Here’s another SF story that starts out reading like a fairy tale but widens out to reveal itself as a far-future SF story instead, as the young female protagonist finds herself gradually caught up in a war between entities wielding immensely powerful superscience technologies on a ruined postapocalyptic Earth, with her only hope of survival being a seemingly innocuous toy.
Something terrible had happened. Linnéa did not know what it was. But her father had looked pale and worried, and her mother had told her, very fiercely, “Be brave!” and now she had to leave, and it was all the result of that terrible thing.
The three of them lived in a red wooden house with steep black roofs by the edge of the forest. From the window of her attic room, Linnéa could see a small lake silver with ice very far away. The design of the house was unchanged from all the way back in the days of the Coffin People, who buried their kind in beautiful polished boxes with metal fittings like nothing anyone made anymore. Uncle Olaf made a living hunting down their coffin-sites and salvaging the metal from them. He wore a necklace of gold rings he had found, tied together with silver wire.
“Don’t go near any roads,” her father had said. “Especially the old ones.” He’d given her a map. “This will help you find your grandmother’s house.”
“Mor-Mor?”
“No, Far-Mor. My mother. In Godastor.”
Godastor was a small settlement on the other side of the mountain. Linnéa had no idea how to get there. But the map would tell her.
Her mother gave her a little knapsack stuffed with food, and a quick hug. She shoved something deep in the pocket of Linnéa’s coat and said, “Now go! Before it comes!”
“Good-bye, Mor and Far,” Linnéa had said formally, and bowed.
Then she’d left.
* * *
So it was that Linnéa found herself walking up a long, snowy slope, straight up the side of the mountain. It was tiring work, but she was a dutiful little girl. The weather was harsh, but whenever she started getting cold, she just turned up the temperature of her coat. At the top of the slope she came across a path, barely wide enough for one person, and so she followed it onward. It did not occur to her that this might be one of the roads her father had warned her against. She did not wonder at the fact that it was completely bare of snow.
After a while, though, Linnéa began to grow tired. So she took off her knapsack and dropped it in the snow alongside the trail and started to walk away.
“Wait!” the knapsack said. “You’ve left me behind.”
Linnéa stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But you’re too heavy for me to carry.”
“If you can’t carry me,” said the knapsack, “then I’ll have to walk.”
So it did.
On she went, followed by the knapsack, until she came to a fork in the trail. One way went upward and the other down. Linnéa looked from one to the other. She had no idea which to take.
“Why don’t you get out the map?” her knapsack suggested.
So she did.
Carefully, so as not to tear, the map unfolded. Contour lines squirmed across its surface as it located itself. Blue stream-lines ran downhill. Black roads and stitched red trails went where they would. “We’re here,” said the map, placing a pinprick light at its center. “Where would you like to go?”
“To Far-Mor,” Linnéa said. “She’s in Godastor.”
“That’s a long way. Do you know how to read maps?”
“No.”
“Then take the road to the right. Whenever you come across another road, take me out and I’ll tell you which way to go.”
On Linnéa went, until she could go no further, and sat down in the snow beside the road. “Get up,” the knapsack said. “You have to keep on going.” The muffled voice of the map, which Linnéa had stuffed back into the knapsack, said, “Keep straight on. Don’t stop now.”
“Be silent, both of you,” Linnéa said, and of course they obeyed. She pulled off her mittens and went through her pockets to see if she’d remembered to bring any toys. She hadn’t, but in the course of looking she found the object her mother had thrust into her coat.
It was a dala horse.
Dala horses came in all sizes, but this one was small. They were carved out of wood and painted bright colors with a harness of flowers. Linnéa’s horse was red; she had often seen it resting on a high shelf in her parents’ house. Dala horses were very old. They came from the time of the Coffin People who lived long ago, before the time of the Strange Folk. The Coffin People and the Strange Folk were all gone now. Now there were only Swedes.
Linnéa moved the dala horse up and down, as if it were running. “Hello, little horse,” she said.
“Hello,” said the dala horse. “Are you in trouble?”
Linnéa thought. “I don’t know,” she admitted at last.
“Then most likely you are. You mustn’t sit in the snow like that, you know. You’ll burn out your coat’s batteries.”
“But I’m bored. There’s nothing to do.”
“I’ll teach you a song. But first you have to stand up.”
A little sulkily, Linnéa did so. Up the darkening road she went again, followed by the knapsack. Together she and the dala horse sang:
Hark! through the darksome night
Sounds come a-winging:
Lo! ’tis the Queen of Light
Joyfully singing.
The shadows were getting longer and the depths of the woods to either side turned black. Birch trees stood out in the gloom like thin white ghosts. Linnéa was beginning to stumble with weariness when she saw a light ahead. At first she thought it was a house, but as she got closer, it became apparent it was a campfire.
There was a dark form slumped by the fire. For a second, Linnéa was afraid he was a troll. Then she saw that he wore human clothing and realized that he was a Norwegian or possibly a Dane. So she started to run toward him.
At the sound of her feet on the road, the man leaped up. “Who’s there?” he cried. “Stay back—I’ve got a cudgel!”
