by Sam Subity
“But … but my mom’s journal,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even. “She meticulously recorded Grendel sightings from the past several centuries. From all over the world. Are you suggesting those were all hoaxes?”
Professor Roth’s gaze was unwavering. “Did your mother in fact ever see a Grendel with her own eyes?”
I thought back to my dim recollections of conversations I’d had about Grendels with my mom. I’d never actually read her journal, only occasionally heard her talk about what she recorded in it, saying there would come a time when I was older when she’d share it with me. But that time had never come. And now she was gone.
“I don’t know,” I conceded, letting my gaze fall to the floor. But my blood instantly chilled at the memory of the dark shadow that had invaded my home. Its terrible voice. Hello, Abby. I jerked my head up again. “But I have.”
Professor Roth’s eyes flicked toward her companions before meeting mine again. “You … have what, exactly?”
“I’ve seen a Grendel.”
I told them about my encounter in our home in Charlotte. The feeling of dread that had gripped me. How it had known my name. And how I had since come to think—no, to know—that it had been a Grendel.
As I finished, the room was completely still for a few seconds. Then Professor Roth turned away to stare at the fire for a long time. I fidgeted in my seat as the other two figures rose and joined her in a whispered discussion. I strained my ears trying to overhear some of what was being said, but it was no use.
Finally, they seemed to arrive at some consensus. Professor Roth swiveled on one heel back toward me. I leaned forward, waiting to hear what she would say.
“Impossible,” she said with finality.
I shook my head in surprise. “What?!”
She steepled her hands thoughtfully in front of herself. “What you saw could have been any number of things. Or even nothing at all. A product of an overactive imagination, perhaps.”
I jerked up out of my chair in agitation, then sat down again. “But I saw … I even heard it say my name. How could that have been nothing?”
One of the figures who had so far been silent spoke then. “What were you doing immediately before this incident? What were you thinking about?” A man’s voice.
I turned my head toward him as I thought back to that night. “Training. Or actually, I had just finished training and was looking at a picture I’d drawn years ago …” I trailed off as it came back to me, and I realized where he might be going with this. “Of my mom and me fighting a Grendel.”
He nodded. “And you said that you heard your father calling your name when he returned home. Could your agitated state merely have caused you to conflate his voice into this illusion? You were already in a highly suggestible mental state and mistook the intruder for a Grendel. But the bottom line is, had it been a Grendel—”
Professor Roth finished for him. “It’s unlikely you would be here to tell of it.”
The room went silent again as they let their words sink in. My eyes went out of focus as I studied the crackling flames, not sure what was real anymore. Before I even realized I was speaking, I heard my voice airing my thoughts to the room: “If it really was a Grendel, why am I alive? But if it wasn’t a Grendel, who broke into our house? Who attacked us on the road? And why am I here at Vale Hall at all?”
Professor Roth came around the table and rested her hands on the back of my chair. “Those are all excellent questions. And your last question is exactly the reason that I called you to my office today.”
I twisted my head to look up at her, trying to read anything in the flickering light playing on her face.
“You see, Abby, we have been recalling all the Aesir to Vale recently. It has been ages since a confirmed Grendel sighting. The Aesir have spent that time seeking out any proof of their continued existence. Combing the globe for any signs that that fearful race of creatures still lives. But now we feel that the time has finally come to close that chapter of our history. That in fact there is only one logical conclusion at this point: The race of Grendels is, indeed, extinct.” She paused. “And therefore the Aesir are … no longer necessary.”
I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling like my whole reason for existence had just been washed away like a sandcastle under a wave. My parents had trained me practically from birth for this one purpose. I was a Grendel hunter. Now what was I? Just an average kid struggling to pull a C in pre-algebra? Why had my mom believed so strongly that Grendels still existed? She had been a scientist—a brilliant one. And scientists rely on facts and provable theories. She more than anyone had been convinced that we weren’t wasting our time hunting shadows.
