by Carrie Jones
“We have more important things to do right now,” I say. “And when that’s done we can fix everything else.”
“If we survive, Amnesty.” He uses his old nickname for me. A splinter of driftwood sticks in my glove. “And what if we don’t? We can’t leave this unfinished.”
“Yes, we can. Life isn’t a television show, Nick. There aren’t neat little bows to tie things up in the end. There isn’t a soundtrack to cue the laughs and the murmurs of agreement. There’s no way of always knowing what the right thing is. No clear endings.” I stand up and yank out the splinter.
Refusal to believe me is written on his face. Then a slow smile moves across his features. His head moves slowly, and he kisses me on the cheek.
“You think so strangely,” he says.
I think strangely? I ponder that for a second and then I step to the side, place my hand on his shoulder. “Everything inside me hurts.”
“I know,” he says. “I hurt too.”
We go back to the hut where everyone else waits for us. Amelie’s face is drawn and strained, which makes me wonder if Astley has chewed her out about the ambush or if it’s because I’ve been alone with Nick. She’s so protective of Astley. Either way, it’s hard to look at her. Issie rushes across the room and hugs me, acting all happy rah-rah cheerleader, but the moment our bodies touch she whispers in my ear, “You okay? If you are not okay, I will kill these macho alpha boys for you. Got it?”
It makes me laugh the tiniest of bits to imagine her trying to kill either of them.
And Astley just looks at me, eyes full of sorrow and loss. I wonder if that’s what my eyes look like too.
“We have the skis,” he says, slugging on a backpack and handing one to Nick and one to me, “and provisions. It should take a couple hours depending on our pace.”
I’m the one who will slow us down.
“And we’re sure this is the way to Hel?” Nick asks.
Astley meets his eyes. “Are we ever sure of anything?”
I don’t know if he’s just talking about Hel or about whether or not he loves me anymore. Maybe he’s like Nick. Maybe he can’t love me if I change from fae back to human. Maybe everybody’s like that. I don’t know. All I know is that the inside of me hurts and that I have to ignore those feelings and just push on.
I’ve never been cross-country skiing before, but Nick and Issie are pros and have obviously mastered the fine art of simultaneously moving their arms and legs when they were toddlers or something. After a couple minutes, I get a handle on the whole thing and manage to adjust to the fact that my heel is free in the boot, which is totally unlike downhill skiing.
Astley uses a forward gliding motion with his skis, heading straight ahead, and Nick uses a V shape, which makes it almost seem like he’s Rollerblading or ice-skating. It figures that they even ski differently. I try both ways and am equally bad at each, which also figures.
The sky here is such a brilliant blue, a crisp, amazing contrast to the snowy terrain and the glacial look of everything. Our bright parkas make us obvious dots on the landscape, and even though I know how fierce Amelie, Nick, and Astley can be, I still feel nervous. A good sniper hiding on the mountain face could pick us off, one by one. We don’t talk much the entire time and occasionally take breaks for water and granola bars. My body aches and I’m not sure if it’s from the cardio workout or just because I’m human again. I don’t complain, though, because I’m not taking the chance that everyone will try to force me back. I’m not going back, even though it’s so cold that Issie’s lips are tinting kind of blue and I bet my lips look the same.
When we get to the base of the volcano, a sort of panicky feeling hits both Issie and me at the same time.
We stop and simultaneously say, “We should go back.”
Our mouths drop open in shock.
Amelie cocks her head. “What?”
“I have a bad feeling.” I try to explain while scanning the landscape, which is pretty barren and dead looking. “I mean, that’s normal probably when you’re standing at the bottom of an active volcano, but it’s something different, something uh …”
“It’s like how you feel right before a test for a class you’ve blown off all trimester,” Issie explains. Her teeth chatter when she talks, so we have to pay really close attention.
“Or like a hand pushing on your chest, holding you back,” I add.
Steam rises from the volcano. There are no birds in sight.
