Winterwood (6 page)

Their descent ended when they took a sharp turn and entered a wide chamber, half of which was blocked by a series of iron bars set so close together a large person wouldn't be able to get an arm between them. A short door sat in the middle. One sputtering torch delivered a feeble glow that threatened to go out at any moment. An ogre took a long key from a peg on the wall and opened the door.

Strong hands pushed Anders forward. Caught off guard, he stumbled and fell into the cage. His family joined him on the floor a second later and the door clanged shut. The ogre turned the lock and then peered in at them.

“Enjoy your accommodations. We'll see you at the feast.”

Snuffling, honking laughter filled the corridor, fading as the ogres filed out.

In the resulting silence, Anders heard the rustle of bodies shifting. Damp straw stuck to his face and hands, bringing with it the acrid stink of old urine. He sat up and did his best to brush away the soiled detritus, then made a quick inspection of their cell. Longer and wider than his daughter's living room, with no windows and a ceiling that barely topped six feet. As his eyes adjusted to the near dark, he made out the forms of other people. They lay on the floor, twenty or twenty-five of them. A few looked at him and then put their heads back down.

Paul got to his knees and helped Anna sit up.

“I can't believe Ulaf did that,” Anna said, wiping grime and straw from her hands.

“It's my fault. I shouldn't have trusted him.” Anders wanted to bang his fists against the bars until his bones broke. He'd fallen for the elf's lies, and now they were paying the price for his stupidity.

Anna sniffed back tears. “No, the fault's all mine. If I'd listened to you, believed you—”

“Mommy, when are we going home?”

Anders watched his daughter open her mouth and then close it again without answering. She pulled her boys into a hug, and they pressed themselves close to her, burying their faces against her chest. Paul moved around behind them and wrapped his arms around all of them.

We can't give up hope. We're alive. All of us.
As much as Anders didn't want to admit it, he'd had his doubts of ever seeing his grandchildren again. He scooted over and gave both of them a quick hug and a kiss on the head, and then leaned back. Finding them was wonderful, but they still had a bigger problem to solve.

How to escape and get back home.

Anders tore his eyes away from the tearful reunion and looked around the room, really seeing it for the first time. Many of the other prisoners were sitting up, staring with wide eyes at the unexpected moment of joy occurring amidst the despair and hopelessness of their situation. A terrible cold, worse than the freezing air of the dungeon, crept through Anders's bones as he got his first real look at their faces.

All children.

Every one of them. Children. All of them of a similar age, between seven and ten. Dressed in threadbare coats and pants over pajamas or undergarments. A few only had slippers to protect their feet. All of them looked bruised and scared.

Children. Captured for the feast.

Anders's heart delivered a sharp jolt but he ignored it and turned back to his family. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

“No escape,” one of the captives whispered. “No escape from the witch.”

“We have to find a way.” Anders got to his feet, tugging at Paul to get him to stand. “And fast. We can't be here when morning comes.”

Somewhere in the depths of the dungeon a door slammed, the sound echoing from one ancient wooden wall to the next until it seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“Too late,” a child said, and all of them lay down on the piss-soaked, filthy straw, pulling their hoods over their faces. Several of them whimpered or cried into their sleeves.

Two figures emerged from the darkness, dancing into the chamber with manic glee. Their elongated, misshapen faces peered out from the hoods of their matching green hide coats to show eyes alight with madness.

“Here, Mother! Here! These are the ones we want next.” The two jegere pointed into the cage, right at Nick and Jake.

“Don't let them take us again!”

The boys pressed themselves tighter against their mother, hiding their faces, and Anders knew instantly who the newcomers were.

The Yule Lads. The murderous sons of the Holly King.

The ones who took my grandchildren.

He placed himself in front of his family, blocking them from the gesturing fiends, just as a third figure entered the dungeon.

Someone gasped, and more than a few of the captive children moaned at the sight of the old woman. Even Anders backed up a step, despite the bars between them.

