The Twistrose Key

by Tone Almhjell

  The pillow crackled.

  “There’s something inside!” She extracted a piece of paper that had first been crumpled, then smoothed out and folded carefully. It was a letter dated July 19. Or rather, it was the draft to a letter, because several words and the entire last part were crossed out, and there was no signature.

  July 19

  My dear colleagues,

  Nearly seven years have passed since Clariselyn Winterfyrst disappeared, and all our efforts to find her have failed. We must accept the grim truth: Isvan Winterfyrst is now our only hope.

  The boy continues to grow into a bright young man. But, though I have taken every precaution to protect him from undue heat and influence, the Winterfyrst magic we hoped would surface has not manifested. Before Wanderer’s Eve, Isvan must learn how to conjure the snow, or I do not know what will become of us.

  I implore you. If you have any solution to the Winterfyrst plight, now is the moment to speak. For every day that goes by, Isvan becomes more restless. I fear I may not be able to control . . .

  Rufus scratched his ear. “The letter is in Teodor’s hand. I know that much from all my copy work at the House. What does he mean by the Winterfyrst plight?”

  “I’m not sure,” Lin said. “But we were right about Isvan’s mother. She went missing as well. A whole family, just gone.”

  The Winterfyrsts smiled after them as they left the room.

  • • •

  “I have to say I think it’s cruel to leave him here all alone,” Rufus said as they walked down the stairs. “I wouldn’t put it past Teodor, but the rest of the town?”

  Lin ached in sympathy, too. Or perhaps it was the unpleasant sense of discord she had felt as they first arrived. It was more pronounced in the purple-tinged hall than in the rest of the mansion, and as she stopped in the middle of the room, it grew to a low-pitched whine that clenched at her temples.

  “Rufus! Do you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “I don’t know. There’s this weird noise. Maybe it’s some sort of echo.”

  Under the ceiling, the cloud of dangling icicles pointed directly toward Lin’s face. She took a quick step to the left. And then she saw what she had been standing on.

  There was an image carved into the floor.

  It was the size of her palm and shaped like three narrow leaves covered in tiny symbols of spiraling curls and spiked dots. Lin recognized the mark. It was the same as the engraving on the table clock in Teodor’s library. There was a difference, though, one that made Lin’s hairs stand on end. A crack ran through the carving, tearing the symbols apart, and surrounding the three leaves was a jagged circle of deep, triangular cuts.

  Someone had bitten into the ice with impossibly long and sharp teeth.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rufus closed the thorny gate behind them.

  “That was interesting,” he said as they wandered down the hill. “But we’re no closer to figuring out where Isvan has disappeared to.”

  “The neighbors might know something.” Lin glanced back at the forbidding wall that surrounded the frozen garden. It didn’t exactly encourage visitors. “If they’ve even been inside the gate. I thought you said the Sylver Pact makes sure everyone here lives in peace and tolerance. Why would the Winterfyrsts need a wall?”

  “Here.” Rufus rolled out his map, pointing to the snow crystal. “On the old map where I found this, the Hall of Winter was the only thing on the Pawfields side of the river. No streets, no bridges. If the mansion was built before the border was closed, they would have needed some extra protection.” He twirled his whiskers. “But you’re right. The Pawfielders might know something. And remember those big tracks we saw on the pathway? I have a theory on who made those.” He rolled the map back up. “Come on. Let’s go for a visit.”

  He took Lin to a Pawfields street of ramshackle sheds and big yards near the river. “I’ve actually been here before,” Rufus said. “On House business. And come to think of it, it makes sense for Isvan to know Ursa Minor. They’re both outsiders, and they’re both . . .”

  A gigantic crash like an avalanche of dinner plates shattered the rest of the sentence. The noise rolled toward them from a timber cottage with a broad door under the sign of a crude china pot. Inside the cottage a voice roared, so deep and savage that Lin fought the urge to run.

  “Oh, no,” Rufus said. “Not again. Not now!”

  “What was that?”

