The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year: Volume Eight (Best SF & Fantasy of the Year)

by Jonathan Strahan

  "The horses will need to eat, and so will we."

  "There are folk down here, dark elves mostly. They are kin to us, though they prefer darkness to light. We used to live in the sunlight, as I think you know, but they have always lived underground. This is their tunnel."

  "Do they have hay?" Kormak asked.

  "I think so."

  They mounted and rode on.

  There was no way to tell time in the darkness, but they continued until Kormak and the horses were tired. He was about to say they would have to stop when a light appeared ahead of them. It wasn't a sun-stone lamp, he realized as they came nearer. The light was too yellow and uncertain. It came from a lantern fixed to the tunnel's stone wall. A man stood under it, leaning on a spear. The still air smelled of hot oil.

  He was as tall as one of the elf warriors, but broader through the shoulders and chest. His hair and beard were black. His skin was dark, and his eyes – glinting below heavy brows – were like two pieces of obsidian. He wore a mail shirt that shone like silver and a helmet inlaid with gold.

  "What do we have here?" he asked in a deep voice.

  "I am Svanhild, the daughter of Alfrad, a lord of the light elves and kin to you. This human is my slave. We are going to my mother's country in Ireland. I ask your help in getting there."

  "I can't make that decision, as you ought to know. But I'll send you to those who can decide." He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled sharply. A dog emerged from the darkness, iron-grey and wolfish. When it reached the elf warrior, it stopped. Its back was level with the warrior's belt, and every part of the animal was thick and powerful. A man could ride it, Kormak thought, if he pulled his feet up, and the dog was willing.

  It opened its mouth, revealing knife-sharp, gray teeth and a gray tongue that lolled out.

  It was made from iron, Kormak realized, though it moved as easily as a real dog. The dog regarded Kormak and the girl with eyes that glowed like two red coals.

  "A marvel, isn't he?" the dark elf said. "Made of iron and magic. We can't do this kind of work any longer, but our ancestor Volund could. He made the dog after he fled the court of King Nidhad of Nerike, where he had been a prisoner. He took his revenge on Nidhad by killing the king's two sons and making goblets of their skulls and a brooch of their teeth. He gave the goblets to the king and the brooch to the king's wife, who was the boys' mother. In addition, because he was someone who did nothing by halves, he raped Bodvild, the king's lovely and innocent daughter. Then he flew away on iron wings. He couldn't walk because the king had cut his hamstrings, wanting to keep Volund as a smith.

  "Once he was safe, he forged the dog, working on crutches. He wanted a servant who was intelligent and trusty, but not any kind of man. By then he was tired of men, even of himself."

  "What happened to the girl?" Svanhild asked.

  "She bore two children, products of the rape, which happened while she was in a drunken sleep, so she didn't know it had happened until she began to grow in size. Her father kept the boy but put the girl out on a hillside to die. The child lived, but that's a story too long for me to tell." The dark elf looked down at the iron dog. "Take them to the Thing for All Trades."

  The dog replied with a bark.

  "Follow him," the dark elf ordered.

  They did, riding into a side tunnel dimly lit by a few oil lamps.

  "What do you know about these people?" Kormak asked.

  "They are ironsmiths who use no magic. They say iron is sufficient and better than any other metal, though we think it's obdurate and uncooperative. I had not realized that Volund could enchant iron. He was a prince of the dark elves and famous for his skill as a smith. These days the dark elves have no princes, nor any lords. No one could equal Volund, they say. Instead, they form assemblies, where every elf has an equal voice."

  "Like the Althing in Iceland," Kormak said. "Though rich and powerful men have more say there, and slaves have no say."

  After a pause, Svanhild said, "The dark elves do not distinguish between rich and poor or between men and women. All work, and all join the assembly for their trade."

  "Why are they so different from you?" Kormak asked.

  "Iron," Svanhild replied. "And lack of magic! All beauty and nobility come from magic."

  Kormak was not sure of this. There was little magic in Iceland, except for a few witches and men like Egil. But the black mountains and green fields seemed lovely to him, also the rushing rivers and the waves that beat against the country's coast. He could praise the flight of a falcon across the summer sky or the smooth gait of a running horse. At times, he was at the edge of speaking poetry. But the words did not come; he was left with the memory of what he'd seen.

