Half-carrying, half-dragging, Aiyla tipped them both into the carriage. At once, Tamraz slammed the door and cracked his whip. The wagon rumbled away, light slicing through the broken shutters.
No one would stop them. No one would question a carriage of the Little Birds.
Zerren still shivered, and Aiyla quickly stripped off the soaked clothes, wrapping her in another blanket, rubbing hands along Zerren’s arms and back. “Safe,” Aiyla rasped, though it felt like swallowing ground glass. “Safe now.”
Zerren gave a frail laugh that turned into a sob. Her arms closed around Aiyla, fingers digging into her back. Aiyla crawled into her lap, bringing them as close as they could be, holding her as tightly, her own eyes burning hotly.
“My brave duck,” she whispered.
That turned the sob back into a laugh. Pale fingers of moonlight crept over her, turning green and gold to silver and blue. Even pale and terrified, she was still the most beautiful person Aiyla had ever seen. She touched Zerren’s cheek with gentle scarred fingers, and her eyes welled over when Zerren reached up and tugged away her veil.
The last battle had left its mark. Never a great beauty, her brown skin was waxen in places, as if held too close to a flame. She averted her gaze.
“No,” Zerren said, her voice roughened and exhausted. “No, look at me. Please.”
Aiyla swallowed hard, and her chest pulled tight for another reason altogether. “Zerren...”
“No.” Zerren pressed her palm to Aiyla’s cheek, staring at her as if she was beautiful. “Not Zerren. My name is Liliana.”
No longer the golden bird in her golden cage.
Aiyla held Liliana’s hand against her cheek, remembering a life and a place before she had wings and masters. “Rania,” she whispered. “My name.”
“Rania,” Liliana breathed it like a prayer. She swayed close, tears like diamonds on her cheek, and pressed their brows together. “Rania.”
And under the moonlight’s gentle touch, they curled together as they left their old world behind them.
Positively Medieval
by Kaitlyn Zivanovich
Grynid understood that Asbjorn Haugen’s guidebook on Humans was outdated, but it was the only reference book she had. It had led her to believe there would be more pitchforks. She hadn’t seen any on the flight from Norway to Ronald Reagan Washington International Airport, though, nor a hint of one at baggage claim. She saw Humans pushing luggage trolleys, drinking decorative coffees, and consoling their jet-lagged children. Not a pitchfork in sight. Humans, it seemed, were entirely modern and civilized.
Mother was wrong. A delightful thought.
Now it was up to Grynid to show Humans that Trolls were also modern and civilized. She took small, non-tromping steps through the U.S. Customs line. Instead of hefting, she plucked her book sack from the conveyor belt like a dandelion. She smiled with minimal tusk when she was mistakenly called an Ogre. Twice. Because of their quarantine, few Americans had ever met a real Troll. They still believed offensive medieval stereotypes set forth by Human authors. Grynid must make a good impression. Challenge their assumptions. She must be the model Troll.
Difficult, because these goggles made her want to tear a tree in half.
They perched ridiculously across her broad gray nose, covering most—but not all—of both eyes. Pop-ups flared in the corner of her vision. Another loser in the Stocks! Join the Roast! a cartoon pig invited. A grainy gif of a unicorn licking a mermaid’s fins: WET and HORNY fairy-tale babes in your area!! A reminder that with an upgrade she could opt out of advertisements.
She upgraded.
Outside there were no carriages or carts. Grynid sniffed for the ocean to orient herself. Industrial smells muddied her sense of direction.
“Excuse me? Is there a map? I’m trying to get to—”
“Use the app.” The Human flicked a finger, tossing a link to Grynid’s goggles: GetTHare! maps, free download!
A pink rabbit bounced across the empty street, a question mark over its cartoon head. Grynid looked at the address on her college-acceptance envelope and blinked. The rabbit’s question mark popped into an exclamation point. “3700 O St NW! Follow me!”
“No, a map. Show me the route.”
The rabbit hopped. “Follow me!”
