by Daniel Kirk
“No, Matt, we can—”
Tomtar looked on in horror as Matt dug his fingers beneath a football-sized rock and hoisted it over the fish’s head. He dropped the rock, then jumped back. Ice water splashed over his clothes. “It’s survival, Tomtar,” he said apologetically, wiping his face with his sleeve. He reached into the stream and moved the rock. Then he pulled out the limp body of the arctic char. “Sorry, fish! Ends justify the means. Circle of life, you know. I just hope I can remember what to do; I helped my dad clean fish last summer at a lake!”
“At the very least,” Tuava-Li said, “you must express some gratitude for the poor creature’s life.”
“I was getting to that,” Matt said, holding the limp body in his hands. “I’m sorry, fish, that your time on earth is done. I’m sorry that I need your life force inside me, so that I can continue my journey and achieve my goals. I am grateful for your sacrifice.”
Before long the three were squatting in front of a fire. Tomtar had gathered twigs for kindling, and Matt found some gnarled branches to build a framework where he could cook the fish. He opened one of the matchbooks he’d taken from Mrs. Babcek’s kitchen, back in Pittsburgh, and soon there was a roaring blaze in the midst of a circle of smooth, round stones. The skin of the fish popped and sizzled as smoke coiled in the cold morning air. Tuava-Li kept her eyes averted from the body of the fish, impaled on a sharp stick. “You don’t have to eat it,” Matt said. “You, either, Tomtar.”
“I didn’t say anything, Matt,” Tomtar replied.
“I know you’re both vegetarians, or whatever, vegans, if that’s what they call it in elf language. It’s just that if you want me to be strong for this journey, I have to have some protein in my belly. Humans starve to death eating just berries and twigs and grass.”
“I didn’t say anything, either, Matthew,” Tuava-Li said. “Animals in the Human realm eat one another to survive.”
Matt snorted. “So you’re saying I’m an animal?”
Tuava-Li shook her head. “Let’s not fight! I meant predatory animals from your own world: bears, and tigers, and the like.”
“And owls,” Tomtar offered.
Matt added, “And hawks.”
Tuava-Li threw him a look. In owl form, her own Mage often hunted for living food. She did it to balance and ground the energies inside her; she did it to keep her chakras in a more perfect relationship. Tuava-Li, herself, had the power to become a hawk. Though she hadn’t yet required the sacrifice of a living creature to eat, she knew it was only a matter of time. “I know, Matt, I didn’t say anything. I didn’t complain, I didn’t judge, I didn’t do anything.”
“Something always has to sacrifice itself so that something else can live,” Matt said. “Even plants have lives. Fruits and vegetables don’t want to die, do they? And even vegans have to eat vegetables.”
Matt prodded the fish with a stick, to see if it was cooked, and it fell in chunks into the fire. “No!” he cried. He leapt up, stomping on the glowing coals, and used the stick to push his blackened supper out of harm’s way. He ate his meal in silence as his companions sat and watched the flickering embers. “You know,” said Tuava-Li, “this journey is all about sacrifice.”
Tomtar asked, “What do you mean?”
“Each of us has sacrificed our time,” she answered thoughtfully. “We’ve risked our plans for the future, maybe even the rest of our lives, if things do not go well, for the hope of a greater good. Sacrifice is in our nature. ’Tis natural that we do it. ’Tis right that we sacrifice ourselves on the altar of the good.”
“I don’t think so,” Matt said. “Don’t forget that elf mage who just sacrificed a thousand human children for her gods! She thought she was doing the right thing, but you can bet those kids weren’t too happy about it. It’s barbaric and disgusting, what she did.”
“I won’t argue with you,” said Tuava-Li. “Better that we make our sacrifices without coercion. Better that we give of ourselves freely.”
“Unlike this fish,” Matt said, chewing. “He didn’t know what was coming. And when he found out, he had no options. It was too late to try to get away. He died, so I could eat.”
Tuava-Li sat before the fire, thinking about the sacrifice Matt was going to make when he got to the center of the earth, the sacrifice of Blood to nourish the Seed of the mighty Adri. He, too, didn’t know what was to come. Tuava-Li wondered whether Matt would make the sacrifice willingly, or if it would be up to her to wield the knife when the time came. Surely the Goddess wouldn’t demand that of me, she thought with a shudder. Many things might change before they arrived at their destination. She only knew that the sacrifice had to be made, as it was in ancient times, and she didn’t dare tell Matt what was going to be required.
