Forest of Shadows

by Kamilla Benko

  No, Anna thought, her fear big and full and pressing against her chest. It was happening again. Her plan to prove herself to Elsa was falling apart! Who cared about being able to go on some silly grand tour? Anna wanted to do what was best for everyone, but she seemed to have a knack for doing the complete opposite these days.

  “Stay away from this room, Anna,” Elsa continued, turning away from her and stepping toward the library. “It was left hidden for a reason. Let’s keep it that way.”

  “Elsa—”

  “Leave it alone.” And when Elsa spoke in that tone, more like a queen than a sister, Anna knew there was no point in arguing.

  Silently, Anna nodded. As she placed Secrets of the Magic Makers back onto a shelf, Elsa returned to the library and strode to her next scheduled appointment. But Anna couldn’t bring herself to leave—not just yet. She let herself look one last time at this secret room, imagining how her mother might have sat at that worktable, translating symbols into words, while her father studied the objects on the shelves and cracked a clever joke.

  Without really thinking about it, Anna reached her fingers back toward Secrets of the Magic Makers, but they stopped just short of touching the soft leather. Elsa might be really upset with her if she found out what Anna was thinking, but Elsa would be even more upset if the animals kept getting sick. It would be worth it, Anna told herself firmly, when everything had been fixed—when Anna had fixed things. Besides, Elsa had only said that Anna needed to stay out of this room, but she hadn’t said—or at least, hadn’t said specifically—that Anna couldn’t take some of the room with her.

  And with that, Anna tugged her mother’s book free and hurried away.

  IT WAS VERY LATE NOW, and Anna was hungry.

  Stopping to grab a plate of cheese, crackers, and apple slices from the kitchen, she chatted with the castle cooks, catching up on local gossip: who was most likely to grow the biggest pumpkin in the village patch this year, how many people would attend the annual harvest feast, and the very exciting rumor that an engagement ring had been purchased at the jeweler’s shop, but by whom?

  Usually, Anna would have loved to stay and muse, but she knew the more time she spent down there, the less time she’d have to research. And so, excusing herself with her cheese plate, Anna rushed into her warm bedroom, clambered into her most comfortable pajamas, and began to read.

  Secrets of the Magic Makers was more than just a collection of stories. It almost seemed like a field guide, as if someone had traipsed through the wilderness collecting information on various mythological creatures while also gathering ingredients for turning flowers into frogs. There were histories of enchanted forests, and things that looked like recipes. And while several of the text passages had not been translated by her mother, many had.

  Anna followed her mother’s handwriting like a hungry bird trailing crumbs. Crunching on her crackers, she read of shape-shifters who lived with herds of reindeer; talking trees; draugs; and boys who were no larger than a thumb. There were pages and pages of the unknown language, and every so often an illustration accompanied the symbols. Anna wondered if Kristoff would know anything about the runes, or if he had ever come across anything in the Valley of the Living Rock that might help. Were they runes of the mountain trolls? Or something else?

  Her mother seemed to have skipped translating the pages with the more creepy-looking sketches. Anna flipped past a sketch of a man seemingly screaming in agony, then one of another man lying on a stone table as blue smoke curled from his head and a troll stood over him with its arms held high. Finally, she landed on a page that, based on its illustrations, seemed to detail the Saga of Aren.

  The physical features of the legendary hero were much easier to see in this book than they had been in the portrait Elsa had uncovered. Aren had a shaggy head of yellow hair and a bright blond beard with a few skinny braids tucked into it. His face was more square than it was round, and his hooked nose put Anna in mind of an eagle. Though there were only runes on the page—no translation—Anna recognized some of his more famous exploits. In the corner was a sketch of the waterfall whom Aren had tricked into helping him breathe underwater. And just to the right of that, a sketch of the sun, each ray a delicate sword with a yellow diamond in its pommel, just like Aren’s famed Revolute Blade. And in the last corner, far right and down, lounged a scrawled dragon. Anna turned the page, and cringed.

