ONE

"Gabby! Look! I’m a squirrel!" a sweet, trilling voice called out.

Slowly, I dragged my eyes away from the book I was absorbed in and glanced around to see what the fuss was about. There was five-year-old Journey, perched on a precariously high branch of an oak tree that hung over our small hut, which sat by itself outside the local village at the edge of the forest. She was balancing on one foot at the weaker part of the branch, as nimble as an acrobat, despite the fact that a thin sheet of ice covered the branch. It was deep into winter, and the ground was covered with snow and ice, causing the footing to be rather treacherous. The river that ran a little way past our hut was frozen over, and the air was frigid, seeming to crackle with the cold.

"Journey!" I cried, scrambling up and dumping the forgotten book onto the ground. "Journey, climb down from there at once! You know you aren’t supposed to go so high! You’ll kill yourself!"

My sister made a face at me and quickly scrambled down the tree, mindless of the ice…not to mention the tears and rumples in her petticoat. "You’re supposed to be watching me, not reading a book," she announced firmly, eyeing the thick volume laying facedown in the snow as one might eye a coiled serpent. She had made it very clear, long ago, that she held no love of books, although she would occasionally have me read her a story from one of Mama’s faerie tales. It was a disappointment to me; I had hoped to instill in Journey a love of stories such as Mama and I had. Yet I’d long discovered it to be a waste of time to get her to sit still long enough to listen, so I gave it up and was content to let Journey be Journey.

So, as my sister went back to pretending that she was a squirrel, I picked up my book and started reading again. It was a wonderful tale of a princess who pricked her finger on a spinning wheel and fell into a deep sleep, and the handsome prince who woke her up with a kiss.

I’d fully intended to finish the chapter I was reading, and then put away the book and watch Journey as I was supposed to. Willow was up in the village with Matthew, her latest beau, and Father, who were repairing the roof on an elderly neighbor’s house who could not do the work herself. He was a carpenter, of sorts, good enough to make a humble living of it and keep food on the table for his family. I glanced back down at the book again, undecided. There were so few pages left. No more than a chapter or two, and then the story was over. It would not take me long to finish it at all. Quickly glancing about for Journey, I found her fishing in the river with a bit of ribbon and an improvised hook, dangling it down into a jagged hole in the ice-covered water. She seemed to be quite absorbed in her task, so perhaps...

Before my conscience could change my mind, I bowed my head over the book again and quickly read the words before me. Soon I was as lost in the tale as I had ever been, and time passed…

When I finally finished the story, I was shocked to discover that Journey was no longer fishing at the river. Oh, come now! Surely not that much time has passed, I thought to myself, rather peevishly. She was just hiding in the bushes, or perhaps around the other side of the house, trying to give me a scare.

I glanced at the sky and felt a twinge of guilt when I saw how low the sun had fallen in the time I’d been reading. "Have I really been reading that long?" I murmured to myself. It had only been a few chapters, and they had been short! Well, it was no matter. The book was finished, and I would go in and play a guessing game with Journey, or maybe a game of hide-and-seek...which was obviously what my dear sister was playing now.

"Journey!" I called, gathering my skirts about me. I called for her again when she did not answer me the first time. She didn’t answer me the second time, either, and I began to feel rather annoyed. It was growing late. Father would be back soon, and I had not yet started supper. I was cold, too, and I did not feel like playing any of Journey’s games right then.

"Journey!"

I put as much force as I could behind that word. The little sprite usually knew better than to disobey when I used that tone on her, and yet…she still did not appear. I could not help feeling uneasy. What if, for some reason, she had fallen into the stream? The water was not deep; it barely reached my knees, but should Journey have somehow slipped on the ice, and hit her head and was knocked unconscious…

I ran to the river’s edge and peered into the water. My heart was beating so loudly that I felt sure one could hear it the whole way to the village. But there was no small body floating there, and the ice was still whole and unbroken, but for the small hole Journey had made. I let out a sigh of relief that turned my knees to jelly, as if all of my strength had escaped along with that sigh, and I sank down into the snow. However, I didn’t stay there for long. Journey hadn’t drowned, but she was still missing, and Father would be furious with me for neglecting my duties and letting her wander off alone. It had been irresponsible and childish of me not to watch her. If anything does happen to her, I thought, I will lock myself in my bedroom for the rest of my life, and starve myself to death, too!

