Sithias stared at her in bewilderment. The suppressed passion between them and stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking was enviable. What he wouldn’t do to have that kind of sweet turmoil in his own life. “Hate isss not the word for it. Love would be more like it.”
She looked up, sniffing and wiping her sleeve across her red nose. “You think he loves me?”
“Oh yesss, you’d have to be blind asss a bat, and deaf too, not to notice.” He swallowed dryly. “Not that you’re any of thossse thingsss.”
She threw up her hands. “I’ve always had terrible luck with boys. I guess because I was never interested enough to make much of an effort. Most of them bored me to death. Do you know I’m seventeen and I’ve never kissed a guy?”
“A beautiful young woman like you hasss never been kisssed?”
Fate blew her inflamed nose, loudly. “No.”
Sithias kept his smile in place as she blinked at him with puffy eyes and a red, runny nose. “Yesss, hard to believe for sssuch a lovely, young…lady.”
She buried her face in the mangled tissue, crying again. “I was always looking for Finn. He’s the only one I’ve ever been interested in.”
Confusion replaced his smile altogether. “I thought you two had jussst met recently.”
She looked up with specks of tissue clinging to her wet cheeks. “Technically, I only just met him in person a few days ago. But really I’ve known him since I was twelve. In my head and heart that is.”
Sithias shook his head, now thoroughly baffled. “I’m sssorry, I’m entirely lossst.”
“Finn’s not real. Not like you and me––well, I’m not sure you’re real either. I mean, you’re a character in a book too.” Her eyes took on a paranoid look. “But then again, maybe none of this is real. I could be in a coma dreaming all of this.”
He remained silent, watching her teeter on the edge of insanity, not sure what to say anymore.
She let out a deep, shaky sigh and explained everything from inventing Finn and his life story for the last five years to the moment she’d met him in the bookstore and their ultimate arrival on Elsina’s floating island.
As Sithias listened, he began to understand. He was most intrigued. Her story brought to mind the disdainful Pygmalion, who’d found fault with every woman he’d encountered. Only his own carved image of the perfect, yet unattainable woman could meet his high expectations. Fluttering his wings excitedly, he said, “Ah, now I sssee why you feel ssso ssstrongly for him. That’s fassscinating. Finn isss your Galatea, and you are hisss Pygmalion. Now it all makesss perfect senssse.”
“How do you know that story? It’s a Greek myth from my world.”
“That may be, but I assure you, it happened in thisss world, where the godsss and goddessesss of Hellasss abound and carven imagesss of ivory are brought to life by their touch alone.” He fell quiet as he regarded her with increased admiration. “Finn isss quite the credit to you and your imagination. How proud you mussst be.”
She shook her head slowly, her chin quivering. “How can I be proud when I know he hates me? I’ve torn down his world and everything he ever believed in. It’s all gone. He has nothing to hold onto. How could anyone ever recover from something that earth-shattering?”
“One day at a time?” Sithias offered. “He’sss here now, and
he’sss real, in ssspite of hisss originsss. He’s made of the gold you ssshaped him from, and with patience, I’m certain he’ll come to accept you and hisss extraordinary emergence into the world. After all, it ssseems fate hasss brought you two together.”
She winced like his words had burned her. “Want to know one of the many wonderfully depressing definitions of ‘fate’?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “‘To predetermine something, usually with negative results.’”
“Oh, did I sssay fate?” Sithias said with great haste. “Surely I meant to sssay providence had a part in thisss.”
“Providence. I like the sound of that,” she said, yawning. Pulling a blanket around her shoulders, she looked at him beneath drooping lids and gave him a sleepy smile.
Her vulnerability tugged at his heart. He smiled back, nudging her gently with his tail to get her to lie down. “Get sssome sssleep, misss.”
She nodded, snuggling in close to Finn. Within seconds she fell fast asleep.
