Forest of Shadows Page 13

  Elsa crossed her arms, but after a second, Anna knew she’d won. This round, anyway. They divided up the circular room. In the light of a dying fire, she could see the walls were plastered with detailed star charts and strange silver instruments that hummed, and a delicate gold miniature of the solar system that was so beautifully done, Anna thought it was a shame that she couldn’t study it for hours and tell the children of the village all about it. She also found a calendar with all the phases of the moon laid out, three miniature telescopes, powder-filled glass vials, and an old sundial, its copper face green from the years it must have spent out in the harsh elements. And last but not least, a hunk of blue-black rock that was labeled METEORITE.

  “This mystic seems to really like the night sky,” Anna called to Elsa.

  “I noticed,” Elsa said as she straightened a frame. “Did you see the ceiling?”

  Anna tilted her head back and gasped. A star map had been painted above them in deep blues and indigos. Delicate lines of silver paint connected some of the stars, tracing the outlines of fantastical beasts, crowns, and heroes. They were familiar images, and Anna recognized them as constellations. But there was something else about the illustrations that seemed familiar to her, though she couldn’t quite place her finger on it….

  “It’s so pretty,” Anna said. “It’s the prettiest ceiling I’ve ever seen.”

  Elsa nodded. “I like it, too. It even has my favorite constellation—Ulf.” She looked over at Anna and smiled. “Ulf the Wolf was always my favorite. I made Mother tell me all his stories.”

  The sisters kept searching.

  Sorenson’s thinking seemed random, and his shelves didn’t appear to be organized in any particular order that Anna could tell. Though, when she peeled back the first book’s cover, she wondered if maybe he had ranked them by stench. Many of the books had dark stains on their pages, and a couple of them even had their own furry patch of mold. But for someone who was known to be an expert in myths and lore, Sorenson didn’t appear to have many books on those topics. The closest thing was a small slate covered with strange symbols in chalk, but upon examining it, Anna saw it wasn’t magic, but physics.

  Wandering over to the last bookshelf, Anna skimmed the titles: Book of Later Han by Zhang Heng, Almanack by Richard Saunders, and Book of Optics by Hasan Ibn al-Haytham. Picking up the first title, Anna flipped through the pages to see sketches of instruments that looked quite similar to those sitting on the mystic’s shelves, along with annotations of water clocks and wind flows. No mention of curses, or of dream spells gone awry.

  “It’s funny,” Anna called out to Elsa as she tapped the book back onto the shelf. “I wouldn’t think that a mystic would have so many books on science. I thought he would have more spell books and stuff. You know?” She paused, waiting for her sister’s response. But when Elsa didn’t say anything, Anna called again. “Hey, Elsa?”

  “Anna, can you come here?” Elsa asked.

  Anna followed her sister’s voice to where she stood in a back room, more of an alcove really, that contained a tiny kitchen. Anna hurried over to her sister to find her gaping open-mouthed at a table. It looked ordinary enough, but then Anna saw it: on the center of the table was a pot of soup.

  A steaming pot of soup.

  Anna’s stomach flipped. For that twist of steam to exist, someone had to have been there recently.

  “Where’s Kristoff?” Anna whispered. She’d planned on checking on him, but had become distracted by the many books and treasures. The mystic’s mind seemed just as distracted as her own. And now Kristoff had been gone upstairs for at least ten minutes, and he’d not come back down.

  “Anna,” Elsa whispered, “I don’t think we’re alone here.”

  “Exactly so,” said a low, raspy voice.

  Anna spun around as a man stepped off the staircase landing and into the tower room. He was short, barely up to Anna’s shoulders, and he wore his long silver beard down to the floor. Anna had the fleeting thought that he looked a bit like the nisse from her mother’s tales, those tiny gnomelike creatures that would adopt a family to both hinder and help. The only thing he was missing was a nisse’s traditional pointy red hat, but he did have a sharp, glinting spear—and it was aimed directly at her heart.

  Anna stopped breathing. In the corner, she saw Elsa raise her hands. They were trembling. But there was Elsa, once again ready to step in. Anna knew better than anyone how much Elsa never again wanted to use her powers to harm another—not after the disastrous consequences that had occurred the last time, when she had turned Anna to ice by accident. But Anna also knew that Elsa would use her powers to protect Anna—and Anna could not allow that. Not when Anna could do something about it herself.