Just then I heard the cheerful tune my father always whistled after a job well done drifting up the path to our house. I saw him coming, and he gave me a wave and a smile. He lifted two fat chickens from his shoulders, the payment for his help on the neighbor’s roof. "Haven’t started supper yet, have you?" he called. "These’ll make a fine meal tonight!"

"Journey’s missing!" I blurted out, before I even thought about it. Father looked surprised, and the smile left his face.

"Missing? How do you mean?" he asked. I hung my head, feeling my shame all over again, and told him the whole awful story.

"...And I’ve only just noticed that she isn’t here. At first, I thought she was playing a game, but she hasn’t come out at all. It isn’t like her to be so cruel as to worry me like this," I finished up. Father looked very stern as he scanned the riverbanks where Journey had last played.

"It is not a bad thing for you to read books," he said gruffly. "Your mother loved books, after all. But to ignore your sister, who is your responsibility today with Willow and I gone, that is a selfish thing for you to have done."

I felt tears start to my eyes. "I know, Father. I’m sorry," I whispered. "I’ll search for her, and I won’t stop until she has been found. Perhaps she crossed the bridge? I haven’t looked on the other side near the forest yet."

"The forest!" Father breathed the words like a curse, and I shuddered at his tone. He did not like the forest. Mama had always believed it to be enchanted, and Father had begun to believe it as well, ever since I had been born and had turned out looking so strangely. Especially when Mama had said the Goblin King had blessed me. At any rate, Father feared the dark trees, and the strange creatures that moved about within it. He had forbidden the three of us to go anywhere near it, and for the most part Willow and I had always obeyed.

But Journey… Ah, curious little Journey was another matter. The forest fascinated her, and I often caught her snatching glances at it, as if she was trying to peer into the trees to see the strange creatures said to lurk there. Once or twice I even saw her creeping close to it, as if preparing to sneak in. Then my chest would tighten up and I could hardly breathe. My palms would grow wet, and chills would creep up my spine. I would just barely manage to call her back before she disappeared into the shadows…perhaps forever.

I cannot say why I felt this way, but I knew there was something sinister about the woods. Even in the day, I could hear the howling of wild wolves drifting faintly across the river, and the sound always caused me to shiver. Maybe there were no faeries and no Goblin King, but there was…something. I was always careful not to let Journey out of my sight when I felt that she was becoming too curious about the forest.

As for right now…dread was upon me, and I crossed the footbridge as though my feet had wings. I searched the shore for some sign of black ringlets or bright petticoats, praying that she had merely grown tired and had fallen asleep right where she was, as children sometimes do.

And then…I saw it. A flutter of scarlet against the snow-covered, dark green branch of a pine tree. Journey’s hair ribbon! I ran and snatched it up. Yes, it was one of the ribbons she had been wearing to keep her unruly curls in their braids. It had caught on the branch of the tree and pulled free of her hair. My heart thumped painfully when I saw how close the tree was to the forest’s edge.

I called to Father, who came to see for himself. "She must be close by," he said. "We must look for her." He scowled fiercely as he gazed toward the forest. "If she has gone into the woods..." He didn’t finish that sentence; just let it hang in the air like a sword ready to drop. We heard a voice behind us and turned in hopes that it was Journey, but it was only Willow, who had just returned. I ran to her and told her what had happened, and she comforted me like she always did when I was in distress. "I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably sleeping under a bush, tired out from hiding from you. You and Father search for her, and I’ll start supper," she said practically.

So again Father and I searched for the missing child, but the longer I looked the more certain I became that she was no longer here but had, indeed, wandered away into the forest. My worst fears were confirmed when Father came up to me, holding another long, scarlet ribbon. "It was laying on the path a little way into the woods. I near missed it in the shadows," he said gravely. The sun was by now hanging quite low, and dusk was only a few hours away. The forest, dark even in daylight, was even more shadowed. He turned away again, and I realized that he planned to go further into the forest.

"Wait!" I cried. "You mustn’t go in now! It’s too late. Surely you’ll be lost."

"I am a grown man, child," he replied. "I can handle myself well enough, but how do you think a little girl feels in this dark forest alone?"

I hung my head, ashamed all over again. "You’re right," I whispered. "Still, as this is my fault, and only mine, I’ll go in with you. Perhaps she hasn’t gone too far, and with both of us looking, one of us is sure to find her."

