The Year's Best Science Fiction & Fantasy: 2014 Edition

by Rich Horton

  “Nonsense,” another old man, as gray as granite, put in. “We are not human, and both of these people have two eyes.”

  “And no ravens,” the third old man said. He was the palest of the chiefs. “They are not Odin.”

  The third woman, twilight-colored like the first woman, said, “The All-Father judges all, not just humans; and the dog reminds us that he requires hospitality.”

  The black woman leaned forward. “But in honor of our ancestor Volund, we need to ask for fair payment for what we do—in gold or silver, stories, music, or revenge.”

  “I can pay,” Svanhild replied. “We came here with two horses. One is a gelding, but the other is a fine mare, able to improve your breed. I will give you the horses in return for our passage.”

  “That seems fair,” the black woman said. “Two good horses for a ride in one of our lightning carts. They will be going to Ireland and Wales even if there are no passengers.”

  “Why?” asked Kormak, the man who asked questions.

  “Why do they go?” the palest man answered, stroking his silky beard. “They go to Ireland to deliver jewels and fine smithing to the fey there. No iron, of course. The fey hate iron. They go to Wales for coal. We mine it from below and send it to our forges in the north.”

  “Are you willing to give us passage?” Svanhild asked.

  One by one, the elf chiefs nodded.

  “Come with me,” a voice said next to Kormak. It was Alfgeir, the guard from the tunnel. He must have followed them, Kormak thought, and slipped into the hall while they waited outside. He wore a cloak now, as if he planned to travel. “I know the woman’s name, but who are you?”

  Kormak introduced himself as the elf warrior led them from the hall. The two guards were still there, watering the horses in the stream.

  “These are ours now,” Alfgeir said. “It was clever of you to shoe them with iron. Svanhild’s kin could not track them with magic.”

  “I thought that might be true,” said Kormak, “but I did not know for certain.”

  Svanhild gestured at her mare, and Kormak took off the saddlebags, staggering a little under their weight. What had the elf maid packed? He lifted the bags over one shoulder and followed Alfgeir and Svanhild. She had the lantern. It lit their way to the edge of town.

  A low platform stood there. Torches on poles cast a wavering light. They climbed onto the platform. Kormak walked to the far side and looked down, seeing ground covered with gravel. Planks of wood lay in the gravel. Two long, narrow pieces of iron lay across the wood. It looked like a fence lying down.

  “Where do you get the wood?” he asked.

  “From Ireland,” said Alfgeir. “They have mighty forests of oak and pine and birch.”

  “What’s it for?”

  “You will see.”

  After a while he heard a noise he didn’t recognize. He looked toward it and saw a lantern moving in the darkness. The noise grew louder. The light grew larger and brighter. Kormak stepped away from the platform’s edge.

  The thing, whatever it was, lurched and rattled toward him. He stepped farther back as the thing slowed and came to a stop. It was a metal cart with a tall metal tube rising from its roof. Smoke billowed from the tube. Fire burned within the cart, and two figures moved there, lit by the red glare. He couldn’t make out what they were doing.

  Behind the cart was a second cart, full of pieces of shiny, black rock. Beyond this were more carts, some with roofs and others open. The elf warrior pointed at one of the roofed carts. “Get in.”

  They did and found it contained metal benches, set along the walls like benches in a long hall. Kormak put the saddlebags down. The dog settled next to them, its gray tongue hanging out between sharp, gray teeth, and the three of them sat on the metal benches. The cart jerked and then the entire thing, whatever it was, moved forward. They left the platform behind and went into darkness, except for the dog’s red eyes and the lantern that Svanhild held.

  For a long time they rattled on. Either the cavern was huge or they were going from one cave to another. Sometimes the region around them was completely dark. Sometimes there were clusters of lights that must have been stone towns or great, flaring forges with gigantic hammers that rose and fell. The hammers were far too large to be held by men or elves. Nonetheless, they moved. Kormak saw no sign of trolls.

  Svanhild’s lantern cast enough light so he could see both of his companions. The elf warrior sprawled on a bench, looking comfortable. Svanhild sat stiffly, her face expressionless. Afraid , thought Kormak, as was he. The iron dog panted gently.