Linnéa stopped. “It’s only me,” she said.
The man crouched a little, trying to see into the darkness beyond his campfire. “Step closer,” he said. And then, when she obeyed, “What are you?”
“I’m just a little girl.”
“Closer!” the man commanded. When Linnéa stood within the circle of firelight, he said, “Is there anybody else with you?”
“No, I’m all alone.”
Unexpectedly, the man threw his head back and laughed. “Oh god!” he said. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, I was so afraid! For a moment there I thought you were … well, never mind.” He threw his stick into the fire. “What’s that behind you?”
“I’m her knapsack,” the knapsack said.
“And I’m her map,” a softer voice said.
“Well, don’t just lurk there in the darkness. Stand by your mistress.” When he had been obeyed, the man seized Linnéa by the shoulders. He had more hair and beard than anyone she had ever seen, and his face was rough and red. “My name is Günther, and I’m a dangerous man, so if I give you an order, don’t even think of disobeying me. I walked here from Finland, across the Gulf of Bothnia. That’s a long, long way on a very dangerous bridge, and there are not many men alive today who could do that.”
Linnéa nodded, though she was not sure she understood.
“You’re a Swede. You know nothing. You have no idea what the world is like. You haven’t … tasted its possibilities. You’ve never let your fantasies eat your living brain.” Linnéa couldn’t make any sense out of what Günther was saying. She thought he must have forgotten she was a little girl. “You stayed here and led ordinary lives while the rest of us…” His eyes were wild. “I’ve seen horrible things. Horrible, horrible things.” He shook Linnéa angrily. “I’ve done horrible things as well. Remember that!”
“I’m hungry,” Linnéa said. She was. She was so hungry her stomach hurt.
Günther
stared at her as if he were seeing her for the first time. Then he seemed to dwindle a little and all the anger went out of him. “Well … let’s see what’s in your knapsack. C’mere, little fellow.”
The knapsack trotted to Günther’s side. He rummaged within and removed all the food Linnéa’s mother had put in it. Then he started eating.
“Hey!” Linnéa said. “That’s mine!”
One side of the man’s mouth rose in a snarl. But he shoved some bread and cheese into Linnéa’s hands. “Here.”
Günther ate all the smoked herring without sharing. Then he wrapped himself in a blanket and lay down by the dying fire to sleep. Linnéa got out her own little blanket from the knapsack and lay down on the opposite side of the fire.
She fell asleep almost immediately.
But in the middle of the night, Linnéa woke up. Somebody was talking quietly in her ear.
It was the dala horse. “You must be extremely careful with Günther,” the dala horse whispered. “He is not a good man.”
“Is he a troll?” Linnéa whispered back.
“Yes.”
“I thought so.”
“But I’ll do my best to protect you.”
“Thank you.”
Linnéa rolled over and went back to sleep.
* * *
In the morning, troll Günther kicked apart the fire, slung his pack over his shoulder, and started up the road. He didn’t offer Linnéa any food, but there was still some bread and cheese from last night which she had stuffed in a pocket of her coat, so she ate that.
Günther walked faster than Linnéa did, but whenever he got too far ahead, he’d stop and wait for her. Sometimes the knapsack carried Linnéa. But because it only had enough energy to do so for a day, usually she carried it instead.
When she was bored, Linnéa sang the song she had learned the previous day.
At first, she wondered why the troll always waited for her when she lagged behind. But then, one of the times he was far ahead, she asked the dala horse and it said, “He’s afraid and he’s superstitious. He thinks that a little girl who walks through the wilderness by herself must be lucky.”
“Why is he afraid?”
“He’s being hunted by something even worse than he is.”
* * *
At noon they stopped for lunch. Because Linnéa’s food was gone, Günther brought out food from his own supplies. It wasn’t as good as what Linnéa’s mother had made. But when Linnéa said so, Günther snorted. “You’re lucky I’m sharing at all.” He stared off into the empty woods in silence for a long time. Then he said, “You’re not the first girl I’ve encountered on my journey, you know. There was another whom I met in what remained of Hamburg. When I left, she came with me. Even knowing what I’d done, she…” He fished out a locket and thrust it at Linnéa. “Look!”
Inside the locket was a picture of a woman. She was an ordinary pretty woman. Just that and nothing more. “What happened to her?” Linnéa asked.
The troll grimaced, showing his teeth. “I ate her.” His look was wild as wild could be. “If we run out of food, I may have to cook and eat you too.”
“I know,” Linnéa said. Trolls were like that. She was familiar with the stories. They’d eat anything. They’d even eat people. They’d even eat other trolls. Her books said so. Then, because he hadn’t told her yet, “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. Someplace safe.”
“I’m going to Godastor. My map knows the way.”
For a very long time Günther mulled that over. At last, almost reluctantly, he said, “Is it safe there, do you think?”
Linnéa nodded her head emphatically. “Yes.”
Pulling the map from her knapsack, Günther said, “How far is it to Godastor?”
“It’s on the other side of the mountain, a day’s walk if you stay on the road, and twice, maybe three times that if you cut through the woods.”
