Anna felt pressure on her shoulder as her sister crouched down next to her in the flickering torchlight.
“Please, please, please don’t cry,” Elsa said. “It’s not your fault. If I had been doing a better job, I would have recognized the signs, and we could have stopped the Nattmara before you called it into the kingdom.”
Anna knew Elsa was trying to be comforting, but her words only made Anna feel a hundred times worse. They were just more proof that Elsa didn’t need Anna anymore—that, in fact, Elsa might even be better off without Anna.
Anna dragged her face away from her hands, and leaning against the rough-hewn wall, she put her head back and looked up at the dragon figurehead, its mouth opened in an eternal snarl, unable to ever really stop thieves from stealing its treasures. Anna closed her eyes, shutting out its accusing wooden eyes.
Maybe it would be best for Elsa and all of Arendelle if the wooden dragon could just come to life and swallow Anna and her great disappointments whole, like how the wolf had swallowed her in her nightmare. She wasn’t exactly sure what that would do, but…Anna’s runaway thoughts lurched to a halt as an idea grabbed on to them. She looked back up at the wooden dragon, its mouth gaping open.
“Elsa!” Anna rose to her feet.
Elsa lifted the torch as she stood, too. “What is it, Anna?”
“I think I know where the sword is!” And without waiting for her sister to interrupt, Anna continued to barrel ahead. “We were just looking in the hull of the boat, because that’s where one would end up if you were eaten—in the belly of a dragon, or in the boat. But the myth doesn’t say that the dragon ate Aren, it says—”
“He was swallowed,” Elsa said, eyes growing wide. “Revolute could be hidden in the dragon’s mouth!”
Anna nodded. “Exactly!”
The dragon’s snarling mouth reared several feet above their heads. Usually, Elsa would be able to wave her hands and make a staircase out of ice. But they weren’t under the Huldrefólk’s protection anymore. If Elsa used as much as a lick of her magic, the Nattmara would be upon them in seconds.
Crawling out onto the dragon’s neck also wasn’t an option. The boat was a thousand, maybe even thousands of years old, and the peeling, splintering wood had as many holes as a sponge. The whole thing looked like it might collapse if Anna so much as breathed on it.
Elsa planted the torch in the ground and crouched down. “All right, get on.”
“What?” Anna looked at her sister, confused.
“We need to get someone up there. I think you can reach it if you get on my back.”
“A piggyback ride? Really?” said Anna, a grin breaking across her face. “You haven’t offered me one of those since before the gates closed.”
“Well,” Elsa said with a smile, “I guess I owe you at least one more.”
Kicking off her boots, Anna scrambled up onto her sister’s back. Then, balancing herself against the wooden hull, she placed her feet on Elsa’s shoulders and pulled herself into a standing position so she was eye to eye with the dragon.
Even though centuries had scrubbed it clear of most of its details, up close, Anna could still see the hatch marks that hinted at scales, and the expression of the dragon. From below, the expression had seemed to be of a snarling angry beast, but now, Anna thought maybe it wasn’t angry, just protective. Nerves bubbled throughout Anna’s body.
This was it. Their one shot. Their last chance.
The Revolute Blade, the very thing that had carved out Arenfjord and made a home for a wandering people. A sword forged from a curved sunbeam with an unusual power, a gift from the sun herself. They would defeat the Nattmara. They would cure the crops and animals and people of the Blight, and free everyone she loved from their own terrifying nightmares.
“Do you have it?” Elsa asked from underfoot.
Whoops. Anna’s mind was running away again.
“No, not yet!” Anna said, reining in her galloping thoughts.
“Well, hurry up! You don’t exactly weigh the same as you did when you were five.”
No, Anna wasn’t five years old. She was capable of making serious mistakes, but she was also just as capable of fixing them. And so, she reached her hand into the dragon’s mouth.
At first, there was nothing there. Frowning, Anna leaned farther into the dragon’s gaping maw, her elbow disappearing, followed by the rest of her arm, until the wood hit her armpit. Worry crept through her. If the dragon’s head was hollow, would she need to crawl all the way in? She wasn’t sure if she would fit. If only Olaf were there, he’d be able to send his hand down inside. Or even Sven would have been helpful, with his sensitive nose. But they weren’t, so Anna would have to do it herself.
