The Apple Throne

by Tessa Gratton

  It’s a troll stone.

  “The plague,” I say quietly as I come up behind her.

  “We’re better off without them,” she answers thickly, slapping her palm against it. She runs her fingers down a fold in the stone, and I see how it was a hill troll, head ducked under arms. There are the fingers, there the knee where he half-bent against the redwood. He’s in such a tight ball, as if desperate to calcify into a boulder instead of this statue-perfect rock.

  “Don’t tell Amon it’s here, or he’ll come try to harvest its organs.”

  Signy blinks rapidly and touches the lump of her pendant again. There’s sweat at her temples. Her cheeks are richly pink, her green eyes feverish.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she mutters.

  I say, “You don’t have to trust Freya. You only have to trust me.”

  “You trust her. It’s the same thing.”

  “Soren would.”

  “I’m not him!” Her cry echoes against the massive trees.

  Sunlight streams down on us as I study her, as I draw my energy. I imagine the golden light compliments me and ignore the fact that Soren’s coat likely makes me seem an overdressed child. “Signy, I want you to go home.”

  “What?”

  I don’t repeat myself.

  Signy narrows her eyes. “Why?”

  “You don’t trust me or my seething. I don’t want a person who doesn’t trust me at my side. Go home, Valkyrie.”

  She opens her mouth, stops, then says, “I’m… I owe him”.

  “I am going to find him.”

  But Signy’s expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t believe I can. “I thought she told you Sune would find him.”

  I say, “The goddess of dreams does not see my future, and so she cannot say what I will do, or what I can do. I will find a thousand ways to make certain Sune is successful.”

  It’s the first thing that sparks hope in her. “She can’t see you?”

  “I am outside of fate, like all the gods, but I can affect it. I can change things, but they can’t be predicted.”

  “Chaos,” Signy whispers as if it’s the answer to a riddle. She starts forward suddenly, grabbing my face. I gasp and take her wrists, but she stares into my eyes so intently. Her fingers are cool on my cheeks. “I see it, deep, deep back. And truth and secret.”

  My breath shakes out of me. “Secret?”

  “Ace up the sleeve, delicate one-shot pistol in a hidden ankle holster. Secret weapon,” she murmurs, rhythmically, like it’s a poem.

  I smile. I like the sound of it.

  The Valkyrie releases me. “You’re different.”

  “From what?”

  “Your runes, the ones in your eyes. They changed from last night and from that night in the garden.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, unsure I want to know.

  She shakes her head. “It means the truth of your heart, your spirit, has changed, or that it never was certain in the first place.”

  “Do most people’s change?”

  “Some. But I think it means you don’t know who you are yet.”

  I laugh a little, helplessly.

  Signy blows out a long breath, puts her hands on her hips. “We make our own world. That’s what you said to me.”

  “I remember. I told you to follow your heart. That’s what I am doing now.”

  “You aren’t just doing what she tells you?”

  “I’m using her prophecy, Signy. They are not useless.” I say it too fiercely, convincing myself.

  She shoves her finger in my face. “Swear you will find him in time.”

  I take that finger, firmly and gently move it. I cradle her hand. “I swear I will, Valkyrie of the Tree. You may go home and never worry.”

  Weaving our fingers together, she says, “Be careful then, Idun. A lot of other people love him, too.”

  It makes me smile sadly. “He’s an important part of the world.”

  The Valkyrie leaves me feeling cold, and trapped in shadows.

  ELEVEN

  I return to Amon and Sune arguing quietly near the van. Signy’s packing up her silver rental, ignoring them.

  The godling grimaces at Sune as I approach. “I’m out of the business,” he rumbles.

  Sune claps a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t need to pretend on the lady’s account, Amon.”

  “I stopped carrying it last year.” Amon’s words are even, cool. He shrugs away from Sune’s touch.

  The hunter studies his face for a long moment. “You must know somebody still. A contact you haven’t burned.”

  I don’t notice any change in Amon’s expression, but Sune lifts his finger and points at the godling’s eyes. “That, there. Tell me, Amon.”