  “The Ursa. Let me put it this way: not all Sylverings are as lucky as me. See these?” He wriggled his fingers, big-knuckled and nimble. “They’re even more useful than they were before. Rodents have them. Beaks and Felines, too. But not all of us are as lucky. Some, Canines mostly, have rather clumsy paws. And the Ursa is more challenged than most.” He gave the cottage a worried look. “Well, his timing is predictably horrible. Poor man. I think you had better wait outside.”

  Lin took up position by a window, through which she could see a warmly lit room with a terrific mess on the floor—a big, knocked-over shelf and heaps of broken porcelain.

  Rufus breathed in her ear. “And stay upwind! Minor has a sharp nose.”

  With a wink, he skipped to the door and tore it open. “Ursa Minor! What the rats is going on?”

  Something moved between two shelves, something big and brown. A paw.

  “I’m fine,” grunted the owner of the paw as he emerged from under the debris. It was a bear, a huge bear, with a large snout and small, close-set eyes.

  Lin had never seen a bear before. There had been the occasional sighting in the Summerhill mountains, and once a cub and his mother had broken into Uncle Anders’s hunting cabin and drunk all the beer. But they always stayed as far away from people as they could, and all hikers and farmers returned the favor. What manner of weird happenstance had let a child form a bond with an actual bear? Lin would have been terrified if there weren’t a teapot spout perched between Minor’s ears.

  “Are any of the teapots unbroken?” he rumbled.

  Rufus bent down to peep under the shelf.

  “No such luck, I’m afraid.”

  The Wilder hung his head. The spout fell to the floor and broke in half.

  “I guess I wasn’t meant to be a teapot painter.”

  “I guess not,” Rufus said.

  “Just like I wasn’t meant to be a jewelry maker or a cake decorator.”

  “I’m sorry, Minor.”

  “I wonder what they will say at the House. They’ve been so kind and I just keep breaking things. Rufus, do you think they’ll be mad?”

  Rufus shook his head. “They’ll understand. But Minor, you don’t have to live in town if you don’t want to. Many Wilders prefer the woods.”

  “My Sarah always said I was just as civilized as any dog,” said Minor, pushing his muzzle up.

  “Of course you are, but . . .”

  Minor’s nostrils flared, and he reared his head stiffly toward Lin’s window. She stepped to the side, pressing against the timber wall and holding her breath so the frozen puffs wouldn’t give her away. Heavy, crunching footsteps approached behind the wall.

  “I thought I saw . . .” The Ursa pressed his snout to the pane, fogging the glass with huge snorts. When he spoke, Lin felt the tremors in the wall. “I thought I saw Isvan. But he wouldn’t lurk around outside and not show his face. Not after all this time.”

  Lin heard Rufus trying very hard, and not quite managing to sound casual. “Isvan, did you say? I was just up on the hill to visit him.”

  The Wilder rumbled softly and moved away. Lin risked peeking back in.

  “No point in that,” Minor said. “He’s gone. Has been for a while. I’ve been up to his house several times, but no one answers the door. I even asked around Pawfields. None of the locals have seen him either.” He brought out a gigantic knapsack and began swee
ping armfuls of crockery into its mouth. “I’m not surprised, mind you. They don’t know him very well. They don’t understand what he says.”

  “What do you mean?” Rufus asked.

  “Isvan can’t speak properly,” Minor said. “Not like people, with words and stuff. It’s all peep-this, swoosh-that, and whistlewind-here. It doesn’t bother me, but it’s not for everyone.”

  Lin bit her lip. Isvan couldn’t speak!

  “Doesn’t he have any other friends?” Rufus asked.

  “He spends a lot of time at the Waffleheart. Or outside the Waffleheart, I should say. It’s too hot for him inside. Anyway, he probably knows some of the regulars there, those that have thick enough fur to stand being near him. And there’s old Teodor. He used to visit often, but he must have been busy these past few months.”

  “Must have been,” Rufus muttered.

  Minor swept the last heap of broken pots into the sack and lifted it over to the door. “There we go!” He straightened a curtain that had been thrown over the rod and lifted up the last, dented chair. “A nice, clean den, just right for a nap. Can I offer you some honey, Rufus, straight from the tin and no nonsense?”