“Anna,” Elsa said, “your foot is starting to dig into my shoulder.”
“Sorry,” Anna said. “Just one more second.” Taking a breath to balance herself, she rose to her tiptoes, stretching, reaching until her fingers brushed something cold and metal-smooth. Something that fit comfortably in her palm as she wrapped her hand around it. Something that sent a note of anticipation through her. Anna pulled.
At first, there was resistance, and then a whisper of metal, a noise that almost sounded like a dragon’s sigh as its secret came loose. And then Anna’s hand was back in the rippling orange light of the torch.
Could it truly be?
The hilt was wrought from gold, and in the center of the pommel, like a miniature sun, sat a yellow diamond. The gold of the handguard had been worked to look like little rays of the sun, leading down to the blade.
And the blade…it was made of a blue-black metal—the same color as the meteorite in Sorenson’s observation tower. It curved, the slight S-shape mirroring the inlet of Arenfjord, where myth said Aren had made the legendary cut.
But Anna hardly dared to believe that what she held was what she needed it to be. Not until she’d carefully slipped down from Elsa’s back. Not until Elsa tore a scrap of cloth from her split dress and began to polish the top of the blade, right below where it met the hilt. Not until she could read the letters that had been etched into the sword itself did Anna believe:
R-E-V-O-L-U-T-E
They’d found it. The carver of the first fjord.
The myth and the solution.
The Revolute Blade.
“WE DID IT!” Anna shouted, forgetting the need to be quiet and embracing Elsa.
“Careful!” Elsa twisted the sword away. “You don’t want to accidentally stick us.”
Though Elsa’s warning wasn’t really all that funny, for some reason, it planted a seed of humor in Anna. A giggle slipped out, and then, a bloom of laughter. And instead of trying to trap it down, Anna let it rush through her, throwing back her head and laughing long and loud. Elsa looked confused, which only made Anna laugh harder.
Then, ever so slowly, Elsa’s lips began to turn upward, and she giggled; then she, too, laughed, loud and free. Their laughter echoed around the Earth Giant’s Passage, bounding and rebounding, patching the tiny rip in Anna’s heart caused by constant worrying.
Because Anna had done it. She’d proven to Elsa that she still needed her little sister who made mistakes. She’d proven that she could actually accomplish exactly what she had planned to do.
Suddenly, Elsa stopped laughing, and it was only Anna’s laughter that bounced around the walls, sounding alone and by itself.
“Hey,” Anna said, somewhat breathless. “What’s wrong?”
Elsa held her finger to her lips, and Anna listened. Without the protective barrier of laughter, she could now hear another sound coming from beyond the waterfall and the passage. A long, low angry howl.
The Nattmara was nearing.
“We need to get out here,” Anna said, slipping her boots back on. “Or else it’ll trap us in the tunnel.”
“Agreed.” Elsa nodded. Already, she was tightening the band around her braid. “But Anna, I think—”
“That we need a plan,” Anna said, finishing
her sister’s sentence, as they so often did. “Yes, you’re right! The plan—the-plan-the-plan-the-plan…You use your magic to distract the Nattmara—only for a second or two!—and then I’ll surprise it with Revolute. That’s a brilliant idea, Elsa!”
“But I—” Elsa began, and that was all Anna could really make out, because she’d already tugged Revolute from Elsa’s hand and begun to sprint down the passageway for the exit and the Nattmara. Fear thrummed through her veins, and yet, she had Revolute.
She had hope.
Anna squeezed the hilt tight, the yellow diamond pressing into her hand. It almost hurt, but still she kept running, trusting in the power of the myth and trusting her sister to follow behind her with an icy blast or whirl of hard wind.
The still-frozen waterfall sparkled up ahead, and Anna squeezed herself out onto the narrow ledge and exited the passageway only to stop in her tracks. Because the land sprawled before her was not the home she knew.