  Silence falls as they stare at each other. It’s strange to feel like a third wheel, the pressure of their history weighing around us. That’s what comes of being outside the world.

  “She doesn’t need to be part of this,” Amon finally says.

  “Gunn-Elin?”

  Amon flexes his jaw and nods.

  Sune shakes his head slowly, disappointed. He says to me, “We’re going to Salt City, a full day’s drive from here.”

  “Why?” I ask. “That’s so far!”

  He straightens his shoulders. “It’s how to follow the gold, lady. Not only is Salt City a hub of the elf gold trade, but Bell himself was in Salt City a week ago.”

  “How do you know that?” Amon interjects before I can.

  Sune levels a cool gaze at the godling. “Lieutenant Grid emailed me his credit and phone records.”

  “Where in Salt City?” I ask.

  “He bought gas just outside town.”

  “So you’re guessing that Bell was in Salt City trading for the gold, and if we go there, we might find out through Amon’s contacts who Bell would buy from. And regardless of why Soren killed Bell, maybe one of his associates wants revenge?”

  Sune nods. “Or they think Soren knows something they don’t want him to.”

  “It’s a stretch,” Amon mutters.

  “No, it’s a logical progression based on the information we have, including a very specific prophecy from the goddess of dreams to follow the gold,” Sune says. “Unless there’s some vital information you’re leaving out?”

  Amon only frowns hard and walks toward the campfire. He starts dumping dirt on it.

  The day-long drive to Salt City will leave Soren with only three days. I fumble into the pocket of Soren’s greatcoat, but remember the apples of immortality are in my own coat, crumpled somewhere in Amon’s van.

  Sune beckons to me from his Jeep. I go, and he opens the driver’s door and reaches in to unplug Soren’s cell phone where it rests on the dash. I handed it over to him last night before seething.

  “I grabbed the right cord to charge it in town. Listened to the messages, but they’re not helpful. Thought you might like to hear. I’ll call to have Bearstar’s truck impounded with the Army. They won’t touch anything, and it’ll be safe for him when we find him.”

  Taking the phone, I touch his wrist. “Thank you.”

  Sune only nods and moves off to help Amon douse the fire and pack up camp.

  Soren’s phone is simple, without a touchscreen and the wireless interweave access is turned off, which doesn’t surprise me. It makes me smile fondly, imagining Soren telling Baldur to just please for the love of the sun make the texting end. I go to his recent calls. He’s missed quite a few in the past three days: Signy Valborn; Rathi Summerling, who is the Freyan preacher he knows; and an O. Bearskin, who must be a fellow berserker. Unknown caller. I select Play all messages.

  Signy: “What the skit, Soren! What happened! Why haven’t you called me? Call me!”

  Signy again: “Soren, are you all right? I’m worried. I’m flying out there. I’ll call again when I get into town. Be careful.”

  A smooth voice, accented with the South like Sune’s, but more musical and thick: �
�Soren, I just heard from Signy what’s happened. I know there must be some misunderstanding, but I’ll retain a lawspeaker on your behalf, if that’s all right. Let me know if you can, but I imagine you don’t have your phone with you any longer. I’ll contact a friend of mine in the Alta California kingstate about paying you a visit to see if there’s anything you need and to check in about the lawspeaker. Remember, you have friends. We believe in you. Satisfaction’s blessings, Soren.” The preacher, Rathi.

  O. Bearskin says fast and hard, “This is Oriel, and I want to know where Pilot is. I’m calling the militia station next. I hope you left him in capable hands, berserker.”

  My own voice, quailing: “Soren…where are you?”

  Then Signy for the third time: “Rag me, Soren, I’ve landed and am heading for your truck before going into Eureka to see you. I told Rathi you don’t need a ragging lawspeaker. I’ll get what I can there and we’ll get you out of this, I swear it.”

  I thumb back to the voicemail options and hit the message. This is Soren, he says. This is Soren. Tucking the phone into the pocket of my skirt, I go to Soren’s truck and spend a few moments just staring at it.