“No,” I blurted out, surprising everyone, including myself. I had said it in almost a whisper, but the word echoed in the room.
The man who had spoken earlier leaned toward me, the firelight catching his pale gray eyes. “I’m sorry, did you just say … no?”
I hurried to add, “My mom didn’t believe that. And I … I don’t either.”
My words hung in the air for a few seconds. There was silence in the room as three pairs of eyes stared at me with a combination of shock and disbelief.
Professor Roth cleared her throat and shot a look at her fellow council members before turning back to me. “No, you’re correct,” she said gently. “It’s true your mother didn’t agree with this conclusion. But I’m afraid she was alone in her opinion.”
The man with the gray eyes pushed back from the table with a rumble of chair legs on stone, then rose and crossed to a nearby bookshelf. He studied the spines, then extracted a thin leather-bound volume. “If I may,” came his deep voice.
Professor Roth motioned for him to continue.
As his face turned toward the light, I made out the features of a man maybe in his forties, with a powerful, chiseled jaw and piercing eyes. An expensive-looking suit and tie were visible beneath his gray cloak. He thumbed through the book and, finding what he was looking for, traced the words on the page briefly with his finger, then looked up at me.
“You’re familiar with the Beowulf legend, I assume?” he said.
“Sure,” I said, studying the book in his hands with interest. “It’s, like, the Aesir’s bible. My dad says it’s probably the oldest and most important work in English literature.”
“Indeed,” he said flatly. “It is also a record of the last confirmed Grendel sighting.”
My eyes jerked upward to his face. Wait. What?
The man inclined his head toward the text and read aloud: “ ‘Grendel in death endured a stroke of hard sword fiercely swung; his head was cloven from him.’ ” Flipping forward a few pages, he continued, “And now Beowulf speaking: ‘This do I promise thee henceforth, that thou wilt not from that quarter have need to fear.’ ”
He looked up. “As you likely know, Beowulf was not just a legend. He was, in fact, an Aesir himself. After this death blow, he commissioned the Aesir to be guardians. A secret society to stand vigilant down through the ages against the re-emergence of the Grendel race. From his very mouth, we have here a promise that we need no longer fear these foul beasts. Still, he felt it prudent to keep watch in the event that any of that evil breed had somehow escaped his sword. Now the passage of so many years has shown that this is no longer necessary.”
“Then why did my mom think there was still a danger?” I said. It came out harsher than I’d meant it to.
The man’s nostrils flared angrily, and I suspected I’d touched a sore point. “Because your mother was a fool,” he said icily. “She spent her life in the pursuit of shadows. And died in disgrace.”
I leapt to my feet with my hands balled into fists. “She wasn’t a fool! She was smarter than you could ever hope to be!” My words sounded like a flimsy playground response even as they left my mouth. I willed hot tears not to spring to my eyes and make me look even more like a child but felt a tiny drop run down one cheek.
“Unferth,”
said the third figure, speaking for the first time as he stood and placed a hand on the other man’s arm. I finally caught a glimpse of this third person’s face as he turned. Large glasses framed familiar features. It was my world history teacher, Dr. Ruel. What? He was one of the Grey Council? I was so disoriented now that the room seemed to tilt under my feet.
But Unferth wasn’t done. “It’s true your mother was brilliant at the start,” he conceded. “We could never have made the advances we have without her. But her passion evolved into a mania that further and further separated her from reality. It was only her death that saved her from shaming your entire family.”
“Enough!” said Professor Roth, speaking with a firmness that left no doubt that the discussion was over. Unferth spun angrily away toward the fire.
I was trembling, wavering between rage and tears. I couldn’t remember ever being so furious.
Doc stepped around the table and placed a calming hand on my shoulder.
Professor Roth shifted her glare from Unferth’s back and turned to me. “I’m very sorry you had to hear it like this and under such circumstances, given your father’s current condition. But the fact remains that we already voted on this. Neither your mother’s beliefs—nor indeed what happened to you and your father—change the fact that we have decided to”—she paused as if searching for the right words—“disband the entire Aesir order. Effective immediately.”
