by M. D. Massey
“Hazards of the profession, although these days, there’s honestly not much danger in it. Occasionally I shake down one of the lesser huldufólk, but they’re generally not very impressive. I mean, what could a low-level bureaucrat do to me? Have me fired? Get me thrown out of my housing? Good luck with that.”
I hadn’t made many friends since I’d arrived in Iceland—none, in fact, and to be honest I was starting to like this troll. My fae intuition hadn’t revealed any malicious intent on his part, so on a whim, I decided to risk revealing recent events. “Thus far, I’ve not been very impressed with them either. But earlier, I ran into a couple that gave me the creeps.”
“Let me guess—long hair, fetish for black leather and chrome, and carrying knives that made your skin crawl?”
“You know them?”
He swallowed half his beer in one go. “All the huldufólk’s assassins look alike. Scandinavian death metal enthusiasts. Great music, silly aesthetic.” The troll scratched beneath his hat with his thick, hairy fingers. “You must have really pissed someone off.”
Ásgeir’s food had disappeared while we spoke, so I pushed the rest of my burger and fries across the table.
“It’s a talent,” I said with a self-effacing grin. “Anything I need to know if I run into them again?”
The troll was already licking his fingers by the time I finished that sentence. “They’re said to be among the oldest of the Hidden Folk. Some speculate they’re álfur who were banished from Álfheimr long ago. I couldn’t say for sure, but I know they do all the dirty work for their huldufólk brethren.”
“Old magic, then.”
“Indeed, and much deadlier than those gray-suited bureaucrats who run much of Reykjavik.”
I ran my tongue across my incisors as I considered my next question. “Would you tangle with them?”
Ásgeir hitched his shoulders. “They don’t frighten me. Once, my name was feared across this land. ‘The spear of the gods,’ they called me, because I solved problems for a few of the Vanir. Those days are long gone, but I have not forgotten how to do battle.”
Suddenly, I had an idea. An evil grin stole across my face as the notion began to take shape in the dark recesses of my devious little mind. “Tell me, Ásgeir—would you like a job?”
10
Working out the terms of Ásgeir’s employment was a fairly simple matter. First, I warned him that several of the Celtic gods wanted me dead and he’d automatically be in danger by entering my employ. He responded by saying that he’d recognized the “godsmark” on me back on the bridge, and that all our kind shared enmity with the gods.
Choosing to ignore that remark, I opened with an offer of $100 USD a day. He countered with a request for a seventh part of all gold, silver, and other plunder we might find. Having never gotten rich off being at odds with the fae and the gods, I agreed. I figured it was a hell of a deal.
Now that I had a new bodyguard and drinking buddy, I felt a bit more confident roaming around Reykjavik all by my lonesome. The troll knew his way around town, and with him watching my back, I doubted that any of the huldufólk would get the jump on me. Ásgeir found us some cheap lodging, and I took a shower before laying down for a long overdue nap.
“You aren’t going to eat me in my sleep, are you?” I asked, sitting up in bed to address the troll where he stood guard next to the door.
“If you insult my honor again, I’ll be tempted.”
“Got it. Just making sure.”
I closed my eyes, and silence fell across the room for a few brief moments before the troll cleared his throat.
“Yes, Ásgeir?”
“Er, you wouldn’t happen to have a book in that bag of yours, would you?”
I stifled an annoyed sigh. No need to get off on the wrong foot with my new employee during his first day on the job. “Sure, lemme check,” I said, rummaging around in the Bag. I tossed several out on the adjacent bed. “I have some Batman comics, a few Neil Gaiman novels, a Joe Nesbø book I couldn’t get into—”
“Which one?”
“Knife, I think.”
“Hand it over.”
Once he began reading, the troll was quiet as a mouse, and I drifted off to sleep to the intermittent rustle of pages turning. An indeterminate amount of time later, I was awoken in a surprisingly gentle manner by Ásgeir’s huge hairy hand. While still in that that state between sleeping and waking, I noted again that he didn’t smell much at all, except for the faintest odor of earth and stone.
“Colin, something is at the door.”
I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Did you ask who it is?”