  At last, the line of carts slowed and stopped.

  “This can’t be Ireland,” Svanhild said, looking around at the darkness.

  The elf warrior laughed. “We are still a long distance from your mother’s country. But we are about to enter the tunnel that goes under the ocean. We can’t use fire devices there. Out here, in the caves, their smoke rises and spreads. But the tunnel is low and narrow. The devices’ smoke would fill it, and we’d choke. Workers used to die in the tunnel, before we invented a new kind of device.”

  There were noises outside their cart, movement and some light, but Kormak could not see enough to understand what was happening.

  “We are changing devices,” the elf warrior said. “Before, our power came from burning coal. Now it will come from a fluid that we call lightning, since it shares qualities with Thor’s lightning, though it is quieter and better behaved. Our smiths have taught it to run in copper wires. We fasten these to the roof of the tunnel. A rod brings the fluid into our new device, and it moves without fire or smoke.”

  “Another wonder,” Svanhild said in a calm tone.

  The warrior said, “Much can be achieved without magic. We do not trick or compel materials to behave against their nature. Instead, we learn what each material can do.”

  The activity outside stopped and the carts moved forward again. The smoke that had whirled around them was gone, and there was less noise, though the carts still clanked and rattled.

  “The lands of the elves are full of wonders,” Svanhild said. “But they do not equal my mother’s country.”

  “Wait and see,” Alfgeir said.

  “How can you raise horses in this darkness?” Kormak asked.

  “We pasture them outside in high valleys or on unsettled islands. It’s been more difficult since humans settled Iceland and Greenland. In the end, we may give them up and rely on devices. But not yet.”

  “Why don’t you use sun stones?” Svanhild asked all at once.

  “Surely you realize they are magic. They would fade quickly here—we use too much iron.”

  Kormak looked at the lantern Svanhild held. Yes, it was dimmer than before.

  “This journey is boring,” Svanhild said.

  “Then I will entertain you by telling you more of the story of Volund, our ancestor,” Alfgeir said.

  “Very well,” said Svanhild.

  “King Nidhad went to Volund’s forge and said, ‘Where are my children?’

  “ ‘I will tell you,’ Volund replied, ‘but first you must make me a promise. If a child of mine ever enters your court, you must do him no harm.’

  “This seemed like a simple request. Odin encourages us to be hospitable, as you have found out; and as far as Nidhad knew, Volund had no children.

  “So he promised. Of course, he was a fool. Volund told him that the two boys were dead. Their skulls were the king’s gold and ivory drinking cups. Their teeth were the queen’s gold and ivory brooch.

  “Nidhad drew his sword, intending to slay Volund, but not yet. ‘What about Bodvild, my lovely and innocent daughter?’

  “ ‘She lies drunk. She came to my forge, looking for fine jewelry. Instead, I gave her ale and raped her when she was not able to resist.’

  “Nidhad raised his sword. In reply, Volund raised his arms, on which were magical iron wings. Before the king could reach him, he’d brought the wings down, lifting himself into ai
r. ‘Remember your promise, King,’ he called and flew away.

  “That was the last Nidhad saw of Volund. As for his daughter, she grew big and bigger and gave birth to twins: a boy and a girl. Nidhad considered his promise. He had said he would not harm a child, but here were two. Did his promise cover both? It seemed reasonable to keep the boy and put the girl on a hillside.

  “The boy was named Vidga. Bodvild nursed him and raised him. His grandfather the king treated him harshly, remembering the two fine boys he had lost. Why should Volund have a son, when he had none? As soon as the boy was able, he left home. He became a famous hero, a soldier for the great King Thidrik of Bern. In the end he died, as heroes do.

  “As for the girl, a farm wife found her crying on the hillside. She was a woman who had no children and even a girl seemed worth saving. She gathered the baby up and carried her home, where she fed her with a piece of cloth soaked in milk. Sucking on this, the baby grew strong.

  “She was raised to be a farm wife, though her father was an elf prince and her mother was the daughter of a king.

