Winterwood Read online

  “I can’t let you go before you tell me.” Anders gasped out the words. His heart danced a rapid beat, and he prayed it wouldn’t give out before he could bring Nick and Jake back from the other side of winter’s curtain.

  “What the hell is going— Oh my God!”

  Anders looked up, his attention diverted by Anna’s shout. The Yule Elf took advantage of his momentary distraction, slipping free and jumping to his feet. Instead of trying to catch him again, Anders wedged himself against the door, preventing the elf from pulling it open. The door rattled each time the Yule Goat’s hooves struck it, sending painful vibrations up Anders’s back and shoulders, but he kept his weight on it. With a sigh, the elf stepped away.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  Paul Willis had joined his wife at the kitchen’s entrance. Both still wore the same clothes from earlier in the evening. Their faces showed duplicate expressions of shock, wide eyes and open mouths creating dark circles against pale flesh.

  “The Julenissen.” Anders managed to get the word out between deep, wheezing breaths.

  “There’s no such thing,” Anna whispered, staring at the elf, who glowered back with narrowed eyes. Outside, the goat bleated and stamped its hooves in frustration. “No such thing. I must be dreaming.”

  The elf turned his angry gaze back at Anders. “Still, this trip you desire to make.”

  Anders nodded, fighting for breath.

  “Then you shall have your door.” His mouth twisted into a humorless smile, the Yule Elf raised his tiny, gloved hands and a bitter wind roared through the kitchen.

  “But be fair warned, foolish man.” The Yule Elf had to shout to be heard over the miniature storm. “The Holly King will eat your flesh and suck the marrow from your bones if he catches you in his land. So be quick with your task or none might return.”

  The wind increased and the lights went out. Anders heard his daughter call for help and then he was falling backwards, the door behind him gone, everything gone. He cried out, his shouts joining Anna’s and Paul’s, and closed his eyes against the furious wind.

  Which abruptly stopped, replaced by a bitter cold much worse than the winter night he’d just left. He opened his eyes and found he lay on a bed of snow. Evergreen trees, larger than any he’d ever seen, towered over him, painted in silver and black by an enormous moon that seemed close enough to touch. The odors of pine, mountain air and burning wood scented each breath he took and woke an intense homesickness for his childhood. Without even sitting up, he knew he’d reached his goal.

  Winterwood.

  Anders pushed himself to his knees. Every bone ached, but he ignored the pain. Either there’d be time to heal and rest later, or it wouldn’t matter. The important thing now was to get out of the snow and find his way to the boys.

  Someone coughed behind him and he froze, thinking he’d already been caught. Then a muttered curse stole one fear and replaced it with another. He turned, praying to be wrong.

  He wasn’t.

  Anna and Paul lay in the snow, just regaining their senses after their trip through the Veil.

  The elf’s revenge for what I forced him to do. Or maybe not his fault, Anders amended his thought. Perhaps the doorway takes everyone within a certain distance.

  Either way, he now had an additional problem. What to do with his daughter and son-in-law while he searched for Jake and Nick. The urgency of it compounded when he saw that neither of them wore coats. In the frigid temperatures of the forest, their clothes wouldn’t be enough protection. They’d die from exposure before too long.

  At least they’re wearing shoes.

  “Come, we must get you somewhere warm,” he said, helping Anna to her feet.

  Although he wobbled a bit, Paul rose on his own and didn’t pass out as he took in the unexpected sight of the skyscraper-high trees surrounding them.

  “Where are we?” Anna asked, her arms wrapped around her chest.

  “Winterwood,” Anders said, slapping the snow off her back.

  Anna gasped. “That’s not possible. How—”

  “There’s no time for explanations right now.”

  “What the fuck is Winterwood?” Paul’s voice rose with each word, taking on a hysterical note.

  “Quiet!” Anders guided them behind a nearby tree. So far, the noise hadn’t attracted any attention, but that could change at any moment. “We must find shelter before you both freeze to death.” He’d noticed his son-in-law had already started shivering. Unlike Anna, who at least wore a heavy sweater, Paul only had on a cotton turtleneck to protect him from the elements.

  Anders glanced around and saw they’d ended up in the middle of a long, wide road that carved through the forest. A few yards to their left, a wide, shimmering square stretched across the path and stood ten feet high. To their right, the path led deeper into the woods.

  “This way,” Anders said, pointing in the direction away from the Veil. “Hurry. We haven’t much time.”

  Very aware that the clock had begun ticking, Anders headed off, doing his best to kick up the ankle-deep snow as he walked, not only to make it easier for Anna and Paul to walk in their low-cut shoes, but to create a trail they’d be able to follow when they returned. Behind him, Anna and Paul hurried to keep up, their arms wrapped around each other for warmth.

  “Dad, wait. Where are you—?”

  Anders turned and let some of his frustration escape. “Hush, for gottverdammt’s sake. If they find us, they will kill us. And you’ll never see your children again.” He put his back to them and continued walking. Their questions would have to wait. He still had no idea what they’d find at the end of the road, or how he would rescue the children. He only knew that in less than six hours, the Veil would close for another year.

  And that meant certain death for all of them.

  Trudging through the snow, with the trees all around and the night silent as a church, Anders could almost imagine he’d been transported to the Black Forest of his childhood, back to a time when it hadn’t yet devolved into a tourist destination for the rich and arrogant and when winter meant an endless supply of snow to play in and meat pies, sausage and sweet pastries to feast on.

  All good things, but always lurking in the deepest shadows were the dangers to beware of. His hand went automatically to his left side where the scars served as a permanent reminder that what most people called legends or fairy tales were in fact warnings to be heeded.

  And now they were heading right into the heart of those legends.

  Ahead of them, the path widened and angled down a gradual slope. Sitting at the bottom of the slight hill was the most incredible sight. A village, but one like nothing else in the world.

  All the houses and buildings had been carved from living trees whose trunks were wider than a two-car garage. Two stories, three stories tall, the homes had shuttered windows and oval doors and balconies whose intricate woodwork reminded Anders of his childhood home. Towering bonfires placed around the outskirts of the clearing created a mad, flickering glow that illuminated the buildings and made the shadows dance with wild abandon. Similar fires blazed at strategic points throughout the village.

  Closer to the village proper, the tree houses grew less frequent and shops of various kinds took their place. Anders made out stables and a blacksmith and a bakery, all tended by tiny figures in peaked hats. More of the elfin men and women hurried through narrow, muddy streets and alleys between the trees, some laden with sacks or baskets, others herding poorly dressed individuals or dashing from place to place on mysterious errands.

  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.”