Ancient as the tree surrounding them, she exuded evil like a fetid body odor. Hunched and emaciated, she still projected a sense of power stronger than any man ten times her size. A long nose with a sharp hook at the end dominated her craggy face. Beneath it, her lips were two pallid worms and her chin a jagged spike split by a deep cleft from which sprouted several long whiskers. Wild, stringy, white hair fell haphazardly over her ears and down to her shoulders, giving the impression she'd never learned to use a comb or brush. Her eyes, black as a starless night, glared from under a brow too large for her face. When she opened her mouth to speak, she revealed brown, misshapen teeth with several empty places along her gums.

“Gryla.”
The word escaped Anders lips before he could stop it.

The crone narrowed her eyes at him. “And who have we here? A human who knows my name? Where are you from, old man?”

Anders shook his head. “I'll not speak with you, witch.”

The ancient woman made a
tsk-tsk
sound through her crooked teeth. “You don't need to converse for me to know your secrets.”

She leaned forward, one hand cupping a pointed ear. She listened for a moment and then lifted her head and took a deep breath through flaring nostrils.

“Ah, I can smell the strength fading in your blood, which thickens and slows with every beat. You fear for your children and your grandchildren, but your worries should be for yourself before your family. They're going to die, 'tis true, but you won't be here to see it. Your clock is ticking, old man, ticking the last of your time away. Can you hear it? Tick…tick…tick…”

The witch raised her staff and pointed it at Anders. “Oh, too bad. No more minutes.”

Agony exploded in Anders's chest, radiating out from his heart to his shoulders and arms and down to his belly. His throat tightened, turning a cry of pain into a wheezing gasp. His legs gave out and he fell, one hand pressed against his sternum. Rank straw and dust filled his nose, but the invisible band around his chest wouldn't let him cough. Dim light turned to complete darkness. From far away, he heard Anna shouting at him—
“Father! Father!”
—but he had no strength to respond. Other sounds reached him in his lightless world. The metallic
clank
of the lock being opened. Voices shouting.

“Help!”

“Take them, Mother! We brought them just for you.”

“Leave them alone!”

Then the clang of iron striking iron, which grew louder in his head, became a booming thunder reverberating in his skull, drowning everything else out as it beat in time to the tortured pounding behind his ribs.

My heart. Pills. Must reach them. Can't let…

It was no use. He couldn't speak, couldn't move. He'd failed. Failed to keep his family safe, failed to return them home. Hopelessness washed through him, bringing the bitter taste of defeat to his mouth. The roaring in his hears faded, taking the pain in his chest with it, until only a final thought remained.

I'm sorry.

“Dad?”

Anders opened his eyes. A blurry, ghostly face hovered in black sky. He blinked and then wondered why he had to.

I died. Didn't I?

He blinked again, and the face resolved into Anna staring at him from a couple of feet away. Tears carved dark streaks through the dirt on her cheeks.

“Thank God.” She leaned down and kissed his cheek.

“What—” Anders stopped. The bitter taste in his mouth. Dry lips. A hint of nausea. All too familiar. “My pill. Who?”

“I knew you had to have them with you. As soon as you collapsed, I searched your pockets. But you didn't wake up right away, and I thought…I thought I was too late.”

Anders managed a weak smile. His daughter knew him too well. He never left his bedroom without his nitroglycerin pills stashed in the pocket of his robe or pants, not once in the ten years since he'd developed angina after a mild heart attack.

“No blockages,”
the cardiologist had told him.
“But try to avoid stress.”

If only he could see me now.

“Help me up.” He let Paul and Anna guide him into a sitting position. As always after one of his episodes, his arms and legs felt weak as a newborn's, but that would pass in a few minutes. In the meantime, his mind still worked, so he might as well use it.

“What happened after I…?”

Anna bit her lip and shook her head.

“They took Jake and Nick. I tried to stop them, but that old woman, she did something to me. And to Paul. We couldn't move.”

