They still opened their mouths in a scream, but only a rasp came out. Anna shook her head in sorrow. Kai and Gerda had been trapped in a screaming nightmare reality for almost three whole days. It was a wonder they had any voice left at all. Unfortunately, they still seemed able—and eager—to wield their household weapons. The glint of Kai’s fire poker and Gerda’s sharp scissors still cut through the black sand.
What to do what to do what to do!
“Hoo-hoo, yellow-eyed wolf helpers!” Oaken called as he swung over the water and landed with surprising ease next to Anna. “It’s not polite to attack guests!”
“Oaken! Get back on the ship!” Anna instructed. “It’s not safe!”
“Don’t worry, Anna,” Oaken said with a nod to the ship where Wael, SoYun, Tuva, and Olaf were calling out to Kai and Gerda from the deck, distracting them from Anna. “We’ve got this, ja? We’ll lure them away and make sure they don’t come to any harm—or cause any. Now, go help Elsa!” He turned to Kai and Gerda, and waved his arms. “Over here!”
Anna nodded her thanks and rushed inside to find her sister…if there was anything left of her. She didn’t have a solid plan, but she was brave, and she had hope. And that would have to be enough.
The sand seemed thickest near the entry of the Great Hall, so Anna ran there as fast as she could on the strange combination of sand and hardwood. It slowed her progress, but still Anna pushed forward toward the double doors. Sure enough, as she drew closer, she could hear sobs. Shoving the doors open, Anna raced in.
Her sister sat on her throne, her yellow eyes staring unblinking into a dream that Anna could not see. As Elsa wept, strange flurries of black ice circled above her head. Anna’s heart squeezed.
“Elsa?” she whispered. “Elsa?”
But her sister’s expression didn’t change. Not wanting to startle Elsa, Anna slowly moved toward her. Suddenly, from the corner of the room, she heard a long, low growl. It was happening again! Her nightmare! It prowled out from behind the pillar—and attacked.
But Anna was prepared. She’d left her cloak unclasped for this very reason. And as the wolf leapt at her again, Anna flung her cloak off her shoulders and for the first time, instead of running away from the wolf, she ran toward it. She held her cloak above her head like a banner as she sprinted between its two front paws, each one as large as a boulder. The wolf realized a moment too late its prey’s route. Its teeth snapped down around the cloak, catching only fabric as Anna let go of it and raced under the protection of the wolf’s belly.
Holding her breath, she paused just long enough to hear the shred of cloth as the Nattmara’s teeth ripped the cloak, not quite yet realizing it was only a decoy. The charade would not last long, but it had bought her precious seconds.
Scurrying out from under the wolf’s tail, Anna hurled herself toward the throne.
Twelve feet left. Six. Three. She was almost there!
Arooooooooooooo!
The Nattmara had realized she had tricked it!
Anna’s blood turned cold as she glanced back. She shouldn’t have.
Because the wolf was upon her.
Claws the length of butcher’s knives raked across her back. She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the pain…but it never came.
In fact, Anna didn’t feel a thing.
Her eyes flew open just in time to see the Nattmara attack her again, but instead of colliding with her, it sailed right through Anna as though she were the one made of sand instead of the wolf. Her heart slammed into her chest. She hadn’t felt any pain. Had she become a ghost?
The Nattmara snarled, clearly as confused as she was. It lunged again, this time teeth first, but Anna felt nothing more than a light breeze as its fangs grazed her throat, leaving not a scratch. Like wind grasping at her. And for the first time, Anna didn’t feel the suffocating pull of the Nattmara on her thoughts, making her think terrifying and helpless things. Again, and again, the Nattmara attacked her, but nothing it did could hurt her.
Anna’s mind whirled at a frantic pace. Whenever she had been around the Nattmara before, thoughts of not being good enough had filled her and held her down. But now—now Anna knew, recalling the proclamation in Elsa’s traveling study, that she was good enough, and that she had always been.
The truth in those inked words seemed to have mended the cracks in her heart.
She was no longer afraid. The Nattmara could no longer harm her…so why was Anna’s nightmare still there?
Anna couldn’t concentrate! Elsa’s scream dug at her, and though the Nattmara’s fearsome claws could not hurt her anymore, each time Elsa wailed, Anna felt as though she’d been physically punched.