Later I found myself outside sprawled on my back in a snowdrift, staring up at the stars as the sky darkened from purple to black and thinking deep thoughts about the pointlessness of my existence. Feeling the ache of missing my dad’s solid presence in whatever life threw my way. He always had a sort of radar for when I was in a deep funk, and with that an accompanying knack for helping me over, around, or through it, whether it was by telling a funny story or just hugging me quietly while I sobbed on his shoulder.
I heard footsteps crunching toward me through the hard-packed snow. Dad? My heart knocked a solitary hopeful beat against my ribs, but then Grimsby’s face obscured my view of the Big Dipper.
He flopped down next to me. “What are we doing? Making snow angels?”
“I’m done,” I said. “I want out. I can’t do this.”
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It’s only your first time. You just move your arms and legs back and forth like this.” When I didn’t reply, he continued, “Hey, I’m not very good at this, but I’m picking up a vibe that something’s wrong.”
“Only everything.” I swung my arm wide to take in the whole of the Vale campus and, while I was at it, the entire state of Minnesota. “A week ago, I was living happily in North Carolina. And now my dad’s in some sort of coma. And apparently my whole life has been pointless. And I can’t … stop … shivering,” I finished with a last, violent tremor.
“Yeah, Doc spotted me and pointed me in the last direction he’d seen you running. He said he thought you could use a friend.”
I winced, remembering my embarrassing flight from Professor Roth’s office. “Thanks, yeah, it’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t think I’m completely nuts.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far …”
I punched him in the arm. “Hey …”
“Sorry, couldn’t help myself.” He stuffed his hand into one of his blazer pockets. “Peace offering?” His hand emerged clutching meatball-sized spheres of what look like dough covered with powdered sugar. “You’ve got to try these! Soooo good! I found them at a bakery back in Asgard.”
I turned my head and studied the greasy dough balls. Some maroon lint from his blazer pocket was mixed with the sugar coating. “I … think I’ll pass. What are they anyway?”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He popped one into his mouth and mumbled, “They’re called ableshivers …” He considered, then tried again. “Ableskiffers?” He shook his head and shrugged. “Well, something like that. They’re basically doughnuts filled with raspberry jam. But they’re like little bites of heaven.”
I looked back toward Vale. “So where’s Gwynn?”
“Off looking for her Latin book. Said she thinks she left it in the library.”
“Vale has Latin classes?”
“No, it’s some sort of independent study. She has this idea she wants to be a doctor. Only sixth grader I’ve ever heard of who’s already premed. I told her the only Latin she needs to know is ‘Semper ubi sub ubi.’ ”
“Huh?”
“Always wear underwear.” He turned to me and grinned.
His words caught me so unexpectedly that a laugh burst out of my nose. “Ow, I just snorted!”
Then we were both laughing, lying there in a snowbank in the dark. And somehow the stars didn’t look quite so bleak anymore.
Finally Grimsby sat up and started brushing himself off. “We should probably get going. I told Gwynn I’d meet her back in the entrance hall.”
“Yeah, okay.” I sat up. “Hey. Thanks. I needed a good laugh right then.”
He held out his hand and helped me to my feet. “Anytime.”
As we approached the main building, we slowly merged with a sea of gray-and-white-permed heads. It was like some weird flash mob composed entirely of senior citizens had materialized out of the night.
“Where are all these people going?” I said. “Is there a Beatles concert here tonight or something?”
“Bingo,” said Grimsby.
“Wow, that was like a totally random guess. You mean the Fab Four are really going to be here? Actually, no, I think only two of them are still alive. So Fab Two?”
“No, you yutz, I mean B-I-N-G-O. As in the game? They have it every Tuesday night at Vale. How else do you think they pay for— Whooooaa!” Grimsby suddenly tripped and did a face-plant in the snow.
There was a loud yip! followed by a scrabbling noise in the dark.
“Oh! I’m so sorry!” said a voice behind us.