“She's not a woman, she's a witch.” Anders took a deep breath, then regretted it when the stink of mildew and piss filled his lungs. He tried not to think about all the diseases floating in the air. “We need to get out of here. We have to find them before…”

“Please don't say it,” Anna whispered.

“Say what?” Paul asked.

The feeling of defeat returned, falling on Anders like a sodden blanket. They were alive, yes, but still trapped. How long had he been unconscious? Long enough for…?

“Gryla is the Holly King's wicked bride, the mother of the Yule Lads and the evil sister of Mother Earth. She's a witch with a fondness for children.”

“A fondness… Jesus, you don't mean she—”

“No.” Anders read the revulsion on Paul's face, knew he was still thinking in modern terms. Except the reality of the situation was far worse than perversion or molestation. “Do you remember the story of Hansel and Gretel? Like so many others, it's based on fact. From July to December, Gryla wanders the darkest woods of the Earth at night, looking for children to lure back to Winterwood with promises of candy and treats. But now, with the feast approaching, she'll be busy in her kitchen, preparing her—”

“Stop it!” Anna turned to her husband. “She's going to turn them into fucking pies, Paul. Our children. Cooked and served for dinner, goddammit.”

“No.” Paul shook his head. “No. I refuse to believe that will happen. We'll get out of here. We'll find them. There has to be a way—”

A door slammed in the distance and someone in the back of the cell sobbed. “Quiet or she'll take you next,” another voice said.

A shadow appeared, short and wide, moving along a wall of the corridor.

“It's the cat!” The children in the cell moved back against the far wall, cowering in a group. Anders's heart gave an abrupt
bang
and his hand went for his pills, but the pain didn't repeat.

The shadow grew larger and then resolved into a familiar form.

Ulaf.

“Hurry now,” said the elf, taking the key from its peg. “We don't have much time.” He thrust the key into the lock and pulled the door open.

The sight of the person who'd betrayed them ignited a fury in Anders, but when he tried to stand a ripple of dizziness sent him back to his knees and forced him to watch while Anna strode forward and slapped Ulaf across the face.

“You bastard! You left us to die and now my children are gone.”

Ulaf rubbed his face and effected a distressed expression. “I'm truly sorry for my actions. But what choice did I have? Dead to rights they had you. And what good would I be in helping you escape if I sat behind the bars as well?”

“Bullshit.” Anna stepped past him and then paused. She glanced in both directions before fixing her gaze on Anders. “We don't need him. You can find them.”

Anders took Paul's proffered arm and slowly got to his feet. He shook his head carefully, wary of bringing on another dizzy spell.

“Listen to your father. He knows you'll never find your kin without me,” Ulaf said.

“Screw you. I'll find them myself.” She took a few steps to her right and stopped again when neither Anders nor Paul followed. “What are you waiting for?”

“We need him.” Anders pointed at Ulaf, hating his words but knowing they were true. “Otherwise we could end up wandering the castle until we either get caught again or end up like…”

“Me,” Ulaf finished. “And then you, too, will be trapped here for eternity.”

“Paul, they're our children.” Anna turned her gaze to her husband. The flickering light of the scattered torches turned her into a living corpse. Anders hoped it wasn't a foreboding of things to come.

“What if he's right?” Paul asked.

“I am,” Ulaf said.

“Why should we believe you?” Anders felt as torn as his son-in-law looked. The elf had already deceived them once. Or had he? Was he telling the truth?

“Why would I come back, risk my own neck?” When no one answered, Ulaf sighed. He glanced down the corridor and then continued speaking, “Listen then. I've told you a little of how I came to be here. 'Twas the first night of Yule when they caught me. But not just me. They took my brothers as well. Six of us. They put me in the stables and sent the rest to work tending the fires. I never saw them again. Eaten, they were. Cooked into stew by that damn hag. I never knew, not until 'twas too late.”

Ulaf placed a hand on his belly. Anna's eyes went wide and she turned away. The horrified look on Paul's face showed that he, too, understood the ghastly implications of Ulaf's story.