“Why the hell would I want to cut through the woods?” He stuffed the map back in the knapsack. “Okay, kid, we’re going to Godastor.”
* * *
That afternoon, a great darkness rose up behind them, intensifying the shadows between the trees and billowing up high above until half the sky was black as chimney soot. Linnéa had never seen a sky like that. An icy wind blew down upon them so cold that it made her cry and then froze the tears on her cheeks. Little whirlwinds of snow lifted off of the drifts and danced over the empty black road. They gathered in one place, still swirling, in the ghostly white form of a woman. It raised an arm to point at them. A dark vortex appeared in its head, like a mouth opening to speak.
With a cry of terror, Günther bolted from the road and went running uphill between the trees. Where the snow was deep, he bulled his way through it.
Clumsily, Linnéa ran after him.
She couldn’t run very fast and at first it looked like the troll would leave her behind. But halfway up the slope Günther glanced over his shoulder and stopped. He hesitated, then ran back to her. Snatching up Linnéa, he placed her on his shoulders. Holding onto her legs so she wouldn’t fall, he shambled uphill. Linnéa clutched his head to hold herself steady.
The snow lady didn’t follow.
The farther from the road Günther fled, the warmer it became. By the time he crested the ridge, it was merely cold. But as he did so, the wind suddenly howled so loud behind them that it sounded like a woman screaming.
* * *
It was slow going without a road underfoot. After an hour or so, Günther stumbled to a stop in the middle of a stand of spruce and put Linnéa down. “We’re not out of this yet,” he rumbled. “She knows we’re out here somewhere, and she’ll find us. Never doubt it, she’ll find us.” He stamped an open circle of snow flat. Then he ripped boughs from the spruce trees and threw them in a big heap to make a kind of mattress. After which, he snapped limbs from a dead tree and built a fire in the center of the circle.
When the fire was ready, instead of getting out flint and steel, he tapped a big ring on one finger and then jabbed his fist at the wood. It burst into flames.
Linnéa laughed and clapped her hands. “Do it again!”
Grimly, he ignored her.
As the woods grew darker and darker, Günther gathered and stacked enough wood to last the night. Meanwhile, Linnéa played with the dala horse. She made a forest out of spruce twigs stuck in the snow. Gallop, gallop, gallop, went the horse all the way around the forest and then hop, hop, hop to a little clearing she had left in the center. It reared up on its hind legs and looked at her.
“What’s that you have?” Günther demanded, dropping a thunderous armload of branches onto the woodpile.
“Nothing.” Linnéa hid the horse inside her sleeve.
“It better be nothing.” Günther got out the last of her mother’s food, divided it in two, and gave her the smaller half. They ate. Afterward, he emptied the knapsack of her blanket and map and hoisted it in his hand. “This is where we made our mistake,” he said. “First we taught things how to talk and think. Then we let them inside our heads. And finally we told them to invent new thoughts for us.” Tears running down his cheeks, he stood and cocked his arm. “Well, we’re done with this one at any rate.”
“Please don’t throw me away,” the knapsack said. “I can still be useful carrying things.”
“We have nothing that needs carrying. You would only slow us down.” Günther flung the knapsack into the fire. Then he turned his glittering eye on the map.
“At least keep me,” the map said. “So you’ll always know where you are and where you’re going.”
“I’m right here and I’m going as far from here as I can get.” The troll threw the map after the knapsack. With a small cry, like that of a seabird, it went up in flames.
Günther sat back down. Then he leaned back on his elbows, staring up into the sky. “Look at that,” he said.
Linnéa looked. The sky was full of lights. They shifted like curtains. She reme
mbered how her Uncle Olaf had once told her that the aurora borealis was caused by a giant fox far to the north swishing its tail in the sky. But this was much brighter than that. There were sudden snaps of light and red and green stars that came and went as well.
“That’s the white lady breaking through your country’s defenses. The snow woman on the road was only a sending—an echo. The real thing will be through them soon, and then God help us both.” Suddenly, Günther was crying again. “I’m sorry, child. I brought this down on you and your nation. I thought she wouldn’t … that she couldn’t … follow me.”
The fire snapped and crackled, sending sparks flying up into the air. Its light pushed back the darkness, but not far. After a very long silence, Günther gruffly said, “Lie down.” He wrapped the blanket around Linnéa with care, and made sure she had plenty of spruce boughs below her. “Sleep. And if you wake up in the morning, you’ll be a very fortunate little girl.”
When Linnéa started to drop off, the dala horse spoke in her head. “I’m not allowed to help you until you’re in grave danger,” it said. “But that time is fast approaching.”
“All right,” Linnéa said.
“If Günther tries to grab you or pick you up or even just touch you, you must run away from him as hard as you can.”
“I like Günther. He’s a nice troll.”
“No, he isn’t. He wants to be, but it’s too late for that. Now sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s any danger.”
“Thank you,” Linnéa said sleepily.
* * *
“Wake up,” the dala horse said. “But whatever you do, don’t move.”
The Year's Best Science Fiction: Twenty-Ninth Annual Collection Page 25
