SoYun took a shuddery breath. “A few days ago, I noticed he had a sprinkle of white hairs, which wasn’t too strange. He’s getting up there in age. But then, the next morning, the white increased pretty dramatically, until he was as you see him now.”
Elsa raised her eyebrows, as if to say, That’s it? Some white hair?
But Anna remembered when a lock of her own hair had turned white as a result of an accidental strike from Elsa’s ice magic when they were children.
SoYun tugged on the end of her long braid and bit her bottom lip. “But I wouldn’t have bothered you just because of that, Your Majesty. There’s…there’s more.”
“Like…?” Anna didn’t take her eyes off the figure of the sleeping bull, his great horns curved up to the sky in twin points.
“He’d been acting funny for a few days, too—at first it seemed like he was scared of something he couldn’t see, like a draug,” SoYun said, referencing a terrifying mythological zombie Anna had heard spoken of around castle bonfires. “And then,” SoYun continued, “he ran around the field until he broke into a panicked sweat, which seemed to turn his fur white. And finally, his pupils grew wide, huge, until his eyes were completely swallowed by inky black.” SoYun made her eyes wide as she looked at them. “And then he started groaning like he was in horrible pain, and fell down, until, at last, he slept.”
Anna exchanged a confused look with Elsa. Anna didn’t usually think of sleep as a bad thing. In fact, the more sleep she got, the better.
Elsa’s eyebrow quirked again. “Slept?” she asked.
“Yes,” SoYun nodded vigorously. “But not a usual sleep. A deep sleep. No matter what we do—yell, shake him, splash water on him—he won’t wake up. It’s been days. Which means he also hasn’t been eating.”
Now that SoYun had mentioned it, Anna could see the bull’s ribs jutting from its sides, the white fur making it far too easy to imagine him as a pile of bones bleached by the sun. Anna wrapped her fingers in Havski’s long silky mane—she didn’t know what she would do if something like that happened to him. At the same time, any thoughts Anna had about a connection between her once-white streak of hair and the blanched bull fell away. After all, when Elsa had turned her hair white, Anna had been in danger of turning to ice, not falling asleep.
SoYun looked from the bull to the girls, and a tear rolled down her cheek. “He’s fading away right in front of us—and the other cattle are showing similar symptoms, too!” SoYun gestured to a sweet-looking cow with long lashes, and eyes that moved back and forth like the pendulum in a grandfather clock. It was as if the cow was tracking something that wasn’t there. Or rather, tracking something invisible that only the cow could see.
“What if,” SoYun continued, “they all fall into the deep sleep, and then…” The fear in the girl’s voice was tangible and sharp.
Anna reached out and hugged her close. “They’ll be okay,” Anna said. “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way to help, won’t we, Elsa?”
Elsa reached out and patted SoYun’s shoulder a few times. “Yes. You did exactly right by coming to tell me.”
Me. That small word echoed through Anna’s whole body. There had been a time, she was sure, when Elsa would have said us.
Anna spun to Elsa. “I have an idea,” she whispered. “We should visit the trolls.” Though only as tall as Anna’s waist and covered in moss, the tiny mountain trolls were the most powerful creatures Anna knew. Grand Pabbie, the oldest and arguably the wisest troll, would sometimes use the aurora’s glow to show glimpses of what might be or, occasionally, to deal with all matters that could involve magic. If anyone could help SoYun and her cattle, Anna knew it was the trolls. Because as she had learned, when mysterious happenings occurred that raised questions, it was best to visit mystical creatures for answers.
Elsa smiled. “That’s a great idea, but I think we may only have time to look in the castle library. Why don’t we try that first? Remember what Father used to say.”
Anna scrunched up her face, trying to remember which of Father’s many sayings Elsa could be referring to. “‘Anna and Elsa, always lean on each other for help’?” she guessed.
A slight smile appeared on Elsa’s lips, though it was tinged with sadness. “He did say that. But he also said, ‘The past has a way of returning.’ We should find out if this has happened before, and at the very least, gather information that might be of use for the trolls.”
