Dökkálfr Manor

NICHOLAS

As we made our way back to the cave, I couldn't help but worry about how our predicament could worsen. My anxiety thrived on such thoughts. Halfway there, Max, drained from the battle, collapsed in the snow. He urged me to give him a certain tree root from his purse, claiming it would restore his magical energy. After eating the root and drinking from his costrel, exhaustion overtook him, and he fell into a deep sleep. Boris, sensing Max's need for rest, took extra care to pull the sled smoothly.

This gave me plenty of time to think about our vulnerabilities. Guns were useless here. Being pre-teen children in a world filled with magic and monsters made us even more defenceless. Relying solely on Max was not going to be enough. We needed to become stronger.

Upon entering the cave, I found Eric poring looking at some of Maxim's books, scribbling fervently in his notebook.

"Feeling at home, I see," I remarked.

"I had to start doing my research, given how quickly time passes back home..."

"How's your leg?" I asked, glancing at his splinted leg comfortably resting on a chair next to the table.

"It's fine, just a bit annoying, that's all. I'm trying to decipher this Chinese journal. My translator app is useless," Eric sighed, a mix of frustration and helplessness in his voice.

"It's 15th-century Classical Chinese. No wonder your app can't handle it," I said, unable to hide a smug smile.

"That's not the only journal we have," Max chimed in, joining us in the cave and struggling to remove his black gambeson. "The American was able to communicate with the Chinese guy after learning a common tongue here. His journal, in English, might have the same insights as the Chinese one."

Eric, not looking up from his notes, responded, "It suggests there's no way out. But I refuse to believe we're trapped here without any hope of return."

"About that," Max began, his back against the cave wall, his voice heavy. "I've been to the valley where we first showed up. I stayed there for three years, waiting for another outlander, hoping I could find a way back through the portal. Like I told you, when you arrived, it was as though you just appeared from nowhere."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "And as I've mentioned before, the Chinese mage, who was among the strongest sorcerers here, spent decades searching for an answer on this continent. He found nothing. You need to grasp that. And I'll keep repeating these facts as many times as necessary. It's clear to me now, and you should come to terms with it too; we can't leave this place easily."

Eric, catching on a thread of hope, quickly asked, "On this continent?"

"Yes, but as far as I'm aware, this world doesn't have any other continents," Max replied, tempering expectations with reality.

Max's tone held a hint of annoyance as he went on, "And we don't have time to argue right now. We were ambushed by Dökkálfr when we went back for our supplies. They've discovered our location. We need to prepare to leave at first light tomorrow. They hunt at night, so fleeing now isn't ideal..."

"I don't think we can just leave this area. Maybe the next time another outlander arrives, the portal will work, and we'll get home," Eric countered, holding onto hope.

Max's patience snapped. "Do you want to die here, or worse, become slaves? We need to move. And let's not forget, your flare likely tipped them off."

I jumped in, trying to smooth things over, "Max, let me talk to him. He'll come around."

With a frustrated sigh, Max stepped outside to check on the sled.

Turning to Eric, I tried to calm him down. "I get it, you're worried. But panicking won't help."

Eric shot back, "How can you just trust this guy? What if he's lying, and we miss our chance to get back?"

I reasoned with him. "You're the one who always looks at the facts. Max had every chance to harm us when we first met, or even sell us. Considering his magic, it would have been easy. But he didn't. Why lie now?"

I could see the realization dawn in Eric's eyes, my words aligning with his own logic. I knew he understood that Max was on our side, but the shock of our situation had him grasping for any sliver of hope. I completely understood where he was coming from; thoughts of my son, Alex, waiting back home were never far from my own mind.

Max, sensing the tension had eased, returned with a mix of frustration and urgency in his tone. "Are we ready to think this through properly now? We need a solid plan."

Eric nodded, though his gaze still held a trace of defiance.

"We're listening. What's the plan?" I asked.

"We have to head south," Max began, unfolding a parchment map marked with unfamiliar script. "There's a noble there who owes me a favour. He might offer us assistance."