“Matt, can I taste a piece of that fish?” Tomtar asked timidly.
“Sure,” Matt said. “I’d feel guilty eating it all by myself.”
“And I’ll feel guilty for what I’m about to do,” Tomtar said sheepishly, holding out a hand.
Tuava-Li got up from the fire and stalked away, annoyed and disappointed in Tomtar. “She’ll be fine,” Matt said. “You know how she is.” To Tuava-Li he shouted, “A troll’s got to eat, doesn’t he?”
The Elf stopped a short distance away and bent to look at a thick clump of grass. She reached into the dense growth, and using all her strength, dragged something out.
“What is it?” Tomtar asked.
Matt shrugged. “Can’t say!”
As Tuava-Li turned, it was plain to see that she was laboring with the weight of a large animal skull. “Tuava-Li, what are you doing? Let me help!” Matt cried.
“D’you think she wants to bury it?” Tomtar called after Matt as he jumped up and hurried to Tuava-Li’s aid. Back in the countryside near Pittsburgh they had stopped to perform small ceremonies for all manner of roadkill.
“A bowl,” Tuava-Li said. “For cooking soup.”
“Wow,” Matt said, examining the bleached skull. “You’d use it for that?”
“The animal is long dead. I wouldn’t be consuming its flesh.”
“Must be some kind of moose,” Matt ventured. “Caribou, or musk ox, or something. I wonder how long it’s been here?”
“Let’s take it to the stream, to clean it,” Tuava-Li said. “We can fill it with water there, and I can heat up the water and cook some of the leaves and twigs we’ve found. ’Twill be nutritious, if nothing else.”
Carefully Matt arranged some stones around the fire so that the skull could sit above the flames. The three of them gathered herbs and greens, and once Tuava-Li had sorted out the questionable ingredients, they cooked them in the great white basin of the dead herbivore’s skull. Tomtar said a blessing, thanking the animal for the gift of its cranium, thanking Mother Earth for the gift of her plants, and thanking the Gods and Goddesses for their bounty. When the soup was hot they swept the embers from beneath the skull. Then they took turns sipping from the smooth edge.
“So,” Matt said hesitantly, as the warm broth sent relief all the way to his fingers and toes. “Any ideas about my tattoos?”
“Children are the hope for the future,” Tuava-Li speculated. “Perhaps the tattoo is meant to suggest that we shouldn’t give up hope.”
“The children were dancing,” Tomtar suggested. “Maybe it means that we need more music! I could play my flute, if you wanted.”
When he thought of children, Matt’s mind naturally drifted to his sister Becky, and then to the rest of his missing family. It felt like a long time since he’d seen them. “What do you think Jardaine is doing to my parents right now?”
Tuava-Li and Tomtar knew as little as Matt; all they had to go on was speculation. Still, Tuava-Li ventured a thought. “You shouldn’t worry about them, Matthew. Jardaine will be afraid of your parents. They’re Humans. They’re big. They’ll be a mystery to Jardaine and the others in Helfratheim. The Elves will want to keep their distance, because they’ll fear contamination.”
“What about my baby sister, Emily?” Matt asked. “Will they be afraid of her, too? What if she was part of that sacrifice?”
“Matt, I’m sure they’re all right,” Tomtar said. “Don’t you remember when Tuava-Li told us that your family is worth far more to Jardaine alive than …”
Tomtar felt uncomfortable at how close he’d come to saying the word dead. “Well, she’d want to keep them safe, and healthy, so that she could learn about Humans, and what they do, and what they need to live, and things like that. You know, it doesn’t do any good to worry about them. You’re doing the best you can!”