  “The farm wife named the girl Alda, which means ‘wave.’ She took after her mother as far as appearances went, being blond and fair-skinned with eyes like blue stars. But she had her father’s skill with materials, though—in her case—it came out as spinning and weaving. The thread she spun was like gossamer. The cloth she wove was like silk, though it was made of wool taken from sturdy Swedish sheep.

  “When she worked spinning or weaving, Alda sang:

  “ ‘What is my fate?

  Where is my husband?

  Who will I be

  In ten years or more?’

  “One day a fey, wandering far from his native soil, heard her song and followed the sound of her voice. It’s rare to find fey in Scandinavia. For the most part, they keep to their Irish mounds. But this man, who was named Hogshead, came to Alda’s house. There she sat, outside in the sunlight, spinning thread that shone like gold.

  “Of course, the fey had to have her. Of course, she could not resist a handsome man, dressed in fine clothes and wearing gold rings on his wrists and fingers.

  “Without a word to the people who had raised her, she left her spindle and the house. Together, they followed the hidden ways that go from Europe to the Atlantic islands. When they reached Ireland and entered the fey’s home mound, he changed. His body remained as it had been, but his head turned into the head of huge, hairy, ugly boar with jutting tusks and little, hard eyes.

  “Alda was her father’s daughter. She did not scream, as most human women would, and her expression did not change, but she took a step back.

  “The fey made a grunting sound that might have been a laugh. Then he bowed deeply. As he straightened, his head changed, and he was once again a handsome man. ‘You don’t like my true appearance?’

  “ ‘No,’ said Alda.

  “ ‘Well, then, I suppose we have no future. I like to be comfortable at home and look the way I am. Nonetheless, you must meet our queen.’

  “He led her to the mound’s queen, who was—and is—your mother, though this was long before she married Alfrad. Hogshead told the queen about Alda’s spinning and weaving.

  “ ‘Show me,’ the queen said.

  “A spindle and loom were brought, along with wool. Alda spun the wool into yarn and wove it into a fine, thin cloth.

  “ ‘You must make my clothes!’ the queen exclaimed. ‘But not out of wool. We’ll find you silk, and I’ll be the envy of all the fey in Ireland!’

  “There Alda remains in the mound. She has learned to spin and weave silk, and she makes the queen the finest clothing in Ireland.”

  “That’s it?” Kormak asked.

  “So far.”

  “That isn’t much of an ending. She should have escaped from the fey or died. That’s the way most stories end—with a victory or death. Why didn’t Volund rescue her?”

  “We can’t find him to ask him. Maybe the dog knows where he is.”

  The iron dog lifted its head, but said nothing.

  “He always cared more for his craft than for any person, except—possibly—his Valkyrie wife, who left him. It’s said that he always frowned deeply and grew grim when he heard ‘yo-to-ho.’ ”

  After that, Kormak grew sleepy and lay down, waking now and then to the rattle of the cart over its metal trail. The lantern had grown dimmer, and the cart was mostly dark. Sometimes he saw the red glare of the dog’s eyes.

  At length, he woke completely and sat up. Svanhild and the elf warrior sat together near the lantern, sharing bread and wine in its glow. Kormak joined them. There were mushrooms, which Alfgeir laid between two pieces of bread and ate. Kormak followed suit. The mushrooms were delicious, thick and meaty and juicy. The bread was a little dry. He drank enough wine to feel it, then sat by a window and looked out. The lantern on the foremost cart lit the tunnel’s stone walls and the metal track ahead of it. Now and then, a second light flashed above the cart, brilliant and white.

  “That is the lightning,” Alfgeir said.

  So it went. Kormak dozed and slept. They ate a second time. The sun-stone lantern had grown dimmer.

  “Tell me about my mother’s land,” Svanhild said.

  “Didn’t she tell you about it?” the elf warrior asked.

  “Only that it was far more pleasant than my father’s country. She left when I was young.”

  “We live in stone,” Alfgeir said, “as do you. But the fey live below earthen mounds. Their underground country does not look like a cave, as do our homes, but rather like open land, though the sky is sunless and moonless. Magic lights it. There is no winter. The trees bear flowers and fruit at the same time. The streams are full of cold, fresh water. The ground is covered with soft, green grass like a carpet.

