Iron Axe

by Steven Harper

  Aisa yawned behind her scarf, then caught herself. “I am sorry. It has been a long time since I last slept.”

  “Hmm.” He hugged his knees to his chest, feeling suddenly tense and strange. Everything was loose and chaotic, and he wanted something more familiar, more solid. Strangely he missed Alfgeir’s stable. It was stupid—who could miss living in a stable? And that place had never been a home to him, not really. Still, he missed the simple straw and the stones of his hearth and the sweet swell of the cows as they exhaled at night. Most of all, he missed the sound of his mother singing as she combed her hair. She would have walked through that door, past Death and her knitting needles. Danr had stood in her very tracks and not realized it until just now. An unexpected bubble of grief grew inside him. “How do you do it, Aisa?”

  “Do what?”

  “How do you take all this?” Danr made a general gesture at the darkness and the two enormous troll women deep in conversation. “Two days ago, I was shoveling manure out of a stable and helping a calf that had fallen down a well. Today, I talked to Death. How many people do that?”

  “All of them, eventually.”

  “You know what I mean. And I promised her I’d find …” He shot Bund and Vesha a glance and lowered his voice “… the Iron Axe. How should I? Vik’s balls, I was born on a farm. I’m not a … not a …” He stammered to a halt.

  “Are you trying to say hero?” Aisa asked.

  “I can’t do it.” He gave her a puzzled look. “The words won’t come.”

  “You cannot lie, truth-teller. You know very well that only a hero would have saved me from White Halli.”

  His face grew hot. “You were heroic. I still can’t believe how you grabbed that eye. Where did you find the courage?”

  “The same place you found the courage to stand up to White Halli and to kiss Death on the cheek.” Her dark eyes danced over her scarf and made his heart flutter. “Courage is the ability to do what you must, and heroism is simply courage on behalf of someone else. You are brave and a hero.”

  The flush continued, and his heart swelled to hear Aisa say such things about him. “It’s just … it’s all turned upside down.”

  “I know something of worlds that turn upside down,” Aisa said solemnly.

  She wasn’t looking for sympathy. He could hear that in her voice. So he only said, “Do you know what the most incredible thing I’ve seen here is?”

  “Hmm. With that question, I must guess that it isn’t Death or giants who share an eye. Is it the glowing mushrooms? Or perhaps a cave so large it could encompass Valorhame itself?”

  Danr shook his head. “It’s learning my father loved my mother.” He ran a hand over his face. The world was indeed tipping. All his life he had thought himself the product of violence and fear. All his life he had been the victim of both. It was just now catching up with him that he had been conceived in love, and the idea made his breath catch in his chest. He was just like other people. He wanted to jump and shout, and he wanted to tell someone, anyone. Everyone.

  Aisa sat beside him, still gnawing on a mushroom, solid and at ease. In fact, she seemed far calmer than he had ever seen her. It felt good and fine and comfortable to have her beside him, and he wanted to put his arm around her to keep her with him.

  She noticed him looking at her in the dim glow. “What is it?”

  His face grew hot and he took another sip of water, even though he wasn’t thirsty, trying to keep the answer to himself. But she had asked, and the truth wouldn’t stay inside him. His mouth moved by itself. “I’m glad you’re here, Aisa. I want you to be here always.”

  Aisa gave him a look. “You saved me. I told you I will follow you until that debt is repaid.”

  “I don’t want you to follow me,” he said. “I want you to walk next to me.”

  Before Aisa could answer, Vesha returned with Bund behind her. “We should leave this place,” she said. “Come, if you please.”

  The four of them followed the stony path back toward the underground city. Mushrooms glowed and water dripped. The strange, rhythmic sound pulsed at Danr’s ears. It grew louder as they walked, and his blood stirred. His hands felt hot.

  “What is that sound?” he asked at last.

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Bund replied.

  “Why did you do it? What gives you the right to chain Death?” Danr blurted out. This was a queen he was addressing, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  “Power,” Vesha said.

  “I don’t understand,” Aisa said.

  “Once we reach the city,” Vesha replied, “your friend here will explain.”