Nick cocks his head, looking around. “I’m not turning wolf. I’d turn if you were in danger.”
“You didn’t turn before the ambush,” Astley says.
Nobody has an answer for that.
“Well, it’s not perfect,” Nick finally admits.
The feeling just increases.
“Maybe we should go. Maybe we should listen to their guts,” Nick says.
Amelie shakes her head. “No. It’s only affecting the humans, and humans are the least perceptive and the most easily influenced.”
“What are you saying?” I bristle. I mean, I know what she’s saying, but she could say it a little more nicely.
“I’ve heard that some very powerful fae—or gods, or whatever you’d like to call them—can bespell a place so humans do not come too near.” She whips off her hat and cocks her head, listening, before she continues. I wonder what she hears, and miss my own pixie super-hearing. “They make you want to leave, make it feel dangerous, so humans don’t accidentally walk into their homes or interrupt ceremonies or such.”
“Can pixies do this?” Nick asks. He leans forward on his ski poles, using them to bear his weight.
“No,” Astley answers while surveying the area. “It is a good clue though. It means that the entrance to Hel might truly be here. I have learned recently to doubt everything.”
Even without my pixie powers of perception, I know that he’s thinking about all the times his mother has tricked us, the people we’ve lost because we’d been so sure we were on the right path.
Astley focuses in on Issie. “Which way do you not want to go?”
She bites at the corner of her lip, thinking, and then points to the left. “There.”
“You, Zara?” Astley’s eyes meet mine.
“The same.”
“Then that is where we should go,” Nick announces, finishing Astley’s reasoning. “We’ll go where your gut tells us not to.”
Issie gives me pleading eyes as Nick and Amelie rush forward and I try to stop them. “I’m not sure this is—”
But they’ve already moved ahead. Dread fills me as Issie grabs my arm. Her pole dangles from her wrist and bumps against my shin.
“I don’t feel good about this,” she says. Her voice is urgent and her eyes wide. Snow blows across our skis.
“It’s either follow them or stay here,” I say, trying to be rational despite the gnawing in my stomach. I try to have that same force of will, that same leadership gusto crap that I had when I was a pixie. “We can do this, Is.”
She nods and we set off after the other three, putting our skis in the path they’ve created in the snow. The volcano steams. The air smells hot and cold all at once. The landscape wavers, full of snow and steam and fear. I keep checking to make sure Issie is right behind me.
The others have stopped and we stop too. The cold makes breathing hard, like icicles are puncturing my lungs with every breath, but I try to look calm despite my racing heart.
Issie’s voice shrieks out behind me. “We really should go!”
Amelie lunges for her as Issie starts to turn around. She gets a hand on Issie’s arm, a tight grip keeps her from running.
“We must be really close now,” she says, her dreadlocks swinging. “The panic is worse.”
“I am not panicking!” Issie announces in a completely panicked voice.
Astley starts mumbling some words in a language I don’t know, but I think it’s Norse again, Old Norse. Amelie keeps her eye on me like I might try to bo
lt too and says, “He has an incantation for removing glamours. We aren’t sure it will work because this seems so strong.”
“He never told me he could do that,” I say.
“I bet he hasn’t told you a lot of things,” Nick says, and I can tell he’s thinking about all the flack I gave him because he kept his parents’ death a secret from me.
“He hasn’t had time.” Amelie glares at him and loosens her grip on Issie a bit. Just as she does the world starts to rumble like an earthquake, but not quite, because there’s no accompanying noise like there is when you’re in a house. There are no dishes to shake, no foundations that quiver, no wood straining to maintain its integrity.
And then—poof—the world is gone and we are dropping into some sort of darkness.
“Zara!” Issie’s voice shrieks through the darkness, but I can’t see her. I can’t see anyone, feel anything. It is a void except for Issie’s voice.
