by C. Gockel
Chapter 8
Amy is glad for the chance to slow down. It gives her a chance to look around. As they cross the neat fields of what looks like wheat, she can see little thatched cottages. She catches sight of goats, sheep, small shaggy horses, chickens — and sometimes hadrosaurs. From afar their scales are reminiscent of tropical birds, deep, almost iridescent green, with spots of red and yellow.
As they drive along, people — well, they look like people — come out of their little homes, take one look at them, and rush back inside. If they didn’t seemed so terrified Amy would probably stop the car and get out — no matter how much Loki might protest.
They are just a few miles from the city proper, when two knights come riding up the road towards them. She thinks they are knights anyway. They are wearing armor like the kind she is accustomed to from the Art Institute, are seated on shaggy little white horses, and are carrying lances. Their faces and ears are covered, so despite their proximity she can’t see if they’re Elves.
“Um...” says Amy.
Loki, now looking like a very pale Conan the Barbarian, looks at the door. “Where is the window crank? I’d like to address them.”
“The button,” says Amy.
“What button?” says Loki.
“Switch,” says Beatrice.
“Ahhhhh....” says Loki.
“Wait, I have a better idea,” says Amy. Pressing a button on the side of the door, she opens the skylight.
“Perfect!” says Loki smiling broadly. “I love this machine.” He looks at Amy, an expression of deep earnestness on his now broad barbarian face. “Do you think it could ever love me?”
Unsure if this is another one of his jokes, Amy just stares at him.
From the backseat, Beatrice says, “Loki dear, they’re jostling their sticks.”
Loki looks out at the knights who are raising their lances. “Just give me a minute,” he says, and then he stands up next to Amy. It puts his hips rather too close to her face. Her cheeks go hot and she’s on guard instantly. She’s really glad he’s busy talking to the knights; otherwise she’s pretty sure he’d have a bit of innuendo to throw her way just now.
A knight gives a yell, and Amy blinks and straightens. The knight is pointing at her car with his lance.
The words coming out of Loki’s mouth seem smooth, almost musical. But the knights raise their lances and then both of them are yelling at Loki. Amy starts gauging the feasibility of a three point turn. The sun is slipping down on the horizon, and Loki has warned against the wisdom of traveling the road at night, but...
From the direction of the castle eight more knights come riding out on horses, followed by knights on hadrosaurs at the rear. The giant creatures move relatively slowly, but they are intimidating. Loki is still talking, and the knights are still waving their lances.
Hand going to the gears, Amy gets ready to switch into reverse. “Loki! Should I turn around?”
Pulling himself back into the car, Loki smiles broadly at her. It’s even more disconcerting than it should be since he’s changed his appearance to be more Conan the Barbarian-esque. Her brain is having a little difficulty wrapping itself around the concept that it is still the wiry guy with red hair in there. She wants to pinch his cheek or something, to verify everything is real, but the timing is a little inconvenient. And he’d probably misconstrue it as flirting. He’s still in the middle of the front seat and way too close to her.
“No, no, we’re fine!” he says, his voice still his own. Amy’s not sure if it makes the Conan thing better or worse.
“Nothing to worry about,” he says. “They’re just giving us an escort.”
As he says that, the first two knights run around their car, turn around and turn their lances on them again. In front of them the other knights bring their mounts around so their steeds and their lances are perpendicular to the road.
“See,” says Conan-esque Loki. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Oh, dear,” says Beatrice, summing up Amy’s feelings exactly.
Falling back into his own seat, Loki-Conan waves a hand forward. “Go ahead!”
Amy checks the rear view mirror. Going backwards doesn’t seem much of an option. She puts her foot gently on the gas and drives through the gauntlet. There is a bridge just ahead of them, and a river as wide as an eight-lane highway beneath. Amy notices on the side of the river near the castle the water reflects the sky. On the side of the bridge where the water drains into the dark forest, the river is a muddy snake of churning brown and black. She follows the river’s path into the dark forest with her eyes to where it seems to split into tributaries.
“The Delta of Sorrows,” says Loki softly. She looks over at him and he’s shaking his head, one side of his mouth curled up in a crooked smile. “Luddites and hypocrites,” he mutters.
Amy blinks and focuses her attention ahead. The knights are falling into formation behind them.
“The first fork in the road past the river, take a right turn toward the castle,” says Loki.
Amy swallows and nods. As they get closer to the castle, Beatrice says, “Oh, my, it’s even lovelier up close.”
And it is. It’s hard for Amy to keep her eyes on the road. The tremendous white wall on her left is covered with dark green ivy. Blue flowers are interspersed with the leaves.
“Yes,” says Loki. “You have to hand it to the elves, they can make even man-eating plants picturesque.”
“Man-eating?” says Beatrice.
“Let’s say you wouldn’t want to try and scale the wall by climbing the ivy,” says Loki.
“Oh,” says Beatrice. “It is so pretty, though...I wonder if it would keep the squirrels away from the bird feeder outside our kitchen window?”
