'I guess you are tired.' Loge finally says to her brother. 'We got the logs away, well... Pandora floated most of them to the cellar.' Pandora grins and makes her silver daggers dance around her.
'The room is still a mess.' Dione adds.
Pan shows a brief smile and yawns loudly. 'It is okay. Thanks.' A chuckle follows. 'Do not stay up too late.' And so the boy continues his climb towards his own room.
The boy lingers on the stairs to hear how the two girls ask about the coins, and how Loge just encourages them to fight some more as training for both. Hence Pandora shouts with excitement while Dione's reaction remains much more reserved. Pan knows that he has certainly dodged an arrow.
The door that greets him is battered and bent so that it does not close properly. The room within is mostly trashed. The furniture bruised and bent under the weight of the branches and trunks. Flower benches and buckets of dirt had fallen over, not to mention the occasional burnt mark left on the wooden floor and bricks of the walls. Trunks and roots stick out from the dirt on the floor and from the buckets and benches that still lie where they were originally placed. Indeed, it is still a mess to be cleaned.
Pan leaves the book on his desk, which creaks and collapses as one of the legs snaps under the weight. The boy stares at it for a while. He waits for the dust to settle, and once it does, he does not care. He simply raises his shoulders up and lets them slide down before heading towards his own bed.
The boy wobbles more the closer he gets, until he stops in his tracks. He presses the bed down with his hand, it does not collapse. Thus the boy falls over and slowly wiggles his way under the blanket.
As Pan lies silently on his back, his gaze wanders around his room and his eye catches the sight of the bucket with the dandelions that had somehow survived regardless of everything. He stares at the handful of yellow flowers at the ends of straw like stems while the leaves sprout in all directions. The boy sticks out his left hand and while he stares at it he thinks he knows what went wrong earlier. How he should not shove, but instead just nudge and wait.
As the hand finally falls down, there is a shift in the roots and trunks. A burst of vibration, and then new branches and leaves stem out. Little fragments of green sprout out in the dimming room.
The boy smiles and falls asleep.
Behind the bed, a shadow rises. Pointy ears, long snout, and a puffy pointy tail. The shadow of the three-eyed fox stares down to the sleeping boy. Never blinking, the three eyes remain open even as the shadows slowly shift as the Sun heads towards horizon.
Chapter 9:
Loge jolts up. She stretches her arms up and yawns loudly. Her nose twitches, and she sneezes. She stretches out her legs and twirls her toes around. Books fall off the chair. The girl looks around. What greets her is the room filled with shelves upon shelves of books, and even on the floor around her; the books lie just where they were left.
Loge hops down, stretches her body before making sure the door to her room remains closed; locked with piece a piece of wood. Thus she heads to the other side of her chair and steps onto the large and charred lid of a cooking pot. She tosses her clothes over the chair, and a moment later a burst of flames rises and quickly vanishes. The clothes are pulled back one at a time. She mockingly repeats her brother's words; 'If you hate baths so much, why not just burn your body clean since you appear to be impervious to fire?' A grin follows: 'Best idea ever.'
She shifts through the books to pick up the several coins Pan handed over on yesterday, and finds a small pouch for them from the basket hidden in the corner. A small leather pouch among her spare clothes and other assorted items stuffed out of sight.
Loge's stomach releases a growl, and so she lifts the piece of wood guarding the door, and heads downwards. She runs through each of the steps along the way.
Morning Sun glistens through the dyed glass windows on the ground floor, and the light is further reflected by the many jars the boys had left on the tables to wait for their return. As Loge approaches the fireplace, she feels sorry for the anvil that has transformed into something that could only be described as both misshaped and bent. Poor little thing. She does not know how many times the twins had to fix it after the piece of bone managed to shatter it, but she guesses many and isn't too far oof. Nevertheless: the thought of them someday smashing the Skull of Oghren with that anvil of theirs sparks a smile on her face. How Atlas would just raise it high, and swing that misshaped piece of metal with its full weight.