Father made no protest. Instead, he went to fetch two lanterns, leaving me to stare at the dark woods before me. Never had the dread gripped me so tightly as it did now—now that I was about to go willingly into the forest. Well, I amended, not willingly, really. But determined, certainly. Nothing mattered but the finding of my little sister. Especially not my own childish fear.

Father and I searched for a very long time. It was the longest time of my life. At every sound, I thought my heart would leap from my throat, and I’m afraid I was more of a hindrance to Father than a help. I have never considered myself a coward, but it was becoming quite clear that I was not half as brave as I would have liked to pretend when it came to confronting my worst fear. The shadows seemed to have a life of their own, and I knew that we were being watched at every turn. Whether by wild beast or Fae or spirit, it was terrible to feel the hidden eyes burning into me from all sides.

Our voices grew hoarse from so much shouting, until we could speak in little more than croaks. I was thirstier than I’d ever been in my life, yet dared not stop to drink from any streams we passed, for the water—which was strangely free of ice—may have been as enchanted as the forest. I could only imagine what might have become of me had I drunk any.

I knew that time was quickly passing, and still no sign of Journey. I felt despair creep upon me, fearing that I would never see my poor sister again. And Willow! What could we tell her about it? She would be heartsick, though no more than Father was. He seemed to have aged ten years in a few long hours. His features were creased with worry and dark circles shaded the skin beneath his eyes, which seemed old and dull and very, very tired. He walked with a stoop to his back that hadn’t been there before.

I felt as old as my gray hair made me look. I knew that very shortly Father was going to give up the search as a lost cause. And then, quite suddenly, I heard the sound of childish singing, coming from directly ahead of me. Journey’s voice! Singing a silly little song that I myself had taught her. Father and I looked at each other for several long moments, as if to assure ourselves that we weren’t hallucinating, and then we both took off running toward the voice at the very same time.

There! Between two tall, ancient oak trees. A…wall! We were brought up short by the sudden appearance of it, nearly running headlong into it before we could stop. It was a low wall, coming only as high as my waist, and made of pure white stone that shone like crystal. It surrounded a wide, square clearing with benches along the inside for a person to rest weary feet. There was a lovely fountain situated in the center of this garden, pouring out sweet, clear water that fell like liquid diamonds into the basin below.

As in all gardens, there were flowers. Hundreds of flowers that grew on pale, silver-white vines, nearly blending into the wall in some places, sparkling like precious metal. They were like nothing I’d ever seen before; strangely beautiful blossoms with petals of silver and leaves of snow white; far more exquisite than any rose Willow had ever grown in our garden. Roses, to me, are the most beautiful flowers in the world. Their fragrance—enticing and sweet—wafted to me, leaving me feeling lightheaded. I felt as though I could reach out and pluck one from its vine and eat it, so delicious did it smell!

We somehow found ourselves inside the wall, although I had no recollection of passing through any gates, and the strange flowers surrounded us on all sides. A few remaining traces of sunlight somehow managed to squeeze through the surrounding trees, casting lovely patterns on the soft, grass-covered floor.

"Father!" came a delighted cry, and I saw that Journey was here, playing among the blossoms without a care in the world. "Look! Oh, look! Aren’t they beautiful? Can I take some home to plant in our garden?" she pleaded, but Father had scooped the child up in his arms and was hugging and scolding her fiercely for causing such worry and mischief. She apologized properly, but I could see she clearly was more interested in the garden. Not that I could blame her, although Father, strangely seemed quite ill at ease here. "Come, children. We must leave here at once. This is no place for such as us," he told us firmly.

"But I don’t want to leave!" Journey protested. "It is so dark and cold out there! Isn’t it so much warmer here?"

I suddenly realized that it was, indeed, quite warm, and I took off my cloak without thinking about it. "This place is enchanted," Father was saying fearfully. "How else do flowers bloom in the middle of winter? And what kind of flowers are these? They hold the look of enchantment about them. Look! There is no snow here, although the world is covered with it outside. How else could that be possible, if not for magic? We must be gone from here. Whoever owns this garden will not like intruders!"