“Grandma!” says Amy.
“It’s difficult to get clippings of the stuff,” says Loki. “It bites.”
“A shame,” says Beatrice.
Before Amy can say anything, Beatrice lets out a gasp. They’re closing in on the main gates of the city, and for the first time can see within. More knights are riding out, but others are holding back a crowd.
Amy pulls the car through the gates, into what seems to be a market square with brightly colored tents for stalls interspersed with lavender-leafed trees with white bark. Great buildings of white stone look over the square. They are able to see the people of the realm up close for the first time. They are slender, and not terribly tall. Most appear pale, but Amy sees every shade of skin tone. They seem to all be blessed with delicate, doll like features, and there is no mistaking the pointed ears.
“Elves...” breathes Amy.
Conan-Loki snorts. “You expected trolls?”
Neither Amy nor Beatrice bother to respond. A moment later the sun slips completely from the sky, and all around them great orbs of green light rise into the air until they reach a height just above the great wall around the city. The car’s headlights become brighter.
From the crowd there is a collective, “Oooooh.”
“Clever car,” says Loki, patting the dash.
The elves in the market push against the knights holding them back and begin to smile and wave at Amy, Beatrice and Loki. Amy hears shouts rising up in the crowd. In the corner of her eye she swears she sees an elf raising his fist at the knights.
Amy cranes her neck for a better view, but Loki says, “Keep driving. The hadrosaurs can tip us over.” He looks over his shoulder. “Or step on us.”
That does wonders to focus Amy’s attention.
They follow a knight through the market, and between buildings that are a few stories tall, the knights on hadrosaurs close behind them. In the glow of the orbs the white stone looks green. Some of the buildings have wide windows. Behind her Amy hears Beatrice say, “Oh, that looks like a dress shop, and that looks like toys maybe...Oh, my, the people are just darling.”
Amy wishes she could look, but trains her eyes on the knight leading them. She tries to keep track of the way they�
��re going. It’s dark, and a little difficult to tell for sure, but it seems to be one main road that switches back on itself as it makes its way up the mountain.
They make a few more switchback turns and come to a street that has walls on both sides. On one side the wall is covered with the ivy and flowers.
“Oh, the shops are gone,” says Beatrice.
“We’re nearly on the palace grounds,” says Loki.
The knight in front of them holds up a hand. Abruptly, the ivy on the wall slithers away like a mass of snakes and a metal gate is revealed. Beatrice gives a startled cry, and Amy swallows.
The gates swing open with a loud, metallic clang, the knight shouts, and Loki says, “Drive in.”
Amy’s foot is already on the gas. She eases through the gates. Up until this point they’ve been driving on a steady incline up the mountainside, but before her the ground plateaus. There are trees, bushes, and masses of tall flowering plants. The road leads to what can only be described as a palace — it rises up at least ten stories. Its delicate towers and walls crawl with more ivy. Above the road hover the green orbs. All along the road are elves standing at attention, wearing what looks like chain mail. From the palace more elves are coming. Even at a distance, Amy can see they are not wearing armor of any kind. Male and female, they wear clothing that looks medieval, but Amy’s pretty sure that human medieval clothing did not glow.
The knight in front of them barks an order. “Time to get out,” says Loki.
He turns to them, his features sharp. “Remember, I am Fjölnir Thorsbrutter.” He tips his head. “If Odin finds out I am here, it will be difficult for me to return you to your realm.”
Amy hears the back door open. “I don’t know if I’d mind staying,” says Beatrice as the retinue of elves in glowing gowns draws to a halt in front of them. “My, my.” With that she climbs out of the car.
Loki looks at Amy, his eyes wide.
“Don’t worry, Amy says. “I don’t want to stay anywhere that doesn’t have antibiotics.” Or a good laboratory. What fun was dung if she couldn’t analyze it?
Mouth grim, jaw hard, Conan-Loki says, “Smart girl.”
An instant later he is standing outside on the golden road, smiling broadly.
Amy slips the key from the ignition and watches him. He’s like a chameleon, and not just in the way he changes his physical appearance.
Stepping from the car, she takes a breath and pockets her keys and attached pepper spray. The air is cool, clear and untainted by the car’s air freshener or vents. The sun may be gone, but everything still smells like sunlight and grass, and floral smells she can’t quite place. She looks up past the orbs. The stars are bright, but the Big Dipper is nowhere to be seen. Her mouth drops open, and then she smiles at the wonder of it. She is on another world.
Smile still in place, she walks around to where Conan-Loki and Beatrice stand. One elf, a man dressed in subdued black who looks no older than Amy, is talking to Loki. The other elves are thronged around Beatrice.
“You human!” says a young man in a sing-song voice to Beatrice. His hair is golden and long. He is wearing long robes of dark blue velvet with embroidered stars that literally sparkle. He turns to Amy. “You, too! Come to feast!”