As we huddled around the dim candlelight, Max traced our proposed route across the map.

"Notice this lake?" he pointed. "This is Helcaimar, sacred to the Dökkálfr."

"Dökkálfr?" Eric echoed, puzzled.

"Think of them as this world's version of elves, but evil," I explained.

Max looked perplexed. "We have Dökkálfr on Earth?"

"In some fictional books and legends, yes. They're somewhat different, though. Let's focus on our route for now," I suggested, keen to keep us on track.

Max nodded, redirecting his attention to the map. "We're currently in the mountain range close to Helcaimar. The lake is in the lands of the Edhelalian Folkríki, the realm of the Dökkálfr. Our goal is to leave their territory unnoticed through the southern border. Detection is not an option—the Dökkálfr nobility and clergy despise outlanders with fervour. If we're spotted, they won't hesitate to hunt us down."

The weight of his words hung heavily in the air.

"They're already aware that I'm an outlander. And sending you two alone is risky since you're unfamiliar with the local languages, plus you'd be emerging from the same mountains I did a decade ago. You will be quickly branded as outlanders. We need to stick together," Max continued, plotting our course on the map.

"First, we're going to make a break for Väinä, cutting right through Dökkálfr territory. They'll probably think we'll head for the mountains to escape, not straight into their land, so that might throw them off our trail. Once we're in the High Kingdom of Väinä, we can relax a bit. The humans there aren't hostile to outlanders like the Dökkálfr are. We'll be safe, as long as they don't recognize me..."

"Hold on," I interjected, puzzled. "If humans here aren't wary of outlanders, why do you need to hide even in Väinä?"

Max's expression darkened. "The Dökkálfr have placed a hefty bounty on my head, claiming I murdered one of their own. And with Väinä negotiating an alliance with Edhelalia to confront the growing might of Sól's kingdom, turning me over would curry them significant favor."

He then traced a route through the High Kingdom of Sól on the map. "Our journey ends here, in Sól's southern territories."

"But crossing the entire continent will take forever!" Eric exclaimed, disbelief in his voice.

"Though I say 'continent,' Svarmheimr is more like a large island. It'll take us about two to three months by horse cart," Max clarified.

Eric, overwhelmed, lamented, "That's almost two years from our world."

Max sighed, a sombre tone in his voice. "It's the only option we have."

[A\N Check the map of Svarmheimr in the paragraph comment!]

"Max, since our supplies are still packed from when we loaded the sled, how about you get started on packing your gear? I'll take care of the food," I suggested, aiming to split our tasks effectively.

Max responded with a nod, exchanging a brief look with Eric before attending to his gear. "Sounds good. I'll do that," he said, moving to organize his belongings.

With Max focused on his packing, I set about meal preparation. I retrieved firewood and kindling from Max's carefully prepared stash, building a fire with an emphasis on maintaining controlled flames and minimal smoke to keep us under the radar.

After establishing a steady fire, I placed an iron pot over it, filling it with water. For the stew, I opted for simplicity and nourishment, adding dried meat for rehydration and tenderness, and a variety of foraged roots and herbs from Max's collection to the mix. These humble ingredients were bound to result in a fulfilling stew. I consciously decided against dipping into our reserves of canned and pre-packaged foods, saving those for more desperate times.

As I stirred the pot, the stew began to simmer. The smell of meat cooking with the rustic scents of the roots filled the air, signalling that a comforting meal was on its way. We sat around the fire, eating in silence, each lost in their own thoughts and worries. Eric, in particular, seemed to eat with newfound determination. After the meal, we settled down for the night, the weight of the upcoming day heavy on our minds.

My sleep was restless, and upon waking, I was met with a startling sight—a hooded figure, bandaged from head to toe and clad in a black gambeson. Before panic could fully take hold, Max's familiar voice cut through my fear.

"It's me, Max," he said, a note of reassurance in his voice.

Stunned, I managed to stammer out, "What happened to you?"

[A\N Check an illustration of Max's outfit here in the paragraph comment!]