Elsa made an excellent point, and Anna was suddenly excited to check the library together. Both sisters enjoyed curling up with a good storybook there, but the library also held books about the histories of the kingdom, the royal family, and the townspeople. If any place in the castle had answers, it would be there.
“Does anything help with the symptoms?” Elsa asked SoYun.
SoYun, who’d knelt down to stroke Hebert’s nose, glanced up. “Mint seems to help them stay alert. The smell is sharp for their noses, but it doesn’t last for long.”
“Mint,” Elsa repeated. “I’ll make sure to write that down in the report. Remind me, Anna, won’t you?” After making sure they had taken in all there was to know regarding the symptoms, they bade their farewells to SoYun, Hebert, and the rest of the cattle.
As Anna hauled herself onto Havski, she called back, “Don’t worry, SoYun! We’ll fix this. I promise.”
——
Anna and Elsa spent the rest of the afternoon in the castle library. So far, absolutely nothing mentioned sick cattle ever falling into seemingly endless sleeps in all of Arendelle’s history. Which meant that there were no suggestions for a cure for the Blight, as Elsa had decided to call the sleeping sickness.
Elsa sat in the window seat, flipping through a book, while Anna sprawled out on the couch in front of the fire, lifting a book overhead to read. A sharp knock resounded throughout the library, followed by Kai’s urgent voice. “Your Majesty, are you in there?”
“I’m here, Kai!” Elsa called.
The ornate door slammed open, and the usually calm man entered looking flustered, his scarf undone instead of knotted neatly at his neck and his ruddy eyebrows knitted together. Anna’s heart sped up. As steward of the castle, Kai was a man of decorum and protocol. He always bowed when he greeted them, no matter how many times the sisters had begged him to stop. But not now.
“What’s wrong, Kai?” Elsa stood up from the window alcove and hurried toward him as Anna set down her book and bolted up from the couch.
“Grave news,” Kai gasped out, sounding as though he’d run to get there. “The Westens’ entire herd of goats have seemingly dropped down in the middle of the field, and they simply won’t wake up. The family is asking for you to come quickly, Your Majesty.”
Dread crept over Anna, and she turned to Elsa. “Do you think…?”
Elsa nodded. “It’s certainly possible. But we still haven’t found an answer.” She looked from the tall piles of books to the high, full bookcases, then back at Kai, clearly torn about what she should do next.
“You should go,” Anna urged her. “Just to make sure it’s the same thing.”
Elsa tugged at her fingers, a habit Anna knew was left over from the days when Elsa always wore silk gloves to repress her powers. Anna reached out to rest a hand on Elsa’s forearm. Startled, Elsa looked down and, realizing what she had been doing, gave Anna a small smile as if to thank her. She folded her hands neatly in front of her.
“If you’re worried,” Anna said, “we should divide and conquer. Send Kristoff and Sven to the trolls, since we haven’t found anything useful, and I’ll stay here to keep looking for answers. I can handle it.”
Still, Elsa hesitated, and Anna wondered why. Did Elsa not like her recommendation? Or did Elsa not trust her to handle this job? But at last, Elsa nodded, and relief settled over Anna as her sister said, “That’s a good idea. I’ll let Kristoff know before I go, but I promise I’ll come right back.” And with that, Elsa hurried out after Kai, leaving Anna to search for solutions on her
own.
Hours passed, and the wax from the candles cascaded onto the table in little pools, but Anna hardly noticed—she kept bouncing from book to book, trying to find answers…and failing. A gentle breeze twirled in from the open window, sending many of the open books’ pages fluttering, as well as scattering a sprinkle of goosebumps across Anna’s arm and stirring up the ash in the fireplace. Soon, that very same breeze would be filling Elsa’s sails to take her far, far away.
