Forest of Shadows Read online

  The Great Hall, as its name suggested, was exactly that: great. It was the largest room in the castle, with tall windows and a gleaming chandelier, capable of fitting a hundred dashing lords and twirling ladies, Elsa’s throne, and a massive chocolate fountain all at the same time. Once, it had even hosted an entire ice skating rink when a late winter storm had threatened the annual ice dance competition.

  But now, for the first time Anna could remember, the Great Hall felt small. The single file line cutting through the portrait gallery hadn’t prepared her for the absolute crush of people that filled the Great Hall. Even on the busiest market day on record—shortly after Elsa’s coronation, when everyone had come to see their new magical sovereign—there had not been this many people. Or maybe there had been, but joy didn’t take up nearly as much room as fear. Fear filled the hall, as large and present as one of the Earth Giants in her mother’s tales. The voices all around Anna were pulled tight, sounding as if they would break at any moment.

  “Everything is gone! It’s been ruined!”

  “My cattle! They won’t wake up!”

  “Never in all my days! It’s as if the very earth has gone awry!”

  “Do you think this has to do with the Northuldra?”

  “No,” someone grunted. “King Runeard, may he rest in greatest peace, made sure they would never trouble Arendelle again.”

  “And the animals…”

  Anna heard a strange noise from outside. It sounded like a mix of children learning how to play the violin crossed with the sounds of a zoo. Peering through the window, Anna gasped. The courtyard was just as full as the Great Hall, filled to the brim with farmers and animals. Sheep had broken loose from their shepherds, and the herding dogs, usually so careful, seemed distracted, following something in the air that no one else could see. All the animals looked like walking ghosts, their fur and hides the same sickly yellow-white. And even as Anna watched, a cow and two horses knelt to the ground, their eyes as large and black as lumps of coal, their mouths open and tongues lolling out until, suddenly, they fell asleep.

  Anna’s stomach turned. “Excuse me,” she said over and over again as she tried to wade her way to the front of the hall, toward the throne where Elsa must be. Grumbling people followed in her wake as she wove in and out of the crowd, and more than once, she had to tug her quilt from beneath someone’s boot.

  But with one last push, she made it to the throne, relief washing over her as she found Elsa standing there, just as Wael, the local journalist, yelled out, “That’s not going to help us!”

  “Wael,” Elsa said, “if you would please only just—”

  “Ah-hem! Winter is fast approaching.” Wael’s ink-stained fingers gestured wildly. “We will have nothing to eat! We deserve answers—and it’s your responsibility as queen to give us answers and take care of your people! We don’t have enough food to last the week!”

  A hush fell over the Great Hall at his words.

  Elsa stood tall, not backing down, but Anna knew her sister. She could see the overbright sheen of her eyes. It wasn’t just ice that could sparkle in chandelier light. Tears could, too.

  Anger, bright and hot, swept through Anna. “Don’t speak to my sister that way!” she burst out as she reached Elsa’s side.

  “Anna,” Elsa said, her voice low, “I’ve got this, it’s fine—”

  Anna glared at Wael. “No, it’s not!”

  The man glared right back.

  “Elsa is doing her best,” Anna plowed on, her words coming fast and furious. “She has a plan! She’ll fix everything before she leaves on the grand tour!”

  Next to her, she heard Elsa’s breath catch. “Anna—”

  “That’s in just three days,” a tired-looking villager said, her arms full of what Anna thought was supposed to be emerald zucchini but now looked more like great white slugs. “Can the queen really—”

  “Anna—” Elsa tried again.

  But Anna didn’t listen. She was going to stick up for her sister. Elsa might be able to stand there and listen to people doubt her, but Anna wasn’t going to have any of it.

  “Of course Elsa can!” Anna said, holding on to their glowing secret, the promise of the mysterious book.

  “ANNA.” Elsa flung out her hand. There was a time when icy spears would have sprouted from the floor, but Elsa had control of her magical powers now. Instead of a dangerously pointed ice spear, it was now just a gesture—to remind her sister to watch what she said. “I apologize for my sister,” Elsa said to the Great Hall at large. Her chin had lifted in the exact same way Anna remembered her father lifting his during special ceremonies, when he was trying to be his most regal.