Her home had a cheery village with painted houses, a fjord full of rich blue waters, and a vibrant display of autumnal colors that would have made her paint set jealous. But the land before her was bleached white, as though this reality were being erased to make way for the nightmare that was settling in for eternity. Like storm clouds rolling in, the Nattmara prowled the village edge.
When Anna had first spotted the wolf in the Great Hall, it’d been bigger than any wolf she’d ever seen, but not abnormally so. Then it’d become twice the size of a normal wolf, then the size of a bull, then the size of a knoll. But now, its eyes were level with the second-floor windows of the village townhouses.
It was exactly as Sorenson had foretold. Each hour that the Nattmara had not been banished, it’d grown in strength and size as it gorged on the fear that had swept over the land. Each stride of its paw seemed to cover a mile, and wherever it passed, the trees twisted away from it, as if they, too, could sleep and dream and wanted none of the Nattmara’s offerings. As if poplars and aspens and spruces, too, wanted to run away.
Anna had thought that the Nattmara would come directly for her, its accidental summoner, but instead of tearing up the path that would take it to the waterfall and to Revolute, the Nattmara turned…and loped back toward the village.
In the time that it took Anna to blink, the giant wolf had arrived at the edge of the protective ice dome over the village. Rearing back on its hind legs, it struck the dome with a heavy paw.
THUMP!
The ice stayed whole and smooth. The dome was working—but for how long? The Nattmara swung again.
THUMP!
Anna frowned. Had that thump been followed by a cracking sound? The Nattmara only needed to make a fissure as thin as a hair for it to be able to trickle though Elsa’s barrier in its black sand form.
“Anna!” Elsa said, flying out from behind the waterfall to join Anna on the ledge overlooking the village. “I need you to—”
“We have to go help them!” Anna yelled, desperation making her voice shrill. The villagers—they had no idea of the danger they were in. They were all asleep! She took a step forward to run—but her foot stayed put, rooted to the ground as though it had been locked in place.
What? Anna looked down to see a lacy frost pattern rising up from the ground, snapping together like links on a chain and wrapping around her foot.
While Anna gaped, something tugged on Revolute, and without thinking, Anna let go. Too late, she realized what she’d done. Looking back up, she saw Elsa standing in front of her, holding Aren’s sword with both hands. She no longer looked like Anna’s older sister, or even a queen. She looked like a soldier.
“Elsa.” Her words sounded small even to her own ears. “What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry,” Elsa said, and Anna could hear the truth in her sister’s words, but still, Elsa made no move to stop the advancing frost. It circled around Anna, shuttling back and forth on itself like yarn on a loom to form a white tapestry, rising higher and higher. “I failed to protect the kingdom,” Elsa said, “but I’m not going to fail you, too!”
Failed? Anna didn’t know what Elsa was talking about. Elsa never failed at anything.
“Elsa,” Anna said as the frost crystals scattered up over her head, dancing into a domed roof. “I don’t need to be protected!”
It felt like Anna’s whole being had contracted and collapsed in on itself, like a black hole or a dark abyss. She felt as though she’d become no bigger than the head of a pin. The last frost link clicked into place, finishing not a tapestry, but a bubble-like tent. Anna found she could move her feet again, the frost chain that had held her to the ground slithering away to weave itself into the structure. It didn’t matter, though, if Anna could move her feet or not, because Elsa hadn’t bothered to make a door.
“I love you,” Elsa said, sounding for a moment like she was younger than Anna or even Echo. And then she was running, sprinting down the dirt path to the village below, Revolute a curved gleam in her hand.
“Come back!” Anna yelled. “Elsa!” She pounded her fists against the frost, but the walls were so strong, so solid, and so cold, that each pummel felt like a bite. The frost links held fast, keeping Anna locked away.
Anna was useless as she watched Elsa reach the end of the path and run toward the Nattmara. Useless as the Nattmara caught Elsa’s scent and turned toward her sister, its fearsome claws extended. And useless as Elsa strode forward, ready to become the great ruler that Arendelle needed…just as Aren had done. But it would be okay. It would be okay it would be okay it would be okay.
Elsa wielded the myth that could defeat the myth. She held in her hand the crescent blade that had carved their home on Arenfjord. If Revolute could do that, surely it could defeat a Nattmara summoned by a scared little sister. Still, Anna held her breath as she watched, too far away to help, yet at the same time too close, because she could see it all.