  “Maybe later,” Rufus said, eyeing the encrusted wooden spoons on the counter. “I should run along.”

  “Good! You young kids should be out playing in the snow. I’m always telling Isvan that he should get his hair messy and wipe his snot on his sleeve, like my human girl always did. Bears or no bears, my Sarah was the true terror of the reserve.” He snorted repeatedly, and Lin realized it was a fond laugh. “But Isvan is a different sort. When he isn’t over at the Waffleheart, he just mopes about in his house. Telescopes are all well and good, but they only show things that are far away, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know exactly what you mean,” Rufus said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with drawing, either, but it won’t bring roses to your cheeks. He’s good at it, though. Want to see?”

  “You have one of his drawings?”

  “Right here on the door.”

  Lin heard them moving closer to the doorway. There was a faint whisper that might be Rufus’s tail sweeping over the floorboards. Minor grunted. “It’s a little melancholy, but I like it anyway. That lad can draw a face.”

  “It’s very pretty,” Rufus said, but there was a strained note in his voice.

  “He tried giving me a letter first, but I can’t read. He blew and wailed, but I didn’t understand that either. After a while he came back with this. That’s the last time I saw him.” Minor cleared his throat. “I’d better get rid of the broken pots. Please have some honey, Rufus! You can stay as long as you like.”

  Lin pressed herself against the wall once more, but there was no need. The Wilder hoisted the sack up on his shoulder, and with a “See you in the Square tonight,” he walked right past Lin and down the street.

  “Lin,” Rufus breathed when the bear had passed out of hearing range. “Come here. You have to see this for yourself.”

  The drawing on Minor’s door was a portrait of a messy-haired girl with wide, dark eyes. She resembled Isvan a little, but she looked even more like Lin.

  “Maybe it’s a Winterfyrst relative,” Rufus suggested.

  “Maybe,” Lin said, but she didn’t think so.

  And the portrait girl looked nothing short of terrified.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  They didn’t speak much as they made their way to the Waffleheart, Isvan’s favorite café. Upon crossing the bridge to the center of Sylveros, the street became too busy for them to talk without being overheard. It became impossible to avoid close contact with the Sylverings, too. Twice a Canine stopped and sniffed the air as if he’d caught an unexpected scent. Lin hunched her shoulders, nervously searching the faces in the crowd from inside her hood. Rufus clicked his tongue and consulted his map again.

  “Let’s take a shortcut. There’s something I want you to see.”

  He led Lin away from Main Road and up a steep alley lined with colorful, narrow houses, all with triangular foundations and crooked steps. At the top of the hill, they turned into a small square lit up by flickering snow lights. Despite the many snowballs that must have been rolled there, the snow was perfect and untouched, and as they walked through the square, their tracks filled in, leaving the surface unblemished.

  “This is Eversnow Square,” Rufus said. “In my opinion the most beautiful spot in all of Sylveros. Come on. I want you to meet the family.” He steered Lin toward a group of tall, unmoving figures in the middle.

  They were statues of human children, seven of them, on bases wreathed in vines of stone, all bearing thorned keys.

  Twistroses.

  Rufus stopped in front of two girls who shared a base, holding hands. “Tiril and Aurora Helland. They were here together.”

  Lin stared up at the girls. They each carried a sword. “Did they solve their task?”

  “Yes. If you don’t, you don’t get a statue.” He grinned at her expression. “Never fear. You’ll have yours. I’m convinced of it.”

  Lin snorted. “Well, I’m glad one of us is.”

  Rufus gave her a careful, almost nervous look. “Lin. I have to talk to you about something. I’ve watched you. I know you’re not happy in Oldtown. All those hours by the rosebush . . .”

  “How do you know about that?”

  Rufus swished his tail, annoyed with himself. “No, I’m not saying this right. Here.” He took her hand and dragged her over to the next Twistrose, a skinny boy of Lin’s age. Someone had removed the snow from his frail form, and from the plaque, which said “Balthasar Lucke. 1935.” At his feet, a single rose lay withering. “He gets a new one every week.”