But there her goes her stomach once more. A rumble like thunder. She recalls how Pan has been just climbing up to the roof to leech off from the sun, and she begins to wonder if she could do the same. A flick of her fingers, a tendril of flames arcs down and the fireplace is lit with just a lone spark. The flames spew out of the strange block of metal amid the the old charcoals - but there is not much else left to burn. Thus, Loge skips to downstairs and returns with a chestful of logs, which she feeds to the fire one at a time. The fire leaps aside and then rushes to devour the wood. The bark of the strange logs hisses and pops as the flames spread on to devour. Loge follows carefully as the flames slowly darken the wood causing it glow in bright wounds before the bark itself tears away revealing more for the ever growing hunger. The flames rise higher, and burn hotter.
Yet for Loge it is not exactly hunger in her eyes. It is a sensation of familiarity she cannot quite place as the fire just continues to dance before her eyes. But as her stomach airs yet another demand for nourishment, Loge exhales her lungs and attempts to suck in the fire burning before her. The flames resist at first. The fire shakes and twirls in protest, but soon it cannot help but to bend and twirl towards the girls mouth. A spiral of fire, and the girl eats like wolf biting into the carcass given by the wild hunt.
The fireplace grows dimmer, colder, until even the last spark takes off to float right into Loge's mouth. Her mouth snaps shut.
Loge pats around her belly button, and releases a burp of smoke and flames as her stomach stubbornly demands for more food.
Defeated, the girl looks at the charred piece of log. She thinks of gnawing it for a while, but changes her mind as the ash would just probably smear her face.
There is no choice but to find real food. The girl goes down the stairs once more to look for a basket and picks up one made of straws and branches. With a piece of cloth tossed on top of it Loge heads out to the streets.
The air feels fresh, and a gust of wind closes the door behind her. The neighbourhood seems calm. Slowly waking up to meet the new day. Few apartments to her left and there is an old lady leaving her home to swipe the dust off from the steps. A quiet murmur of wagons and horses rolling on the streets echo along the almost desolate streets. A distant flock of seagulls shriek their wishes of luck for the fishermen leaving the docks. A normal day and Loge smiles. She begins to skip along the streets swinging the basket from one side to another.
It won't be long before the people start to pour out of their homes. Children running out to play while the parents head to work or to complete their daily tasks. Store windows are raised and pulled aside, revealing the goods for sale. Shopkeepers go out to hang their signs above their doors to mark their shops open. The network of laundry ropes above the streets begins to shift, as clothes are pulled back in or rolled out to hang over the streets to dry. And little by little, Loge looses her freedom to to skip onwards towards the nearest market square, there is just too many people walking around. The streets begin to buzz with people as if they were the bees of a dropped hive. The city has awoken to face another day.
And finally; after corners and turns Loge reaches the nearby market square. Her nostrils twitch from the scents of roasted meat, yesterday evening's fish, and fresh bread. Her stomach grumbles quietly in approval, and so she ventures into square filled with closely fitted stalls. Her eyes look at the listed prices and measurement tools to find out the best deals and bargains, the most food she can get for the coins in the pouch.
Of course Log
e seems little young to handle the grocery shopping all on her own, but she sticks on the heels of random women and men, and no one raises their eyebrow or even looks twice. She hands the coins to be weighted and in some cases for the merchants to cut the coins in half with their pliers, before they in return hand out the goods to her basket.
Little by little the goods of the market square begin to pile into Loge's basket. Potatoes, carrots, and beats. Few onions. Fresh bread and fish wrapped into the piece of cloth. The basket begins to weigh down, and no more does she carry it casually by her arm; she holds onto it with her both hands as her steps turn shorter.
Thus when she finally heads towards her home, her stomach grumbles in anticipation. Anticipation that grows louder with each passing step. The cheery smile fades away and the unfriendliest grimace raises to Loge's face. Inside her mind, she curses for going out so early, just a little later and she could have done the trip with Pandora. Pandora could have helped Loge carry the full basket by making it feel near weightless thanks to her telekinesis.
