by C. Gockel
Tensing at the wheel, Amy looks nervously to the dark forest still on their left. “I don’t have to worry about T-rexes or velociraptors, do I?”
Loki’s mouth drops open. “You know what a velociraptor is?”
“I’ve seen Jurassic Park,” says Amy. Voice rising tremulously she says, “Are there velociraptors here?”
“No,” says Loki. “No....nasty creatures though, I’ll give you that.”
Amy turns her face quickly to him. She doesn’t look relieved for some reason.
Puzzling over that, Loki looks out at the road and his eyes go wide. “Look out for the hadrosaur dung!”
Amy hits the brakes and they screech to a halt just in time.
“It’s the size of a dog!” says Beatrice.
“It looks like bird poop,” says Amy. “White...but really lumpy. I wonder if I could get a sample and take it back to school? We have a thermos, don’t we? I have a friend from undergrad in the micro lab at UIC. We could compare the genome of the hadrosaur dung bacteria to the bacteria in bird guano. If elves were on Earth at one time, there is a possibility that the bacteria might share a common ancestor!”
Loki blinks.
“We probably don’t have time for that, Dear. Right Loki?” says Beatrice.
Loki stifles a laugh at Beatrice’s conspiratorial prompting, but he’s more impressed than repulsed. It’s something Hoenir would do — at this point Loki is quite inured to dung collection. Pursing his lips he says, “Maybe later. For now, perhaps you should drive more slowly? We are close enough to the castle for it to be safe after dark.”
“Right,” says Amy, steering the vehicle so it straddles the dung.
Loki hopes none gets on the axles; it is quite foul smelling. He sighs. Elves. No appreciation for any type of evolution.
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 marke
t 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.
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.