“First, clothes!” says a woman. Amy blinks. At her side is an elf woman with skin dark as ebony. She wears a dress of emerald green, cinched tightly at the waist, low cut on the front, with gold brocade along the neckline that seems to project its own light.
Small hands go to Amy’s arms and pull her forward, but then a heavier arm drapes over her shoulder. Conan-Loki’s voice whispers in her ear. “I told them I was accidentally drawn into your realm, and that I rescued you, and this is how you are repaying me. The only detail I’ve changed is my name. Fjölnir. Thorsbrutter. Don’t forget.”
Before Amy can even respond, Loki’s arm is gone, and he’s stepping around the crowd to the elf in black.
As the lady in emerald scoots up to Amy, Amy turns her head to see the man in blue, arm-in-arm with Beatrice.
Touching Beatrice’s hair lightly, he speaks with an oddly lilting accent Amy can’t place. “You like most beautiful gnome I have ever seen.”
Amy’s eyes bug out, but Beatrice just giggles and smiles.
“My name Belladal,” says the woman next to Amy in the same lilting tones as the man.
“Amy,” says Amy, trying to keep her eyes on Conan-Loki, walking ahead of the throng, towering next to the elf in black.
“Aaay Meeee,” says Belladal.
“Aaay Meeee,” say the other elves in unison.
Amy turns her eyes to them for an instant. Beatrice and Amy are positively thronged now. She smiles and they gasp. “You many teeth for human!” says Belladal. Confused, Amy blinks. Turning her head she tries to find Loki, but he and the elf in black are nowhere to be seen. Before she even has a chance to process that thought or be afraid, great wooden doors ahead of them open and light spills out of the palace.
She hears the elf man next to Beatrice exclaim. “No, no, no! You not 85! Humans not live that long!” She can’t hear Beatrice’s response. Her eyes are nearly blinded by the golden light in the palace, and elves in much simpler attire are running out of the doors singing or maybe talking in musical tones.
“Dresses! You get dresses!” says Belladal. “Elves like humans. Not see so long! You like dresses! Music! Feast! Happy! Happy! Happy!”
“Happp—eeeee!” sing the elves.
And Amy isn’t sure if it is magic, or just that everything is magical, but she begins to feel her heart lift, and her lips pull into a wide grin.
Beatrice slips her arm into Amy’s as Belladal glides into the palace ahead of them, her dark skin warm and glowing in the light. Following the elven woman with her eyes, Beatrice shakes her head and whispers to Amy, “the elves have Negroes, too. I never would have expected that.”
Amy squeezes her eyes shut and resists the desire to facepalm. Beside her Beatrice doesn’t seem to even notice. She’s chattering away with the elven man.
Amy sighs and opens her eyes. At least Beatrice didn’t say anything about Belladal getting a position of lady or princess elf through affirmative action. She smiles ruefully; some of the magic of the place must be rubbing off after all.
x x x x
An hour or so and a magically altered dress later, Amy’s standing in a great hall. Lining the wall are tapestries that glitter, glow and almost seem to move. A giant orb of gold is suspended in the air. The floor beneath her feet is white polished stone. To one side of the room are large ornately carved doors that lead, she’s told, to “big feast...little wait only.” Music that sounds like harps and flutes is floating through the air, but she can’t see any musicians. She looks around the room a little anxiously. She hasn’t seen Loki since they entered the palace.
Fenrir isn’t here either. During the dressmaking session an elf woman had taken the dog away — Belladal said it was “so small beast no smell like dead things.” Amy would have protested more, but it was true, her little beast still stunk. Fenrir’s supposed to be back in time for the feast, though. Looking around again, Amy pats her skirts and feels the comforting lumps of her key chain and pepper spray beneath the fabric.
At the other end of the hall Beatrice is sitting down on an elaborately carved wooden chair, a throng of elves around her. Grinning ear-to-ear, she looks beautiful. Her dress is palest rose with an elegant princess neckline. Her white hair is lifted up in a bun that is crowned with pale pink flowers. It occurs to Amy that Beatrice must seem far more exotic to them than Amy herself does. No one in the hall looks older than 25.
Amy looks down at her own dress self-consciously. It’s very pretty, creamy with emerald green trim. But the neckline is painfully low and wide. She’s afraid if she bends forwards she might spill out. She tried to ask for something more discreet, but her protests were met with laughter. “Why hide best feature?” Belladal had said. And then Belladal�
�s expression had contorted to one of genuine curiosity. “Are you wet-nurse?”
Remembering that comment did nothing to ease Amy’s self-consciousness now. The elves, male and female, crowded around her speaking in their musical tones and staring at her breasts doesn’t help either. Different ideas about propriety, obviously. None of them seem to speak English the way Belladal or the elf man in blue are able to, so commenting on her embarrassment doesn’t help.