  “I will?” Danr said in surprise. They were nearing the city as he spoke, and the sound was louder, pounding and booming, echoing off the stones.

  “You won’t be able to help it, truth-teller,” Vesha said. “Look now. What do you see?”

  They rounded the last bend in the path and entered the great cavern proper. It had changed. Spread out across the dark floor were hundreds and hundreds of lights. Dark figures loomed among them, and Danr finally realized the lights were piles of mushrooms and small fires. They were at the edge of the great camp, and Queen Vesha led them fearlessly through it. Trolls pounded drums the size of wine casks—the source of the thrumming that had stirred Danr up. Even now, he felt his heart beating in time with each booming thud. They walked through the camp, passing gigantic shelters of fur and cloth and stone so high Danr had to lean back to see the tops. He gaped in awe. Trolls tromped about, hauling armor and carrying clanking weapons—maces, clubs, and even swords—too big for any human to lift. They passed forges where short, twisted men with beards that went down to their toes pounded metal with hammers nearly as tall as they were in time with troll drums. Dwarves. And through it all stomped the giants. Danr could do nothing but gape. They were tall, so very tall. Taller than even the greatest ash trees. Some had two heads, or three. One had a dozen. Male and female alike, their skin was blue or red or tinged with green. The cavern floor shook with their every step. It was like watching thunder take solid form. They smelled of moss and wet stone and old hair. Some wore armor, some wore rags, some went naked. Danr could do nothing but stare up and gape, both thrilled and awed. This was something no Kin had seen in a thousand years.

  Dwarves and trolls bowed hastily to the queen as she passed, though the giants took no notice of her, perhaps because their heads were so far off the ground they couldn’t see her, or perhaps giants didn’t bow to anyone. Danr didn’t spare a lot of thought for this—it was difficult enough to fathom that he was looking at giants. And dwarves, too. The heat from their forges made Danr sweat while they pounded out intricate designs in metal. And through it all pounded the drums, drums, drums.

  “What is happening?” Aisa asked in a hushed voice.

  “The drums summon everyone for war, girl,” Bund said. “Always war.”

  Danr’s hands itched again, and he felt a rising need to hit something, to bite and crush and smash. It was the drums, he realized. The rhythms sang to him and created a strange excitement. He tried to push it down, but it wouldn’t go.

  “War?” Aisa echoed. “But what for?”

  “I told you your friend would explain,” Bund said. “And right about now.”

  They were skirting the edge of the great camp and had arrived in the troll city proper. It was exactly as Danr had remembered it—bustling and busy with huge trolls of all sizes and ages lumbering about their business as the group of four passed by. When people caught sight of the queen, they stopped and bowed until she waved them away. The incredible houses climbed the walls and stalagmites. Staircases twisted in all directions. Children played, adults worked. But when Danr closed his right eye, the city … changed. The trolls were thinner than they should be, their clothes shabbier. How had he missed the worn spots, the pinched expressions, the too-small loaves, the half-full flagons, the wilting mushrooms? Many of the houses looked tired, ready to tip over, and they showed cr
acks Danr hadn’t noticed before. Dirt and mud were everywhere, and the sharp smell of rot and waste hung in the air. He should have noticed all this before, but he hadn’t. Was it magic that showed him such secrets, or was he simply seeing what everyone could see if only they would just look? He didn’t know. Perhaps it was both.

  A troll draugr drifted through the wall of a nearby house. “Release!” it begged. Bund and Vesha didn’t react. Aisa flinched. Danr’s left eye told him the draugr was a troll man who had died of old age, but who would have lived many more years if he’d had better food.

  “What do you see, boy?” Bund asked.

  “You’re all dying,” he said. “In less than a hundred years, you’ll all be as dead as that draugr over there.”

  Aisa put a hand over her mouth.

  “Indeed,” Vesha said gravely. “The Fae drove us underground after the Sundering. They warded the doors shut, and here we’ve lived ever since. After a millennium, we’ve pried open one door—”

  “The Great Door,” Danr said.