I turned to see a grandmotherly type scooping up a tiny Pekingese dog that looked like a mop with a face.
“Did my little Skol hurt you?” she asked. “He’s always getting into trouble, isn’t he? Yes he is. Yes he is.” She said this last part to the dog as she nuzzled his nose with hers and made little cooing noises at him.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” said Grimsby sarcastically as he pushed himself to his feet and brushed snow off his blazer.
Skol growled in the woman’s arms. Grimsby raised his hands and backed up a step.
The woman turned to us and blinked as if just remembering we were there. She wore a knitted sweater colored like a neon rainbow. Her tangerine-colored cat-eye glasses were framed by a large permed coif tinted a light shade of blue. Tar Heels blue. A sudden wave of homesickness came over me. Sure, North Carolina hadn’t been all cheeseburgers in paradise—not by a long shot—but it was home. Here, with the snow, all the unfamiliar faces, and of course my dad lying in a coma … wasn’t exactly feeling very homey.
As the woman leaned down to set her ball of fluff on the ground again, her sweater fell open, revealing a black T-shirt underneath with the classic photo of the Beatles crossing Abbey Road on the front.
Grimsby leaned toward me and whispered, “Isn’t it weird how we were just talking …”
“Oh, are you Beatles fans too?” said the woman, noticing our stares as she straightened up and glanced down at her T-shirt. “Not too many young people these days know the classics anymore. Now, Pauly Mac, he’s such a nice boy.”
Pauly Mac? I assumed she meant Paul McCartney. But the way she called the geriatric lead singer of the Beatles a boy struck me as a little odd. If he was a boy, how old did that make her, exactly? She gave me a toothy smile. “And you look like a nice girl, dearie.” She reached out and pinched my cheek between her thumb and forefinger.
I winced and smiled weakly. “Um, thank you, ma’am. I—”
“And so sad,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “So lost.” As she peered into my eyes, I had a weird sensation
like she was staring right into my soul. At last she released her grip on my cheek and looked around with her hands on her hips. “Now, where did I put my … ?”
I noticed a huge Day-Glo-orange beach bag at her feet. “Bag?” I asked, reaching down to lift it for her. On its side, printed in big pink letters, were the words “Sun’s Out, Fun’s Out!”
“Oh, yes! Thank you! I’m always losing things. I guess the old gray matter’s not what it used to be, you know?” She laughed and flapped her hands in what I guessed was supposed to be her thoughts flitting away on the wind. Or possibly jazz hands. I couldn’t tell. Since she didn’t immediately break into a musical number, I assumed it was the first one.
As I attempted to lift her beach bag, I stumbled forward, surprised at its weight. My brain was expecting two, maybe three pounds max. But instead I could barely lift it.
Grimsby raised an eyebrow. “Need some, uh, help there, Hercules?”
“Got it,” I grunted after finally managing to sling the bag awkwardly over my shoulder.
The woman leaned down to rescue Skol from a snowbank. I snuck a covert glance into the bag while she was distracted, but whatever was so heavy was hidden under a pink-and-lime-green-chevron-patterned afghan blanket folded on top.
“What’s under there?” Grimsby asked, quietly echoing my thoughts as he leaned in to eye the bag. “The stuffed bodies of all her previous dogs?”
I shrugged and turned back to the woman, who had scooped up Skol and was nuzzling him again. “I guess you won’t be able to carry both this and your dog. Maybe I can, uh, carry your bag for you?”
Her gratified look was like I’d just offered to file the bunions off her feet for the rest of her life. “Oh! I couldn’t … You must be busy! Homework to do and all that.”
But I couldn’t leave an old lady there with a super-heavy bag in the cold. Plus, she sort of reminded me of my own grandmother. Or what I figured my grandmother would have been like if I’d ever known her. All my grandparents had already been gone by the time I was born.
“It’s no problem,” I said. “It’s the least I can do after my friend tackled your dog.” I grinned at Grimsby, earning a frown in reply.