“Not someone, something. A magic thing—some sort of construct, I think. It’s not doing anything, just waiting outside. Since you are the magician, I figured you’d want to deal with it.”
“Druid, actually. Okay, keep an eye on the door while I get dressed. I have a feeling this is what I’ve been waiting for.”
After pulling on a pair of jeans over my boxers, I stealth-shifted and summoned a fireball, which I hid behind my back. Then, I cracked the door open to find no one and nothing standing there.
“Ásgeir, there’s nothing out here—”
“Ahem.”
The voice was male and strange sounding, as if it were coming from far away and from underneath the floor at the same time. I looked down and nearly shat my pants.
“Gah!” I said, jumping back a step.
The troll was at my side in an instant, throwing the door open to reveal what stood behind. “It’s merely a puppet,” he remarked drily.
“That is a ventriloquist’s dummy. Didn’t you see Goosebumps or Toy Story 4? They’re almost as bad as clowns.” I glanced down at the dummy again, which was staring up at me with a shiver-inducing Howdy Doody smile. “Holy fuck, that’s creepy.”
The dummy straightened its bowtie as it cleared its throat. “My master, the great and powerful god Loki, requests your presence at his manor at 10:00 p.m. this evening. BYOB and don’t be late, bitches.”
Once it had delivered its message, the dummy ran off down the hallway. True to form, the damned thing ran all herky-jerky with its arms flailing in the air, laughing maniacally and bumping into shit along the way. A fat middle-aged lady wearing way too much polyester stuck her head out the door next to ours just in time to see the dummy disappear around the corner.
“Someone’s kid, playing pranks,” I offered lamely.
“Hmph!” she replied, slamming her door.
I retreated inside the room, closing the door and locking it behind me. After checking the lock twice, I turned to find Ásgeir sitting on the other bed, staring at me.
“You did not tell me we were working for the god of mischief,” he said in a neutral voice.
“I’m not working for him; I’m working with him. Big difference.”
“Regardless, it has been some time since I had dealings with the gods. Normally, I would welcome such an opportunity. But that one is hated by Aesir, Vanir, Álfar, and Jötnar alike. Even the Dökkálfar despise him, Colin, and for good reason. He cannot be trusted.”
“Be that as it may, we need him to get where we’re going. From what I’ve been told, he’s the only one willing to help who knows how to get there.”
“And just where is ‘there’?” the troll asked.
“Er, Jotunheim.”
“My fee just doubled,” he said with finality. Ásgeir stood, grabbing his book and snatching the blanket off the second bed before he headed for the bathroom. “Daylight approaches. Please keep the curtains closed until nightfall, else you may have to find another troll to employ. Good day, druid.”
As we were leaving the hotel that evening, Bryn pulled up on her bike. She wore one of those dark-visored helmets that concealed your identity, like an assassin in a Korean action flick. I recognized the bike as soon as it pulled into the light due to the “Valhalla Bound!” sticker on the gas tank. After cutting the engine, the valkyrie removed her
helmet and gave her scalp a brisk rub with her fingertips.
“Bryn, fancy seeing you here,” I said.
“I see you’ve gained a companion,” she replied archly.
“Got stranded, and I needed a guide. Plus, he can quote every line from Airplane! on cue.”
“Surely you cannot be serious,” Bryn replied. “He’s a troll, and is as likely to eat you as to provide assistance.”
“I am serious, and don’t call me Shirley,” Ásgeir replied flatly as he scanned the shadows for threats.
Honestly, I’d had no idea if he could actually quote from the movie. As far as I was concerned, his off-the-cuff response was worth whatever I ended up paying him. If he was a dog, I’d have given him a belly rub and a treat.
The valkyrie looked confused, and I stifled a laugh as I tried to save her further embarrassment. “I take it Click told you where to find me? He’s the only one who’d know I was here. Well, him and Loki. Hell if I know how he does it, but that sneaky fucker has a knack for showing up out of nowhere, no matter where I am.”
“He did. In fact, he sent me to give you a ride. We’re to convene at your camp and travel to the dark god’s abode from there.” She looked down her nose at Ásgeir. “However, I only have room for one. The troll will need to find another way to follow us, if he so chooses.”