Figures clad in black and gray emerging from a small door at the side of the hall catches her attention. It’s Loki at last — still looking like a pale version of Conan the Barbarian. The elf in black is next to him. Grateful for a chance to escape her ogling little throng, Amy casts a smile around her, looks apologetically in the direction of Loki, and then back at them. The throng seems to understand because a narrow path opens up before her. She bolts through it without a backwards glance.
Loki catches her eye, says something to the elf in black, and then tilts his head towards a hallway off to the side. A few moments later Amy is there beside him. His armor is still the dark gray he changed it to in the car, and he’s donned no other finery. His face is uncharacteristically pensive.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, and he blinks.
“Nothing,” he says. “I will be granted an audience with the queen during the feast.” Her brows furrow slightly. She thinks they are alone in the small hallway, the noise of revelry at their backs, but she’s not quite sure. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she leans close to him. “Are you worried she’ll know who you are?”
Smiling a little sadly, he says, “I’m certain that she will. That isn’t what disturbs me.”
“Well, what then?” says Amy, a hand almost unconsciously going to his arm.
Not meeting her eyes, his lips quirk slightly, his expression looks sad instead of happy.
“I find myself nervous about the answer to my question,” he says.
“You never told us what the question is,” Amy says.
His eyes narrow, though the quirk of his lips doesn’t disappear. “I try, as much as possible, to push it from my mind. If I think of it I might go mad.” He looks so distraught, Amy has the urge to give him a hug.
Stepping back, he takes her hand. “But where are my manners? You look lovely.”
From the great hall there is the sound of horns.
“Nice breasts,” says Loki, barely audible over the din.
Amy’s jaw falls. Every time she feels the slightest bit of sympathy for him, he just has to go and ruin it. “Did you just say nice breasts?”
He quirks an eyebrow. Leaning in he says, “Actually, I said nice dress.”
Amy blinks and reddens; how foolish of her. She’s about to apologize when still holding her hand, his eyes drift down and his mouth stretches into a leer. “But now that you mention it....”
Her hand connects with his cheek a moment later with a satisfying smack.
Rubbing his cheek, he just grins at her.
Amy points at her eyes and says, “Focus.”
The grin vanishes. “You’re right, I can’t be seen to be fraternizing with the help.” He smirks. “Who knows, the queen may want to take advantage of my silver tongue.”
“Huh?” says Amy, not seeing any connection.
The smirk vanishes.
Amy blinks.
Patting her shoulder, Loki sighs. “If I ever need to capture a unicorn I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Conan-Loki’s inappropriate leers are immediately forgiven. “I would love to see a unicorn!”
Putting a hand to her back, he guides her towards the hall. “And I’m sure one would love to see you.” As they step into the great hall, Loki says, “Dinner has just been called. I will see you later.”
The elf woman who had taken Fenrir away during the dressmaking session approaches, Fenrir at her feet, bathed, groomed and looking — well, almost like a dog. “This way,” the elf woman says.
Eyes going wide, Amy says, “You speak English!”
The elf blinks at her, as though surprised to be understood. “Yes. But secret, please?”
Amy tilts her head, curious. But all she says is, “Of course.” She turns to look at Loki but he’s already gone.
x x x x
As the rest of the guests are herded into the dining hall, Lionel, the steward, leads Loki to a small antechamber dimly lit by dancing fireflies. It’s furnished only with a tapestry on one wall, and two chairs facing one another, a low table in the middle. It is exactly the sort of thing Loki would have expected.
Closing the door behind them, Lionel presses his ear to it as though listening for something.
Loki tilts his head. Lionel meets his gaze, nods, and then moves quickly to the room’s only window and draws the curtains. Putting his finger to his lips, Lionel moves to the opposite wall and draws back the curtain. Pressing against a few of the white stones in rapid succession, Lionel backs up. The stones seem to dissolve, as though made of sand, revealing a dark narrow passage.
Lionel gestures with his hands for Loki to enter.
Loki does not move. “Where are you taking me?”
Lionel is small and thin even for an elf. He swallows. “The queen will speak a few words at the feast, and then she will retire to her chambers. She will meet you there.”
Loki stares at him for a few uncomfortably long heartbeats. Not because he doesn’t believe Lionel’s words — Loki can’t read hearts, but he has a sense for lies. It is the truth, but still unbelievable. Loki is nowhere near the queen’s station, whether a member of Thor’s personal legion or as Odin’s retainer...former retainer. Having him in her chambers would be scandalous, but it would explain the secrecy; and a secret passage would make perfect sense.
“If you like, I will go first,” says Lionel.
“I would like,” says Loki. Lionel may not be lying, but he wouldn’t put it past a monarch to leave a surprise without their retainer’s knowledge.
Lionel bows his head. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a dull olive orb. As he lifts it, it lights from within, casting the same green glow as the orbs outside the palace. And then Lionel steps into the dark passageway, Loki following.
Loki hears the tapestry fall back into place, and a sound like pebbles sliding together. When he looks behind him there is a seemingly solid wall.