  A sketch of a wolf, so realistic that Anna half thought she could feel its hot breath blasting from the pages, snarled up at her. Her mother seemed to have only gotten to the very beginning of the page, and had translated only a single word: Nattmara. Anna frowned. Yet another one of those once-known-now-forgotten words from her childhood. In frustration, she flipped the page. She’d had enough of not knowing—and enough, as a five-year-old, of that scary recurring nightmare, thank you very much.

  The next installment that made her pause her was a recipe. It was a loose page, simply tucked into the binding, but it had been neatly titled in her mother’s handwriting: MAKE DREAMS COME TRUE. There was another word scrawled in the margins in the same handwriting: SPELL? Anna’s fingers traced the word spell. Not a recipe—magic.

  She had never known anyone other than Elsa to be able to use magic before, and Elsa certainly didn’t incant words or spells when she created and manipulated snow and ice. The magic was part of Elsa. It ran within her. Shortly after their reunion, Anna had asked Elsa what it felt like when she twirled her hands. Elsa had described it as an overwhelming emotion, a feeling that would eventually grow so big it had to find release in some way.

  “Like when you want to cry but you hold on to it because you don’t want others to see?” Anna had asked.

  “Yes,” Elsa had said, “but not just crying. Sometimes, it’s the feeling of clamping in a giant laugh in a time you’re supposed to be quiet, like in the chapel. It seems that if I listen to the feeling, to the magic, and release it, I can manage it.”

  A poem in a book didn’t seem like the kind of magic Elsa possessed, but that didn’t necessarily mean these words would not hold any power. These words. This spell. Excitement trilled through Anna.

  The more she looked at the words, the more certain she felt that everything they needed was right here, in their parents’ research. She just wished she knew what knowledge lay behind the untranslated sections. Anna squinted at the symbols, as though by simply staring at them she would come to understand. But no knowledge came, only heavy eyelids.

  She wondered if Kristoff had found out anything helpful on his trek to the valley. She wondered if SoYun was still out in the field, trying to keep her cattle awake through the night. But most of all, she wondered what her parents would have done in this situation.

  “Anna and Elsa, always lean on each other for help,” Father had said. He’d have wanted her to tell Elsa about this spell, but first, she just needed to rest her eyes. Anna’s thoughts slipped over and past each other like darting fish as her eyelids drooped lower, and lower, and lower….She needed to fix the Blight….

  The court of Royaume was just as beautiful as Anna had always dreamed, and she knew she was dreaming—not only because she’d never been to Royaume, but also because everything felt too perfect and fragile to be real. Besides, Elsa would never be caught dancing in real life, and there she was, spinning on the dance floor, arms flung wide as if she were trying to embrace the chandeliered ceiling above them.

  Anna grinned. “You look like a tree caught in a gale!” she shouted over the high song of violins and flutes.

  “And you look like you’re dizzy,” Elsa said.

  Anna shook her head. “Dizzy? Why—oh!”

  Before she could finish her question, Elsa grabbed her hand and began to twirl her, her diaphanous white skirts fanning around her like a skein of sparkling snow.

  Anna threw back her head and laughed, imagining what a sight they must make on the dance floor. Elsa, dressed all in white spangled with pearl seeds, was the very embodiment o
f winter, while Anna’s headdress and gold skirts helped her masquerade as summer.

  The grand ballroom blurred around her, seeming to turn into streaks of paint. Her head began to pound, but it was so rare to see Elsa silly and carefree that she didn’t want to tell her to stop. Instead, Anna closed her eyes, trying to hold on to this moment, even if it was only pretend…but was it?

  She was feeling really dizzy now. No matter how much fun Elsa was having, it was time to stop.

  “Hey, Elsa? That’s enough!” Anna opened her eyes and gasped.

  Her sister was no longer twirling her.

  Instead, a tall stranger in coattails and a silver wolf mask stood where Elsa had been.

  Anna stumbled to a halt. “Pardon me.” She removed her hand. “I need to find my sister.”

  The dancer bowed, the silver wolf mask nearly tipping off his nose. “As you wish, Princess Anna.”

  The blood in her veins turned to ice. Anna knew that voice. It was a voice she didn’t want to hear again. She peered uncertainly through the dark eyeholes of the mask. “Prince—Prince Hans?”