Father’s words struck a chord deep in my heart, and my fear, having before vanished in the peace of the garden, instantly returned. I knew whose garden this was. It could only belong to the Goblin King. Mama had told me enough stories of his kingdom, and these woods were clearly a part of it. I gathered my cloak back up, feeling my knees knock together as I imagined the Goblin King bearing down on us even then, furious that we had dared to trespass in his realm. I could almost see his terrible face in my mind. I imagined him as a beast with claws and fangs and fur, and the image made me hurry faster, though there seemed to be no gates to leave by.

I was near ready climb the wall, no matter how unladylike it was, when Father’s cry of dismay turned me so quickly that I lost my balance and fell behind a tall, thorny bush. "What have you done, child?" he cried, and I peered around the bush to see what had happened. I gasped in shock when I saw that Journey held in one little hand a single, perfect blossom that looked as though it had been crafted of pure silver.

Journey’s lips were quivering, and her blue eyes filled with tears. "I…I only wanted to take it home to show Willow. She likes flowers," she sniffled. "A-and they smell so good, don’t they?"

My father closed his eyes, then opened them again and snatched the bloom from Journey’s hand. "We must leave…now!" he said, and I have never heard his voice sound so hard and frightened as it did in that moment.

"There are no gates," I called, standing up. "We must leave over the wall. Climb over. I’ll hand Journey to you and we can be gone from here." My entire body was quaking with fear, and I imagined that the spirits of the forest were all converging on us at once to capture us and hold us prisoner in those walls.

Indeed, it seemed that things were plucking at my skirts, holding me back and trapping me. Maybe it was the thorns of the briar bush holding me, or simply my own terror. At any rate—just as I had torn myself free of spirits, and thorns, and terror—there came a terrible thunder, so loud that I had to clap both hands over my ears.

I collapsed again behind the bush, and I saw that Father was kneeling on the ground and holding Journey against him as though he would never let her go. And still the sound continued. It was a terrible, deafening roar that heaved the very ground beneath me and caused the blossoms before my eyes to shake their petals violently. Then the roaring stopped, as suddenly as it had started, and all was quiet again. I dared to lift my head to peer through my hiding place’s thorny branches. What I saw filled me with such terror that it was all I could do to keep myself from passing out right then and there.

Before my father, where he knelt with Journey, there stood a tall stallion as black as ebony, with eyes that shone like starlight and a mane that seemed woven with moonbeams. It was beautiful and terrible all at once. Its most terrible feature was its mouth, which opened wide to reveal long, razor-sharp fangs that shone and flashed like lightning. I gasped, and my breath left me. Though not for fear of the spirit-horse, frightening though it was, but for fear of…its rider.

A man sat upon that steed, in a gilded saddle of sliver and gold, wearing a cloak of midnight that sparkled with starlight. He was dressed all in gray-black silk that flowed about him like storm clouds. He dismounted his beast, nearly floating to the ground, and stood beside it, gazing down at my father. He was very tall…even taller than I was, and he was as lithe and slender as a cat.

He held the look of a serpent coiled to strike at any moment, although he was so much more beautiful than any snake. Such terrible beauty his face held! His hair was a deep, red-gold mane that hung to his waist in wild tangles, half covering a pair of feral eyes, like the eyes of a great cat. They were a deep amber-gold that seemed to burn through anything he turned them upon, and their pupils were wide and dark, seeming to capture and hold all the shadows of night in their mysterious depths.

His features were exquisite, perfectly formed, and such as a mortal man would never have. His complexion was alabaster in the half-light that filtered into the garden, smooth and flawless. He was paler even than I was, if that was possible. But he was clearly not sickly, and he definitely was not mortal. He was beautiful, yes, but, although he did not have fangs as his steed did, I was more afraid of him than I was of the strange stallion, for his expression was…empty.

There was nothing written on his face. No emotion whatever. He may well have been a marble statue for all the expression he showed. But in his eyes there burned a rage; the rage of a wild beast bound in chains. Or perhaps a demon, cornered and cowered, yet untamed, patiently waiting for its chance to turn on its captors and rend them to bloody shreds. This hellish gaze was now fixed on my family. He was truly frightening, and the vision I’d had of the beast returned to me again. This, I knew, was the one person I had feared meeting of all my life. The one person who should not have even existed but for the stories my mother had always told me. This was the same creature that had danced under the window on the night of my birth. He was the one who stirred such fear in me and, feeling that dread overtake me again, I felt my chest tighten as if the air was being squeezed from my lungs.

This was the Goblin King.