After a few paces, the passageway changes to a stairway. The steps are low and narrow. Loki touches the walls. They are dry and cool beneath his slightly warm damp fingers. He can feel his pulse quickening. This is it. Soon he will know where his sons and Sigyn are, whether they are alive or dead.
Taking a deep breath, he tries to calm himself as best he can.
They have gone a few flights when the scent of stone and dust gives way to the smell of green living things, pine and sage maybe. It’s not unpleasant at all. Loki suddenly has an overpowering sense of deja vu. He blinks. Prophecy is completely beyond him. He is over 1,000 years old. He may never have been in this stairway, but he has been in ones like it. Surely.
And yet...the fragrance. He takes a long breath. He is just anxious.
In front of him Lionel draws to a stop. Loki can’t see what he does with his hands but the wall falls away, and they step from behind another tapestry into a living area. The smell of pine and sage is stronger, and there is also the smell of meat and fresh bread. There is a chandelier above that looks like a mass of long silver leaves. There are no candles or orbs set in it: the whole thing glows, casting a glow like moonlight. Below it are two chairs, and a table laden with food. Nearby Loki can hear the sound of falling water.
“Her Majesty’s chambers,” says the steward. He gestures to a seat. “Please, sit and eat your fill.”
Loki’s mouth is watering, but he doesn’t sit down. He tilts his head to the sound of water. In his mind he pictures a living wall of lichens, a small spout emerging from it, and a stream of water falling into a semi-circular pool set flush in the floor. Turni
ng, he walks quickly from the little room, Lionel at his heels, saying, “Stop! Wait!”
He steps into the next room over and draws up short. There are the wall and fountain just as he imagined them.
“Sir,” Lionel says, “you are to wait in the other room.”
Loki doesn’t move. And then he sees it, magic, the same color as moonlight, spilling from behind his back.
“Leave us, Lionel,” says a feminine voice as smooth and sure as water over rocks.
Loki and Lionel both turn. The elf queen approaches them. She wears a simple circlet on her brow. Her ears peek out from straight black hair. Her eyes are almond shaped, almost like a human from the continent of Asia, but they are nearly as light as Loki’s own. Her features are fine, delicate and almost painfully symmetrical, like all of the elf race. She is as slender and willowy as a reed — not precisely his type, but undeniably beautiful.
Loki has seen her several times before. He’s always looked at her from a distance, or from over Odin’s shoulder as a retainer. She’s never met his eyes before. She does now. Loki has the peculiar sensation of coming in from the cold to find a warm and welcome fire.
For some reason he almost says “Gala” aloud, but holds it back. Strange to be affected so by a silly human myth.
He tilts his head. This feeling of belonging, is it a trick of her magic?
“Yes, my Queen,” Lionel says, drawing Loki from his reverie. Bowing quickly the retainer leaves the room.
“Loki, son of wildfire and the green and peaceful isle,” says the elf queen.
He hasn’t heard his heritage described that way before, but he doesn’t argue. Bowing, Loki lets his disguise drop and prepares to kneel.
“Please,” says the elf queen holding out a pale hand. “Don’t.”
Loki straightens. There is something in her voice, fear or apprehension; he can’t tell.
“Why are you here?” she says coming forward, magic swirling in the air so much it warms his skin. She cannot possibly be afraid of him, her magic is so much stronger.
“I mean you no harm, your highness. I come only for an exchange of information.”
“What information do you wish to give me?”
Loki tilts his head. “A pathway, from your realm to Asgard.”
“I know many of those,” she says dropping her eyes and moving quietly as a shadow so they are no more than a foot apart. That closeness should strike him as odd — but it doesn’t, and that is truly odd.
“Ah, but this is a very strategic one, your highness. Right from the heart of your realm to just behind the throne of Odin himself.”
The elf queen’s eyes shoot up to his and then she looks aside and walks away. “I already know of such a pathway,” she says.
Loki feels the first prickle of worry. “But this, your highness, this one....” He licks his lips. “It is very near, but so small you would never find it unless — ”
“The one inside our wine cellar,” she says.
Loki’s eyes go wide. He feels as though the wind has been knocked out of him. He brings a hand to the chest plate of his armor and feels the press of his book tucked inside there. The queen’s eyes follow the movement, and for an instant he thinks he sees something cruel and predatory flash in them. But then the look is gone, and her features again are cool and distant.
“Someone already bartered that piece of information to me...long, long ago,” she says, her eyes dropping to the small pool in the floor.
She looks sharply at him, and then comes forward again. Tilting her head she says, “But I would hear your question anyways.”
It takes a moment for Loki to process her words. No barter? No exchange? When do gifts ever come freely?
“Tell me,” she says. And again she is very close, too close for decorum, and again it is a fact that hovers at the edge of his consciousness, something that should strike him as uncomfortable and off, but the feeling of her proximity is completely different. It’s like a warm fire.