  The dream-memory of his wild, black, frenzy-filled eyes fill my vision. Determinedly, I step up onto the tailgate again. Signy is just pulling away in her sliver car. She sticks her arm out the window and waves. I lift a hand in return, watching until the dull red taillights vanish around a corner of redwoods.

  Then I grab a bag of MREs and bottled water from the truckbed. I already wear his heavy bearskin coat, and Sleipnir’s Tooth leans in its sheath against Amon’s van. The last item I take before abandoning his truck is the small glass apple from the rearview mirror. When I trade Soren’s too-large coat for my own again, I tuck the glass apple into my pocket with the three wizened apples of immortality. I will find him in time.

  I ride with Amon out of the park, pausing only for Sune in his Jeep behind us to stop at the ranger pavilion to lean out and warn them that soldiers from Thor’s Army will be arriving to tow the truck in Stumpsite. Amon grumbles impatiently, though it’s a necessary step. The impatience must be directed at Sune himself, not the action. After we bounce out of the park and speed onto a highway heading east, I say, “Sune told me what happened between you.”

  Amon grunts.

  I cross my legs at the knee and lean back in the seat, trying to be calm. Four days. “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask to distract myself, keeping my eyes forward. There’s nothing to see through the windshield but evergreen forest lining the gray road, and a colorless sky of thin clouds overhead. I can see the wide-eyed headlamps of Sune’s dark Jeep tailgating us if I glance in the side-view mirror.

  “You deserve to know, since it comes back to ragging elf gold and Salt City, too,” the godling says after a moment, surprising me. I try not to show it, wondering if he thinks I referred to something besides a kiss between the two of them.

  He continues, “It was right after I met Soren. But it starts years ago, just after I challenged dear old dad to holmgang. I was kept there at Bright Home while I healed, and after about a week, I was sick of being locked up, so I snuck out. I stole a motorcycle from the lot and went up the mountain.” He slides me a look. “I knew they’d find me, it was more about proving a point—again. I drove as high as I could, then climbed off and kept going, up through the tree line onto the alpine tundra. It was summer, long days, and I knew at the summit there was supposed to be the oldest Rock Church in the country. I found it in this field of wildflowers. The church was just a single room of stones, not even mortared together. Inside was a wooden statue of Thor, old and polished from people touching it, but clearly nobody came there anymore. Animals lived in the hearth. I cleared it out and curled up there, thinking I might chop the statue up for firewood.”

  “Oh, Amon.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t. I heard a hiss and this clicking sound like claws tapping on stone. It scared me, and I got to my feet to fight, or some skit, and I saw her.” Amon shakes his head. “The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She was all silver and white, like she was made of crystals and bones, her eyes solid black and as big as apples. Her nails were like crystal claws, and her teeth were sharp, tiny obsidian flakes. Every piece of her formed out of the mountain. Her hair was…like diamond filament or something, and her mouth and chin delicate like—like I don’t know. I’m no poet, either. There was a crest along her cheekbones, where the bones pressed out through her skin like a row of antler nubs. Like someone shoved tiny sharp black diamonds into her skin.”

  “A goblin,” I whisper.

  “She said she was an elf-under-the-mountain.”

  I turn in my seat, staring at him. “The elves vanished ages ago! Gone out of the Middle World forever. Only mountain goblins remained after the giants were defeated, when your father cleaned out the Rock Mountains. And the last goblin army was destroyed at Sanctus Helena, wasn’t it?”

  “You should know that what the gods tell us and what is true don’t always match up,” he says dryly. “I know at least this one was an elf, and I do not believe she is the only of her people.”

  “Elves,” I whisper. “But in the stories, they’re perfectly beautiful and made of light. Cousins to our gods.” I think on the story Freya told me about the creation of the apples of immortality, that elves, giants, and gods were all one people in the beginning. I chew the inside of my bottom lip. “Diamond bones and cheek ridges of obsidian sound like descriptions of their goblins. Mountain goblins. The elves created them with their magic, to be watchdogs. That’s what…what the stories say…” I trail off, shaking my head.