Travel by ship made Anna nervous. Seven years had passed since their parents had set out on a voyage to the Southern Sea that had been meant to last only two weeks, but had turned into forever. The days following the news had been the darkest of Anna’s life, and the nights had been worse. Sleep had been impossible. The insides of her eyelids were the color of the fathomless waves that she imagined took her parents. Sometimes, even now, her parents’ absence would startle her all over again, fresh and sudden as a bee sting. But as the years went by, the pain had become less immediate, old childhood nightmares faded, and she could remember her parents—her mother’s loving lullabies, her father’s teasing humor and tall tales—with joy.
Her reunion with Elsa had helped. When Elsa had shut herself away as a little girl, Anna was left with only her own memories of their parents. But since Elsa’s bedroom door had opened, Anna’s collection of stories about their parents had multiplied. And while the stories didn’t fill the hole in her heart, they did help smooth out the jagged edges.
She may not have her parents anymore, but she had her sister, and that was enough. Enough to make her wish Elsa wasn’t leaving her behind. She would be leaving her…unless Anna could prove her worth. Unless she could prove she was more than just the silly little girl who had talked to the portraits in the gallery and said yes to an offer of marriage to the evil (and thankfully now exiled) Prince Hans after less than twenty-four hours of knowing him. Anna knew Elsa valued her despite those things, but she still felt lingering insecurity.
Anna glanced at the stone statue of the horse that stood in the corner of the library as if it would have the answers they needed. But all it had were delicate stone seashells and starfish carved into its mane, and an angry expression on its face. It was an old statue, and Anna had been afraid of its bared teeth, its two front hooves furiously out in the air, and its blank eyes. Once, when she was four, she’d used up all of her mother’s cosmetics trying to make the horse look happier before her mother had discovered her and carried her out of the room, warning her not to touch the statue again. Young Anna was always being told not to touch things, like guitar strings, and oil paintings, and her father’s swords, and…
“Wow, what happened in here?”
Anna startled at the sound of the voice. Dragging her eyes away from the statue, she looked up to see the round shape of Olaf standing in the doorway.
As children, Elsa and Anna had made up stories about a snowman named Olaf with branches for arms and a carrot for a nose. Years later, on the day of Elsa’s coronation, Elsa had accidentally lost control of her ice powers and brought Olaf to life. Since then, he’d become the castle’s resident snowman and a member of the sisters’ family. He used to have a snow flurry hovering over his head that prevented him from melting, but since Elsa’s powers had grown and changed, she was able to do away with it and instead enchant him with a permafrost that served the same purpose. Now, Olaf’s eyes widened as he took in the library. Or rather, the mess in the library.
“It’s easier for me if I sort things into piles,” Anna explained, following his gaze to the towers of books scattered across the floor. She hadn’t realized how…enthusiastic she’d been when she’d pulled titles. There might actually have been more books on the floor than there were left on the shelves. It certainly wasn’t Elsa’s neat and methodical system, judging by the volumes Elsa had left standing in perfect stacks in the window alcove.
Olaf nodded. “That makes sense. When you build a snowman, you always have to start with piles. Unless you’re Elsa, of course.” He pointed. “Which ones are those?”
“Books about sicknesses,” Anna said. “The pile next to that is about animal anatomy, and the one next to that is about sleep.” Each title was bursting with possibilities.
Olaf moved to the last pile, his twiggy hair just visible over the stack. “And this massive one?”
“That’s my ‘to be read’ pile.”
“Oooh, it’s so much bigger than all the rest,” he observed.
Anna shrugged. She had set aside these books as not currently useful but interesting enough that she wanted to check them out later. Poems were great because of their beautiful imagery and brevity, but she also loved the thick tomes of artists through the ages. And, of course, there were novels where people found true love, or undertook a dangerous quest, or were reunited with loved ones lost.
Anna rubbed her eyes and adjusted the skirt of her dress, which had begun to bunch around her uncomfortably. “Where have you been?” she asked.
Olaf wandered from pile to pile. “The village library, listening to a lecture on Dante’s Inferno—the hotter the tale, the better.”
Anna smiled. After her first birthday party following Elsa’s eternal winter, Anna had taught Olaf how to read, and ever since, the snowman had become obsessed. He liked books of all sizes, but his favorites were the thick tomes on philosophy—and beach reads, which he so often insisted were just as important as the classics. Anna didn’t disagree.