He closes his eyes. He sees Valli and Nari as children, with Helen — who he also lost. He cannot think them lost, too — or Sigyn, gone like his Aggie. “My sons, my ex-wife, Sigyn, I want to know where they are, ” he says softly. She draws back, just a bit. Maybe he isn’t speaking softly, maybe it just sounds faint over the angry pounding of his own heart.
“I don’t know,” she says, her gaze firm on his. “I cannot see everything. I am sorry.”
She’s not lying...and yet...
His next breath is too hard and too loud. He wants to turn away, but doesn’t think he can. Valli and Nari’s faces and the blackness of space flash before him. His sons...his beautiful sons.
The elf queen takes his arm, and that act of comfort is scandalous, ridiculous, coming from a queen. Not that he hasn’t gotten women far above his station to do things far more scandalous — but not without trying.
“Come sit down,” she says pulling him towards the chairs in the other room.
“I should go,” he says. He doesn’t know where.
“Odin does not know you’re here,” she says.
That is pure truth.
He lets himself be led and sinks down into the chair. She doesn’t move away. Rubbing a hand on his shoulder she says, “Loki, Loki, Loki,” as though practicing the word. Her touch is oddly familiar.
Almost unconsciously he takes her hand in his and she comes around so that she stands just to the side of him, very close. She leans down so their eyes are level; locks of her black hair fall down over her shoulders. “If I cannot give you the knowledge you need, at least let me give you comfort,” she says, her face close to his.
When Loki jested with the human girl earlier about the elf queen taking advantage of his silver tongue, it had been just that, a jest, and nothing more. The queen was not known to take lovers casually, if at all. Even Baldur had tried and failed.
And yet...Loki looks at the pale skin where her neck meets the junction of her shoulders. He has the feeling that if he ghosts his lips there he knows exactly what sound she’ll make. He looks at her lips and thinks he knows exactly how they will taste.
He pulls her closer and she doesn’t resist. When he kisses her it isn’t like a first kiss, laced with excitement and uncertainty. It’s like comfort and homecoming. He needs those things.
And she tastes exactly as he thought she would.
Afterwards, when he feels a brief bit of peace, it feels natural to fall asleep with his arms draped around the elf woman he hasn’t called anything less formal than “your Majesty.” He dreams of a younger Alfheim, with a brighter, yellower sun, of gazing out the window of the palace at a mortal peasant man come to visit. The human smiles at Loki and it’s warm, good humored and yet it fills him with dread.
His eyes snap open. He hears fast footfalls, and then the sting of sharp cold metal at his throat.
He looks up. The elf queen is there, holding his own blade against his neck with one hand, his book in the other.
This is not good.
x x x x
The dining room is as grand as the other halls of the palace. More tapestries, another glowing orb in the ceiling, and a great table still piled high with food — even though the diners are mostly done.
Amy sits back in her seat, pleasantly full. Near her feet Fenrir whines. Amy glances around. All eyes in the hall are trained on Beatrice, who is recounting the story of her life. Taking advantage of their lack of attention, Amy slips a piece of cheese to Fenrir.
The queen came into the hall a few hours ago. From a raised dais at the end of the table she bid Amy and her grandmother greetings in English nearly as perfect as Loki’s, before addressing her own people and then taking her leave.
Amy was asked a few questions during the meal by Belladal, but Beatrice very quickly became the star of the show. Now Beatrice is telling the story of her life, how she was born to a formerly wealthy clothing merchant in the Ukraine. She has described her parents, her family and her friends in
greater detail than Amy has ever heard. Amy is as enraptured as the elves are to hear previously unheard stories of her family’s history. The tale is interrupted frequently by the elf man in blue translating for the rest of the table.
Beatrice comes to the part of how her family and friends were persecuted after the communists took power, and the elves hiss before the translation even starts. Startled, Beatrice, a few seats down and across the table, meets Amy’s eyes. Next to Amy, Belladal says, “We know of these communists. Killers of kings, queens, lords and ladies...but not only just! Kill common people, too.”
“Yes,” says Beatrice nodding gravely at Belladal. “They caused a great famine.”
“This we know not!” says the elf man. The whole hall goes silent, as though they are hanging breathlessly on Beatrice’s words. When she finishes describing the Holodomor, the famine induced by Stalin that killed nearly 2.7 million people, the elf in blue begins to translate again. Amy notices he doesn’t just address the people at the table, he also addresses the servants in the background.
For some reason it makes her stomach feel heavy.
At one point Belladal leans to Amy and whispers. “Your grandmother. So brave. Journey to lawless land no king. No queen. Much danger!”
Amy puts the crystal goblet in her hands down on the table. There is a sweet liquid within it — she’s pretty sure it’s alcoholic and wishes she could just drink some water. She is the designated driver after all. “We do all right,” she says to the elf woman.
Belladal’s eyes go wide. “If you not saved by Frost Giant...” She shakes her head. “No king. No queen. Is...is...discord....chaos.”
Amy scowls a little. “Well, no...” But Beatrice has begun to speak again and Belladal’s head turns away. At Amy’s feet Fenrir whimpers.