“Elsa!” Anna cried, staggering toward the throne. “Whatever you’re seeing, it isn’t real! It’s just a nightmare!” Her thoughts dashed frantically, and she grabbed onto one before it slid by. “Remember Mother and Father!” she said. “Hot chocolate! Cozy stories—” Anna broke off.
Wait a second.
Pretending to give her nightmares to Frigg the Fisherman had never helped Anna. But now she recalled Elsa’s words from two days earlier. Mother’s trick worked for me. I haven’t had a nightmare since.
Another thought darted by, this time, a memory of Sorenson’s voice, and his confusing words suddenly had meaning: The act of burying fear is what manifests the Nattmara, he’d said.
And now Anna understood. Fear only grew the longer it was ignored. Avoiding a nightmare only made it more powerful, more terrifying when it finally erupted again. And if Elsa had ignored her fears for years—if she had banished her nightmares away, then maybe they had taken on their own life, taken on their own shape….
Ulf the Wolf was always my favorite, Elsa had said in Sorenson’s tower. What if, instead of handing her nightmares over to a friendly fisherman as Anna had tried, Elsa had imagined feeding her fears to a hungry wolf?
Anna’s ideas came to her even quicker. Elsa’s rejected nightmares and fears, unable to latch onto Elsa but more powerful than most people’s fears, had weaseled their way into another scared, lonely child’s dreams—a child whose loneliness had gaped wide within her, leaving room for black sand and dark dreams to creep into her heart. A heart that had cracked when the child had been separated from her sister. Anna’s heart.
Realization thundered through her: Anna had not created the Nattmara—not with a spell or her own great worries. The wolf that had first appeared to her on that night sixteen years ago was not a manifestation of Anna’s fear. There had been another scared and lonely child in the castle beside her then, one who had also feared being separated from her sister: Elsa.
The Nattmara was Elsa’s nightmare! It was Elsa’s fear that they needed to conquer!
But…Anna had no idea what her sister was afraid of. Elsa was the strongest person she knew, a great queen, brave in the face of danger, determined, and regal.
What to do what to do what to do!
The Nattmara, frustrated by its futile attempts to inflict harm to Anna, let out an earsplitting howl. The sandstorm whipped up faster. While Anna might be safe from the beast’s attacks, Arendelle was not.
Anna ran toward Elsa, and though her stomach hurt as she looked at Elsa’s yellow eyes, she didn’t look away. The Nattmara had only come when they’d been separated—either by their parents when they were young, or by Elsa’s queenly responsibilities. So it would only be defeated, Anna guessed wildly, when they were together.
All Anna needed to figure out was what scared Elsa—but she truly had no idea what that could be.
“Elsa!” she cried as she approached the throne. “Elsa, I’m here! What’s wrong? What are you so scared of that you can’t tell me?”
Elsa just screamed harder, and the rush of black sand still spilling from her palms came quicker. It began to pile into a barrier between them, filling up the Great Hall. Eventually, it would reach the rafters, and then the ceiling, burying Elsa on her throne. Wait a minute—the throne!
They we
re in the Great Hall; the Nattmara had chosen it, so it must be Elsa’s least favorite room in the castle. And as Anna looked at the flurry of sand circling Elsa’s throne, spiraling up above her head to form a glittering crown of darkness, the answer came to her: Elsa was scared of being a bad queen.
“The people are all counting on me!” Elsa sobbed in her nightmare-scape. “Please! I’ll be better!”
Anna, no longer afraid of the Nattmara—but much more afraid of losing her sister forever—sprinted up the dais and grabbed Elsa’s hand. Elsa yanked it away from her, but Anna held tight.
Suddenly, Anna could see into Elsa’s nightmare: the endless meetings that Elsa felt awkward leading, not knowing what to say to people after having had very little social interaction for most of her life. Anna had always just thought Elsa was a good listener. Everyone seemed to think she was so wonderfully collected, but in truth, her quietness wasn’t composed thinking, but a deer-in-the-path-of-an-arrow kind of fright.
