Local churches in Bedford, Maine, are holding a candlelight vigil for the lost teens, despite the advice of local law enforcement, who say that the vigil would be much safer if performed during the daytime hours. -NEWS CHANNEL 8
I run up the bridge fueled by hope, ignoring the worry and the pain in my chest as the sound of fighting echoes beneath me, growing fainter and fainter the farther I go. The muscles in my quads tense and flex and release as I sprint as fast as I can. I’ve always been a good runner, but this-this is insane. It’s like running on a steeply sloping sand beach. Colored dust flies behind me with every footfall.
Yes, I am running on a rainbow and, yes, I am no longer human, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting to Nick. A white bird circles in the sky over my head, leading my way as I leave behind the world of humans, leave behind the world of questions and wiggly lines between good and evil, leave behind all the mistakes I’ve made.
To my left are mounds of earth that look like fairy tombs; to my right is a meadow on a hill where suddenly it is spring. The air is warm and amazing, smelling of lilacs and thawing ground. On top of the hill wait large standing stones like at Stonehenge. They are in a circle reaching toward the sun.
It is so beautiful here. It is nothing like Maine. No naked tree limbs scratch at the sky. No ice beneath my feet. No snow.
I almost want to slow down, stop, try to figure out how the heck any of this could be real, but I can’t because the bridge disappears behind me as I run forward. I’m not sure what would happen if I stopped. Maybe I’d just vanish, caught between the world of fae and the world of human. Would I no longer exist? I’m not sure. I’m not sure about anything except that running forward gets me closer to Nick and farther away from the fighting-and from Issie and Astley and everyone. Worry shatters my happy. How can it be spring here, so peaceful and quiet, when they are in the middle of cold, of death, without me?
My calves burn. It feels like I’ve been running for freaking ever when finally, I can see the end of the rainbow. There’s a building. It’s golden and glows in the warm sunlight. There are five different layers of thatched roof and three doors and no windows that I can see. There are two higher rooms that seem to grow out of the roof like mini towers.
“This can’t be real,” I pant. “How can this be real?”
A giant white man explodes out the center door. He carries a horn. He has a Viking-style hat on his head and more horns stick out of the sides above his ears. I think they are ram horns, but honestly, I have no freaking clue.
“ Hold! ” he bellows. “Who are you that cross to the realm of the gods?”
Oh my gosh. Did he just say “hold”? Who says “hold”? Who wears Viking hats? And his teeth? His teeth are gold, like he’s gone all rap star and had them capped with precious metal. I stop in front of him, panting, hands on my hips.
“Zara.”
I try to say it as bravely as I can. I try to act like all of this is perfectly normal, because if I don’t? I will start totally freaking out.
He eyes me and lowers his voice. “I am Heimdall, protector of the gods, guarder of Asgard and Valhalla.”
I reach out my hand, hoping my instinct to shake is right and won’t make him cut it off with the giant sword sheathed to his hip. “Hello.”
His lips edge up a bit. His giant eyebrows rise up toward his hairline. He grabs my hand in his fingers and squeezes. “Pixie?”
I nod. I notice a bunch of sheep grazing by the hall just to my left. They form a perfect circle and are perfectly clean. They are all too ideal, really. My heart skips a beat.
“Queen?” he asks.
“Only just recently,” I explain, hoping I don’t look as bewildered as I feel.
This time he does smile for real. “I can hear that in your heartbeat and smell it on your breath. Your newness is obvious, Zara White, Pixie Queen.”
He lets go of my hand. Resisting the urge to rub my fingers back to life, I take in the scenery. Beyond his hall, woods wait on gently sloping planes. The trees are enormous Christmas trees. Pinecones as big as my head dangle from the limbs. Birds twitter in the air. The lawn I stand on rolls along like a picture-perfect golf course. Giant hydrangea bushes blossom around the foundation of the hall, huge flowers bursting into the air. It’s beautiful and magical.
“How do you know my last name?” I ask, eyeing him. He is enormous and just exudes power, way more power than Astley and Nick have ever emanated. His muscles are almost comic book in size, or like a professional wrestler.
“I am Heimdall. I heard your name on the wind. I can hear for a hundred miles.” He says this all matter-of-factly, not sounding boastful at all. He shifts his weight on his far-apart feet. He unsheathes his giant sword. It glints in the air. It’s nothing like any sword I have ever seen before. It curves and the blade is almost triple, with two arched edges echoing the original blade. “This is my sword. Its name means ‘man’s head.’ ”
I don’t say anything. I realize I’m shaking. I step back and bump into a peacock. It squawks angrily at me.
“Tell me, Zara White, new pixie queen, former human, why have you come to our realm?” His voice echoes, and even my skin can feel the power beneath each syllable.
“I have an urgent mission,” I say, and hit myself in the head with my hand. Urgent mission? I sound like a character on a girl-power spy show on a TV channel for little kids.
“Urgent mission?” he asks without any trace of mocking or sarcasm. His expression becomes even more Viking-like, wary and full of pride. He raises his sword.
I lace my hands together, trying to look as meek and unthreatening as possible, and tell him. I don’t know why. I just tell him. “Sort of. My boyfriend was taken by this Valkyrie thing named Thruth, and I need him back. And I just left my friends fighting a battle and I want to hurry. No offense. I mean, it’s nice talking to you and everything…”
“True love’s quest?” He turns his head to his side and smiles up at the sun.