Grynid toggled through the app menu. There was no map/route view option. Her lips twisted. She would defer to Human culture and customs in many ways. She’d eat lobster. She’d live inside a concrete dormitory with carpet. She’d even create a profile for this tech, linking all of her personal data, just to integrate into Human society! But a Troll is her own navigator. She always knows where she is. A lost Troll is a dead Troll. Grynid would not blindly follow a preposterously hued bunny who might lead her anywhere. Mother would die laughing.
How was she supposed to get to law school?
Flustered, Grynid ducked into a damp alleyway. It was dark, narrow, and smelled of mildew: cozy. Like her home cave. She removed her goggles and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t lost. And she could not panic in public, it would scare the Humans. Worse, it would validate Mother.
Grynid tossed her sack to the ground with a heavy whumph. She rifled one-handed through her books: law, caselaw, rules of evidence. Strunk & White. Asbjorn Haugen’s Humans: How to Avoid Them and What to Do if You Can’t, 1st ed. Trollskog Press, 1590. An envelope brushed her fingertips. She slid her nail under the seal. A return ticket to Trollskog, dated for the solstice. Mother’s handwriting on the back: For when you come to your senses.
Her guts were loam, sandy and rough. She snorted and flared her nostrils at Mother’s smug confidence. Grynid would not be crawling back home. Not before the solstice or after.
She couldn’t. She didn’t have a map.
Tires squealed and acrid burnt rubber wrinkled Grynid’s nose. A yellow headlight flashed into her eyes. There was a yelp, a screech of brakes, and a scooter bounced off Grynid’s hip. She rubbed at the sting. The bike sputtered on its side; its solar-pack sparked. A Human woman stared at Grynid with goggle-less eyes. The tech had knocked free in the crash; it rocked askew on the asphalt. The woman jumped to her feet.
“You hurt?” Unlike every other Human, who glanced away as soon as they saw her, this woman traced peat-dark eyes down Grynid’s form. She held her breath. Feeling seen made her blush.
“No.” She winced. “My hips are sturdy.”
The woman raised a pencil-thin eyebrow. “Lucky for me.”
“Don’t you mean lucky for me?”
“Here’s hoping.” A smile quirked her features then fell to a frown. “Hey, you okay?”
“What? I...” Grynid hastily banished a stray tear. Mother despised tears. “I’m fine.”
The Human held up her hands. “I won’t tell anyone. Hide as long as you like.” She turned to her bike.
“How’d you know I was...”
Engines revved near the alley entrance. Whoops and cheers bit into the night air; headlights bounced against the building.
“Hide!” The Human knocked her shoulder into Grynid’s still-smarting hip and pulled them both into shadow. Grynid pressed her back to the brick wall. Warm Human fingertips pressed Grynid’s lips. A Human shoulder nested into the crook of Grynid’s elbow, her head on Grynid’s pounding heart. Human hair tickled her bicep. Short hair, undercut at the nape. She smelled like cinnamon and woodsmoke.
The lights and sounds rushed down the street. The Human exhaled and slumped against Grynid.
“I see.” Grynid bent her head to whisper into the woman’s hair. “You’re hiding, too.”
The Human lifted her fingers. “Guilty. Those dudes’ve been after me for days.”
Ah. Overly persistent suitors. Grynid understood. “Some men can’t take a hint.”
The woman whisper-laughed and looked up. She didn’t move from the wall or the shadows, and Grynid felt her face heating like a hot spring. The guidebook hadn’t mentioned how warm their skin was to the touch.
<
br /> “Never met a Troll before,” the woman said.
The burden of making a good impression doused her like ice water. “Don’t worry.” Grynid held out empty hands. “I promise I won’t eat you.”
The Human tilted her head. “Let’s at least exchange names before we rule anything out.”
Grynid extended a finger. “I’m Grynid. Law student.”
“I’m Lupe. Night courier.”
She blinked. Knight courier? Grynid had read all about knights!
“I’m freelance. Hence: no colors.”
Grynid’s goggles highlighted Lupe’s form. A text bubble blipped: No Affiliation.
“Freelance, yes. Knight Errant. A Hedge Knight!” Grynid’s relief almost knocked her flat. She wasn’t lost! She was with a knight!
Lupe left the wall and inspected her bike; toggling switches and tightening attachments. “I can get you anything you need, any time of night. That’s my guarantee.”
