CHAPTER ONE
Enter Red Riding Hood
Winter, Year 1304
In December
Wings cannot cut the cold night and take flight.
Instead the bird will fall where the dark ones wait.
In the northern lands, the first fall of snow came early. In those woods, a woman walked the empty road. She was a dash of red that moved against a pale scene of trees, snow, and sky. The sound of her steps across the frozen dirt was crisp. They broke the silence of falling snow, causing the woods around her to stir restlessly.
There had been no one on the road for hours. Those who preferred the gentle predictability of spring, the plentiful harvests of summer and autumn had long left on these roads. Those types would winter in the warmer lands by the southern seas.
And yet she continued, her back to the south, her steps facing north—like a brown eyed, brown skinned bird caught in a frozen wind. She sang a strange little nursery rhyme quietly under her breath, not knowing that it had been a lean fall and an even more punishing winter. The trees around her were rubbed raw. She did not recognize the signs of hunger.
She had not been in the Northlands for years.
While the cold began to wear her down, the young woman counted the minutes it would take to reach her destination. She had been told if she had walked straight north down the road from Crossroads without stopping, she would be at Winchester in time for the evening dinner. From there it would be another ten minutes to her grandmother's home. But the shopkeepers in Crossroads had misled her. They could not have possibly known that the many hilly parts on said road would have iced over and could not be traversed as quickly as they had promised.
And so when the sun had set, she found herself caught in a dark part of the woods, far short of the town she sought. When a howl sounded faintly in the distance, she was additionally surprised. The townspeople had neglected to warn her of the larger things that dwelled within the forest.
The woman's hand left the basket she carried and drew instead to her side, fingering the gift from her mother that had been secured around her waist. She began to move more quickly.
'Not yet,' she thought. 'Not now.'
She had not used it yet; for once the gift was used, it would not work again so soon. The young lady put the temptation out of her mind and compelled herself forward; if she could reach the bridge south of town, her grandmother's retainer should be waiting to help her. Beyond that bridge would be the village and beyond that her grandmother would be waiting. She held this thought in her mind, using it to sustain her courage while she kept walking.
However, when she came upon a clearing before an open bridge she found no one there. Only a stone lion statue waited, yawning indifferently at travelers as they passed by. She tried not to panic as the howls drew closer. She clutched the gifted pouch to her side and picked up her pace towards the stone guardian. She had been told as a child that it had been placed there as a protective ward against malevolent beings. If there was any truth to that story, she wanted to be behind it.
Across the bridge she went, trying not to slide on the slippery snow as she did so. The growls were close but had stopped moving. She tensed slightly but kept going. She did not wish to confirm if the beasts she heard were following her.
She had finished crossing the bridge when the growls changed to angry, attacking barks. They melted into anguished yelps that made the hair on her neck rise and her heart beat quickly.
Then came another sound, an ominous snuffling and crunching noise—a sound of bones being broken and dogs screaming as if they were being torn apart.
And then silence.
Her feet moved on their own, quickly passing abandoned houses along the road. The woman feared what the dogs or wolves had discovered. Her thoughts flew back to the stories of the Shadow things, or the Unthings, as her grandmother had liked to call them.
The storytellers had claimed they appeared in the woods many years ago after elves had withdrawn from the area. They would come at night at times when there was no moon. These creatures of emptiness craved flesh and spirit and consumed both indiscriminately. Unlike other creatures, they did not respond to weapons or fear men. Only light and their slow speed would allow a lucky traveler to evade them.
In the summers she had passed here, she had never seen one and so had come to agree with the common sentiment that they existed only in tales. Even if they were to exist, none should be found on a night with the moon shining brightly. But if there were an Unthing, she found herself wondering what must she do.
Logical thought asserted itself. She needed light, a lamp, something to force that thing away should it come for her. She paused at a gate where lanterns were lit. It would be rude to try to force her way in, but her anxiety to escape the road took priority. She glanced behind her towards the bridge – where she thought a large shadow lingered by the stone lion. Her hands forcefully shook the gate. It swung inward without warning and she stumbled inside. As soon as she had recovered, she instinctively slammed it shut behind her.
She took a deep breath after she secured the gate and tried to understand what she must do. She looked down what appeared to be a slightly cleared path; lighted buildings stood at the other end. Her feet started to move her towards where someone might be to help her.
She had not gotten very far when her boot carelessly caught a bit of ice, sending her into the snow and scattering apples in her wake.
