The night was vast and cold. The houses looked quite unlike themselves, being only velvet shadows beneath the thousand stars. The Moon, however, took pity on the little girl walking alone and spared some of its best silver beams to light the street, making the cobblestones gleam so that she might see her way.
First, Elsa went to the church, as that was where Karen said she first began to dance and where she had seen the angel. As this was God’s house and her father’s, Elsa knew no fear of the church, even in darkness. The spires and arches rose up stern and hard against the silvered night.
Elsa climbed the broad, shallow steps and gazed at the closed doors with their knockers held in the mouths of lions. Above them waited the carving of the angel Michael with his wings spread open and his sword held up high.
“I am looking for the red shoes,” said Elsa to the doors. “Have you seen them?”
But the lions only shook their heads until the knockers swung as if blown by the wind. The angel above them, though, cried out, “She shall dance! She shall dance from door to door; and where proud and haughty children dwell, she shall knock, that they may hear her and be afraid of her!”
“I am not afraid of Karen!” cried out Elsa, stamping her foot. “And she cannot dance anymore! All she can do is thump and creak on wooden feet, and it is not right!”
“Don’t mind him,” mumbled the right-hand lion around his knocker. “It is just his way.”
“The executioner might know where the red shoes have gone,” said the left-hand lion. “It was he who saw them last.” The left-hand lion gave Elsa directions to the executioner’s house. Elsa said thank you and made her curtsy, even to the angel.
It was a long way to the executioner’s house. No one wished to have the man who might one day hurry them to the grave living beside them. Elsa walked on. The sun came up to warm her. She ate a little of her bread and drank a little of her milk. As she struggled across the plowed fields and into the tangled fields lying fallow for the year, she hugged Clarissa to her breast and went doggedly on.
The executioner’s house was small and mean, cramped and crooked. A raven perched on the roof beam and sang a harsh song as she walked beneath the eaves. Holding Clarissa close, Elsa knocked on the door.
“Who is that!” cried a gruff and terrible voice from within.
“It is Elsa!” Elsa answered. “I am looking for the red shoes!”
The door flew open and the executioner came out. He seemed bigger than his house, and his bald head gleamed in the sun. His hands were hard and stained from his work. In one, he held the great, notched axe that had sent so many condemned from the world.
“Who are you that you ask after the red shoes?” he roared.
He is trying to scare me, thought Elsa, and she would not be scared. She told him of Karen and her story, and as she did, he seemed to grow smaller and sadder.
“I remember her,” he said, hunching his shoulders up. “She came to my door. She was only skin and bones. Her legs were scratched and bloody. She could not stop dancing although she could barely breathe and could no longer hold her head up straight. She begged me to strike the shoes from her body, and I could see nothing else to do. I used my axe as best I could, and she bled terribly and fell against me. The red shoes danced away into the woods, carrying her feet with them.” He looked off towards the north, to where the woods loomed dark and green, and the sunlight feared to go. “I have never been afraid of what I do until I did that thing. Nor yet have I ever been able to forget that sight of her feet set free to dance in the red shoes.”
“The shoes stole her feet,” said Elsa firmly. “And I am going to find them.”
The executioner looked into her eyes for a long moment. Then he nodded. He took her into his cramped, crooked house. He fed her thin soup and black bread and replenished her milk. He found a comb so that she might straighten her hair and retie her doll’s ribbons. Then he took her to the path that led into the woods.
“Further I dare not go,” he said. “I have killed too many men. Though I only did as the laws required, they do not know that, and they wait for me in the woods. But you are a good child, and they cannot touch you.”
Elsa thanked the executioner and walked down the rutted path into the woods. All the while, the executioner watched her go.
In the deep woods, it quickly became dark as night. The few sunbeams were paler than the moon’s had ever been. The path was pitted with the tracks of deer and the wolves that followed them. The roots of trees crisscrossed the way and caught at Elsa’s toes to trip her up. Overhead, invisible in the branches, the crows called to one another to come see this new thing. They laughed hard and harsh when she stumbled. The wind wormed its way between the tree trunks to make her shiver and tease her hair. The whole world smelled of moss and old graves.
Elsa walked on. She looked this way and that for some sign of the red shoes in the gloom, but she saw only the white ghosts of the dead men, their heads lolling on their shoulders, waiting for the executioner to come to them. But they did not come onto the path, and they did not touch her.
Elsa walked on. She ate her bread and drank her milk, and she held her doll. The path grew narrower until it was only a winding thread. Gnarled trees and unkind bracken reached out their crooked twigs to poke and prod her. They tore at Clarissa’s dress and tried to snatch away her ribbons.
At last, when Elsa was so tired she was afraid she could go no further, she saw a woman sitting on a great, arching tree root. She was as brown, knobby and gnarled as that root, with a great hump over her left shoulder. Indeed, Elsa might have thought she was just another part of the tree if her eyes had not gleamed so brightly in the darkness.
“Hello, my little maid,” the old woman said in a voice as soft and rich as loam. “Where are you going all alone?”
“I am going to find the red shoes,” replied Elsa. “Have you seen them?”
“Well, now.” The old woman tapped her chin. “That is a large question. Let us have some of that bread and milk and think about it.”
So, Elsa sat beside the old woman and shared out her bread and milk, which the old woman took with great smackings of her lips and slurpings of her tongue. She belched and rubbed at her wagging dew-lap and scratched herself about the body and the head. Elsa did her best to remember her manners and not stare, but it was very difficult.
“Now then,” said the old woman, when all the food was gone. “You say you are looking for the red shoes? They are here.”
“I must make them give Karen her feet back.”
“Ah!” she exclaimed archly. “Well, finding them is one thing, and catching them, that’s another altogether.”
Elsa stuck her chin out as she had with her father. She did not have to say anything though. The old woman nodded.
“Very good,” she said. “So. You must follow the path. It will go under a tree and over a stream. On the other side of that stream, you will come to a clearing where a great oak has fallen. There you will find a soldier with a red beard playing on a fiddle. Do not let him see you. After a time, he will call the red shoes and make them dance for him. They will not look as you think they might, and you must not be afraid.”
“I will not be afraid.”
Again, the old woman nodded. “Good. The soldier will make the shoes dance until they cry out, “Give us rest! Give us rest!” And the soldier will answer, “You will have no rest until I grow weary, and I never grow weary while I watch you dance!” You must cry ‘Soldier, soldier, give me the red shoes!’ He will answer you, “ ‘Little Elsa, Little Elsa, give me a dance!’ Then he will play his fiddle, and you will dance.”