“I have to take her out,” Amy whispers to Belladal.
Belladal looks like she is about to get up, but the servant elf Amy had spoken to briefly is by Amy’s side at that instant. “Don’t worry,” says Amy. “I’ll go with her.”
Belladal nods and returns her gaze to Beatrice who has just begun her story of her voyage to America. Amy wishes she could stay for it, but part of her also wants to flee the hall as soon as possible.
The servant leads Amy and Fenrir out of the dining hall and Amy finds herself close to a place she remembers from earlier — the restroom. There is a group of elves in drab garb with an orb like the ones that line the ceilings and hover in the sky. But this one is brown and murky. As Amy watches, they take the orb into the restroom.
Drawing to a stop, Amy tilts her head. “What are they doing?”
The elf woman next to her bites her lip. “The orb magic water...used up. They empty. They refill new magic water.”
Amy’s eyes widen. “Are they flushing it down the toilet?” Despite the quaintness of the elf architecture, they do have flush toilets, thankfully.
The elf woman bites her lip again. “Yes. But don’t worry. Dark water goes down to delta. We get drinking water and fish up river.”
Fenrir begins tugging at the leash, and the elf woman pulls Amy down the passageway. Amy follows obediently, but the image of the river churning brown and black towards the dark lands is heavy in her mind.
A few paces later, they are stepping out into the cool night air onto a path of worn stones. The green orbs hover in the air, and light blue fireflies dance around them.
“What is your name?” Amy asks.
“Dolinar,” says the elf woman.
“Dolinar,” says Amy. “Do elves live down river?”
For a moment there is just the sound of Fenrir’s leash in the grass, and Dolinar’s and Amy’s footfalls. And then Dolinar says quietly, “Yes. But only thieves, murderers, traitors...and those who will not obey the life price.”
The night air suddenly feels very chill. Clutching her arms to her chest, Amy says, “That’s wrong. Even if it’s criminals down river, poisoning them is still wrong.”
Dolinar looks quickly to the palace, and then back to Amy. Pointed ears trembling, she whispers, “Yes, I think so, too.”
They stare at one another a moment. It occurs to Amy that even dressed in plain servants’ garb, Dolinar looks more noble than Amy ever will. Dolinar’s hair is a deep walnut brown. Her eyes are hazel, and Amy is sure she sees light flickering in them. Her facial features are so delicate, and so perfect; her body is as small and poised as a ballet dancer.
Dolinar looks away from the palace and into the darkness. “My life mate works in stables. You say you are studying to be animal doctor. Want to see animals?”
Amy’s eyes widen, and she starts walking into the darkness and direction of Dolinar’s gaze. “Let’s go!”
A few minutes later they are approaching a building that is at least four stories tall. Through narrow windows Amy sees the glow of green orbs. There is an enormous door at the front, but Dolinar leads her around to a small door in the back.
As soon as they enter the stables, Dolinar runs forward. Out of the shadows an elf man in drab pants and a simple shirt comes forward. His hair is long and blonde, his eyes are brown. He takes Dolinar in his arms and they begin speaking quickly in their own tongue.
It’s touching, but Amy’s eyes almost immediately go down the row of stalls. Her mouth opens. On one side of the stable are horses. On the other are hadrosaurs. The dinosaurs sit on their powerful hind limbs, their front limbs pulled up, and their beak-like snouts turned on their long necks and tucked against their bodies. They look like nothing so much as roosting birds.
Feet moving of their own accord, she approaches one of the sleeping dinosaur’s enclosure. The creature untucks its neck, brings its large snout around and blinks yellow eyes. Between its eyes and its colorful, nearly iridescent scales, it looks like a giant parrot. A small gasp comes from Amy’s lips.
“She gentle,” comes a man’s voice from behind her. He says something in elvish and then Dolinar says, “You may touch her, if you wish.”
Amy doesn’t have to be coaxed. She holds out a hand. The hadrosaur brings its snout forward and sniffs. Then walking forward on its large hind legs, it drops its snout and begins rubbing the side of its head against Amy’s fingers. Up close, its scales are actually more like feathers, and they are soft as a chick’s down. Amy bites back a laugh of pure wonderment. She doesn’t doubt that the moment is real. She can smell the familiar smells of horses and straw, but there is also the smell of the hadrosaur, very akin to a bird. The animal is making soft huffing noises, and Amy catches the odor of its breath, warm and thick with the smell of half digested vegetation. It’s wonderful. Magical.
Suddenly, everything that has happened — her horrible sickening run-in with a psychopath, her fear, the horrible sensation that her life was just a dream, the elves Amy is beginning to suspect are charming fascists, Loki frightening her in the kitchen, and his terrible come-ons, it is all worth it. Even if she can’t breathe a word of this moment to anyone except Beatrice; she will know it happened. The universe seems to be grinding along with such beautiful perfection, and Amy’s part may be insignificant, but it is still wonderful.