She looked at the ground horrified. For a moment, she forgot that she was trying to flee something strange that killed wild dogs. The apples were precious items, intended for her grandmother who waited for her at the end of this strange evening. There wasn't any fruit to be had in these parts this time of year; to lose these would be a blow for her ailing grandmother.
She made an undignified picture sprawled over the ground as she tried to pick them up, making haste to retrieve them, but trying hard to finish. Too late, she noticed a warm flickering color on the white snow and a slight shadow looming over her.
A voice like ice made her tremble. "Who dares trespass these grounds?"
Slowly, she turned her head to look up at cold grey eyes.
As a child, she had heard stories of elves who lived in the woods. She had once asked her mother what they looked like.
"They are remarkably tall, handsome, and proud," her mama had answered. "They do not like people much either. Should you ever come across one while up in the north, be on your best behavior lest they bind you up with one of their little spells and leave you tied up in a tree branch somewhere for your grandfather to hunt down."
In spite of the nature of the warning, she recalled that her mother neither liked nor disliked the elves. She had said they were neither good nor evil but simply different from humans, particularly in how they dealt with other creatures.
The man narrowed his eyes further and she came to realized she had been staring too long. She averted her eyes, pushing that childhood memory away and attempting to call more productive thoughts into mind.
That man was no elf, she was certain. Elves, according to the tales, had pointed ears. If they did really exist, they would rather ignore people than dwell near a human town.
The young lady continued to sit uncomfortably in the snow. There was a saying in the south that the north was not much for trust or honesty. To those from the outside, Northlanders were generally more suspicious and wary of all persons, even to one another. Kindness was not a commodity to be taken for granted in these parts. Still—
"Why are you here," the man repeated, a bit less sternly.
She gathered her wits about her. There would be an easy way to resolve his suspicions towards her. In that case, she was not afraid to admit her fear. "I do not mean to disturb you, sir. But I am a stranger in these parts and there is something following me on the road that apparently killed a pack of wild dogs or wolves near the bridge."
The man shifted slightly at the mention of the animals. He directed his attention away from her and to the gate.
She continued meekly, "I only wished to stop here for a short while."
The man looked back at her for a moment, before adjusting his cloak about him. She could tell he did not rather like her intrusion, but he was certain to see the truth of her reasons why shortly. "If you might aide me and perhaps allow me the use of a lantern—"
He frowned at the mention of a lantern, but returned his attention to the gate. "Wait here," he ordered before turning quickly up the path towards the gate.
She waited, of course, as she had rather not follow him back to the gate. Instead, she reordered her basket and stood to dust the snow from her skirts. She watched as he bounded back up the path. For a moment, she saw him pause to open the gate before he quickly disappeared outside, with his lantern still aloft.
They both stood looking out into the darkness, as the snow continued to fall gently to the earth.
He stood, standing with the light, just outside the gate.
She stood, the snow slowly collecting on the hood of her cloak.
They both watched—his mind calm and hers full of regret for listening to the people in the town.
The sudden metallic clang of a shutting gate interrupted her silent vigil. The girl squinted and observed the man locking and barring the gate. He placed something there before he came quickly back her way. "There is a large shadow at the bridge," he muttered to her as he drew close. "That shadow or thing should not even be there with the moonlight, but it seems to be trying its best to move beyond that point."
He lowered the lantern to look at her again, this time, more carefully.
With the light out of her eyes, she was able to observe the grim smile that extended over his face. "Travelers like you," he stated, "do not often become meals for the shadows but I believe it to be best not to test that belief, Miss—"
"Elanore," she supplied the name that she thought he was searching for. "Elanore Redley."
"Ah," his features reassorted themselves into a more neutral expression as he contemplated her name. "Well, Ms. Redley, I do not mean to dawdle here for pleasantries, but Southerners seem rather attached to their names. As you have come to seek me out, you should know whose property you have encroached upon."
The look he gave her was not quite a glare but a proud and irritable one.
She bowed politely, acknowledging the man. "I thank you for your kindness, Sir—"
His mouth settled into a grim line. "I am Count Maximilian Wolfram. I own all the land that you have walked through up to this point and up to the nearest town. Only the road and bridge, I do not own," he stated matter of fact. "Those can never be owned by any one person in this land. It is not permitted."
She did not know why or ask why. His tone of voice did not permit questions.
The Count continued. "Given that the shadows on that road are behaving most erratically and there is nowhere else for you to go, at this time it is best if you follow me, Ms. Redley."
With that last declaration he turned his back on her and strode away.