  “Yes. Our family has been working on those wards for nearly three hundred years, and we finally broke them twenty years ago.”

  “When my—when Kech first started to explore the mountain,” Danr said.

  “My nephew has long had a fascination for the world above,” Vesha agreed. “He was instrumental in helping the Trollwife Council to break that ward. When that happened, other great spells slowly began to unravel. Some of the great beasts that live in the mountains felt the change. They’ve become braver and have begun visiting the occupied lands again. But that’s a mere side effect.”

  “What are you trying to do, exactly?” Aisa’s voice was flat.

  “Our civilization can’t survive forever on what we grow or hunt in the caves. We must reclaim the land above, or we’ll starve. We are going above, come the Nine, come the Fae, come Death herself.”

  “Now I need to sit for a moment,” Bund said, and lowered herself onto an enormous stone bench outside what Danr assumed was a tavern. Trolls passed on the byway, but fewer of them now. Day was coming, and it was nearly time for bed, though the camp drums pounded without cease. Weariness pulled at Danr’s bones, and he realized he’d been up all day and all night. Aisa’s eyes looked tired, and he wordlessly helped her up to the bench as well. Her feet swung above the ground. Beside her, Bund tapped her stick on the ground. The runes were dark now, and Danr remembered the lights that had flown into them. A cold truth struck him.

  “So, new truth-teller,” Bund said, “what do you see now?”

  His eyes pricked with the pressure of words piling up behind them. Damn it, he didn’t want to speak. He was in control of his mind, of his tongue. But the truth came out anyway, and helplessly he heard himself say, “The trollwives have chained up Death to force the spirits of the dead to remain in this world, and they use their power to open the other doors. You’re using the draugr. You feel bad, you feel guilty, but it doesn’t stop you. It doesn’t even slow you down. It’s filth, even for a queen.”

  In that moment, he understood why so many people had hated his mother. No one likes the truth, she had said. He stared at the ground, waiting for angry words or blows from Vesha.

  But none came. She only said, “The true filth is that our children starve. The food Pyk and Bund gave you is the richest we have. We have to get out. In one month, perhaps two, enough Stane and Kin will have died to give us the power to open all the doors.”

  “Such a terrible thing!” Aisa whispered from the bench. “You steal power from the dead!” Then she added, “Your Highness.”

  “I don’t justify myself to you.” Vesha’s voice was solid, but Danr saw the way her jaw worked back and forth. “We have discussed it for centuries and found nothing better. Either we use the dead, or we join them.”

  “What would your daughter say?” Danr asked without thinking.

  Now Vesha did grow angry. “You forget your place, human child. Do you think I haven’t considered what it would be like to see my own daughter’s draugr staring at me every day? Do you think I haven’t considered how many of my own people I’ve chained up along with Death herself?”

  “I’ve never thought about your feelings.” The dreadful words, the required answer, tripped out of Danr’s mouth. He tried to add that he was sorry, but those words stuck in his throat. He tried again, but still the words wouldn’t come. Baffled, he looked at Vesha, then at Bund.

  Bund cackled from the bench. “You’re a truth-teller now, boy.”

  “I don’t understand,” Danr said. “What does that mean?”

  “Without splinters to hold back the truth, you can’t lie. You can’t even make false apologies, boy. But be thankful. Unlike some of us, you can still choose to see the soft, kind world you saw before. Keep both eyes open, and you’ll be able to see the lies. You only have one mouth, though, and it will forever speak the hard truth.”

  Danr touched the pouch at his throat. No lies ever again, not even small social fibs. He swallowed hard.

  “The elves won’t like what you’re doing,” Aisa said, still whispering. “They won’t like it at all.”

  “It always comes down to war, dear,” Bund said. “Just as it did a thousand years ago. The Tree tips.”

  “With humans caught in the middle,” Danr spat.

  “What do you care of humans?” Vesha said. “Have they treated you well? Did they give you a home?”

  “As much as the trolls have,” Danr shot back truthfully.

  “Yes.” Bund heaved herself off the bench and continued down the street toward Kech’s house. “The half human is at home in all worlds and in none. The truth is always difficult.”