Coiling into a comfortable spiral, Sithias turned his gaze to the flames dancing in the fireplace. He was growing too fond of the girl. Being that they’d started out as enemies, he had to be careful. After all, she held his life in the balance with the mere stroke of her pen. But how could he remain on guard around someone so innocent in the ways of the world? If anything, he felt protective of her and worried over her well-being. Having read the other fables, he knew the trouble they were headed into. He had to warn her and help her prepare for what was to come. If she didn’t start toughening up, she stood little chance of surviving. And he needed her to live. She was the key to getting what he’d come for on this journey in the first place.
•
The next morning, Fate woke to sunlight pouring in through the cabin’s windows. Wriggling further under the blankets to escape the light, she reached out for Finn. Her hand met flat blankets. She threw off the covers and sat up, her heart pounding with relief and anticipation as she looked around for him. Where was he? She stood, letting the blankets fall around her feet, then tiptoed over to the bathroom and tapped on the door. “Finn?”
When there was no answer, she pushed the door open. The bathroom was empty. With a growing sense of alarm, she returned to the messy pile of blankets, lifting them as if she expected him to be buried underneath. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath.
His boots sat by the fire. He wouldn’t go outside without them, so that was a relief at least. Where was he hiding? Then she noticed the black footprints and dried mustard crumbles leading to the front door. She followed them, dread mounting in the pit of her stomach.
An arctic wind blasted past her into the cabin when she opened the door. Squinting at the blaring white landscape stretching out before her, she saw a deep furrow in the snow where Finn had struck out into the snow barefoot. The path curved its way up over the hill, disappearing amongst a clump of crooked trees.
A flood of desperate questions rushed through her mind. When did he leave? How long has he been out there without shoes––without a coat? Worse yet, what would she find when she went looking for him?
Shaking more from fear than the chill, she slammed the door. “Sithias!”
The snake’s head popped out from under his blanket. “Huh? What?”
Fate fumbled with her notepad, dropping the thin pencil and trying again until she managed to scrawl down what she needed. Sithias slithered over to her, blinking the sleep from his eyes with a bewildered expression. “Where’sss Finn?”
“Gone,” she said, her voice tight. Even though she stammered while reading, she was dressed––within an instant––in a puffy, white fur-lined hooded parka, snow pants and big furry boots attached to a pair of snowshoes.
“I won’t come back without him,” she said, mustering a brave tone to cover the creep of terror taking over.
He nodded. “Lightning ssspeed, misss.”
“That’s it! Lightning speed––that’s what I need.” She wrote down her idea. “I wish to be where Finn is right now,” she said, closing her eyes.
“You’re ssstill here.”
Fate swore under her breath and wrote down another line. “Finn is now here with me.”
When he didn’t appear, her hopes evaporated. “What’s wrong? Why can’t I make this happen? I thought the Words of Making were all powerful.”
“You would think ssso. The poissson mussst be interfering in sssome way.”
Fear closed around her heart. “What if it’s not working because he’s…dead?”
“No, we mussstn’t go thinking the worssst. I’m certain it’sss the poissson, and you bessst not wass
ste another moment. Go find him.”
Taking some comfort in his words, she nodded and tramped out into the cold.
•
The glare off the snow pierced Finn’s eyes like needles. Bitter cold stung his skin, though the burning in his feet had waned, save for the occasional sharp stab in his toes. His hands throbbed from cutting them on the sharp thorns of the strange, twisted trees rising up out of the deep drifts. Injuries made before he’d woken to find himself walking aimlessly without his boots and a jacket to protect him from the freezing cold. He was baffled as to how he’d come to be there in such a helpless state. He couldn’t make any sense out of it. His thinking was muddled, and a fog filled his mind, one that concealed his most recent memories and whatever events had led up to this moment. Thankfully, he remembered his roots.
His leg broke through the ice crust again. Too tired to go on, he pulled out of the frigid hole and stopped there. He was lost with nowhere to go. Yet he was oddly resigned to the situation. Something told him that whatever he’d left behind was far worse than his present predicament.
