The Winter Place

by Alexander Yates

  The reason Axel couldn’t tell exactly how long they were lost was that time didn’t really exist on the path. That’s not to say that everything stood still. Clouds still blew from one end of the sky to the other; it rained and it stopped raining; Axel would get hungry and eat, and later on he would be hungry again. Time passed. But that passing didn’t mean a whole lot without being tied down to a specific place. And Axel had misjudged how disorienting it would be to slip from wood to wood, playing hopscotch across the light and dark sides of the planet. He realized, too late, that it was impossible to keep track of time without a watch or a cell phone. The sun burned high one minute, was gone the next, and set sluggishly moments later, like jet lag in a centrifuge. So they stopped and rested when they needed to rest, and they slept when they could no longer help themselves. Tiny days passed in truncated segments; who could say how many of them?

  The fact that it was coming up on winter helped a little—even the slightest trace of snow was a clear sign they were going the wrong way. But it wasn’t enough. They came close once, stepping from Vermont to the Everglades, only to turn a corner in the bush and come upon the Mud Lake visitors’ center again, the glass double doors still shattered. Another time, after hitting a solidly Florida-like vein of muggy warmth, Axel found himself on the banks of a brown stream choked with sleeping hippos and bald-headed storks. Must have taken a wrong turn at the baobab back there. It would have been awesome if the journey was the point, but it wasn’t. Axel’s dad was out there, somewhere, and he wasn’t about to rest until they found him.

  His traveling companions didn’t do much to make the time fly, either. You’d think that a major upside to a foot journey with your long-dead mother would be the chance for a little conversation. The chance to get answers to niggling questions, such as: Mom, what’s up with the whole secret-grandparents-in-Finland thing? Or: Mom, how to put this . . . ? Having me killed you, didn’t it? But Axel had no such luck. For one thing, Saara didn’t answer to “Mom,” no matter what form she was in. And for another, she was hardly motherly. Saara was a bear, full of hunger and want, usually stinking of whatever it was she’d just scavenged—garbage or beehive or half-rotten deer. The Keeper was no better. He’d been quiet and gloomy since what happened back at Mud Lake, limping along with his eyes on his boots. He only ever perked up when they heard the Hiisi shambling in the distance, which happened more often than Axel would have liked. The monster had been following them since Baldwin, always lingering just out of sight, making its presence known by the terrified birds that it sent hollering into the sky.

  It was evening—or at least it was evening in whatever part of the world they’d just stumbled onto—when the Hiisi finally showed itself. The path had led them to an old rockfall of split granite, overlaid with lichen and yellowing scrub. With no way to go around the slope, they decided to climb, scrambling up the stones as the sun set into their faces. It wasn’t steep, but it was slow going, the Keeper prodding each stone with his stick before setting a foot down. They were nearly at the top when they began to hear noises up there—the crumble and tumble of loose rocks. Saara’s nostrils flared, her head bobbing as she tried to catch a scent. Axel had been using Sam’s sword as a walking stick, but he raised it now, holding it between himself and whatever was on top of the rise. Then it appeared, a silhouette against the setting sun. The Hiisi sashayed lightly from side to side, its bright mouth crackling. Smoke poured off it, trickling down the granite slope like fog out of an open freezer.

  “I think we should go back down,” Saara said.

  Difficult to argue with that wisdom. They turned and began to pick their way down the rockfall, keeping an eye over their shoulders. The Hiisi seemed content to just watch. When they got back down to the base of the hill, they found the woods from which they’d come to be completely transformed. There was ice underfoot, and the air was so cold that it felt solid. Up ahead there was a stone archway and beyond that a stand of bluish spruce. “This is fantastic,” the Keeper said, applauding limply, too exhausted to fully commit to his own sarcasm. “This is exactly where we want to be. Absolutely.”