  Anna opened her mouth to protest, but one glance at Elsa’s expression squashed any words she had left. Her cheeks flushed. Burning anger transformed into burning embarrassment. What had she done?

  “I understand your concern,” Elsa continued, her voice steady and cool. “And I share it. What I’ve been trying to say is, to show my commitment to solving the problem of the ruined crops and sick animals, I’m postponing my grand tour until I can sort out this troubling matter at hand.”

  “What?” Anna gasped before she could stop herself, shocked her sister would cancel her grand tour. She didn’t understand what Elsa was thinking—what if postponement convinced the dignitaries and people from other lands that Arendelle wasn’t, in fact, opening its gates, but closing them once again? And from the shocked look on Wael’s face and the murmur of the crowd, Anna knew she wasn’t the only one surprised by this announcement.

  If they hadn’t been standing in front of a large crowd of stressed villagers, Anna imagined Elsa would be rubbing her temples and sighing right about now. But they were standing in front of stressed villagers, and her sister never failed to live up to what was expected of her: she was queen, regal and unflappable.

  “Because,” Elsa said, speaking loud enough for all to hear, “the royal ship is loaded with rations of food, apples, wheat, dried vegetables, cheeses, cans of pickled herring, and sausages. We need to share our surplus, or else the villagers with Blight-stricken farms will suffer further.” Once again, Elsa had come up with the perfect solution—one so obvious Anna wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. Elsa was so good at seeing the larger tapestry, while Anna let herself get distracted by whatever thread was dangling in front of her at that very moment.

  “That amount of food will only last us all three days at the most,” Wael protested. “And what makes you think the food on your ship hasn’t soured, Your Majesty?” There was something about his all-knowing attitude that made Anna want to release Marshmallow, Elsa’s dangerous giant snowman—and Olaf’s little brother—on him. But seeing as that wasn’t an option, since Marshmallow was currently the housekeeper for the ice palace on top of the North Mountain, she’d settle for glaring at Wael instead.

  “I’ll scour our kitchen here,” Elsa offered.

  Beside her, Kai scribbled a note onto a ream of parchment, while brown-haired and kind Olina, in charge of overseeing the kitchen staff, clasped her gloved hands together in deep thought. Nothing ever missed Olina’s careful eye, and Anna knew that she was probably already running through a mental list of food the castle kitchen could provide.

  “What if that food’s gone bad, too?” cried a voice from the crowd.

  Anna held her breath while everyone stared at Elsa.

  Elsa, however, looked at only one person: Olina. The woman gave a slight shake of her head: the kitchen was still fine. Anna exhaled, thankful that at least this one piece of news wasn’t terrible.

  “As your queen,” Elsa said loudly, her voice strong, “I will see to it that you have food.”

  The crowd murmured, but Anna could hear the shift in tone. The conversation around her no longer vibrated with the intensity of a string pulled too tight. Instead, the words loosened and the conversation relaxed as the villagers considered Elsa’s proposal.

  “I think it’s a good id
ea,” Tuva called out. “My wife and I accept.” And the two blacksmiths nodded in agreement.

  “I accept, too,” Eniola called out, and soon other villagers voiced their agreement as well. All except for Wael, who only reluctantly nodded, but not before adding, “Fine—but the Village Crown will make sure that you keep Anna’s promise that the solution will be found before three days are up.”

  Pride filled Anna as Kai led the disgruntled villagers back out of the castle and toward the harbor to collect the supplies from the royal ship. She felt like cheering, but instead she settled on a quiet squeal, and whispered to Elsa, “That was brilliant.”

  But Elsa didn’t smile back. Instead, she walked to one of the more secretive side entrances to the Great Hall, hidden from view by a tapestry. “Anna,” she said without turning around, “can we talk for a minute, please?”

  Anna’s smile slipped away as she followed her older sister. She might not know why the farm animals were sleeping or why their fur was turning white, or why the kingdom’s food seemed to be turning to dust and ash, but she did know one thing: she was absolutely, completely, 100 percent in trouble.