He let out a tired sigh, producing a big white puff, just like the ones his grandfather used to make with his pipe. As the memory flickered in his mind, something disturbed the white glare of the forest and moved toward him.
His grandfather came into view, a wise old face with green eyes that spoke of a deep knowledge of ancient things. With a smile crinkling his features, he reached into his medicine bag, pinching tobacco and filling the well of his clay pipe. “Do you remember the holy blend, Finn?” his grandfather asked before putting a flame to the pipe’s bowl.
Nodding, Finn breathed in the aromatic smoke. “Mmhmm. Golden Bough gathered on the sixth night of the moon, sweet cicely, celandine and woodruff anointed with the oil of amber.”
Looking pleased, his grandfather handed him the pipe. The bowl, with its intricate weave of oak leaves and mistletoe carved into it, warmed his palm as he drew the smoke into his lungs. A welcome heat spread through his chest, down to his toes.
“Did you know it is Alban Arthuan, the day of the long night?” his grandfather asked. “Do you remember how to prepare?”
Finn’s mind cleared somewhat. “I should strengthen my mind and spirit with the smoke of the holy blend and use it to call for guidance from the winter spirits.”
His grandfather squeezed his shoulder. “Do this, and you’ll have no trouble making it to the light of Alban Eiler.”
“Thanks, Granda.”
His grandfather’s smiling face blinked out of sight.
Finn puffed on the pipe, sending a call for help to the winter spirits within each wisp of smoke he blew into the air.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The sun was at its highest when a small white shadow materialized against a distant snowdrift. Moving closer, the shadow kept to the snowy mounds before ducking in behind a curved ridge of ice. Out poked a black dot of a nose, followed by slanted eyes and thick furry ears. Keeping still as a block of ice, the snow fox stared at Finn. Then it trotted across the snow, running playful circles around him, scampering away and back again, taunting him to follow. Chuckling at the bouncing ball of fur, he struggled to his feet and trailed behind it.
•
Fate followed Finn’s meandering path, seeing deep imprints where he’d fallen along the way. She was encouraged when she saw that the trail continued quite far, winding over the hills and out of sight. At least she knew he was still alive. Heartened by this, she picked up the pace and had covered a fair distance, when she suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. There were blood drops on the snow and huge paw prints. Finn was being hunted.
Fear crashed in. She had to move faster.
Pulling off her gloves with her teeth, she drew the notepad from her pocket. A shadow crossed over her, a hawk soaring overhead. Seeing the bird sweep over the hills gave her an idea. She wrote it down.
“I can now fly through the air and find Finn long before he freezes to death or comes to any harm,” she read aloud.
She expected to feel lighter but nothing changed in that respect. She flapped her arms, only to remain grounded. “Up, up and away?” she muttered, raising one arm like Superman. She decided to jump up. Not that she thought that would work either. But much to her amazement, she continued climbing into the air.
Rising like a balloon, she thrashed her arms, grabbing for something to hang onto. As she rose higher she tipped head over heels, struggling to level out. This wasn’t flying, this was floating and flailing. Would she keep climbing like this until the air grew too thin to breathe? Now she was scared. She twisted awkwardly, a move that made her roll round and round like a log in the water.
Splaying her arms and legs out stopped the rolling. She was facing down, watching the shrinking landscape. “I want down!” she screamed.
She plummeted, the spikes of the crooked trees coming into view way too fast. Her muscles went rigid with terror as she tilted her chin upward, fighting the pull of gravity. She shot skyward, building speed as she kept her neck stretched and eyes fixed on the blue expanse. Tilting her head down and to the right, her body followed in that direction. She laughed nervously. Apparently her head was the steering wheel. As relief flooded through her, she relaxed, letting her arms hang loosely at her sides, which brought her back to a slow glide. She quickly realized she could accelerate by stiffening and holding herself in the position of a human rocket.