"I'm disguising myself as a victim of the slave trade to avoid being recognized," Max clarified. "The idea is that these bandages cover wounds inflicted by slavers. It should be enough to deceive the common folk, but we'll have to be cautious around guards and soldiers. They're more likely to demand I remove the bandages for a closer look."

Max then donned a white mask, completing his ominous appearance. Honestly, the sight of him would send me sprinting in the opposite direction under normal circumstances.

Eric, now fully awake, remarked with a mix of awe and humour, "You look cool, Max."

Gathering ourselves for the day ahead, we started with the leftover stew from last night. Max then provided us with local clothing, resized to fit our younger frames. Armour wasn't an option; none of Max's collection of gambesons and brigandines could be made to fit our pre-teen bodies.

Stepping outside, packed and ready, Max performed a final act before our departure. With a gesture, his tattoos glowing, he flooding the cave's entrance with snow, sealing it from view.

"Goodbye, sweet home," Max said, his voice tinged with sorrow as we set off. 

With Boris taking charge of the sled, we began our descent from the mountain range. We carefully positioned Eric with the supplies on the sled. Although he found it a bit uncomfortable, he still managed to concentrate on a book on his e-reader. Our journey happened in silence, a concentrated effort to minimize the chance of drawing any unwanted attention.

 As we made our way down, Max kept a watchful eye on our surroundings, his voice barely above a whisper, "Stay alert. It's not just the Dökkálfr we need to watch for; these woods can be treacherous."

The path wound through dense stands of trees, their branches heavy with snow, a stark contrast to the open skies above the mountain's crest. The transition from higher elevations to the forest below was seamless, with the mountain's vegetation growing thicker and more imposing as we descended.

Eric broke the silence with a hushed question, "How can we be sure when we've entered Dökkálfr lands?"

Max responded softly, "The forest will tell us. See how the trees are becoming denser and the atmosphere shifts? We're moving into the heart of their kingdom."

As we neared our destination, a log house emerged in the distance, its appearance striking an odd blend of rustic and affluence. This wasn't just any dwelling; it was a two-story structure of considerable size, complete with a small stable and a barn nearby.

Max paused, signalling us to stop. "We're about to visit the home of someone who owes me a favour. He's a renowned hunter in these parts."

Eric, squinting at the house's grandeur, couldn't hide his scepticism. The manor's luxurious facade seemed out of place for a hunter. "That looks more like a noble's estate than a hunter's cabin," he remarked.

"In Dökkálfr communities, being a hunter isn't just a job—it's a position of honour. They are the village's protectors against wild animals, making them both powerful and respected," Max explained, his eyes fixed on the approaching house.

"Do you have Dökkálfr friends?" I asked, surprised.

"He doesn't know I'm an outlander; we met when I was in disguise. Plus, I can speak Sólmál convincingly enough that he's never suspected," Max explained.

He then laid out his plan: "I'll tell him I rescued you two from slaver's bay. Given my disguise and backstory, he'll buy that I did it out of goodwill. I'll also say you're still shaken from the ordeal and don't talk much. I'll handle the talking."

Eric looked worried. "But what if he asks us something?"

"Just stay silent," Max instructed.

"And if he gets pushy or starts suspecting something?" Eric pressed.

Max's voice grew serious. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that. If it does, we may have no choice but to deal with him permanently."

Upon knocking, the door swung open to reveal a figure of ethereal beauty. Standing before us was a woman with elongated ears, her pale blonde hair cascading down in stark contrast to her alabaster skin, the likes of which I had never seen. Her navy blue eyes shimmered with an otherworldly essence, hinting at a depth of magic within. Towering at a height equal to Max's, approximately 180 cm, her presence was as imposing as it was captivating.

[A\N: The characters are European so we have the metric system: 180 cm approximately 5.9 feet]

[A\N: Check this illustration of Freda in the paragraph comment!]

She and Max exchanged greetings, their words laced with a familiarity and warmth that hinted at a long-standing acquaintance. Upon seeing us, she offered a kind smile, and though her words were unfamiliar, the gentle inflection in her voice suggested she was introducing herself. "Freda," we understood, a name that seemed as unique as her appearance.

