The Winter Letter (6 page)

He was unconscious before he hit the ground. 

Eight
Back Home

“Oh, thank God!” Will said out loud as soon as he woke up. He was curled up in his bed, in his room, in his house, on his street. He jumped out of bed, ran from his room, and half fell down the stairs. The fire was lit and the house was warm. 

Will was thrilled. From the kitchen he heard his mother singing like an injured canary. Normally, this would have made Will cringe, but not today; today she sang as a cherub. Throughout the years, again and again, Will had been woke by this noise. A few times he had thrown a pillow; once he had stuck his head all the way into the pillowcase; and twice he had actually cried. His mom loved it.

“Will, come out here and give me a hand! The sidewalk is covered!” a voice called from outside. 

“Dad!” Normally Will would not have liked the sound of those words either, but now they reached down into him and made him smile. Will hurried to the front door and slung it open. On the other side of the fence stood his dad, by the mailbox, with his back to the house. Will grabbed the rail to start down and cold bit him on the palm.

“Don’t forget your gloves,” yelled his mother in perfect time. 

Turning, he rushed to the chest of drawers. One drawer, no gloves. Two drawers, no gloves. Three drawers, gloves. He grabbed a pair and pulled them on,  just in time to wipe a fresh bead of sweat from his forehead. 

“Mom, the fire’s too hot,” Will shouted. There was no answer. 

He shrugged and headed for the front door.  As soon as he looked up he started back. 

Standing in the open doorway was a really tall man wearing old black boots, a filthy and faded black coat that fell in tears to his knees, and a black wide brimmed bowler hat. The man’s pants were shredded from the knee down, and he had on a dirty white and green striped shirt. The bottom part of his face was tan and smooth, but everything above his top lip was hidden beneath the shadow of his hat’s wide brim. Strains of black hair hung from underneath the hat, falling just below his chin on both sides.

“What is your name?” the man asked in a low voice that sounded like it bumped up the back of his throat. 

Will said nothing. 

The man stepped through the door and reached out his left hand towards Will’s face. There was a large red ring on one of his skinny fingers. 

“Mom!” Will yelled as he spun to run towards the kitchen, but before he even took a step he stopped. Standing in front of the kitchen door was the tall dirty man and his scary hat. Will looked back at the front door. The man was still there; there were two of him. 

“Dad!” Will screamed. 

At the same time, in perfect unison, both of the men, or rather man, took a long step towards Will. Will would have screamed again, but a quick thought directed the scream from his mouth to his legs. He jumped over the back of the couch and grabbed the fire-poker leaning up against the mantle, swinging it quickly around at eye level.

“Stop or I’ll—” Will froze. Before there were two of the one man, now there were more, a lot more, and they were all walking towards Will with one outstretched hand, rattling over and over again, “What is your name? What is your name?” 

Will couldn’t move. The fire-poker fell from his fingers to the floor. What was going on? Again, in unison, as if still only one person, each of the man turned the palm of their outstretched hand, placing their middle fingers and thumbs together. 

SNAP! 

The pop was louder than thunder living in the back yard, and with it the fire leapt from the fireplace, rising like a rearing cobra. “What is your name?!” the man screamed.

“It’s Will!” Will screamed. “Who are you?! Why are you doing this?!”

“I’ll ask the questions! Why are you here?!” the man demanded. His eyes we’re still hidden in shadow.

“This is my home! I live here!”

The middle finger and thumb met again.
SNAP!
This time the fiery serpent spread its dragon wings until the entire wall was hidden. In its core, beneath the dragon’s mouth, the flame swirled like smoke in a propeller.

“Do not lie to me!” the man roared.

“I’m telling you the truth!” Will yelled back. At this the man lifted his chin for the first time. Will saw his eyes. They were green. Angry green.

“If you insist on holding to that story we shall have to try a different way,” the man said calmly. He turned and started to walk away, but as he did he held out his hand once again. 

SNAP!

Stringy flames, like angry fairies, whipped out from the fiery dragon onto everything. The couch ignited, the plant lit, and the chest of drawers burst into flame. Instantly Will’s home was an inferno, the flame still swirling about like he was on the inside of a tornado. Will shielded his eyes. Through the flame he could see the tall man walk through the wall as if it wasn’t even there. 