A howl of wind clashed with the howl of the wolf as Elsa intercepted the Nattmara at the base of the Bridge of Arches. Elsa looked like a doll in front of the monstrous wolf, which had grown so tall that its ears were at the height of the castle’s waving flags. Even from a distance, Anna could see the slip of saliva that hung from the Nattmara’s fangs as it began to circle her sister, its great yellow eyes locked on Elsa.
This was a thousand times worse than any of Anna’s nightmares. In all her nightmares but the last, she’d been in some sort of control. She’d always been able to puzzle her way out somehow, or distract the creature long enough that she could wake up. But even if Anna could break free from the frost bubble, she would not be able to wake up.
The wolf and her sister circled each other.
Elsa’s cloak and scarf flapped in great gusts of wind as she twirled one hand and clutched Revolute with the other. But something was wrong. Even though Elsa was controlling the gusts of ice, no matter which direction she commanded the snow and ice to go, the wolf would force her to turn her back into the magic so that her hair and billows of icy magicked air constantly whipped into her eyes. There was no way for Elsa to clearly see.
And then, the Nattmara attacked.
Elsa and Revolute whirled away, the Nattmara’s teeth snapping on thin air. It retreated for a moment, then struck again. This time, a terrible screech filled the air as a fang scraped across the blade. Or maybe the screech was Anna’s own scream. Because Elsa now lay between the Nattmara’s giant paws, sprawled like a spider, her limbs askew, and her hand empty.
Revolute flew through the air, a blue-black streak, and landed several feet behind Elsa. Anna saw Elsa’s hand sweep out, trying to feel for the sword without taking her eyes away from the Nattmara.
“REVOLUTE!” Anna shouted, though she knew Elsa wouldn’t be able to hear her. “TO YOUR LEFT!”
The Nattmara licked its maw, its fangs poised above Elsa.
For a moment, Anna saw in startling detail the gleam of the Nattmara’s claws and rise in her sister’s chest as Elsa took a deep breath.
Th
en, the Nattmara lunged down.
But in the space that it took for Anna to blink, Elsa had lunged, too. She grabbed for Revolute’s hilt. In one fluid movement, she held it up in front of her—the ancient blade flashing in the light of the setting sun—and thrust it into the roof of the Nattmara’s mouth.
Anna waited for the Nattmara to fall and disintegrate into dust, defeated at last by a thing of myth, just as Sorenson had said that it could be.
Instead, the world slowed and stilled as the Nattmara bit down. And Revolute—the great, mythic sword of Aren’s oldest hero, the sword that had carved the Arenfjord from the mountains, slain beasts, and conquered nightmares—shattered like glass. Bits of the meteorite blade sparkled as they sprayed uselessly to the ground, raining down on Elsa, who now lay completely defenseless in front of the Nattmara.
“ELSA!” Anna roared, pounding at her prison of frost. “ELSA! Use your magic!”
Maybe it was a trick of the wind, but Elsa appeared to turn her head in the waterfall’s direction. For one second, it almost seemed that Elsa looked at her. Glancing down, Anna saw that the frost bubble had started to dissolve into thin air—not good! If Elsa’s magic was dissolving, that must mean that Elsa was weakening, too.
But Anna was now free!
She began to run down the path even though she knew that she would not make it in time, but still, she had to try. Elsa would have—no, Elsa had—done the same for her.
The Nattmara threw back its leviathan head and howled its victory. And as it rose once more above her sister, its white fur shifted into a glittering black as the Nattmara morphed into a cloud of sand that stood out starkly against the faded landscape. The bits and pieces swirled together, forming a spinning column.
And then the sand slammed down into Elsa’s chest…and disappeared.
“Elsa!” Anna sobbed, stumbling into range. “Elsa!”
Her sister sprawled on the ground, her eyes closed and her blond hair coming loose from its braid and spilling onto fallen leaves. Scattered around her like a broken halo were the blue-black shards of what had once been the great sword Revolute.
Forest of Shadows Page 20