  “Hi! I’m Anna! This is Elsa!” Anna smiled, trying to inject as much cheer and goodwill into her voice as possible. “We’re sorry to intrude. We promise we weren’t going to eat your soup—it smells a bit funny—er, that’s so rude of me. I’m sorry. I mean, it doesn’t smell bad, but I’m not really sure I recognize that spice? But we’re not here for spices. Please don’t hurt us!”

  “Hurt you?” The man looked dizzy from trying to follow Anna’s words. “Why would you think I would want to hurt you?” His voice was deep and grating like gravel.

  “Umm.” Anna’s eyes flew to his hand. “Because of the spear you’re holding?”

  “What sp—? Oh!” The man lowered the point of his spear. “This isn’t a spear, it’s part of a weather vane. That mountain man upstairs broke it when he barged onto my peaceful observation deck unannounced! He’s exceedingly lucky I finished my Highly Flammable and Very Dangerous Combustion Powder last night, or he might not have ten fingers. Hmph.”

  Anna blinked as the man shoved the pointed weather vane under her nose, and she took in the large golden N that twinkled in front of her. N for north. “Ha ha,” she said, and pushed the golden point away from her. “What a silly mistake. Is the, er, mountain man…all right?”

  “He will be, once he cleans up the mess he made,” the short man said, shooting her a glare. “He’s also lucky he didn’t come next month and disturb my view of the meteor shower. But that’s what I’m doing here. I live here. Always have. My question is: what are you doing here?”

  “We’re looking for the great mystic Sorenson,” Anna said, trying to sweep a curtsy, but her knees were still shaky from misinterpreting the weather vane, and she almost knocked over a nearby bust of a man in round reading glasses. “We’re assuming that’s you?”

  The old man snorted. “I’m Sorenson, but I’m no mystic.”

  Elsa stepped forward, her hands no longer raised, but now clenched in the folds of her cloak. “But the villagers say you are a mystic.”

  “I’m a scientist,” the man said, using the weather vane to reach through his thick beard and scratch the underside of his chin. “Though I suppose the villagers might not see that much of a difference between me and the old mystics of legendary tales.”

  A scientist. Anna tried not to let her disappointment show. It was great to be a scientist, but not when one needed a mystic to save a kingdom from a vicious magical wolf. How would a scientist be able to help with a terrible curse? “We’re sorry to have bothered you.” Anna stepped aside as Sorenson shuffled past her to check on his soup. “Oaken had told us that you’re an expert in myths and lore.”

  “Oh, but I am.” Sorenson gave his pot a stir. “Mythology and science are familiar friends—both seek for the why behind things. Both look to provide an explanation for the natural phenomena of the world around us. And all myths contain a kernel of hard truth.” He took a sip of his soup and winced before tossing in a pinch of salt. Only after he took another sip and nodded his head in satisfaction did he look back at the sisters. “Though I am curious as to why the queen and princess of Arendelle are here seeking an expert in myths and lore. Something must be truly wrong.”

  “Because,” Elsa said, her voice low but steady, “Arendelle has been curse
d.”

  “And we need your help to figure out how to undo it,” Anna added, attempting to gloss over the fact that she’d been the one who’d cursed it. She tried not to look at anyone, but Elsa caught her eye and nodded. For a moment, it felt like an ember from the fireplace had broken away from the logs and settled somewhere in Anna’s heart. Even though snow and ice flowed through Elsa, she always made Anna feel the warmest. Maybe everything wasn’t lost, after all.

  Except, Sorenson’s reaction wasn’t exactly encouraging. His bushy eyebrows shot up so fast that they almost skidded off his face, and Anna wondered for a minute if he would laugh. Instead, he opened an old trunk and began pulling out empty bowls.

  “In that case,” Sorenson said, “someone please fetch the mountain man from the observation deck and have him rebuild my fire. It seems as though you have a story to tell, and I’d rather be warm while I listen.”