Matt’s hands rested on his knees. Tomtar laid his own small, square hand on top of Matt’s and patted it gently. Matt sighed. Not long ago, he’d never heard of the Cord, of Helfratheim, or Alfheim, or Ljosalfar, or any of the other places that now loomed large in his mind. He hadn’t believed in Faeries, Elves, or Trolls, and his sheltered teenage life was gloriously dull and predictable. Now his world was turned upside down and inside out. He was clinging desperately to hope, but it was like trying to keep a kite flying in a hurricane. It was stupid to think life would ever be normal again; but he didn’t dare let himself settle on that conclusion. He knew, instinctively, that Tomtar and Tuava-Li would do anything in their power to keep him from giving up.
When they had finished their soup, Matt asked the question he was afraid to ask himself. “What do you think, guys? Am I crazy to keep hoping that everything will work out okay?”
Tuava-Li shook her head, leaning back from the skull. “There’s nothing saner than hope!”
Matt nodded. “What do you think, Tomtar?”
The Troll smiled reassuringly and laughed. “Like you said, Matt, clear as day. I believe in you! Would you like to hear some music now?”
“If you want,” Matt said, getting to his feet. “But I’ve got to put out that fire before we leave.”
He used the animal skull to carry water from the stream and doused the dying embers. As the sound of Tomtar’s flute was carried away in the wind, Matt and Tuava-Li covered the embers in dirt. “Come on, guys,” Matt soon said with a shiver. “We’ve got an appointment at the North Pole!”
from screaming. Macta was, too. At first, believing it was likely that a passerby outside the high window would hear their cries, Asra had swallowed her pride and climbed onto Macta’s shoulders so that she was closer to the source of light. She was very nearly able to see outside. There was no sound to indicate any traffic in the winding alley. She knew that even if her cries from the dungeon were heard, there was no reason to think that whoever it was would seek help for the poor souls locked inside. Helfratheim had been built for prisoners, and many Faerie Folk, no doubt, spent their last days locked up here, crying pitifully for aid that never came.
Macta did his best to balance the Princess on his shoulders, but his terrible wound made it difficult for her to perch there for long. He gasped with the pain of it as her heel ground into his flesh. When he could take no more, they took turns calling for help through the crack around the old wooden door. It led, as far as they knew, into a darkened corridor in the bowels of the palace; but there was always a chance that a guard might pass close enough to hear.
Asra pressed her fingers into her ears to blunt Macta’s hoarse cries. She had to give him some credit, though. He was louder than a howling Goblin. Once his voice gave out and all that he could emit was a hoarse croak, it would be Asra’s turn. Until then, she knew, it would be best for her to rest. “What a joke,” she muttered to herself. Her thoughts were like leaves washed downstream, battering against one hopeless conclusion after another. Who, she wondered, had survived the debacle upstairs in the palace with that shape-shifter Jal-Maktar? Jardaine, Brahja-Chi, the Council of Seven, Becky, too, hung in some kind of limbo for Asra. They were neither alive nor dead. All that remained was Macta’s awful wailing.
Macta began to cough. He fell to the floor of the dungeon. He was done; he could scream for help no more. Asra got up slowly and went to stand over him. She could barely straighten herself for the gnawing hunger in her belly. “’Tis useless,” she whispered hoarsely. “No one’s around to hear us. Otherwise, we would have driven them completely mad by now.”
“I’m so hungry,” Macta said. “I’m going to lie here on the stone and die, and there’ll be nothing left of me but a skeleton.”
Asra tossed her dirty hair. “’Tis a pleasant image to entertain, Macta, but I won’t let you give up so readily. Let me climb on your shoulders again, by the window. I believe there’s a little voice left in me yet.”
“I’m done,” Macta groaned, rolling onto his back. “I’m all used up.”
“You’re insufferable,” Asra said, “and my ears are ringing with your moaning.”
At that moment Macta turned his head. There was an almost imperceptible scrabbling sound along one of the far walls. “A mouse?” he cried. “A rat, perhaps?” He leapt to his feet. “We won’t starve, after all, my Princess!”
Asra caught sight of movement in the gloom. The rodent hurried along the wall, hidden in shadows, and Macta jumped up in hot pursuit. “You never fail to find new ways of disgusting me,” Asra said.
“We’ll have to eat it raw,” Macta said, “but I’ll save the sweetest parts for you, my dear. I shall lay out its innards like a banquet, and we will dine together. ’Tis better to live together than to die together, isn’t it?”