  “When the fey hunt—and they do; it’s their favorite occupation—they bring down fat deer. When they angle, they bring up succulent fish. Everything about their land is lovely and rich.

  “They love music and dancing and good-looking people like Volund’s daughter Alda. They keep them as servants and lovers.”

  They would not love him, Kormak thought, with the scar across his face. Well, he had no desire to live among the fey. He remembered them dimly from stories he’d heard as a child. They were more dangerous than the northern elves, who mostly kept to themselves and did not bother their neighbors.

  The iron dog growled and spoke:

  “Brightness is not best.

  Honor is better.

  Loveliness leads nowhere

  If the heart is hard.”

  “That may be,” Alfgeir said, “but you do not know for certain, Elding. You have never been in their country, nor spent time with any of them.” He looked to Kormak and Svanhild. “When we get close to the land of the fey, the carts will stop and you will have to walk. The fey do not tolerate iron in their country. The dog cannot come. Nor can I. I will not give up my iron.”

  Kormak went back to sleep and woke again. The sun-stone lantern was so dim that his companions were barely visible, though he could still find the dog by the glare of its eyes.

  They finished off the rest of the food and wine in silence. Then Kormak sat in darkness, listening to the cart rattle on and on. He slept again and woke and found the carts were motionless. A pale light, like the dawn through mist, shone outside. He could see a platform and a tunnel leading up.

  Svanhild lay on the bench opposite him, sleeping and snoring softly, like a cat purring.

  “We are here,” Alfgeir said. “She won’t wake soon, so we have time to talk.”

  “How do you know she won’t wake?” Kormak asked.

  “She drank the rest of the wine. That by itself should have put her deeply asleep, but I added a spell.”

  “You said that dark elves do no magic.”

  Alfgeir grinned, showing square, white teeth. “No elf is entirely trustworthy, though we are far more reliable than the fey. For the most part, I have told you the truth. Iron m
akes magic difficult, and dark elves rarely perform it. We always prefer iron. But we’re a long way from our country here and close to the country of the fey. Magic is easier here. I have something I want you to do.”

  “What?” asked Kormak.

  “Go into the country of the fey with Svanhild.”

  “Why should I do this?”

  “Look around you. There is nothing here except stone, and it’s a long walk back to the country of the dark elves. Dangerous, too. You might be hit by one of our trains. You could go in the other direction, of course, and end in the coal mines of Wales. If you do as I ask, I will be grateful.”

  “What is your gratitude worth to me?”

  “Enough silver to establish yourself among the humans of Ireland. You will be free, and you will be an elf friend.”

  “That sounds good,” Kormak said. “What do you want me to do?”

  Alfgeir pulled a bag from somewhere in his clothing and took a gold bracelet from it. “Look for Alda in the fey court. Get her alone and give her this. Tell her to wear it on her arm, but keep it hidden under her sleeve. If the fey see it, they will steal it from her.”

  “Yes,” Kormak said and took the bracelet.

  “The second time you see her, give her this.” Alfgeir pulled out a gold and ivory brooch. “Tell her to pin it to her undergarment, so it will be hidden from the fey. Make sure that she knows to pin it over her heart.”

  “Do you think she will do this?” Kormak asked.

  “She is the child of her mother and the grandchild of Nidhad’s queen. Both women loved gold.” The elf warrior took a final object from his bag. It was a golden dog, small enough to be held in a woman’s hand. The eyes were garnet. A golden tongue hung out between tiny, sharp ivory teeth.

  “The third time, you won’t have seek her out. She will come to you. Give her this, and see what happens.”

  “Very well,” Kormak said. He put the three objects in their bag and hid the bag in his clothing.

  “Now,” said Alfgeir. He touched the sleeping woman, and she woke. “Go into the tunnel. It will lead you to the country of the fey.”

  Svanhild climbed out of the iron cart. Kormak followed, carrying Svanhild’s bags, which had not become any easier to carry. They walked along the platform and into the tunnel. Light filled it. There was no point of origin—the air itself seemed to glow—and he could see only a short distance. The glowing whiteness closed in like a mist. The tunnel slanted up and twisted like a snake, rising and turning. They began to climb.