She rubs the hadrosaur’s head and finds a small opening. She smiles; it is the animal’s ear. She scratches just behind it and the hadrosaur lets loose a deep, pleasant, lowing noise.
“She like you,” says Dolinar.
Amy doesn’t say anything. Just continues rubbing a few minutes more, feeling the exquisite, alien and yet familiar softness of the creature’s scales. She can feel her pulse racing just from the sheer joy of it. This perfect moment, it is all Loki’s fault, and that thought almost makes her laugh.
The hadrosaur abruptly pulls itself further upright, shakes its head, and then tucks its snout against its body again.
“Now go back to sleep,” says man.
Smiling, Amy turns to them. “Thank you so much...” She blinks at them standing arm in arm. Her brain disconnects from the moment she’s just experienced. Tilting her head at the
lovely couple she says, “How come you speak English?”
Squeezing the man’s hand, Dolinar steps forward. “We do not speak English. We use magic to translate. My life mate, Liddel, and I study magic in secret.”
Face very serious, Liddel draws closer to Dolinar. “We would like to learn more magic. We are both hard workers and we were wondering...”
“We have to leave,” Dolinar says quickly. Amy’s eyes widen and she steps back.
Dolinar swallows. “We haven’t paid the life price. ”
Overwhelmed and confused, Amy says in a small voice, “Life price?”
“I am pregnant,” says Dolinar and Amy’s eyes flash between the two elves. “But no one in family has died so it is not allowed. Balance of elves and other creatures will be disrupted....”
Charming fascists indeed! “They aren’t going to kill your baby?” Amy gasps.
Dolinar and Liddel blink at her. “No,” says Liddel. “They will take him away.”
“Oh,” says Amy. That is better — but not by much.
“Fjölnir,” says Dolinar. “The Frost Giant you came with, we see his magic, he is very powerful...maybe more powerful than queen.”
“Would he take us as apprentices?” says Liddel. “Just me for now, but later...”
From outside there come loud shouts and the sound of horns. Liddel’s eyes widen. “It is the royal messengers. They may be angered if they know I’ve let you both into Queen’s stables. Hide!”
Dolinar takes Amy’s hand and pulls her and Fenrir towards a hadrosaur stall. She opens the latch with trembling hands as Liddel walks to the main door, shouting something. Amy, Fenrir and Dolinar swing into the stall next to an oblivious hadrosaur, and Dolinar shuts the stall door just as the main door of the stables swings open, and green orbs float in above.
There is much shouting and whinnying of horses. Amy scoops Fenrir up and wraps her hand around her dog’s muzzle before she can bark. Wiggling in her arms, Fenrir makes muffled yipping noises anyway.
Outside the stall door, someone says something that sounds like a question. Amy hears Liddel responding. The stall door rattles.
Turning towards Fenrir, eyes wide, Dolinar points a finger at the dog’s mouth just as her muzzle slips through Amy’s fingers. Fenrir opens her mouth, the stall door rattles again, and Amy’s heart misses a beat. Her dog’s jaws open and shut, Amy can see her tiny lungs heave...but then no sound comes out. Amy looks at Dolinar...the elf woman’s brow looks damp and she brings a finger to her lips.
Fenrir blinks and starts rubbing her muzzle.
The door of the stall shakes, and then someone says something, and Amy hears footsteps going away. Heart pounding in her ears, she lets out a breath and settles into the shadow of the hadrosaur, still sleeping peacefully.
Amy’s not sure how long it is before the elves leave the stable; it feels like an eternity. She hears the sound of livery being readied, and hooves marching out into the night. At last, the stall door swings open, and Liddel’s form appears. Looking perplexed, he says, “The messenger and an armed escort is going to the World Gate. It’s strange so late in the evening.”
“World Gate?” says Amy. “World Gate to where?”
The elves turn to her and look at her as though she has asked a silly question. “To Asgard.”
Amy’s heart leaps to her throat. “I have to get my grandmother...I have to get my car...” She runs forward and takes Dolinar’s hands. “I don’t know if Loki needs an apprentice, but I’m sure he’ll let you come with us.”
“Loki?” say Dolinar and Liddel in unison.
Amy puts her hand to her mouth. The one thing she wasn’t supposed to do and she’s done it!
The elves look at each other and whisper back and forth in their own language. Liddel puts a hand on Amy’s shoulder. “We thank you for your kindness. Perhaps it would be better for you if you come with us to the Dark Lands.”
Amy looks between them. Their eyes are wide and sincere.
“No, no, he’s really not that bad,” Amy says. “He saved my life...and he’s kind, a little pervy, ...but...”
The elves exchange glances.
“Please don’t tell!” Amy says. “Just please don’t tell.”
Liddel’s eyes narrow. “We will tell no one.”
Narrowing her own eyes, Dolinar smiles slightly...and it’s not a kind smile. “Let the queen deal with the breaker of worlds.”