  Vesha followed with a sigh. “I get very tired of hearing about your truths, sister.”

  They reached Kech’s door, and the carving of the tree and its tangled roots seemed to stare at Danr. Something occurred to him that made his breath catch.

  “If you two are sisters,” he said, “and Kech—my father—is Grandmother Bund’s son, that would make me …”

  “A prince,” Bund agreed, and moved to push the door open. “For all the good it will do you.”

  “Wait.” Danr put up an arm to stop her, though it was like trying to push aside a giant oak root. “Let me?”

  Bund gave him a look but obligingly backed up a step. Danr knocked sharply. A moment later, Kech himself opened the door. Danr closed his right eye. It made Kech look different, just like all the other trolls. He was losing weight, and a strange fear hung about his features. Kech’s face and eyes also looked more familiar—Danr saw similar features every time he looked into reflecting water. How could he have missed them before?

  “What do you want?” Kech growled.

  “I want to talk to you. Father.”

  Kech’s face went pale. “I am not your father.”

  Danr’s first instinct was to shrink away from Kech’s tone. Why did Danr want to talk to Kech anyway? Kech hadn’t been a real father, and Danr didn’t want him to become one. But then Danr paused. Why should Kech get away with this particular lie when they both knew the truth?

  The truth gives me power over him, Danr realized. He’s terrified I’ll tell his wife. Or the community. Imagine—he loved a human monster.

  Armed with the truth, Danr said, “Do you want me to request entrance as a guest, or demand it as a son?”

  Kech drew himself up in outrage for one moment more, and Danr lost his nerve. He opened his mouth to say he didn’t mean it, that it didn’t matter. But that was a lie, and it caught in his throat. In the tiny silence that followed, Kech deflated like a leaky bladder. He looked much smaller, there in his own doorway, no obstacle at all.

  “Don’t tell her,” he whispered. “Please.”

  “She already knows, son,” Bund said. “Any wife worth her salt does.”

  “It’s not the same as saying it aloud,” Kech said sadly.

  “What’s my brother’s name?” Danr asked.

 
At this, Kech looked surprised. “Torth.”

  “Is he going to war?” Danr asked. “Are you?”

  “We’re both moving down to the camp tomorrow,” Kech said. “We’ll command troops.”

  “Will I?” Danr asked.

  Kech had no answer. Wordlessly, Danr pushed past him and stepped through the door.

  To Danr’s left eye, the inside of Kech’s house had also become worse. Smoke hovered so thick it made Danr cough. The mushrooms and meat hanging from the ceiling were going rancid, and they dripped gooey ichor. Danr remembered that he had eaten from those foodstuffs, and his stomach oozed.

  On the tables lay pieces of armor, dented and blemished with rust. A heavy mace, old and dusty, leaned against one wall.

  “So it’s you.” Pyk sniffed. She was banking the fire for the night. Day. “What do you want?”

  “I just wanted to see how things had changed here,” Danr was forced to reply.

  Torth, who was laying out enormous, moth-eaten blankets on the table benches for bedtime, glanced up. Danr saw the resemblance between his own face and his half brother’s. Aisa, Bund, and Vesha came in behind him. At the sight of Vesha, both Pyk and Torth straightened, then bowed.

  “It’s all right,” Vesha said. “This isn’t a formal visit.”

  Pyk licked her lips. Danr closed his right eye and understood how trapped she was. She knew the truth about Danr’s origins, and she knew how everyone around her would react if they knew—officially—that her husband, prince or not, had lain with a human monster. She might be able to exit the marriage with her head held high, but she would still have to exit the marriage. What would the repercussions be? As an outsider, Danr didn’t know, but he could see Pyk didn’t think they’d be a night of games.

  “Will … will you be staying the day?” Pyk asked.

  Danr looked around the dank, smelly house, at his father, who stood to one side trying not to wring his hands, and at his grandmother. She gave him a grim smile.

  “No,” he said finally, and Kech gave a small sigh. “We were just seeing Grandmother Bund home after paying our respects to the Three.”