Egelric enters the nightmare house

Egelric swore loudly at his mare, which she knew for a sign that she was to pick up the pace.

He had by now lost all the warmth of the cup of wine he had drunk at Nothelm. He could have eaten supper there as well, but he had been too anxious and had only wanted to return home. All afternoon he had been plagued by a nameless fear that twisted in his belly and made him feel too ill to eat in any case.

It was only superstition, he told himself for the hundredth time. That morning he had laughed at superstition and gone out gaily enough, but as the day wore on, he felt his old fear bearing down on him again. He was not a superstitious man, he told himself… but he was.

It was the longest night of the year, and he was riding into the heart of it. He hoped he would arrive home before the last pink glow faded from the hills. There was safety in light, even at this time of the year.

He wouldn’t have gone out at all, but Ethelmund had been too busy to finish the toys he was making for the boys before today, and Egelric was determined that they should have them on Christmas morning.

He was determined that they should have the sort of memories of Christmas morning that he had from his boyhood, while his father still lived and while the house was still merry those mornings and every other. Never mind that they were both too young to form any memories at all this year! It was as much for him as for them. The year before, they had both been babies. This year there was fun to be had.

But Belsar did not come to meet him on the path. Egelric whistled, and there was neither dog nor bark of dog to reassure him. By the time he reached the clearing, his fear was dripping as sweat from his cold face and trembling in his numb hands.

Yet smoke was billowing out of the kitchen chimney into the cold sky. This was a hot fire that had been recently tended. It was not even superstition, he saw now. It was only his own foolish self stacking worry upon worry until their weight had convinced him of a greater danger. Fool!

All was well, but he left his horse hot and saddled in the clearing. He would just step inside first, kiss Sela and the boys, peek in the soup pot, and then he could tend to the mare. Then he could work with a light heart.

Sela was not in the kitchen; there was no soup, and there was only one boy – and he was in the arms of the elf Ears.

It was worse than stepping into a house that was not his. It was like stepping into a nightmare of his own house, where half of what he loved was gone, and the other half was utterly wrong.

“Where’s Sela?” he choked.

“Egelric…” All the blood had drained from the elf’s face at the sight of him.

“Da!” Wulf cried and held out his hands to him.

“Where’s Gils? Sela!” he called, and he turned to the bedroom door. She could only be there. The door was closed.

“Egelric…” the elf repeated. His voice was twisted and wrong: like his soft, lilting voice, but in a nightmare. It was a voice that had something to say and that was afraid to speak.

“Mama’s sleepin’,” Wulf announced.

Egelric threw open the door. In the first instant he had some sense that the elf had followed and stood behind him. Then he was aware of only one thing.

Sela was on the bed, and he understood at once by her blue pallor, by the stillness of the parted lips over the parted teeth, by the perfect symmetry and smoothness of the dark hair spread out across the pillow on either side of her head.

She was sleeping, as Wulf said, and he would never wake her.

Gils was nowhere to be seen.