Yet her struggle as her stomach grumbles is not for naught. Loge has finally reached back to her home door. She lets the basket rest on the steps, as she leans her back against the door wiping the sweat away form her forehead. The people walk past without a single glance. The neighbours on both sides talk to each without out noticing how there is a little girl right in between them. Not even how there is a considerable distance for any normal friendly neighbourly chat. Loge chuckles, and pushes the door in to finally step inside.
What greets her amongst the glass jars is reflections of the old rat. How it runs through the maze of glass until its sparkling eyes stare directly towards Loge. 'Any cheese and wine?' The rat asks with hope and expectation.
Loge shakes her head from left to right. 'Sorry.' She carefully adds. She looks around; 'Where is Pan?'
'Ran off to the roofs a moment ago, he was holding onto that dandelion jar.'
'Why?'
'He did not say.'
'But you have an idea...' The girl leans closer to the rat.
'Oh yes. The boy smells of dandelions, and there are not many creatures alive that know the scent. Even fewer that he could run into in this city.'
'Run into... he runs in roofs and sewers... ' Loge scratches her forehead, before her eyes widen; 'He ran into a Rat-King?'
'It is likely, yes.'
'Which one do you think it was?'
'Capra.'
'Is that bad?'
The old rat turns his gaze to the table, and fidgets his paws, before finally looking back up to Loge. 'Not for now, I suppose she will be occupied with the dandelions for the near foreseeable future. She is reasonable, but still somewhat obsessive.'
'Should I talk about it to Pan?'
The rat smiles. 'No, it is not necessary. Making and living through decisions is a part of growing up. He'll talk to us, sooner or later. What we need to focus now is that Skull of Oghren.'
'I see. Um, the boys are hammering away an trying out different metals. Yarn is trying her best to shift that piece of bone into something else. They are trying their best, but it seems hard.'
'Things often are, and unfairly so. But you should never let it deter you from what you long for.' The rat's smile fades, and the tone turns chilled and reserved. 'Do you wish to stay safe from Surtur?'
The girl blinks. 'Yes, of course I do. After all he nearly killed us.'
The old rat listens to the answer carefully before he continues: 'Then I ask you to help the others in their effort to shatter the skull, to encourage them to stick with what they are doing. And... help Pan to understand the runes in the books. I do not think he is as good at it as he likes to pretend. After all, Surtur never taught him to read the arcane runes. A small secret between us.' The old rat motions its pawn in front of its snout as if he had told a secret.
'Okay.' Loge scratches her hair, and wipes her nose with her index finger. 'Um… Do you know where the skull is kept, how to get there?'
The rat chuckles. 'Yes.'
'You are not going to tell me?'
'It is not the time for that, Loge.'
'When will it be?'
The old rat just raises its front paws, tilts its head, and vanishes back into the maze of jars.
Loge groans and decides to unpack the contents of the basket. She takes most the vegetables down and stores them inside the crates for later. But as for what she left up by the corner of the table is the fish with few potatoes and carrots on the side.
She is not planning for anything truly complicated, she simply picks up the potatoes one at a time and roasts them on her right hand. Flames rise and sweep against the potato until the peel blackens and chars off. After which Loge simply places the baked potato on a plate before moving onto the next.
As for the fish; the fishmonger or the fishermen have already pulled out the guts so there is not much to prepare it. Loge simply sticks her left hand inside the empty stomach of the fish, and makes it talk like a hand puppet. The fish swims, and even performs a little dance, before Loge finally lets her flames out once more. She moves the fish around letting the flames bite and caress the fish, until the flesh turns white and the once silver scales are but gold in their hue.
A pinch of salt is tossed onto the fish and potatoes, and Loge sits on the stairs to eat her breakfast and lunch. Taking bites at the potatoes and carrots, while pulling out pieces of the fish once in here and there.