  “The very same.” A diamond ring suddenly materialized in his hand. “Your sister said I should give this to you when I ask for your hand.”

  “My—my hand?”

  Hans grabbed her wrist and jammed the ring onto her finger. “Your hand in marriage, of course. Your sister has given her blessing. She has no use for you.”

  Anna yanked her hand away. “I don’t believe that,” she said, craning her neck to see if she could spot her sister in the glittering hall. But no one was there. The decorations, the musicians, the dancers…all had vanished, leaving her completely alone with the prince of the Southern Isles—her villainous almost-husband, who had tricked her and the rest of the kingdom before Anna uncovered his awful plans to kill Elsa and take over Arendelle.

  Hans laughed, an awful sound, made worse by the way it turned up into a howl at the end. As Anna watched, the silver hair of his wolf mask rippled in the draft as if it were real fur, and his nose elongated, becoming more and more snoutlike.

  More and more wolflike.

  Until suddenly, there was no Hans, just a great white wolf with amber eyes and teeth the size of dinner knives. It was the same wolf that had stalked her childhood dreams. But while most things from childhood seem to become smaller as one grows, the wolf had, in fact, only grown with Anna. He was fiercer now. Hungrier.

  The wolf licked his maw and advanced.

  Wake up, Anna, she thought frantically, tripping on her skirts as she tried to scramble backward. Wake up! Wake up! Wake up—

  “Wake up!” Anna sat straight up. The sound of her own voice shattered her nightmare. Relief, warm and sweet as fresh honey, coursed through her. It had been so long since she’d had this particular dream, this particular nightmare, and the fear it spawned was unfortunately as familiar as the ache of missing her parents. And this time, there was no Mother to tell her a distracting story or Father to bring her hot chocolate.

  Always rely on each other for help.

  Leaning forward, Anna grabbed Secrets of the Magic Makers, which had slid to the foot of her bed. She tucked it close to her chest and raced into her parents’ old bedroom. Not because she thought they would be there, but because Elsa had moved into it after her coronation, abandoning her childhood bedroom. But looking around the room and at the dying fire, Anna wondered why Elsa had not yet returned. She reassured herself that sometimes queenly duties could last all night.

  She walked back to her room. Before clambering into bed, she stopped by her dressing table and took hold of her father’s sketchbook. King Agnarr had been a talented artist, wielding both his pencil and sword with ease. On the bad days, when Anna felt most alone, she liked to open his sketchbook up and see the world as he once had. There were images of Arendelle Castle, as well as the far-off lands he’d seen on his grand tour.

  Elsa would leave on her own grand tour in just four—no, now three days—and if Anna could heal the animals before then, there was still a chance she’d be able to sail away with Elsa.

  Returning to her bed, Anna decided that she’d wake up extra early to show Elsa the spell first thing. And so, with her father’s sketchbook on one side of her pillow and her mother’s book on the other, she at last dared to close her eyes.

  The wolf did not return.

  ANNA HEARD THE SOUND of chimes and footsteps from somewhere in the castle.

  Dawn had broken, spilling warm autumn sunlight across her face. Keeping her eyes closed, Anna stretched, enjoying the coziness of her quilt and the softness of her pillow. Just a few more minutes. She could afford to wait before she found Elsa, asked more about the Westens’ goats, and told her about what she’d found last night in their mother’s book. After all, she was so comfortable that it would be a crime to untuck herself, and—

  Her thoughts screeched to a halt.

  Secrets of the Magic Makers. The book with spells in it. The book with a potential cure for the animals.

  Anna lurched up, eyes flying open—only to be blinded not by the light of dawn, but by golden mid-morning sun. She’d overslept again!

  Faster than Sven could chomp a carrot, Anna tumbled out of bed before she could even untwist herself from her quilt. She grabbed Secrets of the Magic Makers, and with her blanket flapping behind her, she sprinted through the dressing room and downstairs. Not bothering to knock, she flung open the door to her parents’ old bedroom. The bed was neatly made, the ashes cold in their hearth.