“What the—” Will said as he watched the walls burn, the floor burn, and the ceiling burn. Any second Will knew he would burn too. Hot beyond hot licked at his face, missing him barely. 

SNAP!
 

Instantly, the fire sucked out of the charred walls like a vacuum had been put to them. They stood for a second, then, as a light breeze began to blow, all four of the walls crumbled like ash and blew away. 

At that moment three different waves of emotion crashed over Will. First relief, as he realized he was no longer in his burning house, but underneath trees in a forest. Next heartbreak fell, as he realized the forest he was now in was the one he had fallen into from Tobby’s flying boat. Everything that had led him here had really happened. His parents were still dead. Last, terror splashed into him like arctic ocean water. Fear streamed from the back of his neck to the tips of his fingers. His blood went cold. 

He was sitting inside a circle of smoldering logs, surrounded by a bunch of short dirty men. They were muttering to one another and kept glancing from Will to a tall man kneeling just inside the circle of logs. 

He wore a black wide-brimmed bowler hat and a red ring.

Nine
The Man With the Bowler Hat

Will could feel the tall man’s glare beaming from beneath the brim of his hat. He had one hand outstretched towards Will, like he was trying to throw a spell, but Will didn’t feel a thing so he started to stand.

“Do not move!” 

Will paused in mid-stance. 

“I want to know who you are. What is your name?” the man asked.

“I’m—” At Will’s voice the group of dirty men outside of the logs started back. Some hugged each other, others screamed, and one ran away crying. 

“Come on guys, calm down,” the tall man said to his brave comrades. As he spoke his voice changed from the low rattling sound to the pitch of a boy trying to make friends play fair. Once the crowd quieted the man turned back to Will.

“What is your name?” he asked again in the low rattling voice.

“I’m Will, who are you?” Will replied, and again when Will spoke the entire group flinched, jumped, and screamed. 

Will chuckled. “What are ya’ll scared of?” he asked.

“Silence!” screamed the tall man. “Do not misinterpret the silliness of my recruits as weakness. Where are you from, and who sent you here?”

Will crossed his arms and didn’t say a thing. Now that he looked closer he could see that the dirty old men were not men at all, but rather a bunch of filthy children, most younger than himself. The man in front looked younger too, but still older than Will or any of the other kids around him. He was so tall and skinny, and with the hair and hat, he sort of reminded Will of the dancing mop from the Sword and the Stone movie. 

Will took a step back, away from his captor. He would run as soon as he got the chance. 

“Fire, be!” the man in the bowler hat screamed. As he spoke he shot both hands up into the air, then brought them down, waving them in and out like he was tracing the outline of a giant coke bottle. When his hands were at his chest he turned both palms up like he was holding the words he had just spoken, then, with only one brief spark preceding,  a fireball the size of a basketball appeared in his palms.

“Whoa,” said Will. Did the dancing mop just make fire?

The man threw both arms wide to the left and right, splitting the fireball in two, and tossing one to the left and the other to the right. The logs burst into flame, and as if following a trail of gas, the flame ran around the circle until the fires met right where Will had planned to escape.

“Let me ask you again,” the man said slowly. “Where are you from?”

“I’m from America,” Will said. He felt the heat from the fire on his face.

“Where is this, America? I know all the maps of Baru, and I’ve never heard of it.”

“America’s not in Baru; it’s on Earth.”

“Earth? What is Earth?” the man asked. He lowered his chin, hiding his eyes in the shadow of his hat again. “You are lying to me, aren’t you!” The young man already towered above everyone around him, but as he spoke he seemed to grow with the tone of his voice (like an old wizard Will had once read about). “Tell me the truth! Do you work for the King?!”

“No! I’ve never met him. I’ve never been here before! I don’t even know where here is!”

The man jumped in Will’s direction and bent down until he could stare straight into Will’s eyes. He lifted his right hand to Will’s cheek and pressed his middle finger and thumb together, as if snuffing out a candle.

“Light, leave,” he whispered. Instantly, the fire hissed like it had been doused with freezing water, and every torch and candle extinguished. Darkness rushed in and plopped down on top of everything. 

