Why wasn't he alarmed by their presence? And was his composure a good thing or bad?

It took two tries, but Anders found his voice to ask, “Assistance with what?”

“Finding your lost children. I heard you talking from my bed. Indeed, my first thought was to call for help. Strangers in Winterwood? Humans in my home? Never has there been such a thing. Then you spoke of children captive in the village. And I knew I couldn't let you go there on your own.”

“Why would you help us?” Anders asked, still prepared to run or fight if the elf showed any sign of turning on them. One shout, that's all it would take, and they'd be as good as dead. Still, a part of him wanted to believe. If the elf really could aid them in some way…

“Because I was once human like you.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Anders found himself at a loss for words.

The creature before them had once been human? No. Not possible.

“How?” Anna asked. The elf turned his attention towards her and she stared back, confusion and pity pulling down the lines of her face.

No,
Anders's mind shouted while his mouth remained frozen.
Don't listen to him. It's a trick so you'll stay here until help arrives.

Except Anders had a feeling the elf wasn't playing a game with them.

“'Tis the dark magic of this land,” the elf said, his voice now filled with minor chords of sadness. “Years ago, I had the misfortune of being captured by the Hunt. Like many of the humans taken, the King's men put me to work as soon as we arrived in Winterwood. Only they never told me the awful truth until it was too late.”

“The awful truth about what?” Anna leaned forward. Despite his misgivings, Anders found himself caught up in the tale as well.

“The closing of the Veil.” The elf's tone grew even more somber, and beneath his thick eyebrows his eyes seemed to glisten with the tears of old sorrows. “Any humans in Winterwood when the solstice ends, they are changed by the magic of this land. Into this.” He patted his barrel chest.

The impact of the statement hit Anders immediately.

“You mean all of…?”

The elf nodded. “Aye. All those you see like me, the ones in the village, were once human. Taken from our homes and molded against our will. Pressed and twisted like dough, reshaped into the deformed thing standing before you.”

No one spoke for a moment, and then a thought came to Anders, one that he was afraid he already knew the answer to but still had to ask.

“You said those who were taken ended up like you. Do you mean just adults, or children too?”

The elf shook his head. “It makes no difference, I am sad to say. The moment the Veil closes, your humanity will be ripped from you and you'll be nothing but an ugly shell of your former self.” He squinted at Anders. “But then, I believe you know this isn't the greatest danger Winterwood poses.”

Anders shook his head. He knew well what the elf referred to, but he didn't want to accept it.

“Jesus, this is like a bad trip. There's something worse than being turned into a garden gnome?” Paul ran a hand through his already mussed hair. “I don't know if I want to hear it.”

“Quiet,” Anna said to him. “It has something to do with the children, doesn't it?”

The elf nodded. “I will tell you all you need to know. But linger too long we cannot. If you truly aim to find your missing kin, it must be done before this night ends.”

Anders looked at his daughter and Paul, with their red eyes and haggard expressions. While still hesitant to trust the earnest-seeming elf, he owed it to his family to do everything possible to get Jake and Nick back.

“Tell us.”

“Lucky you are for choosing my home to hide in.” The elf, who'd introduced himself as Ulaf, sat the table. As he spoke, he twisted and rubbed his stubby finger in nervous fashion. “Had it been any other, prisoners by now you would be.”