Chapter One Rudi had a feeling that something was wrong as soon as he returned from the village.
The little girls were nowhere in sight. "Elsebeth? Lucie?" he called. But neither of them answered. A warm, prickly feeling swept across the back of his neck.
He went to the tiny house on the edge of the forest. This rickety place had stood here for many years, passed from one woodsman to the next kinsman who was witless or desperate enough to take on this trade. Witless, in Uncle Hempel's case.
Hempel's ax was gone from its usual place on the wall, so Rudi was sure he'd gone into the woods. He probably took the girls with him because I wasn't here to help, he thought.
"Aunt Agnes?" he called, to no reply. It was just as well. He never welcomed a conversation with her. I guess Aunt Agnes went along to gather wood. But why? She never does that....
He ran to the mouth of the forest path that was blazed and cleared by generations of woodsmen. It was wide at first, then narrowed as shrubs and trees encroached from either side, until the shadowy corridor withered to nothing, miles deep in the murky interior of the woods.
Cupping his hands, Rudi shouted, "Uncle Hempel! Elsie and Lucie! Are you there? Do you need some help?"
Nobody answered. Rudi frowned and ran his fingers through his white-blond hair. He suddenly realized what was troubling him: a notion that had been swimming just under the surface of his mind now leaped up and revealed itself like a fish. It was the legend of something that supposedly happened many years before, to a brother and sister who lived in this very house. Don't be silly, he thought, forcing his thoughts away from that tale.
Sounds came from the forest: twigs snapping, leaves rustling, and the voice of his aunt, harsh as always. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
Aunt Agnes came out first, carrying only a bundle of sticks. There was a look on her face that Rudi didn't like at all -- a secret, satisfied smile. Uncle Hempel came out next. His wide-bladed ax was slung from his leather belt. He bore a large stack of logs on his shoulder and a cow's vacant stare on his face.
Rudi looked behind them. First he expected to see the girls come out of the path. Then he hoped. Then he prayed.
"Where are the girls?" Rudi said to his aunt in a voice that cracked. He ran to catch up with her. "Where are Lucie and Elsie?"
Agnes looked back at the trees, and her eyebrows rose theatrically. "What? They're not here? They headed back before we did."
Rudi clenched his hands so tightly that the nails bit into the flesh of his palms. "Alone? You let them come back alone?"
Agnes stepped closer. Rudi was a boy of average size, so she loomed over him, a full head taller. "Don't take that tone with me, Rudiger. And calm yourself. The girls just went off to pick flowers or have one of their foolish games. That's all they ever want to do, anyway. Never work, only play."
"They didn't come out. I would have seen them," Rudi said. A hot fury erupted inside him, and his fists began to shake.
Agnes let her bundle of sticks drop to the ground at his feet. "Did you sell that oak at Waldrand? I hope you got a fair price, not like last time. But that's what happens when you trust a boy with a man's job." She wiped her hands on the front of her dress.
Suddenly the unexpected errand she'd sent him on made sense to Rudi. "You wanted me gone all day, didn't you? So I wouldn't be there to help the girls!" He turned to his uncle, who'd caught up to them now and dropped his bundle next to Agnes's. "Where are they, Uncle? What happened to Lucie and Elsie?"
"Oh. Well, Rudi, Agnes thought...," Hempel stammered, but Agnes interrupted him with a shriek.
"Hush, you fool! I already told him, the girls came back before us. They're around somewhere. Now leave us be and stack this wood, boy."
"No!" Rudi cried, kicking at the bundle. He knew he was shouting like a madman now, but he couldn't help it. Agnes might swat him with a switch, or refuse to give him his dinner, but he didn't care anymore. "I've heard you talk about them. I heard you tell Uncle there are too many mouths to feed. Now you've lost them in the woods. I know you did! It was your idea!" He jabbed a finger at Agnes, then whirled to face Hempel. "But why'd you let her do it? What's happened to you, Uncle Hempel?" Hempel chewed on a knuckle and stared at the ground.
Rudi ran to the cottage and threw the door open so hard that it nearly cracked as it struck the wall. His breath hissed in and out through his teeth as he grabbed his pack and stuffed a pair of blankets into it, along with his tinderbox, a knife, and his small ax. He dashed to the kitchen and added some fruits, a wedge of cheese, and the last of the bread.