“Secret Symbols be Seen,” whispered the man, so close that Will felt it on his cheek. A red light appeared a few inches from Will’s face. Slowly the light moved up and down, left and right, almost touching Will’s forehead first, then over both of his hands, then back within an inch of his eyes. The light was coming from the man’s ring.

Will squinted.

“How did you get here?” the man asked again. He was extremely close, watching which way Will’s eyes moved. Will winced and coughed. He suddenly couldn’t breathe. 

“Answer me!” screamed the man.

Will opened his mouth to speak, but again he choked on his words. He wrinkled his nose and gagged.

“I asked you a question,” said the man.

Will grimaced as each sound puffed into his face.

“Is something wrong?!”

“No sir,” Will coughed, “nothing.”

“Are you lying to me again?” The seriousness of the young man’s tone grew as the words fell into a sentence. 

Will wanted to say no, but more than that he wanted the torture to stop. He wanted this guy to stop breathing in his face. He had never smelt breath so bad. Without warning, honesty tunneled up and out of Will’s lips. 

“Your breath sir, could you back up. It’s horrible.”

There was a instant shush over the crowd. You could have heard a pin drop, but no one had any pens, so instead other things dropped, like torches, and slingshots, and one boy dropped another smaller boy who was standing on his shoulders so he could see.

“What did you say?” the man asked sharply.

“Your breath, it smells.” Will held his breath and tried to think of roses and potpourri.

Without breaking his stare the man took his right hand, lifted it dramatically, and cupped it over his own nose and mouth. A second later his eyes snapped shut, and he began shaking his head to the left and right while fanning the air in front of his nose. Once recovered, he turned back at Will.  

“Your right,” he said.

With that the tall man began to chuckle, then, as if waiting on cue, the entire party exploded in laughter. Some laughed while rolling around on the ground and some laughed so hard they made no noise at all. They just held open their mouths and hunched over while their faces turned purple. 

Standing, the tall man lowered his hand, offering to help Will stand. His smile was now exposed above his square chin and his green eyes didn’t look so angry.

Will hesitated.

“It’s okay; I believe you. The truth is in your eyes.” the man said. “Not to mention no one from the kingdom would have spoken in such a way to an enemy. I’m sorry for the theatrics, but we had to find out if you were a spy. You understand I hope?”

Will didn’t understand, but said he did. He took the man’s had.

“My name is Gatnom,” he said. “Sorry about the dream; it got a bit out of hand. It was a spell to try and find out the truth. It didn’t quite work the way I planned.” Gatnom spit something he was chewing out and made a sour face. “Magical herbs are so unpredictable. And they taste terrible.”

Will had no idea what Gatnom was talking about.

“Don’t worry, Will,” said Gatnom with a smile. “I believe you, but I do have a few more questions though. Come with me.” Will was led to a small triangular tube tent. Gatnom got down on all fours and crawled through the tent door. Will followed, but as he pushed back the flap and leaned in, his hand slipped. The next thing he knew he was tumbling over and over himself. When he stopped he was laying at the bottom of a staircase staring up a flight of stairs that led to the tent’s entrance. 

“Are you alright?” Gatnom asked, running over. “I’m sorry, I should have told you. That first step can be tricky.”

“You’re telling me,” said Will, rubbing the back of his head. He sat up and looked around. He was in a large room with high ceilings. A wood table sat beneath a chandelier, which was hung by what looked like a single thread. The ceiling looked like the inside of a pup-tent, except twenty feet taller.

To say the least, the tent was much larger from the inside.

Gatnom helped Will to a seat at the table, then he walked to the far opposite end and sat down. The table was long enough for fifteen people at least. Will figured this was some sort of Baruvian custom, but then Gatnom, with an embarrassed look, muttered some quiet words and pushed both hands together like he was crushing a cardboard box. Right in front of Will’s eyes the table shrunk to a square, and Gatnom slid forward in his chair, holding on to the edge of the table as it shrank. As he passed a bookshelf he reached over with his free hand and grabbed two wooden cups and a small bottle of orange liquid. When all was done Gatnom and Will sat within arm’s reach of each other.