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Revontulet Publishing
Revontulet, The Lights of Christmas
Revontulet, The Lights of Christmas
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In 1925, world newspapers reported that reindeer could not live at the North Pole. Two years later the last remote area of this frigid world was flown over by planes; headlines proclaimed…”No, Santa Claus.” At about the same time, a Finnish radio personality, Uncle Markus, announced that he knew the true location of Saint Nick’s home. In a land rich with reindeer, magical creatures and an unearthly display of light, he claimed to have found the famed village. What if he was telling the truth?
Revontulet takes children on a fantastic journey of discovery through a land of elves, gnomes and fairies as a young boy and his grandfather visit the real home of Saint Nicholas. Drawn by the Revontulet, (the Northern Lights) and his grandfather’s friendship with a forest hermit, Niklas arrives in the famed village just prior to Uncle Markus’ discovery. He joins Finwe and Finola, two inquisitive elves, and together they explore this world’s wonderment. Their youthful enthusiasm inadvertently reveals the hidden location of Winterwood, the Christmas village. It soon becomes a race against time to secure the secret of this enchanted land.
Excerpt:
Revontulet
Prologue:
The Arrival
It was 1927; snow was falling on New York, the great American city. I was only ten years old when I arrived, small and frightened. Before me lay a new world; the shining torch of Lady Liberty, the massive ships moored in the harbor and finally the city, herself. Like a field of flickering fires, the skyline burned before me. For one from so far away and so young the lights of the city should have dazzled and amazed, but they paled to the display I had just left.
In those days many people were coming to America, from all over the world. I happened to come from Finland. Most arrived upon a great ship, with great anticipation. My journey, however, took a far different course, for I came not by sea, but through the air. Never before or since has one arrived in America in such a miraculous way or with such mixed emotions.
Even now that day is as clear to me as if it had been yesterday. But my memories take me back even further, to the place where my story really began.
Chapter 1
Revontulet
“Grandfather, look at the colors, there are so many,” I said as we sat huddled together under the warm fur blanket. “Have there ever been so many before?”
Grandfather and I often watched Revontulet, the Northern Lights, on these long, cold winter evenings. He seemed to possess a special interest, never tiring of the fanciful dancing rays. Each time they came we would take the sleigh to the top of a sheltered hill near our home and sit together.
Greens and yellows would wash across the sky in swirling ribbons of color, casting a glow as bright as the moon about the freshly fallen snow. Shadows tumbled over our worn sleigh from the tall thin pines that stood like guardians around our special perch. This night, the air was crisp like a fresh fall apple on a cool autumn day.
“No, I don’t believe they have been this bright before,” my grandfather finally replied, “at least not for a very long while. It is a special time on the mountain.”
For that is where the lights appeared to spring from, although they were above and all around Korvatunturi, our treeless mountain. Red and orange rays bathed the hills in a shroud that rose like fog from a morning lake.
“It is a memorable night on Korvatunturi,” he repeated with a far off look in his eyes that made me feel as if he were leaving me.
I grabbed his sleeve and squeezed tightly. The truth was my grandfather was leaving me or I him. When the spring thaw came and daylight returned to our dark world, it would be time for me to leave my Isoisa. Although he was more than that, he was really my papa, my Isa, at least the only one I had ever known.
My parents had both died when I was very young. Isoisa never talked about it. Once I asked him but he did not answer, turning away instead to stare out our small cabin window. When he finally faced me, a river of tears flowed through the canyon of aging lines that graced his face. His deep blue eyes were streaked in red. He bent and hugged me closely.
“Ne rakastaa sina,” he managed to say. “They loved you.”
It was the last time I was to ask. My grandmother’s fate was another matter, as I was old enough to remember her passing.
We were all that each other had, but that had been enough. Now even that would be taken away.
Revontulet takes children on a fantastic journey of discovery through a land of elves, gnomes and fairies as a young boy and his grandfather visit the real home of Saint Nicholas. Drawn by the Revontulet, (the Northern Lights) and his grandfather’s friendship with a forest hermit, Niklas arrives in the famed village just prior to Uncle Markus’ discovery. He joins Finwe and Finola, two inquisitive elves, and together they explore this world’s wonderment. Their youthful enthusiasm inadvertently reveals the hidden location of Winterwood, the Christmas village. It soon becomes a race against time to secure the secret of this enchanted land.
Excerpt:
Revontulet
Prologue:
The Arrival
It was 1927; snow was falling on New York, the great American city. I was only ten years old when I arrived, small and frightened. Before me lay a new world; the shining torch of Lady Liberty, the massive ships moored in the harbor and finally the city, herself. Like a field of flickering fires, the skyline burned before me. For one from so far away and so young the lights of the city should have dazzled and amazed, but they paled to the display I had just left.
In those days many people were coming to America, from all over the world. I happened to come from Finland. Most arrived upon a great ship, with great anticipation. My journey, however, took a far different course, for I came not by sea, but through the air. Never before or since has one arrived in America in such a miraculous way or with such mixed emotions.
Even now that day is as clear to me as if it had been yesterday. But my memories take me back even further, to the place where my story really began.
Chapter 1
Revontulet
“Grandfather, look at the colors, there are so many,” I said as we sat huddled together under the warm fur blanket. “Have there ever been so many before?”
Grandfather and I often watched Revontulet, the Northern Lights, on these long, cold winter evenings. He seemed to possess a special interest, never tiring of the fanciful dancing rays. Each time they came we would take the sleigh to the top of a sheltered hill near our home and sit together.
Greens and yellows would wash across the sky in swirling ribbons of color, casting a glow as bright as the moon about the freshly fallen snow. Shadows tumbled over our worn sleigh from the tall thin pines that stood like guardians around our special perch. This night, the air was crisp like a fresh fall apple on a cool autumn day.
“No, I don’t believe they have been this bright before,” my grandfather finally replied, “at least not for a very long while. It is a special time on the mountain.”
For that is where the lights appeared to spring from, although they were above and all around Korvatunturi, our treeless mountain. Red and orange rays bathed the hills in a shroud that rose like fog from a morning lake.
“It is a memorable night on Korvatunturi,” he repeated with a far off look in his eyes that made me feel as if he were leaving me.
I grabbed his sleeve and squeezed tightly. The truth was my grandfather was leaving me or I him. When the spring thaw came and daylight returned to our dark world, it would be time for me to leave my Isoisa. Although he was more than that, he was really my papa, my Isa, at least the only one I had ever known.
My parents had both died when I was very young. Isoisa never talked about it. Once I asked him but he did not answer, turning away instead to stare out our small cabin window. When he finally faced me, a river of tears flowed through the canyon of aging lines that graced his face. His deep blue eyes were streaked in red. He bent and hugged me closely.
“Ne rakastaa sina,” he managed to say. “They loved you.”
It was the last time I was to ask. My grandmother’s fate was another matter, as I was old enough to remember her passing.
We were all that each other had, but that had been enough. Now even that would be taken away.
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