Just a second later, I land with a thud, back on the snow. Only it’s not the same snow we were just on. There’s no volcano looming. Instead there are frost-heavy trees everywhere. One tree that is larger than a skyscraper seems to hold up the dark purple sky with its frost-dripping limbs. This has to be Hel. I have only a second to think it before my attention flies to Nick, who has changed, snarling, into a wolf. He leaps in front of me. Issie and Amelie are trying to untangle themselves from each other. And Astley? Astley is behind me, looking the same direction that Nick is looking. Both of them are focused on some huge shapes that are rushing through the fast-falling snow.
“Heading toward us,” Astley says.
Nick moves to stand next to him. Amelie moves up with them too and they look united, like they have a common purpose, and it would be nice if it weren’t so dangerous. I squint, trying to see what’s coming. Is grabs my hand just as I start to see forms to the shadow.
“Three wolves. Giants,” Astley barks out. His posture straightens up even more. “And her—that must be her.”
Issie actually mumbles a curse next to me and half faints as Hel comes into the view of our lesser human eyes. I let go of Issie’s hand and grab her around the waist instead, trying to hold her up.
“She’s half—” Issie mumbles. “She’s rotten. She’s half rotting.”
I told them that.
Nick growls as the wolves pound closer to us. Their massive footfalls make the earth shake. Nick’s ears flatten to his head and he bares his teeth, growling. The muscles in his flanks get ready to pounce.
“Wolf! No!” Astley commands, but Nick isn’t his to command and he leaps away, pounding toward the wolves and Hel.
Amelie raises a bow.
“No!” Astley yells. “We come in peace. We come—”
As he’s yelling, Hel raises her hand and his words break off midsentence. He doesn’t move. His hand was reaching for something in his belt, but it’s stopped. Nick, too, is frozen in mid run, his body stretched out like a photo image of a running wolf. And next to me, Issie doesn’t do anything. Her eyes are wide open with fear, but they don’t blink.
“Issie?” I shake her. “Issie?”
She topples over and doesn’t make a noise. Whirling around, I realize the wolves, the wind, and Hel herself are all still moving. It’s just us. We’re the only ones frozen.
But I’m not. I can still move. The realization pushes me into action and I lunge forward, wrenching Amelie’s bow from her hands. The wolves and Hel bound closer, closer … And I am shivering so much, but I manage to notch an arrow, sight the closest wolf right in the center of his auburn eyes, aim and….
“Do not shoot my wolf!” Hel yells.
I don’t move the arrow. “Unfreeze my friends.”
She whistles and the wolf stops on cue. I keep the arrow trained on its head, but say it again. “Unfreeze my friends.”
Somehow she is standing right next to me. The vanilla and rotting smell of her finally hits my human nose. She leans down and whispers in my ear. “We will not hurt them.”
Her hand reaches out and grabs the crossbow. I let her take it. I don’t know what else to do.
She tosses the bow out of reach and studies my face. “So, little human,” she says. “I hear you were looking for me.”
OFFICER SAFETY BOLO (BE ON THE LOOKOUT)
The attached bulletin from the RCMP-GRC contains information regarding Frank Belial, aka Bicknell, DOB: 10/12/1968, who is an escapee from federal custody.
On 12/1 at 1956 hours BICKNELL escaped from an escorted temporary absence while returning from Edmonton, AB, to Drumheller Institution. BICKNELL overpowered guards after he faked an illness. He is believed to have ties in New York and Maine. He is considered armed and dangerous and has made statements such as, “No cop will stop me,” and “The apocalypse is imminent and I’m bringing it, baby.”
The giant wolves romp in the snow, burying their great noses in it. They flip upside down and roll around, lupine legs flailing in the air. Then they start chasing each other with huge leaps, gallivanting around as if they are the happiest Hel hounds ever. Three small women, I think they are dwarves like in The Hobbit but I’m not sure, emerge from the woods, carrying swords. They are covered in green furs. They look happy too. Why are they happy in Hel? It doesn’t seem like the right attitude.