  He glances at me. “I asked her about it, too, ya know. Not that first night, but later. Why she didn’t look like elves in the picture books. She said her parents’ generation began to create their children with the strong bones and crystal features of the goblins, that they were more suited to the depths of the mountains, to surviving here in New Asgard. The elves didn’t fade away or leave, so much as transform themselves into goblins.”

  I spread my hands on my cheeks, as if I could keep my wonder in control. The landscape flashing past my windows takes a blur of magic to it, though it’s only evergreens and patchy winter scrub.

  Wistfully, Amon says, “When the sun crept up on us that first night, she said her name was Eirfinna Grimlakinder, then dashed up the mountain.”

  “I can’t even imagine it, Amon,” I say.

  “I’ve a picture of her in the trunk if you want me to pull over.” He jerks his thumb toward the rear of the van.

  I laugh. “Wouldn’t Sune like that.” I notice the hunter hasn’t backed off his tail-gaiting, as if he could push us to Salt City faster. It reminds me of our purpose, of the elf gold. “She gave you elf gold. That’s how you got into the trade.”

  “The first gold I ever saw was when she healed my arm.” With his right hand, he rolls back the left sleeve of his heavy knit sweater to display a small smear of scar right along the path of his veins. Instead of corded dark skin, it is marked in gold.

  “Amazing,” I murmur.

  He nods. “Everything about her is amazing. I couldn’t get her out of my head. And the next time I was at Bright Home, for Baldur’s Day, I returned to the Rock Church. I sat outside while they burned Baldur’s body, and I waited. I had a present for her. Mead because the elves are supposed to like it and a radio. I wanted to play a song that reminded me of her.”

  “Sounds like you had a crush on her.”

  “Maybe. Sune says I’m more like Dad than I like to think.”

  “How so?”

  “Thor’s always been obsessed with etin women. Kills them or loves them and not a drop between.”

  There are three giant women associated with Thor’s love that I can think of immediately. His wife Sif even has elfish-forged golden hair. “I think you have plenty of in-between, Amon.”

  He shrugs. “Eirfinna loved the radio. She pulled it apart and asked for more. Comput
er parts, cell phones, anything I could get her, and she offered gems and elf gold in return. I was mostly immune to its temptations, so thought I could make money off it at least. Found all my own contacts, slowly, over the years. I’ve never met any other elves and never seen her outside of the Rock Church meadow or along the Yellowstone Caldera.”

  “But you’re not in the trade anymore?”

  “No, that’s where Sune comes in.” Amon tugs at the steel ring in his eyebrow. “It was Hallowblot just over a year ago. Remember somebody stole Loki’s mask of changing?”

  I nod, recalling the excitement shining in Lofn’s already-bright eyes. It was the first day she came for nothing but gossip and fun, nearly three months after I burned my seething kit.

  Amon continues, “Eirfinna was the thief, and I helped her escape. I didn’t know she had it because she used it to transform. I thought she was just a girl who needed a ride. Sune hunted us down after about a week, and he shot her to make her take off the mask.” His dark hands tighten on the steering wheel. “She could’ve died, but the mask was his bottom ragging line. That’s how he made his name: recovering the mask.”

  “Sune knows her, then? He knows about the elves?”

  “Yeah, but Dad covered it up—really ragging well, it seems. The bastard even kept my name out all of it, which was easy because Sune told Dad I didn’t know Eirfinna had the mask. I didn’t want to owe him any favors.”

  Unsure if Amon wants comfort or only acknowledgement, I fold my hands in my lap and say, “I don’t think that’s why he did it. For a favor.”

  “Why?” Amon skews me a skeptical look. “What did he tell you?”

  “Ah. I got the impression that he…cares for you.”

  Amon remains quiet.

  I pick at the ruffles of my worn skirt, hesitant over what to say or whether to press.

  The godling clears this throat. “Sune is… I don’t… Sune is a great hunter, I’m sure, but I’m not…”

  “Attracted to him?”