  Axel glanced back the way they’d come and saw that the rocky hill was growing steeper. The granite shook itself free of grass and lichen, the slope leaning farther and farther forward until it was standing upright. It took Axel a moment to understand that he was looking at the sheer wall of Erikinlinna. They’d come the fullest of full circles, back to Talvijärvi. He couldn’t shake the strange feeling that the Hiisi had herded them here.

  “It isn’t right,” said a voice, in Finnish. It would have made Axel jump out of his skin if he weren’t already so keyed up. It sounded like the voice had come from just outside the castle. Axel crept across the snow and peeked around the ruined archway. There were two men out there, seated on a bench at the far end of the covered picnic area. Both were outfitted in survival gear and neon vests. They each held wooden mugs up to their hooded faces, the steam freezing in their mustaches. After a long pause, the one who had spoken continued. “They should at least be honest with the girl.”

  His companion took his time to answer, sipping loudly on whatever was in his mug. “Perhaps they have been,” he said.

  “You know they haven’t,” the first man said. “You saw her face. She hasn’t even considered the possibility.”

  The men were wearing skis, the back halves jutting beneath the bench. Axel glanced out across the much-disturbed snow, where telltale tracks were everywhere. Two grooves, straight as train rails, dotted on either side by the punch holes of ski poles. A lot of people had been through these woods. A lot of people, searching for him.

  “I suppose,” said the second man. In true Finnish fashion, he seemed to want to use as few words as possible. Nevertheless, their gossip was achieved.

  “And how’s she going to feel if he doesn’t turn up? Or, heaven forbid . . .”

  The second man nodded to spare his companion from having to complete the thought. “No worse,” he said.

  “No worse?”

  “No worse than if she’d been braced for it.” The second man polished off whatever was in his wooden mug. “That’s not a thing you can soften. That’s as bad as it ever gets.” Only then did it dawn on Axel that these two men were talking about his sister—about how she’d feel if no one found him. Or rather, when.

  The Keeper joined him at the edge of the archway. “Stick around long enough, and maybe we can go to your funeral,” he whispered. The men on the bench clammed up and looked at each other, cocking their ears into the air.

  “What?” the Keeper said, apparently too exhausted to care that he’d almost given them away. “I went to mine. More fun than you’d think.”

  “Is someone there?” the first man called. He must have forgotten that his skis were still wedged under the bench, because when he stood, they got tangled up, sending him tumbling forward. His companion rose to help him.

  “Shush,” Saara said, approaching as quietly as she could, the snow squealing under her pads.

  “Hello?” the first man hollered. He was back on his feet now, held at the elbows by his friend. “Mrs. Kivi, is that you?”

  “Lucky guess,” the Keeper whispered. “But not the one they’re thinking of.”

  “I said shut up!” Saara wagged her head up at the castle roof. “It’s still here.”

  She was talking about the Hiisi. Axel turned and saw it perched atop the stove-in tower like some kind of magnificently ugly crow, its mouth spilling light down the walls. As though it had ridden the crest of the hill like a wave. The men couldn’t seem to see it, but they clearly heard the noises it was making. The Hiisi shifted on its perch, sending chunks of stone tumbling down the tower walls. They landed in the courtyard with a series of big, echoing thuds—clearly the Hiisi was doing this on purpose. The men in the neon vests kicked their way out of the picnic area and began to approach the castle. “Hello?” they called again. Then, more tentatively, one of them said: “Axel? Axel
Fortune?”

  “Bother,” the Keeper whispered, glancing back into the ruins. But he must have known there was no other way out—Axel had been there only twice before, and he even knew it.

  The men continued to approach the castle archway. One of them put a hand on a little radio affixed to his shoulder. “We’re hearing some movement at Erikinlinna,” he said into the mouthpiece. “Stand by, please.”

  At this the Keeper fell to his knees. He pulled a little bottle of schnapps from one of his pockets and proceeded to empty about half of it all over himself. Then he gathered up a big fistful of snow and poured the rest of the schnapps into that. He looked Axel right in the face. “Don’t ever tell me that I didn’t sacrifice for you,” the Keeper said. Then he stood, pulled the back of his duster up and over his head, and charged out of the courtyard like a madman. Axel could see the Keeper wheel back and throw his boozy snowball, striking one of the two men square in the nose and knocking him back onto his butt.