Her feet bounce against the steps as she continues to gobble up what is on her plate, until she can only lick and suck her fingers clean.
The house is quiet. Quiet enough to unnerve. Loge occasionally looks over her shoulder, gazes around the ground floor, and she feels how her hairs stand up at the back of her head. But there is not squeak of the floor planks to be heard, not a whisper, nor a breath that is not her own.
Yet something is lurking within the house, something dark, something incredibly old. Loge feels how the runes in the old tomes hum with secrets and power. Inside her mind, she feels a gust of wind that throws the hundred books open to find out what it is. Page after page whips from cover to the back. The runes glow ever brighter.
The door creaks open. Loge is startled and the plate flies and falls down onto the floor. With a sigh of relief, Loge sees the equally scared little Bergelmir by the door. A smile rises on her face and she leaps down the stairs to greet the young boy.
The runes fade and the books close inside Loge's mind as she listens to the things Bergelmir had heard in the morning. News and rumours about magisters disappearing and other appearing robed in light blue. Colour almost like the shade of the sky itself. And how Bergelmir's mother seemed unsurprisingly happy that they live so far away from the nearest academy or tower belonging to the magisters.
The two climb up the stairs, and they continue where they had left off the day before. They seek their respective tomes, and go through page after page. Throwing out what they've read, and trying to do what was described on the pages. Loge shapes the flames rising from her hand, and Bergelmir changes the colours of his body and clothes on whim. The two throw their feedback at each other, sometimes bursting in laughter when they raise their gazes from the books and seeing something unexpected.
It passes the time before the others find their way into the house. But as Loge follows how the Bergelmir makes his shirt change its colour from one shade of red to another, she cannot help but to wonder and finally ask: 'Why are you playing with colours, when you can turn invisible?'
The boy is startled, the red shirt turns back to its original brown. 'I.' He stutters. 'It is easier for me not to be seen, than to be seen, I think.' He tries to smile awkwardly.
'Pan once made bunch of people think they were surrounded by a Rat-King.' She hastily adds. 'Do you think you could do the same?'
Bergelmir gets up, leaving his book on the floor, and he darts towards the bookshelf. His fingers run along the backs of the books, until he freezes and then pulls out the tome. Loge wal
ks over as the boy skims through the pages to find the right one. He pats the page with his index finger; 'This here is about making others see creatures that are not there.' He skims through the text, until he finds the sentence he was looking for. 'Vivid imagination is no match for experience, if you wish to get the sounds and smells right beyond mere visual appearances.'
'Ah.' Loge scratches her head.
'I do not think I can make a Rat-King appear... But how about that black and white cat, you know, the one that goes around in the neighbourhood?'
'Ooh.' Loge claps her hands in advance, and so Bergelmir places a closed book on the floor before him. He is unsure what to do next, so he crouches down and pins his eyes on the book. His mind focuses on a memory of the cat resting on a window ledge. He thinks of the colours, whiskers and how the cat was missing a piece of its left ear.
When he finally dares to open his eyes, the book has vanished and what lies in its place is a furry blob of black and white, with one ear and some whiskers sticking out of it. It looks more like a pillow than a cat, and Bergelmir tries to say something but he is embarrassed and so he merely stutters. The illusion shatters and disappears in a blink of an eye. Ultimately the boy just sighs.
Yet when Bergelmir looks up to Loge, he sees a wide smile on her face. 'It was brilliant.' She declares.
'Loge, don't kid.'
'I mean it! It was your first try, you can get better. With more practise you could make this room look like the bottom of the sea.'
Her eyes sparkle, and that gives Bergelmir confidence. 'Yeah. Maybe.' And as the boy stares at the girl, he finally asks; 'Would you like to try making a cat?'
'Yes!' She brings her finger tips close to each other, and flames form and spin inside the haphazard cage. A sphere of twisting fire, that leaps up and lands on Loge's shoulder. Tendrils of flames reach out, and twist into legs, tail, and head.
Skull of Oghren Page 17