And the Nattmara had made her a bad queen—with the Blight. It all made sense to Anna now. Before the Nattmara had the strength to take on the physical shape of a wolf, it had seeped into the kingdom as a sickness, stalking the kingdom the same way it had stalked Elsa’s mind. And with the Blight came the people’s constant worry and questions, and Elsa had become more overwhelmed and even more fearful that she could not protect them. She had begun to crack at the seams while trying to keep it all inside. She had not been able to sleep…and so, Elsa’s suppressed nightmares had found another sleeping, worried sister to haunt until, at last, the fear in Arendelle—Elsa’s fear—had grown so great and powerful that the Nattmara could at last be seen by everyone. Because above all, Elsa feared hurting the kingdom—again. Of hurting Anna, again.
“Oh, Elsa,” Anna whispered, her heart aching. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Anna held on to her sister’s hands, even as black sand pelted them from all around. “You’re perfect just the way you are! You’re a great leader! You pay attention to details, and your quietness gives you space to listen. I’m so proud of you, Elsa. You’re a wonderful sister, and you’re a role model for me. You’re someone I look up to!”
Was it just Anna’s imagination, or was her sister now squeezing her hand back? Ignoring the thrum of the Nattmara’s anger around them in the form of black sand spraying Anna’s face from all sides, Anna continued to talk, focusing all of herself on her sister—letting her know how she felt about her, just in the same way Elsa’s proclamation had shown Anna the truth.
“You know that I am better than who I think I am!” she yelled over the wind and battering sand. “I was so scared that you didn’t need me anymore since I wasn’t invited on the grand tour. But then I saw that the tour had nothing to do with me, and I realized that you are right—I am helpful, and I am always here for you and for our people, no matter what! Just as I know you are here for me!” Anna wasn’t sure if she was getting through to Elsa, but still she hung on, despite the growing swarm of assaulting black sand.
Elsa’s eyes shut tight. And then…“Anna?”
“Elsa!” Anna cried. “I’m here! I’m always here!”
Elsa turned her head, and Anna saw that her eyes were no longer yellow, but back to their usual beautiful shade of light blue. “Anna,” Elsa said, voice raspy from all the nightmare-induced screaming. “Of course I need you.”
The Nattmara threw back its head and howled in rage, the sound echoing endlessly around the hall.
Elsa clutched tight to Anna’s hand. “Why is it still here?” Elsa whirled her other hand up, ready to blast it with ice.
“No!” Anna shouted. “You can’t fight your fear—it only makes it stronger! Just as you can’t ignore your fear, because out of sight, it grows in strange ways and mutates.”
“Then what should I do?” Elsa asked, her voice cracking. “Dawn is almost here!”
“Accept it,” Anna breathed, praying she was right. “It’s okay to be afraid, Elsa. You just can’t let the fear take control of you! Fear is the shadow of love. You only fear because you care so much about Arendelle and about me, and that’s what makes you a great queen and a great leader. And a great sister. That’s why we love you, Elsa.”
It was the riddle that Olaf had helped her solve when he had rearranged the letters of the sword. Not R-E-V-O-L-U-T-E or L-O-V-E R-E-T-U, but T-R-U-E L-O-V-E was the way to defeat the Nattmara. And that was a thing of myth.
Elsa didn’t say anything, but then she held out her hand again. The giant wolf paused, the winds calmed down, and with each step the wolf took toward the sisters, it grew smaller. By the time it reached Elsa’s outstretched hand, the wolf was the size of a little wolf-puppy. It still had sharp teeth and claws, but it was manageable and could be contained.
“My fear,” Elsa said in awe. “I was so afraid of being a bad queen, but I don’t need to worry about that anymore. Because I’ve got you, Anna.”
Anna smiled and stayed put as the white wolf pup approached. She wasn’t scared of Elsa’s fear—it was a part of her sister, and she could never be afraid of her. The Nattmara’s power was truly done at last.
The puppy touched its nose to Elsa’s hand and turned into a cloud of sand, shimmering in the air, and then…just a single grain of black sand lay before the sisters. With a flick of her wrist, Elsa captured it in an ice crystal and caught it in her hand. Then she held it up to the dawn’s first ray of light.
“How?” she breathed. “How did we defeat the Nattmara without a thing of myth?”
“Because,” Anna said, peering at the crystal, “we do have a thing of myth—we’ve had it all along. Aren didn’t become a myth because he just so happened to own a fancy sword. Swords and crowns don’t change who we are.”