Max gestured towards us in turn, introducing us. Intriguingly, he retained my brother's name, slightly changing its pronunciation to fit the local language, while he completely changed mine to "Niall."

With a gracious gesture, she invited us inside. I helped Eric walk inside.

The interior of the log house exuded a cosy warmth that was immediately welcoming. The craftsmanship was obvious in the sturdy structure and the functional, yet beautiful, wooden furniture that adorned the space. Each piece, from the benches to the table, seemed handcrafted, possibly even by the hunter himself. Carvings that likely told stories or depicted scenes from Dökkálfr lore graced the walls, adding a touch of artistry and culture.

Freda led us to a beautifully crafted wooden table, where an array of dishes awaited us, as though she had been expecting guests. It wasn't long before we were joined by a man whose presence was as striking as Freda's. He introduced himself as Aegnor, carrying the same ethereal beauty and grace. Shortly after, a girl approached, who we assumed was their daughter, Alma. She was about our age, her curiosity obvious as she glanced at us.

As we settled in, the family began a pre-meal prayer. To our amazement, the food before us started to emit a gentle, radiating light, as if it were being blessed by some God. After the prayer, Freda, with a welcoming gesture, encouraged us to partake in the meal.

As the lively conversation flowed around the table, Eric and I found ourselves momentarily distracted by the stew in front of us. It contained an unusual ingredient—a large, bluish root that seemed to writhe subtly, as if it retained life. Our curiosity turned to mild shock when, upon attempting to cut through the root, it emitted a small, startling shriek.

Determined not to draw undue attention or seem ungrateful, we exchanged a quick, nervous glance before bravely taking a bite.

Eric and I exchanged glances, our initial shock morphing into disbelief as we noticed a subtle blue tinge spreading across our skin. The colour intensified rapidly, our complexions and even our hair adopting the vivid hue of the peculiar root we had just eaten. Eric's wide eyes met mine as he mouthed, "We are so dead."

Our transformation seemed to go unnoticed by the adults at the table until Alma, unable to contain herself, erupted into laughter. Her father's reprimand did little to stifle her amusement; she apologized through teary eyes, though a mischievous smirk still on her face. Freda addressed us with a kind expression, her words lost on us but her tone soothing. Max glanced our way, a bit amused but entirely unbothered by our predicament.

Realizing that our lives were not, in fact, in danger—just our dignity—we sheepishly lowered our heads. The atmosphere was very light afterward, with Alma throwing looks of playful superiority our way, as if we were the most foolish beings to ever tread these lands.

After lunch, our skin still tinted blue, we exited the house, waving goodbye to Freda and her mischievous daughter. Aegnor and Max headed to the stable while we waited outside with Boris, in front of the house. Shortly, they appeared, guiding a sizeable cart drawn by two horses. These horses, with their distinctive dun colour and robust, compact bodies, exuded strength despite their relatively short stature. Max exchanged what appeared to be gold coins with Aegnor, signalling a transaction or agreement. As we transferred our belongings from the sled to the cart, Boris, the white hart, seemed to understand it was time for us to part ways. He lowered his head for a final pat, emitting a sorrowful whining sound.

As the cart carried us further away, we offered our final goodbyes to Boris and Aegnor, slowly fading into the distance. Once we felt a comfortable distance had been established, anxiety bubbled up within me, prompting me to ask anxiously, "Will our skin remain blue for much longer?"

"No, you'll be back to normal by tomorrow," Max explained with a chuckle. "Eating the Whitefrost root isn't common. Its awful taste aside, it also turns you blue, which is a pretty strong deterrent. People usually just stick to the stew."

Feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration, I couldn't help but retort, "Well, how were we supposed to know that?"

Max tried to suppress his laughter before replying, "I suppose the lesson here is not to put every odd-looking thing you come across into your mouth without a second thought."

As embarrassment flushed my cheeks, blending the blue of my skin with shades of red, I redirected my focus to the path ahead. The cart rattled and jostled over the uneven, rocky roads of the taiga, pushing forward through the vast landscape.