  The tunnel opened into a cave. No sun stones shone from the cave's roof. Instead, the floor was dotted with lights. Some looked to be lamps or torches. Others – brighter – might be forge fires. Hammers rang out, louder and more regular than any he'd heard before.

  The dog kept going. They followed it down a slope. There was a track, lit by the lantern Kormak held: two ruts in the stony ground. It led into a little town. The low houses were built of stone. Lantern light shone through open doors and windows. Torches flared, fastened on exterior walls. Here and there, Kormak saw people: tall and powerful and dark. A woman swept her doorway. A man wielded a pick, pulling cobbles out of the street.

  Now they rode next to a stream, rushing between stone banks. Rapids threw up mist that floated in the air. Kormak felt it gratefully.

  Ahead was a hall, torches blazing along its front. Two elven warriors stood before the door, armed with swords and metal shields.

  Kormak and Svanhild reined their horses. "We were sent here by the guard in the tunnel," Svanhild said in her clear, pure voice. "I am Svanhild, the daughter of Alfrad, your kinswoman from the north."

  "We know Alfgeir sent you, because the dog Elding is with you," a guard replied.

  "What do you want?"

  "Passage to my mother's country in the south."

  "Who is your mother?"

  "Bevin of the White Arms."

  "Irish fey," said the second guard. "We know them, though we don't much like them. Still, it's up to the thing-chiefs to decide your fate." He turned and pushed through the hall's metal door.

  They waited for a while, staying on their horses. Finally, the guard came back out. "Go in."

  Svanhild and Kormak dismounted.

  The first guard said, "I'll water your horses while you're gone. They are fine animals, better than any we have, though they look weary and thirsty."

  "Not too much water," Kormak warned.

  "We know iron better than animals. Nonetheless, we have some horses, and I have cared for them. I know what to do."

  They walked inside, the iron dog pacing next to them. The hall was as large as Alfrad's. Stone pillars held up the roof, and stone benches ran along the two side walls, unoccupied at present. A long fire pit ran down the middle, full of ash. Here and there red light shone from the ash, and a thin trail of smoke rose, but most of the light came from torches burning around the high seats at the hall's far end. There were six. Three held old men with broad, white beards; and three held old women with long, white braids. The dog barked. Kormak and Svanhild walked forward and bowed to the thing-chiefs.

  "Who are you?" an old woman asked, leaning forward. She was bonethin, with a skin the gray hue of a twilight sky. Her eyes were dark and keen.

  "Svanhild, the daughter of Alfrad. My father is an elf lord and your kin, as he has often told me. This man is my slave."

  He was tired of this introduction, Kormak thought, but said nothing.

  "Why have you come?" an old man asked. He was darker than the woman, though his skin had the same faint tint of blue. His eyes were as pale as ice.

  "I seek help in reaching my mother's country in Ireland."

  "Why should we help?" another woman asked, this one fat and black. Her blue eyes looked like stars to Kormak. No woman this old shou
ld have eyes so bright.

  The dog opened its mouth and spoke in a harsh voice that Kormak could barely understand.

  "Hat-hidden, Odin

  tests human hosting.

  Hard the fate

  of those who fail."

  "Nonsense," another old man, as gray as granite, put in. "We are not human, and both of these people have two eyes."

  "And no ravens," the third old man said. He was the palest of the chiefs. "They are not Odin."

  The third woman, twilight-colored like the first woman, said, "The All-Father judges all, not just humans; and the dog reminds us that he requires hospitality."

  The black woman leaned forward. "But in honor of our ancestor Volund, we need to ask for fair payment for what we do – in gold or silver, stories, music, or revenge."

  "I can pay," Svanhild replied. "We came here with two horses. One is a gelding, but the other is a fine mare, able to improve your breed. I will give you the horses in return for our passage."

  "That seems fair," the black woman said. "Two good horses for a ride in one of our lightning carts. They will be going to Ireland and Wales even if there are no passengers."

  "Why?" asked Kormak, the man who asked questions.