Macta lunged for the mouse and it rocketed out of sight. “Nooooooo!” Macta cried. “You belong to me, little one!”
Asra saw Macta disappear around the corner where, not long before, he had followed Jal-Maktar. She heard Macta’s feet shuffle, then stop. There was a long moment of silence before he said, “Asra, come here. I want to show you something! Luck may be smiling upon us once again.”
“If you caught that rodent, you might as well know now that I’ll have no part of consuming it,” Asra said. “I’d far sooner die with my lips clean of such an insult than survive another day to descend into depravity with you.”
“Descent may be our way out of here,” Macta said. He was on his knees peering at the floor when Asra came around the corner. “What do you—”
“A drain,” Macta said, looking up. “The rodent ran down into a drain hole here on the floor. Look—it’s an earthen passage, beneath the stones, not just some little pipe. ’Tis big enough for us to crawl through. There’s corrosion around the opening. One of the stones is cracked. If we can lift these slabs away, the passage may lead somewhere else in the palace, or perhaps outside. I’m sure of it! Where else would wastewater go?”
“A sewer,” Asra said. “You want me to follow you into the sewer! ’Tis a fitting metaphor for my life.” She bent to see how badly the mortar around the stones was decayed, and dug a fingernail into the powdery mass. “If the strength of three arms can move these, then it will be done.”
“Wait,” said Macta. He reached into his pocket, drew out the book he used to keep track of his gambling, and rested it on his knee. “I want to make a little bet with myself first!”
As he searched for a bit of charcoal in his pocket, Asra struck the book with the flat of her hand. It skittered across the floor. “No more of that, Macta. I can’t bear it anymore. No more making bets with yourself or anyone else. No more scribble scrabble in your little book! No more gambling. You’re done with that forever. Do you understand me?”
Macta looked up at the Princess. Her eyes burned with an intensity that made his skin tingle. “I do,” he said. “I understand, Asra, I do! If you wish it to be so, then that is the way it shall be!”
Together they wedged their fingers beneath one of the stones at the edge of the drain. “On the count of three,” Asra said, keenly aware that her shoulder and Macta’s were pressed together in common cause.
Macta looked into the eyes of his beloved and winked. “I’ll bet you ten dratmas we can do it!”
“I wasn’t joking,” Asra said icily.
/> around Becky as the massive Sprite twitched its tail, and the Arvada lifted from the ground. Flat on her back inside the cab, Becky felt herself slide backwards as the craft made its jerky ascent. Jardaine and Nick were with the crew at the foredeck, belted safely into their seats until the Arvada reached cruising altitude and leveled off. Jardaine cradled a basket in her lap. Inside were the papers from the Techmagicians’ lab, documenting the myriad ways of using magick to disarm a foe. On the floor next to her was a stack of birch-bark maps of the northern hemisphere of the Elfin world. “Hunaland,” she shouted over the Air Sprite’s din, “we long to see you!”
The Arvada pilots used the concentrated force of their will to move the Air Sprite through the sky. Three of them sat in a circle at the front of the cabin, eyes narrowed in single-minded intensity, as other members of the Air Squad kept watch in the front window or pored over the details of the maps. “’Tis a fact that the kingdom at the top of the world is cloaked in magick,” one of them said. “I don’t see any way of getting around that. The maps may take us to the right coordinates, but unless we can peer through a cloak of invisibility, I fear we’ll see nothing!”
“O ye of little faith,” Jardaine said in exasperation. “I’m a Mage, and I have powers of perception you cannot begin to fathom. When we reach our destination I shall see the boughs of the great tree, Yggdrasil, towering over the North Pole, and we shall enter the gates of Hunaland as heroes!”
Becky was alone at the rear of the craft, where the seats had been hastily removed to accommodate her. She was afraid, and lonely, and when her elbows and toes bumped the walls of the cab she drew back, panicking at the feeling of being trapped in the metal box. She had no real sense of the scale of the task she was about to undertake. She had no real notion of what it might be like to endure confinement for many long, uncomfortable hours, passing through the clouds toward the North Pole, because she had never done anything remotely like it before. She’d never even flown in an airplane. Becky had faith in Jardaine’s promises, because the enormity of the monk’s lie was beyond anything Becky had ever heard before.