Questions zing around in my head. I try to organize them into something practical, something that makes sense.
1. We are in Hel.
2. Some people/animals/dwarves are happy here.
3. However, my friends are frozen here. Frozen does not equal happy.
4. I am not frozen. Why didn’t she freeze me? Or freeze me when I first saw her in Bedford? Instead she pummeled me.
5. It makes no sense.
I must look confused, because Hel explains, “I have more power in my own realm. Here I can freeze others into submission. They are not injured, just frozen. I can unfreeze them, and I shall, after we talk.”
“They aren’t hurt?” Staring at Amelie’s strained face and Astley’s awkward pose, it’s hard to believe they aren’t in pain somehow.
“No. And they are invulnerable to attack.”
It is better than death, I guess, but it’s not that encouraging having them frozen like this. I look around and try to take in where we are. We are in the woods, a forest really, and the trees are tall and covered with ice. It even encases their trunks with a shiny, see-through barrier and drips from the limbs in long, jagged points. There are no animal sounds, no wind. It’s as if the world is waiting to see if it’s worth it to move.
The land rolls gently here. There are no steep mountains, no obvious crevices to plunge into. The sky is a dark gray, as if there is a constant storm, and I wonder, logically, if there is a sun. The Norse said Hel was beneath the earth, so no sun should be able to come in, yet … how can trees grow then? How could there be any light at all?
I take a step backward and turn toward the root that must be from Yggdrasil, which is the giant tree in Norse mythology that connects the nine worlds. One of the worlds is here, Nifl-heim, a land of harsh cold and fog. The branches on this side are actually the root system that holds up the mythological tree on the earth side. Although, you’d think that someone on earth would notice a magical, massive tree. Maybe it’s glamoured. The branches on the Hel side snake through the forest, many feet above the ground. Extensions of it shoot off every so often. A stream runs on the ground directly under the branch, somehow not frozen like everything else, somehow moving. It makes no sense, but it’s so real. Giant bite marks mar the tree.
Hel reaches up and gestures toward one of the marks with her hand. “A giant worm did that.”
“Níðhöggr.”
She smiles. “You have been studying.”
“My friend Devyn does most of the research,” I say. “Obviously not quite enough research or I might have known about the whole ‘freezing us’ thing.”
“So you know about me then?” She twists her hands together and waits for me to answer. She
’s so huge and intimidating, much more so than the gods at Valhalla. Still, even though she’s just frozen my friends, there’s something I like about her, something more interesting than Odin and Thor and the others.
I pause for a second, trying to figure out what to say. I stomp around in place, trying to stay warm, and finally say, “Only what I have heard.”
“Which is …” Her gaze widens.
I finish her sentence for her as the wind howls around us. “That you rule here. That you have huge mansions. You are the daughter of Loki and Angrboða; the wolf Fenrir and the serpent Jörmungandr are your brothers. You serve a dish called ‘Hunger,’ sleep on a bed called ‘Sick Bed,’ and wield a knife called ‘Famine.’ Although that sounds kind of hokey to me … all that stuff. You are waiting for the world to end. So why?” I ask her. “Why do they want the world to end?”
“You don’t think it’s just because it has been prophesized?” Her eyes gleam.
“Nope.” I cross my arms over my chest, shivering. I check out Astley and the others, frozen in midmotion. I wonder if they can hear us, see us. I wonder if they are cold too.
She snaps her fingers and dwarves run at me with giant furs; before I can move they’ve dropped them and wrapped them around me. “Thank you. But my friends.”
“Are fine, I promise you.” She smiles and it’s both beautiful and grotesque, depending on which side of her mouth you’re looking at. “You are the only one unprotected right now and if you die from cold, then you would end up with me forever. I don’t think you’d like that. Not now. There is so much intention in you yet, so much you want to do, to save.”
Staring at her, I try to figure out what she’s getting at. She seems … sad? But who wouldn’t be if they were banished down here? The whole act of being banished seems sadness inducing.