  “Three days?!” Elsa whirled on Anna as soon as the tapestry fell back in place, obscuring them from view. “Anna of Arendelle, how on earth can I fix this mess, and so soon?” Even though Elsa didn’t raise her voice, Anna could hear her frustration boiling underneath. “Between this and Kristoff—”

  “Kristoff?” Anna interrupted, furrowing her eyebrows. “What about Kristoff?”

  Elsa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, just as Anna had suspected Elsa had wanted to do earlier. “He’s not here. I thought he’d be back by now, but…”

  Worry zipped through Anna, but she forced herself to shrug. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said. “You know how happy Bulda is whenever he visits.” She smiled, thinking of the mountain troll who’d raised Kristoff as her own. “I bet you he’s delayed because he’s so full of mushroom stew that he’s too heavy for Sven to carry, and they have to walk.”

  But it seemed Elsa couldn’t be distracted from her worry, not even with the funny image. Elsa shook her head. “It’s so much pressure. I don’t know what I can do.”

  “You mean, what we can do…with a secret book full of magic!” Anna said.

  Elsa groaned. “Oh, Anna!” She shook her head. “I know you want it to be, but I don’t think magic is the answer to all of our problems.”

  “Okay, I hear you, but look.” Anna held out Secrets of the Magic Makers. “There is so much information in here.” She flipped through the pages until she found the one she was looking for. “See? This one grants your dreams.”

  Elsa sighed. “Anna, I told you not to go back in the secret room.”

  “I didn’t go back into it. I grabbed this book before I left the first time. Look at it!”

  Reluctantly, Elsa glanced down at the page that had been pushed under her nose, but before she had a chance to skim, Gerda pulled back the tapestry, wearing her signature green skirt, jacket, and cap, and holding Elsa’s great big calendar.

  “Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” the woman said, and Anna could hear the sympathy in her voice, “but even with the grand tour postponed, this fiasco with the sickness has put us behind schedule. And now you must write explanations to all the different dignitaries and heads of countries to explain why you can’t make it.”

  Elsa took a deep breath. “Yes, of course, Gerda, you’re right. The work of a queen is never complete.” She glanced over at Anna, who held her breath. “Here. Let me have that book. Maybe you’re right. I promise I’ll look at it as soon as I have a spare minute.”

  “Of—of course,” Anna said, happy to share. But she would have been even happier if Elsa had told Gerda that Anna had found something important. That they were working on discovering a solution together.

  “I’d like to meet with an animal expert now to get their opinion,” Elsa said, and Anna noticed again that she was tugging on her fingers. “And a botanist. I’m not sure what should be done first….”

  “If you need someone to write letters, I can help with that,” Anna offered. “I’ve read up on all the different etiquettes of each country.”

  “That should be just fine, dear,” Gerda said, her pencil already flying over the calendar to adjust it. “Just make sure Elsa signs them before you mail them.”

  “I will!” Anna promised, happy to help Elsa and happy to have something to do while she waited for Kristoff to return to the castle. She had so many things she wanted to ask him, starting with, How do the trolls say we can cure the Blight? and leading to, Do you know how to read the mysterious ancient runes in my mother’s book?

  “Thanks, Anna,” Elsa said as Gerda hurried away to arrange everything. “If that’s all taken care of, then I need to get going. I’ll make sure I visit you before I go to bed, okay?”

  But she turned before Anna could even nod.

  And though Anna stood in the middle of a crowded castle still bursting to the brim with villagers, the sight of Elsa walking away from her had never made Anna feel more alone.

  THROUGH HER BEDROOM WINDOW, Anna watched the exodus of the castle staff trailing over the Bridge of Arches and into the darkening village.

  That afternoon, Elsa had given the staff the option of taking off from work with pay so that they could go help their nearby relatives whose animals and crops were suffering from the Blight. After she had written the letters, Anna had changed into her travel cloak and spent the rest of the day helping unload food from the royal ship and handing it out to the villagers amidst the groaning of sick animals.