Elsa slipped the single grain of sand into her pocket. “Then what does?”
“True love,” Anna said, referencing the hidden power that the Saga of Aren spoke of. “The power that carved out Arenfjord. The same power that gave Aren the strength to go out in his boat to face an unknown danger, or up a mountain to face a dragon. It doesn’t matter which really happened—what matters is the choice he made.”
Suddenly, it hit her how sleepy she was, and her thoughts came to her like a lap of quiet ocean waves.
“It’s like how Sorenson said all myths contain a kernel of hard truth. It wasn’t a magical sword that carved out a home on the fjord. The myth wasn’t about the creation of the actual fjord—it was a myth about how, through love, Aren and the others in his generation believed in each other and trusted each other and loved each other enough to settle here and carve out a home for themselves, and for their future children, families, and friends. For us. A place where Arendelle’s flags could always fly strong.”
“True love,” Elsa mused. “The thing that can move mountains and defeat nightmares.”
“Exactly,” Anna said. She led Elsa over to the window, to the curtain she’d first spotted the wolf hiding behind. “Our love is worthy of the great myths. Us. The royal sisters of Arendelle.” Anna pulled back the curtain.
Sunlight rushed in. Dawn had fully broken, and the sun streaked across the horizon, brilliant gold in a gray-satin sky, shining down on a land full of vibrant color. No trace of the angry black sand or deathly pale rot remained.
And as she squinted in the direction of the rising sun, Anna noticed a figure walking toward the castle. There was something about the clothes and the shaggy hair that looked familiar….
“Kristoff!” Anna shouted.
Elsa rested a hand on Anna’s shoulder. “Go get him,” she said.
Anna grinned at her sister, then took off, flying into the second great hall and outside the castle, and then Kristoff was in her arms, kissing her again and again. She kissed him until the memories of the past few days faded away, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like everything was going to be good again.
With tears of joy streaming down her face, she took Kristoff’s face in her hands. “I’m so glad you’re
okay,” she said.
“You know I will always come back to you,” Kristoff said, giving her a playful wink.
“Me too!” a new voice commented.
Anna looked up to see Olaf sitting on Sven’s antlers. Sven’s fur was still mottled white, but his eyes were bright and shiny once again. The smell of the sea lingered on his coat.
“Sven!” Kristoff cried with delight. Planting one last kiss on Anna’s cheek, he hurried over to the reindeer and hugged him tight, while Sven nuzzled him back. “You’re finally awake!”
He wiggled the reindeer’s lower lip and added in Sven Talk, “And you look like you’re half asleep.”
“Group hug,” Elsa said as she approached, and she enveloped everyone in her arms.
And with a happy yawn, Anna leaned her head against Elsa’s shoulder as the village bells began to toll across the fjord, calling all to rise and wake.
AUTUMN LEAVES BLAZED in a golden glory.
The sky was a blue so clear that when Anna looked up, she thought she could practically see the domed palace of the sun where Aren had supposedly retrieved Revolute. She smiled to herself as she made her way through town back to Arendelle Castle, greeting everyone she saw.
“Nice to see you, Baker Blodget! Good day to you, Gabriella! Hello, Ada!”
“Hello, Anna!” Tuva’s wife called from behind a cart of beautiful golden wheat. Her hazel eyes sparkled. Not a hint of yellow lupine eyes to be seen.
“I’m glad to see you!” Anna said with a grin and a wave. She was practically skipping in her skirts. “We’ll have the best harvest festival ever tomorrow.”
“I hope so,” SoYun said as she herded a healthy Hebert along the road.
Madam Eniola curtsied, her arms laden with green zucchini. “I’m just glad the aphid outbreak that affected all my crops has cleared up.”
Anna arranged her face into what she hoped was an understanding—and not in any way knowing—expression. It had been one month since the events of the Nattmara. She wasn’t used to keeping secrets, and she didn’t particularly like it, but the villagers who’d fallen under the Nattmara’s enchantment had no memory about the danger they had all come so close to. In fact, all it seemed anyone could remember—apart from SoYun, Wael, Tuva, Olaf, and Elsa—was a light aphid breakout on some of the crops that had coated the harvest in white scales.
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