I rubbed my forehead because her attitude was giving me a headache. “For the last time, I am not riding bitch on your bike, even if it turns into a pegasus or some shit—”
“It does,” Ásgeir and Bryn replied in unison.
“—and I am not leaving Ásgeir behind. He’s working for me now, so where I go, he goes.”
“Whatever you say, druid,” the valkyrie said. “But when he rips your arm off in your sleep, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
With that, Bryn slipped her helmet on, fired up her bike, and rode off into the sky. As soon as the bike’s tires left the ground, I plugged my ears with my fingers. But this time, there was no flash of lightning or clap of thunder. Bryn’s motorcycle merely morphed into a jet-black horse with wings.
“She’s showing off, isn’t she?” I said.
“Indeed she is,” the troll responded.
“So, what’s her deal?”
“The Valkyries work for Odin. Odin and the other Aesir hate all giantkind. It is as simple as that.”
“But aren’t some of the gods part giant? I mean, besides Loki. Like Thor, for instance.”
“I do not bother myself by attempting to decipher the ways of the gods,” he replied. “And I suggest you do not, either.”
“Right. Well, we still need to meet up with Click—that’s my magic teacher—”
“Your teacher is magic, or he teaches you magic?”
“Um, both, actually. Hang on, I’m about to get us a lift.”
“Hang on to what, exactly?” Ásgeir said with mild amusement in his voice.
“Your socks,” I said, calling on the Oak’s power to transport us both to the Grove.
The troll staggered a bit as he got his bearings, then he spent several seconds staring at our new surroundings. He held out his hand, gaping at it as he turned it this way and that.
“There is… light, here. And yet, I am still flesh.”
“Yeah, I brought a vampire here once, and she had the same reaction.” I plucked a huge orange from a nearby tree and tossed it to him. “I hope you don’t mind eating vegan, ’cause the animals are off limits.”
“I, um…” the troll said, seemingly at a loss for words.
“Don’t sweat it. Go frolic, find someplace to bask in the sun, take a swim, whatever you want to do. When it’s time to go, I’ll find you.”
I left him staring at the sky overhead while I went to find Click. Truth was, I didn’t really have to go anywhere to find him; I just wanted to give Ásgeir some privacy in case he wanted to take that scarf off. Obviously, he had some issues with his appearance—and why was none of my business.
A quick jog into the woods took me far enough away from the troll to break his line of sight, and I cupped my hands to my mouth as I threw my head back. “Yo, Click. Where y’at?”
“Right here, lad. No need ta’ shout.”
I spun around, and of course the pseudo-god was sitting on a nearby log just a few feet behind me. “Oh, good, you’re here.”
“Where else would I be? Playin’ fidchell wit’ yer new employee?”
“Hell if I know. Anyway, we need to get Bryn here and split. I portalled in using the Oak’s powers—”
“I know,” Click said as he trimmed his fingernails with a penknife. Each piece he cut away went up in a puff of smoke as it fell away from the blade. “Loki arranged it so the Tuath Dé will not be able ta’ track ya’ nor yer magic tree—least, not on the island. If ya’ leave the bounds o’ Loki’s influence, yer’ on yer’ own.”
“Then why did you send Bryn to fetch me?”
“I figured ya’d fancy a ride on a flyin’ horse. Not often ya’ get the chance ta’ do such things.”
“Um, no, but thanks for thinking of me.”
“Suit yerself,” he said, tilting his head as if he were listening to something only he could hear. “It’ll only take the valkyrie thirty minutes or so ta’ get here, in Earth time. That gives ya’ plenty o’ time ta’ rest, an’ I suggest ya’ take it. Once yer’ done, ya’d best take us Earthside ta’ avoid revealing yer’ Oak and Grove ta’ the Aesir.”
“That fast? Man, those pegasi can move.”
“It’s not pegasuses?” he asked, straight-faced.
“Pretty sure it’s pegasi.”
“Huh. Been saying it wrong fer a millennia.”