  "Why do they go?" the palest man answered, stroking his silky beard. "They go to Ireland to deliver jewels and fine smithing to the fey there. No iron, of course. The fey hate iron. They go to Wales for coal. We mine it from below and send it to our forges in the north."

  "Are you willing to give us passage?" Svanhild asked.

  One by one, the elf chiefs nodded.

  "Come with me," a voice said next to Kormak. It was Alfgeir, the guard from the tunnel. He must have followed them, Kormak thought, and slipped into the hall while they waited outside. He wore a cloak now, as if he planned to travel. "I know the woman's name, but who are you?"

  Kormak introduced himself as the elf warrior led them from the hall. The two guards were still there, watering the horses in the stream.

  "These are ours now," Alfgeir said. "It was clever of you to shoe them with iron. Svanhild's kin could not track them with magic."

  "I thought that might be true," said Kormak, "but I did not know for certain."

  Svanhild gestured at her mare, and Kormak took off the saddlebags, staggering a little under their weight. What had the elf maid packed? He lifted the bags over one shoulder and followed Alfgeir and Svanhild. She had the lantern. It lit their way to the edge of town.

  A low platform stood there. Torches on poles cast a wavering light. They climbed onto the platform. Kormak walked to the far side and looked down, seeing ground covered with gravel. Planks of wood lay in the gravel. Two, long narrow pieces of iron lay across the wood. It looked like a fence lying down.

  "Where do you get the wood?" he asked.

  "From Ireland," said Alfgeir. "They have mighty forests of oak and pine and birch."

  "What's it for?"

  "You will see."

  After a while he heard a noise he didn't recognize. He looked toward it and saw a lantern moving in the darkness. The noise grew louder. The light grew larger and brighter. Kormak stepped away from the platform's edge.

  The thing, whatever it was, lurched and rattled toward him. He stepped farther back as the thing slowed and came to a stop. It was a metal cart with a tall metal tube rising from its roof. Smoke billowed from the tube. Fire burned within the cart, and two figures moved there, lit by the red glare. He couldn't make out what they were doing.

  Behind the cart was a second cart, full of pieces of shiny, black rock. Beyond this were more carts, some with roofs and other opens. The elf warrior pointed at one of the roofed carts. "Get in."

  They did and found it contained metal benches, set along the walls like benches in a long hall. Kormak put the saddlebags down. The dog settled next to them, its gray tongue hanging out between sharp, gray teeth, and the three of them sat on the metal benches. The cart jerked and then the entire thing, whatever it was, moved forward. They left the platform behind and went into darkness, except for the dog's red eyes and the lantern that Svanhild held.

  For a long time they rattled on. Either the cavern was huge or they were going from one cave to another. Sometimes the region around them was completely dark. Sometimes there were clusters of lights that must have been stone towns or great, flaring forges with gigantic hammers that rose and fell. The hammers were far too large to be held by men or elves. Nonetheless, they moved. Kormak saw no sign of trolls.

  Svanhild's lantern cast enough light so he could see both of his companions. The elf warrior sprawled on a bench, looking comfortable. Svanhild sat stiffly, her face expressionless. Afraid, thought Kormak, as was he. The iron dog panted gently.

  At last, the line of carts slowed and stopped.

  "This can't be Ireland," Svanhild said, looking around at the darkness.

  The elf warrior laughed. "We are still a long distance from your mother's country. But we are about to enter the tunnel that goes under the ocean. We can't use fire devices there. Out here, in the caves, their smoke rises and spreads. But the tunnel is low and narrow. The devices' smoke would fill it, and we'd choke. Workers used to die in the tunnel, before we invented a new kind of device."

  There were noises outside their cart, movement and some light, but Kormak could not see enough to understand what was happening.

  "We are changing devices," the elf warrior said. "Before, our power came from burning coal. Now it will come from a fluid that we call lightning, since it shares qualities with Thor's lightning, though it is quieter and better behaved. Our smiths have taught it to run in copper wires. We fasten these to the roof of the tunnel. A rod brings the fluid into our new device, and it moves without fire or smoke."

  "Another wonder," Svanhild said in a calm tone.