After the initial fright and thrill of learning to fly, she turned her attention back to finding Finn. She flew low so she could stay close to his path, careful to avoid being gouged by deadly thorns. As she flew over the unusual landscape, she could see why it was called the Twisted Bone Forest. The skeletal trees were bone white and as crooked as if they’d been formed by the winds of tornadoes. Sprinkled amongst the sea of ill-formed trees, were small islands of green pines, the only color the white panorama had to offer.
Finn’s path continued over a steep hill, down to a frozen river curving along the valley bottom. She flew past the river, only to discover that the path had ended. She turned back and landed. Hard ice crunched underfoot as she came to a jagged hole. Sprays of blood stained its edges. Nauseating fear coursed through her, weakening her legs so much she fell to her knees. The hole was large enough for him to fall through and be pulled away by the rapid river churning beneath the ice.
Her heart shattered into pieces, like the ice that had broken under him.
“The trail is looking fresh,” a man’s gruff voice said from behind her. “Made after sunrise.”
She jumped to her feet, nearly falling over as she wheeled round to see who was speaking.
“You look to have seen a ghost,” he said in broken English, his Norse accent thick. He shifted the weight of his heavy pack and crossbow, staring at her with mild curiosity.
“I was hoping to find my…my friend, and I found this hole.”
The man strode over to the punctured ice. “Not hole. Footprint,” he said as his gaze traveled to another large break in the ice a good twenty feet upstream from where they stood.
She didn’t grasp what he meant right away. “You mean those holes were made by a, a––”
“Troll.” His voice dripped with malice. “The most vile and heinous creature ever to be spit from Niflheim.”
She shook her head. “You don’t think the troll step––” Her throat closed, choking off her voice.
“What? Step on your friend? No, I wouldn’t say so.”
A wave of relief swept over her.
The man strode upstream toward the next hole. “Ah no, I’d say it took your friend to its filthy nest for good meal.” He spat out a foul gob of tobacco juice and moved on.
Fighting the urge to gag, Fate stepped around the steaming splotch and chased after him. “To feed him dinner?”
The man stopped and laughed. “Ha! No, to eat him!” He looked at her like she was completely daft. “What? You think a troll will cook up nice plate of lut
efisk for your friend and serve it with flagon of ale to boot?”
He pulled out an arrow marked with notches.
She counted sixteen. So this was Leif. He fit her mind’s eye image. He was attractive in a rugged sort of way, though she hadn’t expected his crude, brutish manners.
“Man eaters, these things.” He continued as he fingered the notches on the arrow, a deep scowl etched on his face. “I’ve seen them rip grown men apart. Their dens are filled with bones of humans.”
“No. I don’t believe you,” she argued, clinging to one thought only. There had been no mention of tree trolls eating anyone in this fable.
Shrugging, he slipped the arrow next to a sheathed sword strapped on his belt. “It’s not for me to make you believe.” He turned, continuing up the river to yet another hole the size of a car.
She followed, breaking into a trot to keep up. “I’m going with you. If a troll took my friend, I want to be there when you find him.”
He came to such an abrupt halt, she almost rammed into him. The cold, territorial look in his eyes made her stand rigid. “I be liking the pretty damsels, but not when hunting.” His ruddy expression relaxed, his blue eyes raking over her face with brazen desire. “You would like I come round after dark? Maybe tell you what is found and warm your bed?”
She glared at him, astonished and creeped out. “I’d rather eat overly mayonnaised coleslaw with wizened grape mummies lurking in every bite!”
“Is that no?”
“Yes, that’s no!”
“Suit yourself, little Freya.” He turned without further ado and trudged up the hill.
She glowered at his back, then shot into the air, watching his form shrink to the size of an ant. “Jackass,” she muttered.
Her thoughts turned to Finn as she hovered high overhead. A sickening, empty ache spread through her, knowing he was lost and injured, or possibly worse. Stiffening every muscle in her body ‘til it hurt, she sped through the sky, the tears freezing on her skin as she fixed her gaze on the snow blurring by below. She would find him or die trying.
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