  A few minutes and a roaring fire later, Anna, Elsa, and Kristoff gathered around Sorenson’s table, each taking turns sharing all they knew. Anna heard Elsa describe the unnatural quiet that had befallen SoYun’s farm and the way the trees in the kingdom’s orchards were not only producing mushy gray apples, but had also become gnarled, as though they were twisting away from something—the wolf, Anna guessed—as it had passed by. But did that mean the wolf had been present before she read the spell? And if so, how?

  Then it was Kristoff’s turn, and he described how the forest, too, had been quiet, though he did not mention the trolls or their surprising absence. Arendelle’s mountain trolls were private creatures, and for the most part, they liked to keep themselves hidden from humans, with a few special exceptions. Kristoff wouldn’t mention them to just any person, and though Sorenson was now feeding them warm soup that tasted of mushrooms and roots, Kristoff was still protective of the concealed trolls who had raised him as part of their family, and, after all, Sorenson had forced Kristoff to clean up his mess out on a chilly observation deck.

  Finally, it was Anna’s turn. She began with the crumpled piece of paper with the “Make Dreams Come True” spell on it, and how she’d had a nightmare, and gone to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. She told him how she’d seen something out of the corner of her eye and followed it to the Great Hall, where she’d seen a wolf—the same wolf from her nightmare. And how her friends’ eyes had turned inky black and then glowing yellow while they seemed to have lost themselves in the strong hold of a nightmare sleep. As she completed her tale, Sorenson stood and went to his shelves. Pulling out two books, he returned to the table, the wooden floorboards beneath his boots creaking slightly as he walked.

  “I think,” Sorenson said, placing the books on the table and slipping back into his stool, “that the answer can be found in one of these.”

  Anna looked at the books. One was a tome called Psychologia. The other was a slim leather volume with block letters stamped across its cover:

  NATTMARA

  “‘Nattmara,’” Elsa read out loud. “I know that word.”

  Anna knew the word, too. She’d heard the word before, long, long ago, but she had seen that word recently as well, as a non-translated entry in Secrets of the Magic Makers. A vision sprang to her mind: a sketch of a man screaming in agony, and the drawing of the wolf…

  “Yes.” Sorenson nodded. “You probably do. Nattmara often show up in the sagas of old, and those stories are often told to children as warning tales.” Flipping open the ancient book, he pointed to an illustration of a child sleeping in bed. “Another name for a Nattmara is ‘Nightmare,’ because that’s what it is—the embodiment of our deepest fear.”

  “Embody-what?” Kristoff asked.

  “It means that nightmares can take on a physical shape and exist outside of your mind,” Elsa said.

  “Precisely.” Sorenson held up his pointer finger. “The act of burying fear is what manifests the Nattmara. And eventually, the fear is too big to keep inside. They can take the shape of anything, and this particular one seems to have taken the form of a wolf. Nattmara tend to roam the world, leaching energy from all living things. Their very presence can cause trees to twist away from them. They feed on fear, and so they seek to create fear.”

  Anna’s eyes widened as she listened, trying to grasp onto the strange ideas.

  Sorenson flipped the page to another illustration, this one of a swirling storm of black sand. “A Nattmara is also able to turn itself into black sand in order to slip through cracks—cracks in doors, and cracks within the heart. There is no escaping them, unless you’re brave enough that there is no weakness for the Nattmara to enter through.”

  He looked up, his brown eyes locking on Anna. “And if a Nattmara is allowed to run loose for too long, then a kingdom and everyone in it can fall into an eternal nightmare sleep. And as it grows more powerful, more people can become afraid, and it can gorge itself on fear, becoming bigger and bigger.” He tapped the page. “Or so the age-old myth goes.”

  Anna blinked, breaking away from Sorenson’s deep gaze. “You don’t sound like you believe in this myth,” she said, puzzled. “But doesn’t what’s happening in Arendelle now prove that the myth is real?”

  “Not at all,” Sorenson said, shaking his head and sending his long beard swaying. “What do they teach in schools these days? The Nattmara is a creature of myth, and like all myths, it’s an explanation to a greater mystery. In this instance: where do nightmares come from?”

  “Pardon me,” Elsa said, while Anna and Kristoff exchanged puzzled glances, “but I don’t understand your question.”