“Like... a map? No—not GetTHare!” She warded away Lupe’s attempt to swipe the app toward her. “A real map. With terrain features.”
Lupe frowned. “You lost?”
“A troll is never lost. Also... I don’t trust that rabbit. It seems... sinister.”
“Fair enough. I got maps. Laminated. Terrain features, elevation lines, the works.”
Grynid’s heartbeat was thunder. “I will pay anything.” The American dollar was so devalued compared with the Trollskog Crown, she could afford the expense. Grynid kicked herself. Despising pecuniary reward was part of a knight’s code. She hoped Lupe wasn’t offended.
“I got ’em stashed at my place across the bridge. Would you... want to come with me?” Lupe tossed her hair to one side and rubbed her arm. Nervous? She wiped her goggle lenses and fitted them over her ears. “We could—holy-cheese-and-crackers. You’re a blank slate.”
Grynid stepped back, edging against her book sack. “A what?”
Lupe’s eyes and mouth were both wide. “A blank slate. You have perfect cred. No reviews.”
Grynid fiddled with the new tech. “I only set up my profile this morning. Is that good or bad?”
“It means you’re powerful. Dangerous.”
Grynid didn’t like those adjectives.
A swarm of engines roared. Grynid and Lupe whipped their heads towards the head of the alley. The dudes searching for Lupe were no longer searching. They’d found her.
“Holy shirtballs!” Lupe frantically mashed her goggle controls. “I forgot when these things hard reboot they default to broadcasting live location!” Lupe pulled at the scooter handlebars. “Can you lift this? If they touch it, the program lets them rate me. They’ll ruin my cred.”
“Why?” Grynid lifted the bike with one hand and set it on the iron fire escape above her head.
“It’s how the software works. I can’t afford to upgrade. They cannot touch my bike.”
Motorcycle tires spun down the alley. Four more bikes zigged in formation. The goggles outlined them in blue. Courier Affiliation: Pentagon.
They were also Knight Couriers?
“Run, Grynid.” Lupe tugged at her elbow.
“Run?” From suitors? That was not the way to deal with men. “I could help you.”
The lead Pentagon dude toed his kickstand down and stepped off his bike. His fellows did the same.
“You’ll... help me?” Lupe’s voice was flat.
“Of course.” Stern, direct logic would get through to them. “I’ll take care of them. This sort of thing is my specialty.”
“Luuuuuuupppeee...” the lead man called. “Bring out your wheels!”
“Hey, Craig.” Lupe stepped from the shadows. “How’re things?”
“You’re not running? That’s a first.”
Craig’s posse grunted and laughed. “The rat’s cornered.”
“Actually, you germy buttwipes.” Lupe bounced with excitement. “You’re cornered. You want me? You gotta go through her!”
Grynid lifted her sack of law books onto her shoulder. She tromped into the light. The Pentagon dudes cursed and shuffled.
“That’s right! I’m not alone!” Lupe crossed her arms. “Grynid? They’re all yours.”
Grynid dropped her sack and straightened. Her tusks flashed in the headlights. She towered over the dudes, and spoke.
“Gentlemen, the lady does not reciprocate your affections and has no desire to continue courtship. Furthermore, trying to force her to accept grenvalid highlights a lack of character.”
The men stood motionless.
Lupe punched her shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“I’m... explaining your position. What were you expecting me to do?”
Lupe waved at the book sack. “Club them! Dine on their flesh! Throw ’em in a stewpot!”
“I’m a Troll, not an animal!”
Craig leaned forward. “So... you’re not going to do any of those things?”
Grynid huffed. “Violence is the refuge of the incompetent—hey!”
Craig whistled and the gang filed past Grynid with impunity. “It’s up there!”
“You said you’d help me!” Lupe climbed a trash bin and leapt to the fire escape.
“I am! With logic and reason! Sir? Sir! Lupe has rebuffed your affections!”
“I’m not after her affections, Tolkien-spawn!”
The slur hit her like a slap.
“Boost me up, boys. Just need one touch!” Atop his crony’s shoulders, Craig stretched his hand. Lupe lifted the scooter onto its back tire, almost out of reach. The dude’s finger touched the rim. “Gotcha!” He dropped to the ground and touched his goggles. Five yellow stars appeared over his head. He blinked, and one by one the stars turned hollow. With a twitch of his jaw, the stars flew at Lupe.