On Click’s advice, I ate, bathed, and then took one hell of a nap. Sleeping in the Grove always restored me more fully than sleeping Earthside—one of many reasons why it had become my preferred place to sack out. Stealing time was another, and security, a third.
I hadn’t slept well at the hotel, an issue that became more pronounced the more time I spent away from Earth. It was easy to blame it on nerves, but the stronger my connection to the Grove became, the less at ease I felt sleeping elsewhere. Was I becoming addicted to its magic, or was this a natural effect of bonding with a druid oak? Yet another question I had for Finnegas once he’d recovered.
After getting dressed, I exited my Keebler cottage to find Ásgeir pacing outside. He was wringing his hands and mumbling to himself, and based on the path he’d worn into the grass, he’d been out there a while. I cleared my throat to get his attention and avoid startling him.
The troll looked up and stopped midstride, his beady dark eyes staring at me in panic from between his hat and scarf. “Oh, good, you’re awake. You have to get me out of here. I can’t take it any longer.”
The strain in his voice was evident, so I responded in the calmest tone possible. “Ásgeir, calm down and tell me what’s wrong.”
“It’s the light. I feel so—exposed, here. At first, I thought it was wonderful. But then, I couldn’t get away from it. I tried to find a dark place to hide, but there weren’t any to be found. It’s unsettling, druid.”
Damn, I should’ve thought of that. I may as well have thrown a scorpion in the ocean.
“I’m sorry, Ásgeir—really, I am. We’re about to leave, but next time I’ll make sure there’s a nice, dark cave for you to rest in.”
The troll shook his head furiously. “Oh no, I’m never coming back here. Not in a thousand years.”
Trolls weren’t meant for the light, it seemed. That made me a bit sad for Ásgeir. But if there was one thing I’d learned as a druid, it was that the natural course was almost always the best to take.
“Okay,” I said, leading him by the hand toward my little cabin inside the tree trunk. “Why don’t you go inside, pull the curtains, and shut the door? I’ll come for you when we’re ready to go.”
“Th-thank you, Colin,” he stammered as he eagerly squeezed his bulk through the doorway.
We
ll, damn, now I feel like a jerk.
As much sympathy as I felt for the troll, I didn’t want to send him Earthside solo. A formidable opponent he might be, but he’d be no match for Badb or Aenghus. Not to mention, a troll appearing out of nowhere would arouse suspicion should any of their lackeys be surveilling the forest. On the odd chance they showed up, I didn’t want him to face them alone.
Feeling the weight of urgency caused by Ásgeir’s nervous state, I made some hasty preparations for whatever adventures we might face. A few provisions, rearranging the gear and weapons I kept at the ready in my Bag, that sort of thing. Then, I called for the troll and took us back to the little camp we’d set up in the woods.
Oddly enough—but not unexpectedly—Click had arrived before us. He sat by the fire, kicked back against a log with a cold beer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. Thick, fat sausages sizzled on the grill along with kebab sticks stacked with onions, peppers, and potato halves. He might’ve been a pain in the ass, but he was a good cook, and the fact that he anticipated my mortal needs almost made up for the tricks and surprises he sprung on me.
It was dark out, as little time had passed while we were in the Grove. The set of Ásgeir’s massive shoulders relaxed almost as soon as we found ourselves in the cool night air. Click reached into a nearby cooler, tossing the troll a cold liter of Belgian ale as he gestured at a nearby stump.
“Have a seat, troll. Ya’ been wearing new holes in them shoes fer’ hours. May as well sit fer’ a spell whilst we wait fer’ the valkyrie.”
“Thank you,” the troll said as he followed Click’s suggestion. “How did you know that I prefer Belgian ales?”
“Um, Click has a knack for anticipating events,” I said. “Call it intuition, I guess.”
“Ah, you’re Colin’s magic teacher,” Ásgeir observed as he popped the cork from his bottle. “You wouldn’t happen to have a tulip snifter, would you? Seems rather barbaric to drink this out of the bottle.”
Click snapped his fingers and a glass appeared in his hand. “Here ya’ go.”
The troll nodded his thanks. “Ah, I’d forgotten the conveniences one enjoys while in the company of wizards.”