  “Not in my house!” the Keeper hollered. “And on Christmas?”

  Still screaming, the old man scampered insanely into the forest. The two searchers were so shocked that it took them a second to respond. But when they finally did, they were quick about it. The one with the radio called in to ask for help rounding up a drunk in the woods. Then they skied out into the dark after him, leaving Axel and his mother alone inside the ruins.

  The Hiisi watched all of this silently from its perch atop the tower. Then the saplings that filled the courtyard began to twirl, barking with the Hiisi’s voice.

  “Fools,” it said.

  The Hiisi leaped down off the tower, crashing through the roof of the covered picnic area. The wooden pillars exploded, and the eaves folded in, catapulting rinds of curdled snow against the castle walls and into the boughs of nearby trees. For a moment they couldn’t see the Hiisi, but they could hear it in there, slipping on the snow-strewn floor, smashing into tables, gathering itself back together. A moment later the Hiisi rolled out of the wreckage, clicking and ticking, licking its chops.

  “We need to go too,” Saara said.

  Axel and his mother raced into the woods, careful to go in a different direction from the way the Keeper had gone. They found the frozen lakeshore all dotted with lights from search parties, and twice they had to change course to avoid flashlight beams that came too close. When they finally arrived at the Kivis’ cottage, they found it dark against the star-filled sky, obviously empty. There was no place that Axel wanted to go less than that, but the Hiisi gave them little choice. They could hear it sizzle and hiss just a few steps behind. It had eyes only for Axel. It had no eyes at all.

  They tumbled into the cottage, Saara’s massive body crushing the air from Axel’s lungs as she rolled over him. She fumblingly tried to shut the door behind them with her claws, and Axel, still gasping for air, had to help her latch the dead bolt. Saara leaned her bulk against the shuttered door, and they waited. Axel strained his ears, but there was no sound other than the mingled huff of their breathing. And then, from the other side of the cottage, the oiled swish of hinges.

  They’d forgotten about the back door. It was, fittingly and horribly, the one with the ramp. The one made to accommodate wheelchairs. Axel turned to see the door swing wide, filled with the Hiisi’s nothing guts. It reached a long arm—or something very like an arm, formless and precise as the dark—across the living room. Axel tried to wriggle away, but the Hiisi sensed his movement. It groped frantically, overturning chairs and sending books bouncing against the low ceiling. Saara just stared, utterly useless. Axel’s hand fell to his belt and discovered, almost to his own surprise, the hilt of his father’s sword. He unsheathed it and struck down as hard as he could. It passed through the Hiisi like it was nothing but air. Still, the monster trumpeted awfully, and as it lurched away, Axel followed it to the back door, slamming it shut. The Hiisi hollered again, thrashing around by the sauna. Then, bit by bit, it quieted down.

  They waited. Axel went to check the windows, but all he could see were lights in the distance. A minute passed and then another. Saara began to fret and groan. She tried to get her broad grizzly rear onto the couch and succeeded only in pushing it against the far wall. She stayed like that, half of her butt lifted up onto the couch, mean little ears twitching with agitation.

  They kept waiting. Saara glanced about, taking in the sight of her childhood summer cottage like it was a place she’d never been to. Axel looked around too. The cottage appeared to be pretty much as he’d left it. The muddy ash was still frozen in the fireplace, and his stripped bedding lay exactly where he’d dropped it on the floor. There were plenty of people out searching for him, but it was clear that none of them were sleeping here. Axel went to one of the east windows and gazed down shore at the Hannula house. It was like someone had doused the place in gasoline—hot and bright and ugly. He could see silhouettes moving behind the curtains. Even at this distance Axel could tell that one of them was Otso.

  “This is where we met,” Saara said, apropos of nothing whatsoever.