Guadalupe DeSantos: Courier. Zero stars. Thank you for your review.
More dudes jumped to the fire escape. Lupe stomped on fingers poking through the grate. “Listen, Grynid.” The Human woman scrambled at her bike, pulling wires and pressing buttons. She mule-kicked the next dude, but not before his palm slapped her handlebars. Five more hollow stars flew to Lupe. “Still want a map?”
“Yes?”
“Carry my scooter and I’ll get you a map.”
A third dude reached for her bike.
“In or out?”
Grynid heard Mother’s judgment: Two hours in America and you’re running wild after some pretty face? So much for being serious about your studies!
This was different though.
Lupe was a knight, and she had a map.
Craig had called her Tolkien-spawn.
“In.”
“Get ready.”
The dudes pulled down a rusty ladder and swarmed toward the bike like tree ants. Lupe pointed the solar-pack of her bike at their faces. “Eat this mother—wait, Grynid? Sunlight turns Trolls to stone?”
“No. That’s a myth, popularized by certain Human writers. The truth is—”
“Close your eyes.”
A puff of ozone; hot air dried Grynid’s lips when the energy beam burst from the solar-pack. Veins of red and yellow spiderwebbed the insides of her eyelids. The dudes fell, clutching their overloaded goggles.
“Get my bike!” Lupe yelled from the roof of the building. She was already running.
Grynid gripped her book sack and the scooter’s handlebars in her left hand and slung them over her shoulder.
Two quick pulls put her on the roof. She jogged after the knight.
* * *
“Do you often fight with fellow knights?”
“Other night couriers? That’s all we do.”
“Why were they giving you zero stars?”
“Today’s the thirty-first.” Lupe balked when Grynid shrugged. “Vassal & Lorde contract gets renewed on the first of the month. It goes to whichever courier has the highest rating at midnight on the thirty-first. As of right now, that’s me.”
“It’s a lucrative contract?”
“Hecka luc
rative. If I do well, a five-star review from V&L will set me up for years. I’ve been running nonstop to get my ratings up. Craig and his goons can’t beat me so they’re trying to trash my ratings. Just gotta keep them away from my bike until midnight.”
“Why don’t they just work harder to beat you fairly?”
“No one is faster than me.” Her face pinched. “I’ve had lots of practice running.”
The scooter bounced on Grynid’s shoulder; its empty solar-pack sparked a weak death rattle. She was very resourceful, this knight. Half a dozen rival knights, and she bested them. She harnessed the power of the sun and crippled the monstrous hoard at the last moment—truly something from a ballad! Grynid’s chest was light, she ran on her toes. So naïve, Mother’s voice scoffed. Daydreaming like a pebblekin.
She cleared her throat. “Almost to the maps?”
“Soon.” Lupe climbed a three-rung ladder to another roof. “Help me look, will ya? Purple suitcase with wheels.”
Grynid set down the bike and her sack and caught her breath while Lupe tossed through cardboard boxes. There was little starlight to see by.
“Why’d you leave Trollskog?” Lupe said from the other side of the roof. “Aren’t Trolls, like, isolationists?”
“True,” Grynid said. When the Council of Legendary Creatures voted to reveal themselves to the Humans and fix climate change, the Trolls had been the only group to oppose. The Fae and Sprites were enthusiastic, of course—they loved to show off. But even when the Yokai and Baba Yaga and Bigfoot himself voted yes, still the Trolls said nay. “Historically, our peoples do not get along. Too many pitchforks.” And the representation in Human literature left much to be desired.
“Trolls to stone is a myth, huh?”
“Somewhat.” It was a nuanced, spiritual issue. “If a Troll lives a great life, they often return to the earth in a big way, creating stone landmarks that they may always be remembered.”
Lupe paused. “I wish I could go to Trollskog. Or anywhere else, really. But no one wants an American immigrant. Where’s that suitcase? I stashed it here. If someone stole it, we’ll be heading to the poop bank, and honestly I already pooped this morning. I don’t know if I have any more in me.”
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