  The warrior said, "Much can be achieved without magic. We do not trick or compel materials to behave against their nature. Instead, we learn what each material can do."

  The activity outside stopped and the carts moved forward again. The smoke that had whirled around them was gone, and there was less noise, though the carts still clanked and rattled.

  "The lands of the elves are full of wonders," Svanhild said. "But they do not equal my mother's country."

  "Wait and see," Alfgeir said.

  "How can you raise horses in this darkness?" Kormak asked.

  "We pasture them outside in high valleys or on unsettled islands. It's been more difficult since humans settled Iceland and Greenland. In the end, we may give them up and rely on devices. But not yet."

  "Why don't you use sun stones?" Svanhild asked all at once.

  "Surely you realize they are magic. They would fade quickly here – we use too much iron."

  Kormak looked at the lantern Svanhild held. Yes, it was dimmer than before.

  "This journey is boring," Svanhild said.

  "Then I will entertain you by telling you more of the story of Volund, our ancestor," Alfgeir said.

  "Very well," said Svanhild.

  "King Nidhad went to Volund's forge and said, 'Where are my children?'

  "'I will tell you,' Volund replied, 'but first you must make me a promise. If a child of mine ever enters your court, you must do him no harm.'

  "This seemed like a simple request. Odin encourages us to be hospitable, as you have found out; and as far as Nidhad knew, Volund had no children.

  "So he promised. Of course, he was a fool. Volund told him that the two boys were dead. Their skulls were the king's gold and ivory drinking cups. Their teeth were the queen's gold and ivory brooch.

  "Nidhad drew his sword, intending to slay Volund, but not yet. 'What about Bodvild, my lovely and innocent daughter?'

  "'She lies drunk. She came to my forge, looking for fine jewelry. Instead, I gave her ale and raped her when she was not able to resist.'

  "Nidhad raised his sword. In reply, Volund raised his arms, on which were magical iron wings. Before the king could reach him, he'd brought th
e wings down, lifting himself into air. 'Remember your promise, King,' he called and flew away.

  "That was the last Nidhad saw of Volund. As for his daughter, she grew big and bigger and gave birth to twins: a boy and a girl. Nidhad considered his promise. He had said he would not harm a child, but here were two. Did his promise cover both? It seemed reasonable to keep the boy and put the girl on a hillside.

  "The boy was named Vidga. Bodvild nursed him and raised him. His grandfather the king treated him harshly, remembering the two fine boys he had lost. Why should Volund have a son, when he had none? As soon as the boy was able, he left home. He became a famous hero, a soldier for the great King Thidrik of Bern. In the end he died, as heroes do.

  "As for the girl, a farm wife found her crying on the hillside. She was a woman who had no children and even a girl seemed worth saving. She gathered the baby up and carried her home, where she fed her with a piece of cloth soaked in milk. Sucking on this, the baby grew strong.

  "She was raised to be a farm wife, though her father was an elf prince and her mother was the daughter of a king.

  "The farm wife named the girl Alda, which means 'wave.' She took after her mother as far as appearances went, being blonde and fairskinned with eyes like blue stars. But she had her father's skill with materials, though – in her case – it came out as spinning and weaving. The thread she spun was like gossamer. The cloth she wove was like silk, though it was made of wool taken from sturdy Swedish sheep.

  "When she worked spinning or weaving, Alda sang:

  'What is my fate?

  Where is my husband?

  Who will I be

  In ten years or more?'

  "One day a fey, wandering far from his native soil, heard her song and followed the sound of her voice. It's rare to find fey in Scandinavia. For the most part, they keep to their Irish mounds. But this man, who was named Hogshead, came to Alda's house. There she sat, outside in the sunlight, spinning thread that shone like gold.

  "Of course, the fey had to have her. Of course, she could not resist a handsome man, dressed in fine clothes and wearing gold rings on his wrists and fingers.

  "Without a word to the people who had raised her, she left her spindle and the house. Together, they followed the hidden ways that go from Europe to the Atlantic islands. When they reached Ireland and entered the fey's home mound, he changed. His body remained as it had been, but his head turned into the head of huge, hairy, ugly boar with jutting tusks and little, hard eyes.