“I guess. Yeah. I mean… It sounds corny when you say it like that, but we all love him more than anything and we need him back home. He’s our warrior, really. He keeps us safe.”
Something rustles from under a bush. A bunny hops along the edge of the lawn right by the hall. Its gray tail bobs up and down.
Heimdall scrutinizes my face and then leans against the building. His muscles ripple like waves with even the smallest movements. He lowers his sword arm and leans the sword against the tree bark. “There are other warriors, yes?”
“Yes, but-” Something in my chest hitches. “He’s Nick.”
“And there’s only one Nick?” he asks kindly.
I nod hard my agreement because I can’t trust my voice.
“Do you vow that you are not a minion of the Frost Giants or their like, that you do not enter Asgard in an attempt to do harm to Odin or the rest of us old gods?” His voice booms. He towers above me, with shoulders that are easily three times as big as mine. He leans forward so that his nose is an inch away from mine.
“I promise,” I say.
He cocks his head. His lips part. His teeth? They gleam. “Are your promises good, Zara White, new queen of pixies?”
“Yes,” I whisper. “I hope they are. I promised Nick I would take care of him. He didn’t actually hear me because he was unconscious at the time, but-”
His voice stops my sentence as he stands up straight, hands on his hips. “You will have to convince Odin, young queen, but they keep the pixie warriors at Freya’s, and that is to the-”
“Oh, he’s not a pixie. He’s a wolf,” I interrupt.
Those massive hairy eyebrows rise up again. “Oh. A pixie and a were in love.” Something shifts again in his eyes and his whole body changes. He suddenly seems to respect me more. A peacock struts across the lawn, followed by three little gray peahens.
“Is that-” I stop myself midquestion. Maybe I don’t want to know.
“Impossible? It is unusual.” He reaches out a hand and ruffles up my hair. I resist the urge to woof like a puppy. “But love makes all possible.”
My stomach settles a little. It’s still possible.
“Still, it seems your heart is divided, Zara. Is there another?”
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
“No matter… No matter… Would you like to come inside? Are you hungry? You must be-I have been watching you run.” He smiles at me. His smile is dazzling and congenial. The air here is warm, so I pull off my jacket and tie it around my waist. Sweat has wet the back of my neck. My throat is parched and longs for water.
“I’m starving, but I really have to go. I’m sorry. I mean, if I am allowed to go.” I look up the hill. There are other amber-colored halls beyond us. The sunlight makes rainbows that gleam off the windows, off his sword, off everything. Birds sing in the distance. Trees in full bloom are scattered along the landscape. Everything looks so inviting. I rub my hands along my hair and fix my ponytail.
“I believe your quest is worthy, Zara White, new queen of pixies.” He opens his arms. “It is love which made all this. War which protects it. With love comes responsibility and possibility, fear and hope, quests and suffering. I am not talking merely of romantic love, but the love of warriors and friends and family. You understand this?”
“I think so.” I swallow hard. “And me getting him back? And bringing him home? Do you think that is possible?”
“You will have to convince Odin,” he says. His hand stops rustling and rests simply on my head. “Odin can be a hard man to convince, but only sometimes, and your wolf must want to return. Many come here and have no desire to go back to the realm of man.”
“It’s so beautiful and peaceful it’s easy to see why,” I say.
“Your sigh smells like sorrow.” He takes his hand off my head and puts it beneath my chin so I lift my head up. Our eyes meet. He reminds me of Santa Claus, all ho-ho-ho kindness, only with no pillow belly and gold teeth instead of cookie breath.
“I’m a little afraid,” I admit.
“All warriors are afraid.”
The peacock twitters and spreads his tail feathers, which is what they do when they want to mate. The peahen activity gets a little frantic. They start pacing back and forth in little movements, changing directions every few seconds.
Heimdall laughs, amused at the birds, I think, and says, “You are not like the peahen.”
“I’m not?”
“No. You know where you need to go.” He points to the left at a large hall that peeks out above the canopy of lush green trees. “You have a direction. Odin’s hall, Valhalla. It is a quick ride. I shall get a horse. Have you ridden before?”
“A little. At camp.”
“An easy mare then.” He whistles and a golden horse trots from around the edge of the building.
“She’s so beautiful.” I sigh the words out, press my hand against the horse’s soft, strong flank.
“Yes, she is.” He laughs again and puts his hands out for me to step up. I could probably just jump, now that I’m all super pixie, but I take the hand up. The horse doesn’t even stir as I fix my sword and make myself comfortable. He rubs his hand across her side and says appreciatively, “Good girl.”
I bite my lip.
“You are very nice,” I say, because he is. Now that I’m on the horse, I’m more at his level. I have to resist the urge to look away. Who am I to be talking to him? Who am I to be in this crazy, weird place? I clear my throat. “Thank you. Do you think…?”
His hand slides across the horse’s flank and he simply smiles.
“I owe you,” I say quietly, but he hears me.
He taps the horse with his hand. There are scars crisscrossing the skin. “Then fight on our side when I blow my horn and the war comes.”
War.
“I promise.”
“Good!” Heimdall laughs. “And go get your wolf, Queen. Bring him home.”