  She’d wanted to cover her ears, but then she thought that would be the cowardly thing to do. She couldn’t just ignore the ugly things in the world around her. If people did that, no one would ever help at all, and nothing would become well again. And so Anna had gone to help the farmers dab white fur with wet washcloths to try to keep their livestock alert. She’d stroked a sad little foal’s fuzzy ears as it curled up next to the sleeping form of its mother, who did not so much as stir at the foal’s pitiful nickers.

  Anna turned away from the window and paced, still in her travel cloak from earlier. Just as she’d thought, Elsa hadn’t come to see her. She knew her sister was busy, but…Anna glanced out the window again, and made up her mind. Lighting an oil lamp, she quickly made her way through the now empty halls of the castle to Elsa’s council chambers.

  As Anna approached the doors, she was surprised to see no yellow light trickling out from beneath. Her breath quickened. Maybe something else had gone wrong in the village, something so bad that it had pulled Elsa away from the signing of the dignitaries’ letters.

  Anna knocked, and when there was no answer, she let herself in.

  Elsa was nowhere to be found.

  But—Anna felt her mouth tighten.

  There, lying unopened on the desk, was Secrets of the Magic Makers. It was clear Elsa hadn’t touched it. But she needed to! Anna knew people said she was too optimistic, naïve about the way the world worked, and maybe that was true, but she had faith in stories. And she had faith that there was a solution to any problem, just as long as one kept looking. She just needed to get Elsa to listen to her.

  Anna hurried back through the castle, gripping Secrets of the Magic Makers. She looked everywhere for her sister, until her eyes grew heavy with sleep as the sky continued to darken outside the castle. Maybe Elsa wasn’t in the castle at all. Reluctantly, Anna trudged back to her room.

  And then…

  Voices.

  Voices coming from Elsa’s bedroom. Anna pressed her ear to the bedroom door, and though she couldn’t make out the words, she recognized the low timbre of Kai’s voice as well as Gerda’s northern cadence.

  Anna staggered from the door. Elsa was having a meeting without her! There was a time when Anna knew Elsa would have invited her to each and every single meeting, would have sought out her advice, but now…now it seemed Elsa no longer had any need
for her little sister at all. Elsa had chosen to shut her out once more.

  With all the dignity she could muster, Anna walked slowly away from the door, but as soon as she was out of sight from Elsa’s bedroom, she broke into a run, trying to escape the emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. Rushing into the sanctuary of her own bedroom, Anna slammed the door shut and sat cross-legged on her shaggy pink rug, Secrets of the Magic Makers spread open in front of her. She studied the book, which blurred slightly in her gaze from unshed tears. Anna flipped through it again, and a loose page fell out, one that looked like it was ripped from another book.

  Reaching for it, Anna was reminded of the same loose page that had given her so much hope the previous night. The page with a spell to make your dreams come true. Her tears dried up, and Anna felt her sadness replaced by another rising emotion, one growing so fast and so big that it seemed to take on a life of its own. For a moment, she thought she understood what Elsa experienced when she used her magic. Anna had to let this wild, untamed hope free—even if Elsa didn’t think it would work, there could be no downside to trying. And if it worked, maybe the doors to council meetings would reopen to Anna. Maybe the strained tension between Anna and Elsa would disappear. Because that was her dearest dream: Anna hoped she could help the people of Arendelle, working together with Elsa to find a solution that would make everything right again. And in the process, Anna hoped Elsa would realize she needed her sister, just the same way that Anna needed Elsa.

  Tugging out the loose page, Anna whispered the words out loud:

  “Wild, awake!

  Wind and snow!

  Plant the seed

  And watch it grow!

  Say this spell,

  And you shall see

  All your dreams

  Come to be!”

  A beat of silence. Anna felt foolish. What had she thought would happen after she read the spell? That her sister would materialize in front of her? Come racing in with open arms and lead her back to the secret room? Without her wild hope tugging her forward, Anna deflated. She crumpled up the dream spell page and put it in her cloak pocket, not wanting to look at it anymore.