“So, why are you rearranging the library, anyway?” Olaf asked.
Taking a deep breath, Anna quickly explained about SoYun and her cattle and how Elsa was out now, checking on the Westens’ goats.
“It seems that you could use some help,” Olaf said, straightening a coal button. “And in the wise words of many a philosopher, four eyeballs are better than three.”
“Is that what they say?” Anna asked, resting her head on her palm.
Olaf whipped out his favorite pair of ice spectacles, specially made for him by Elsa. “Indeed,” he said. “They also say to ‘start at the beginning.’ So, we’ll start with the letter B, for beginning.” He pointed, and Anna followed his scraggly finger to the middle shelf of the nearest bookshelf behind the horse statue.
“Sure,” Anna said. “You look at that while I finish this one.”
Olaf clambered onto a table beneath a portrait of King Agnarr’s coronation, then jumped onto the stone horse’s back. Carefully, he shimmied onto one of the rearing legs and pulled himself up, wobbling precariously from side to side. “Almost…” he said, reaching out.
Anna could see he was struggling, so she leapt up and hurried over to him.
“Just a little bit further—whoops!” There was a click followed by a great grinding, like the sound of gears turning on each other, as the horse’s rearing leg that Olaf stood on sank down like a lever. Dust swirled into the air, and Anna squeezed her eyes shut, turning her head away to avoid swallowing any more of the grime. And then…everything was still.
Everything was silent.
“Wow,” Olaf breathed. “Now that’s something you don’t see every day.”
Anna’s eyes flew open, and she gasped.
The bookcase behind the statue had swung inward like a door. No, not like a door. It was an actual door, opening to reveal an arched entryway and, beyond it, darkness. And maybe—just maybe—something that would hold answers and help Elsa figure out how to cure the Blight.
Squealing, Anna plunged into the secret room—and immediately crashed her shins against something. She winced. Whatever she’d hit was definitely going to leave a bruise. Why hadn’t she thought to grab a candle? Turning to head back, she saw Olaf waddling toward her, a candle in his hand. He stopped in front of her, the flame casting a creamy orange glow across his concerned face.
He raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I thought you couldn’t see in the dark.”
“I can’t,” Anna said. “Do you mind sharing the light?”
“Nope!” Olaf han
ded it to her. “You’ll need it to see that person standing right behind you.”
ANNA WHIRLED AROUND, stifling a shout.
But as she held up the candle, she realized it wasn’t a person at all, but a metal helmet expertly forged to create the illusion of a fearsome grimace and sharp teeth. It had thrown her off at first, out of sheer surprise and because it was different from the helmets that Arendellian soldiers wore. In fact, the more she looked at it, the more Anna was certain that this helmet came from the same era as Aren of Arendelle, from that long-ago age of heroes that was now more legend than history.
As she raised the candle higher, the sphere of light widened to reveal the rest of what they had found: a windowless room filled from flagstone floor to vaulted ceiling with sparkling shelves.
The shelves had been carved into the stone walls, and unlike the rest of the castle, these walls hadn’t been papered or painted over or decorated with rosemaling. They were left bare, and the tiny crystals embedded in the rock seemed to wink a friendly greeting as the candle’s light passed over them. It wasn’t just the rock that glittered underneath a layer of dust, but also the many strange and wondrous objects that sat on the shelves: a gleaming pair of silver scales, schematics of what looked like a dam, glass beakers and bottles filled with fascinating specimens of flora and fauna suspended in brackish water.
And there were books. They spiraled upward into the rafters of the ceiling, the only surface that had been painted and resembled a sky alive with the northern lights along with familiar constellations: Ulf the Wolf, Frigg the Fisherman, and many others. There were wide books with thick leather spines, tall books with thin spines, books with yellow pages, books with ragged pages, squat books, medium-sized books, and tiny books no bigger than a thumb. Anna’s mouth dropped open. No matter how different they looked, each book had the possibility of containing the answers that she so desperately needed.
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