  Sighing, Sorenson shook his head. “Let’s look at it a different way. Did you see the signs for the mines that warn to be wary of Huldrefólk?” He paused, and when they nodded, he continued. “The mines were abandoned nearly twenty years ago, because of strange and mysterious things that kept going wrong. Cave-ins started to occur with increased frequency, and miners that had worked their entire lives in these tunnels began to get lost. Now, what was the explanation?” Sorenson looked from Anna to Elsa to Kristoff.

  “Huldrefólk,” Anna said, thinking back to the sign they had passed and Oaken’s warning. “The mysterious, elf-like people known as the Huldrefólk are rumored to live throughout Arendelle in mounds and under rock. They are a mischievous bunch, not necessarily bad, but they enjoy pranks above all else. They have a bit of a reputation for being thieves, but some stories insist they are simply collectors, borrowers of lost things. But unlike the mountain trolls, they are just a story that parents tell their young ones to go to sleep.”

  “Exactly,” Sorenson nodded. “The miners believed the Huldrefólk were angry that they were impeding on their territory. They thought the Huldrefólk were creating the cave-ins to scare the humans away.”

  “It seemed to have worked,” Kristoff remarked. “I noticed some boards over the mines’ entrance.”

  “It did work,” Sorenson agreed. “And a good thing, too, because the mines had been overworked. The miners weren’t in danger from territorial Huldrefólk. The human miners were in the middle of a danger of their own making. It was their pickaxes that had made the rock walls too thin to hold the weight of a mountain. Nothing mythical about it; just old-fashioned greed.”

  “So,” Elsa said slowly, “you’re saying the Nattmara probably has a simple explanation, too?”

  “A scientific one,” Sorenson clarified. “Most likely, our answer is in this.” He tapped the book labeled Psychologia with a grimy fingernail.

  Anna turned this information over. What Sorenson had said seemed simple enough, but she had seen the wolf. She had seen Kai’s and Gerda’s eyes. The “myth” had seemed very real as it had chased her and her friends through the rooms and halls of the castle.

  “But say it is a Nattmara that is doing all of this,” Anna argued, not wanting to leave empty-handed, not wanting to leave without at least one answer. “How can we defeat it?”

  “That’s easy enough,” Sorenson said, pulling out another book, this o
ne titled Mythica Explainia. “You can only defeat a myth with a thing of myth. But it’s not like Revolute exists. None of it really truly does.”

  “Revolute?” Kristoff asked. “That was Aren’s sword, right?”

  “The very one.” Sorenson nodded. “Aren was said to have defeated many a mythical beast with his sword. The very sword, some say, that the sun herself gifted to him for ripping holes in the night sky so that she could watch her children during the day. Those rips, of course, are what we call stars.” He smiled up in the direction of his painted ceiling. “See? Another myth seeking to answer how things came to be.”

  “Great!” Anna felt hope lift within her for the first time since they’d arrived at the tower. “So we need Revolute! Where is it?”

  Sorenson burst into laughter, but as he did, he took in the serious expression on her face, and shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it’s unlikely that Aren himself ever existed—or his mighty sword of myth. It’s likely that there was a strong warrior from way back when, but he probably never met the sun or faced a great dragon, or carved out the Arenfjord. That’s just legend—like the Huldrefólk or the mountain trolls.”

  “But the trolls exist,” Kristoff said with a shrug. “They raised me.”

  Sorenson stared hard at Kristoff. Then he cupped his hand around his mouth and whispered in Elsa’s ear, “Is the mountain man okay?”

  “Kristoff,” Anna corrected, “is amazing. And the trolls do exist. And the Nattmara exists. And the Huldrefólk, well, they probably exist, too!”

  Sorenson sat back, snapping his book shut. “Magic and myth don’t exist,” he said.

  Elsa smirked and flicked her wrist. A second later, Anna felt a cold kiss on her cheek. She looked up to see a delicate snow flurry hovering above their heads.

  There was a loud clatter as Sorenson tumbled from his stool. “In all my days! The rumors are true!”

  Elsa smiled. “You haven’t come down your mountain in a very long time, have you, Sorenson?” And so, Elsa began to tell Sorenson all that had happened in the last three years. And with each new thing he learned, Sorenson had another question.