When he turned around, he saw Agnes in the doorway. "What do you think you're doing? Put that food back; it's all we've got!" She spread her arms to block the way out.
"I'm going to find them."
"They're not lost!"
"They are so!" Rudi swung the pack over his shoulder. "I wish you'd never met my uncle." He jumped onto a chair and from there sprang through the open kitchen window.
Outside, Hempel sat on a stump, moaning and rubbing at the dampness on his cheeks. When he saw Rudi run by, his broad shoulders began to quake.
How much sunlight left? Rudi wondered. An hour or two maybe. He ran down the path, wondering where the girls might be. After a while he stopped and shouted their names, but the only answer came from the birds that were startled into flight, and the tiny unseen creatures that scurried in the brush.
Farther in, Rudi decided. Agnes wasn't kind, but she was clever. She would have lured the girls deep into the forest, where they'd have no chance of finding their way home. Just like what happened to -- what were their names? Hansel. That was the boy, and his sister was Gretel. They were relatives of his who lived in the same house many years ago. One day they'd been taken into the woods and told to wait by the fire for their mother and father to get them when the work was done. But their parents never came. And then it got dark. Like it is right now.
He shouted again, and put his hands behind his ears to listen. For a moment, he thought he heard something. But no, it was only an owl's cry.
Rudi ran farther and came to a stream with footprints in the muddy bank. There were two small pairs of prints among them, but they only pointed in one direction: deeper into the woods. He leaped across and ran on, looking left and right for the place where Agnes might have led the girls off the trail.
He stopped at last and leaned against a tree, hugging his stomach and drawing air into his aching lungs. His legs and arms might be strong from his days of cutting and hauling wood, but he'd never run this far in his life. When his breathing slowed, he shouted once more: "Lucie! Elsebeth!"
He heard nothing. But he smelled something. He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, turned to where the scent was strongest, and sniffed again.
A fire. Somewhere ahead. Rudi stepped off the trail, keenly aware that it would be easy to get lost. He'd be walking away from the setting sun, so he could find the path again by heading back toward it, obviously. Or later, by keeping the North Star to his right. He smacked his fist against his thigh. Why hadn't he taught the girls how to find their way through the woods? There were so many things he knew and never shared.
The smoky scent grew stronger as he trotted east, his shadow stretching long and thin before him. He called again and again, but still no one answered. Maybe they're asleep by the fire, he thought, trying to reassure himself. He saw smoke through the trees and sprinted the rest of the way, until he stood in a clearing with the smoldering remains of a fire in front of him. But the girls were not there.
Rudi noticed something on the ground near the embers. It was a wreath made from wild vines twisted together. Lucie and Elsebeth surely made it; it was the sort of thing they would do to pass the time. Rudi picked it up and clutched it against his chest. He shouted their names again and again in every direction, until his throat was raw and his voice grew weak.
"Oh, no," he moaned. He kicked at the embers, and sparks flew toward the dimming sky. They were out there somewhere, sweet Lucie and serious Elsie, only six and seven years old. But which way? He was no hunter who could track their steps through the woods, reading the trodden grass or broken stems or other subtle clues. Besides, it would be too dark to see anything at all before long. He thought of them lost among the trees, holding on to one another in the black of night, and fought to push that image from his mind.
There was one thing he could do: Build up the fire again, until it roared so high it could be seen for miles in the night. Yes, they'll see it and come back, he thought. He gathered twigs and sticks and piled them on the embers -- it would be easier than starting a new fire with his flint and steel.
The bits of wood smoldered and burst into flame under his coaxing breath, and soon a modest fire blazed again. He needed more fuel now, the biggest, driest branches he could find. At the edge of the clearing Rudi saw a dead branch jutting from the trunk of a tree. He seized it and wrenched it off, grunting through his clenched teeth. The branch was long, and he stomped on it to break it into smaller pieces. Somehow it felt good to break it, and Rudi wanted to go on stomping until only sawdust was left, and keep on stomping until the whole forest lay in splinters.
"How could they do this?" he screamed. It occurred to him that people could be far crueler than he'd ever believed possible. A raw and powerful kind of anger that he'd never known before roared inside him. He was hardly aware that he'd picked up a broken length of the dead limb and was sma...