  Of course—her sister would have been up for hours at this point. Elsa, for some strange reason, enjoyed mornings. She said they made her feel fresh as new snow, while they made Anna feel as fresh as chicken droppings. A headache pounded at her temples. Even though she’d overslept by hours, it had been a restless sleep, as it had taken her long hours to relax after the return of the childhood nightmare.

  Think. Where would Elsa be at this time of day? Whirling from the bedchamber, Anna ran down the hallway to peer through open doors. Elsa wasn’t in the library or council chambers. Maybe the portrait gallery? Anna flew downstairs and made a sharp turn on the landing—and barreled into something warm and solid.

  Anna flew backward, sprawling onto the ground. A dull pain rattled through her backside, but thankfully, the majority of her fall had been cushioned by the carpet. Ow.

  “Hey!” the warm wall grumbled from above. “Watch where you’re going!”

  “You watch where you’re going!” Anna replied, and instantly regretted it. That’s not what someone hoping to be a royal ambassador on a grand tour should say. “I’m sorry,” she added, looking up to see the old, wrinkled face of Madam Eniola staring down at her.

  “Anna!” Madam Eniola bobbed a curtsy, her long brown skirt contrasting with the bundle of white ribbons she held in her arms. “My apologies, I didn’t recognize you in your…” Her eyes swept up and down. “Quilt?”

  Anna winced. Royal ambassadors should also probably remember to put on proper clothes before carrying out their important missions—and to comb their hair, too. Her hair didn’t look so much like hair as it resembled a bird’s nest. “That’s all right.” Anna clambered to her feet. “I should have been paying attention.” Like always. She pulled her quilt tighter around her and hoped it looked more dignified than her ruffled pale green nightgown and bare feet.

  Anna knew Eniola as one of the new villagers who’d moved to Arendelle from Tikaani, and specifically as the one who had taught Tikaani’s national anthem to Anna. Eniola lived in a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the farmlands. Holding her chin up, Anna asked, “What brings you to the castle, Madam Eniola?”

  Eniola sighed, and the creases on her face, which already held more lines than King Agnarr’s old sailing charts, seemed to increase tenfold as she frowned. “I’m here to speak to the queen.” She pursed her lips. “We all are.”

  Anna arched an eyebrow. “We?”

  Eniola stepped back to reveal more villagers lined up out
side the Great Hall, staring at Anna. She recognized many of her friends—the candymaker, the farmer, the gas lamp lighter, the miller, the two blacksmiths, and many more. Many, many more.

  Anna’s eyes widened as she saw that the line of villagers extended from the double doors that led into the Great Hall all the way through the second great hall and into the portrait gallery. Anna’s mouth went dry, and she cleared her throat. “Why do you need to see Elsa? Erm, Queen Elsa?” she asked.

  Eniola held out her bundle of ribbons, which Anna saw now were not actually ribbons at all. They were strands of wheat, but instead of the long golden straws Anna was used to seeing from the tower window, these strands were short and mottled white—moldy and rotten all the way through and recognizable only by the heads of grains at the tops. Even as Anna stared, a few seeds crumbled off into white dust. First the animals, then the crops. What was going on?

  “We woke this morning,” Eniola said, “and it’s all like this—everything!”

  The villagers grumbled in agreement behind her.

  Anna needed to tell Elsa about all these villagers—now.

  “Excuse me.” Anna tore her eyes away from the pitiful bundle in Madam Eniola’s arms and hurried downstairs in the direction of the Great Hall. “Pardon me, coming through!” The line shifted to allow Anna to wiggle by, and as she did, she saw that each and every person held white bundles similar to the one that Madam Eniola held: the pumpkins, usually the color of the sunset, had large unsightly splotches splashed across them, while the apples, usually red, round, and crisp, seemed to have the same consistency as raw dough. Up and down the line, Anna saw dried corn husks, white-mottled potatoes, and carrots as pale as cream. Every crop, every vegetable, every grain Anna could think of, was destroyed. Rotten.

  The Blight.

  Anna picked up the pace. Squeezing past a harried-looking woman, she at last made it through the doors and into the Great Hall.