  “They still remember him,” Lin whispered.

  “You don’t understand,” Rufus said. “They remember all of them. The seven Twistrose legends are told most nights at the Burning Bird. Like this one.” He tugged her over to a statue of a tall, cleft-jawed girl. “Julia Wallin. She arrived in the middle of the Fimbulstorm of 1867, and even though all the paths were closed, she got word across the mountains that Sylver was in need. The snow clearers’ honor badge is named for her. She is still beloved.”

  “What about their Petlings?” Lin asked. “Didn’t they get statues?”

  “Their Petlings didn’t need statues. They had already had their greatest wish fulfilled.” Rufus took a deep breath. “Lin. When your Twistrose task is completed, I was kind of hoping that you could maybe stay.”

  Lin turned to him, confused. “You mean not go through the Wandergate?”

  “Just for a little while.” Rufus clutched his scarf. “You will be a hero here. And we could see the Realms together! Find out if those maps are any good.”

  Lin Rosenquist, a living legend, traveling with her best friend! She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of it. And time moved so slowly in Sylver. If she could just stay for a month or two . . .

  She shook her head. “Nothing could be more wonderful, but Teodor said the Wandergate was my only chance at getting home.”

  “There is another way back,” Rufus said. “Look at the plaques. Some Twistroses were here in years when there was no Wanderer. The legends don’t say how they got back, but they must have.”

  “I don’t know,” Lin said. “What if the other way is closed or lost?”

  “It isn’t. I’m convinced of that, too.” He looked up and smiled bravely. “We don’t have to decide right away. We have a Winterfyrst to save first anyway. But please think about it?”

  As they turned to cross the magical snow in the square, Lin thought he limped more than usual, though he sounded chipper. “Now,” he said. “How would you like to sample a special Sylveros delight? Just smell that!”

  Lin sniffed the air. A sweet, buttery scent wafted through the air, and she was suddenly very aware that she ne
ver did get something to eat before she snuck into Mrs. Ichalar’s cellar. They chased the scent eagerly until they reached a small park with naked trees. On the other side of the park there was a green house with large, frosty windows, and as they drew close, they saw the golden letters on the panes: THE WAFFLEHEART.

  “This time, I think it’s safe for you to come inside,” Rufus said. “The waffle scent should drown out yours. And freshers really do act weird right after they’ve arrived, so I think you can get away with keeping your hood up in there. Besides, I don’t want you to miss out on every good thing that Sylveros has to offer.”

  They hardly had time to climb the stairs before the white door flew open and the doorway was filled by the fattest hamster Lin had ever seen. Below his short, chubby arms there were great rolls of flesh covered in creamy fur. Between the fourth and the fifth roll a red apron stuck out like a besieged handkerchief. When he spied Lin, his round chin dropped.

  “Oh!” he exclaimed after a moment, peering at Lin with unmistakable disappointment. “I thought you were someone I knew.”

  “Not possible,” Rufus laughed, loud enough for his voice to carry into the café. “Unless you know the freshest of freshers. We haven’t even gotten a name out of her yet. I’m showing her around to help her settle, and I thought your waffles might do the trick!”

  The hamster recovered his smile and put out his paw, which was pink and very small compared to the rest of him. Lin shook it, but she kept her mittens on to conceal her hand.

  “Welcome, dear! Welcome to the Waffleheart. Pomeroy is my name, and waffles are my art form. Would you like your hearts with jam? Hard cheese, brown cheese, no cheese? Honey, cream, or lemon? I’ve got everything you can think of!”

  He stepped aside, quite daintily for a fellow his size, and ushered them into the warm café, where a mouthwatering fog thickened the air. A counter ran along the back, heaped with jars of fresh strawberries, raspberry jam, golden treacle, and sugar. Behind it, waffle irons were heating up in the embers of a long, slim hearth. As Lin and Rufus entered, the other guests stared at them curiously, particularly a blue-eyed Feline with white fur and very long whiskers. She gave her napkin to the Saint Bernard at her table. He had slobbered on his plate.