  Axel turned to her. For a moment it seemed as though this might be the beginning and the end of what his mother intended to share. “You and Dad,” he said, hoping to prod her. “You and Sam.”

  Just the utterance of his father’s name seemed to have a physical effect on Saara. “Sam,” she said. “Sam,” like the word was water and she was parched. “He was in Talvijärvi for the summer. He was in the trees, up high in the trees. He didn’t have the words.” She pressed her tiny eyes closed, her lips curling back over her teeth. It seemed like she, and not Sam, was the one who needed words.

  Axel gave her a moment.

  “He was collecting samples,” Saara said, her eyes still closed. “I had gone out for a walk, and I thought I was alone. Because why would anyone be up there? But when I stopped in some bushes to pee, I heard a noise. It sounded like a person. ‘I’m in here!’ I called. Sam didn’t know what I was saying—he didn’t have the words. He yelled back to me, and it made no sense. I spoke English, but I just didn’t think . . . Why would someone in the trees be yelling English at me? ‘I’m in here!’ I said. ‘Don’t come here!’ Sam thought that I was in trouble. That I needed help. We were just yelling and yelling and yelling. ‘Keep away!’ ‘Here I come!’ ” Saara drifted. Her little eyes popped open again.

  “I think that you should stay here,” she said, as if this thought were somehow connected to the ones that had come before it. It took Axel a moment to understand her meaning. “You should go back to them.”

  “I don’t want to,” Axel said. He didn’t mean to sound so hesitant and wimpy. So he said it again. “I don’t want to stay here.”

  Saara turned her head sideways, bestial and inquisitive. For the first time since Axel had met her, every bit of Saara’s attention seemed to be focused squarely on him. The couch groaned beneath her. “Aren’t you homesick?”

  “Not for here,” Axel said. He turned back to the window so that he wouldn’t have to keep looking at her, resting his elbows on the sill. There was a flickering streak in the distance—a pair of flashlights moving quickly on the frozen shore. “Besides, you won’t be able to find Sam without me,” he said.

  “Yes, I will,” his mother answered flatly. “I’ve got forever.”

  “But I want to find him. I want to find him, too.”

  “He isn’t yours to find.” Saara sounded aghast at the possibility that Axel didn’t already know this. “He’s mine. And even when we do find him, there’s nothing that your father can give you. Not anymore. There’s nothing I can give you, either.” Axel may have been kidding himself, but he thought he could detect a trace of regret in her voice. “You need to understand this,” Saara said. “It doesn’t mean I didn’t love you when I was alive. It doesn’t mean that I wasn’t so, so excited to meet you. When I was alive. But I’m not anymore.”

  “But I don’t want anything from you,” Axel said. He caught himself getting a little frustrated
. “And besides, there’s nothing for me here. I don’t even know who I’m supposed to be here.”

  “Won’t you have to find out, sooner or later?”

  “Says who?”

  His mother was quiet for a moment, as if she were giving this petulant question more consideration than it deserved. Then she harrumphed, a wet, warm sound. “Says nobody, I guess. Do what you want.”

  They spoke no more after that. The cottage fell into silence, save the occasional hollering of Axel’s name, drifting in from the trees. Had that been Tess’s voice, or Jaana’s? It was a rotten thing that Axel had done to them—he knew that. They’d be sad. Axel didn’t kid himself; they’d be devastated. But they’d get over it.

  Eventually Saara got up and began pacing again, eager to get outside and continue the search. Axel was eager, too. He was afraid that if they stayed here much longer, he might lose his nerve. How easy it would have been to just open the door and take the short walk over to the Hannula house. Otso would let him inside, and everybody would scold him, and they’d all weep for joy. Axel decided that there was only one way to keep going. He found a piece of doodled-on paper on the dining room table and a pen in one of Jaana’s drawers. It was a short note, but it took surprisingly long to write. When Axel signed the bottom, it was as good as a contract. He was never coming back here.