26

Sutherlands

In the wee hours of the morning, when the sun was still dark and most of Merellä was sleeping, Bryn drove the four of us—herself, Elof, Pan, and me—to the airport in Eugene. It felt strange going without Dagny, but she wanted to stay behind and keep looking at what was happening with the weather and the eclipse incident a few days ago.

Despite the early hour, Dagny had gotten up to see us off and to take in Brueger, since she was dog-sitting for Pan again. When she hugged me goodbye, she told me to be safe, and I noticed the worry in her eyes—something I wasn’t used to seeing her with.

I hadn’t realized until then how much all of this had affected her. She always seemed so impervious and impassive. But it wasn’t just concern, it was fear—not for me but of her own experiences. There hadn’t been much time for any of us to process what we’d gone through.

It was nearly a three-hour drive to the airport, and I sat in the back with Pan, dozing on and off. As Bryn parked, I woke up with my head on his shoulder, and I immediately mumbled a preemptive apology about snoring and discomfort.

“Don’t worry. I slept most of the time too,” he assured me, and he kissed the top of my head while I was still leaning on him. Then he opened the car door and got out.

The flights were long—we had two stops before finally landing in Lafayette, Louisiana—and I sat by strangers each time. At least I was definitely getting a better hand on flying and making small talk with humans. They weren’t all that different than trolls, really, except that they wore too much perfume and played on their electronics far more often.

After we landed in Louisiana, Bryn rented another car, and we drove until the paved roads gave way to a bumpy dirt road, so overgrown and wild it was almost taken back by nature. Bryn drove slowly as towering cypress trees surrounded us, blocking out the late-afternoon sun.

I had been to Fulaträsk before, with Pan, but we’d gone directly to his friend Rikky’s house on the outskirts of the city. This time we were going right to the heart, for lodging at the Yggammi Tree Inn, an Omte hotel.

The road ended at the edge of a marsh, where the tall grass and reeds became a swamp. On the left side of the road was a dock, made with sun-bleached mossy boards. On the other side was a parking lot of sorts, with two dozen or so cars parked on the field. The ones closest to the road were newer and cleaner, but the ones in the far corner were rusted and overgrown; a couple were half sunk in the ground.

Bryn parked near the edge, and as we got out, I heard the familiar sound of the airboat’s loud fan motor as it pulled up to the dock. On the side, Yggammi Tree Inn was painted, and the driver was a tall man with thick arms barely hidden under a dull orange work shirt. The logo for the hotel was just above where the name Knut was embroidered.

“Last time I came here, I didn’t arrange a ride first,” Bryn explained as we got our bags out of the car. “We had to wade through the swamp, and I definitely saw an alligator.” She smirked. “I figured you guys wouldn’t want to deal with that.”

“You thought correctly,” I said, and slung my bag over my shoulder.

“The last time I was here, I hadn’t known to arrange transport either,” Elof said. “Fortunately, an ogre was passing by, and he literally carried me into town. It was quite the journey.”

“I didn’t know you had been here before,” I commented as we walked down the long dock.

“Ah, yes, I was in my early twenties,” he explained. “It was after my second year at Stanford, and I was growing annoyed living among the humans. I thought there was no place better to get in touch with my trollian roots than a secluded Omte city.”

“You didn’t like your time here?” Pan asked.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Elof said with a weary sigh. “I was young, restless, and maybe a little cocky. The summer was long, but I learned a lot. Like to never sneak up on a gator.”

“Did something happen with you and an alligator?” I asked in surprise.

“No, it’s just good advice. The ogre told me that when I got here.”

Elof sat at the back of the airboat, near Knut, and he chatted with him amiably about the city. Bryn stood, one hand on the back of the bench seat to steady herself. There was room to sit beside me and Pan, but she preferred standing, staring straight ahead.

It was hot, well into the nineties, and the air felt thick on my skin, so I was happy for the breeze as the boat weaved through the bald cypress trees. Fulaträsk was an oddly beautiful city—or at least the parts that I could see were. Most of the homes were built high in trees, embellished with scrap metal and found objects, and camouflaged with moss, vines, and tree branches. I couldn’t even really see them until we were right under them, and I saw the ladders or occasional spiral staircases wrapping around massive tree trunks.

Wooden bridges connected some of the tree houses, creating a neighborhood in the sky. The Omte didn’t have the kind of cloaking abilities the other tribes did, so they relied more on traditional means of hiding from the humans. Their city was in the middle of a swamp, with no roads. A few homes were on marshy islands or stilts, like Pan’s friend Rikky’s place.

As the name implied, the Yggammi Tree Inn was a tree house atop a trio of thick Southern live oaks that had grown close together, their branches spreading out and intertwining with each other like tentacles. Atop the multitude of hefty branches was the large octagonal building made of sun-faded wood. A staircase wound around the narrowest trunk, meeting with the dock at the base, where another airboat and two canoes were tied up.

After Knut parked the boat, he offered to carry our bags, but only Elof took him up on it, since Bryn and Pan had packed so lightly. Knut lunged up ahead, and we followed him more slowly, pacing ourselves as we climbed the dozens of stairs.

The hotel was rather nice, nicer than the human motels I’d stayed in before, and closer to the luxury tree house I’d seen on a glitzy TV show, but in a rustic, understated Omte sort of way. Polished wood floors, distressed wood on the walls. The check-in counter was a solid chunk of raw-edged wood, and the wall behind it was a big mirror with gilded edges. An alligator head was mounted on another wall, wearing a pair of bronze sunglasses, but the centerpiece of the room was a vintage chandelier made with brass and mirror crystals.

Pan let out a low whistle as he admired the space—the leather bench, the vulture statue made from upcycled metal, a potted avocado plant growing in the corner. “This place seems pretty hip.”

“The only places I could find for rent were this place and the palace,” Bryn said. “And not only do I have bad memories of staying at the palace, but it was outlandishly pricy.”

“There is actually one other place,” the clerk behind the desk chirped. She was cute and chubby, closer to Elof’s height than mine, and behind her horn-rimmed glasses, her green eyes were noticeably different sizes. Her dark curls were pulled back into short pigtails, and the name on her cheery yellow polo read Margarit. “But I wouldn’t really recommend it.”

“Why not?” Elof asked.

“I shouldn’t talk ill of competitors,” Margarit said, so she leaned forward and lowered her voice. “It’s just two water-damaged trailer homes at the edge of the swamp, converted to have six rooms stacked with bunk beds, hostel style.”

“I think we’ll stay here,” Bryn said.

“You definitely made the right choice,” Margarit said with a smile. “All right, I’ve got you set with two rooms, each with two single beds, and you’re planning to stay three nights.” She grabbed two keys from under the desk, each one attached to a room-number keychain. “Who gets the keys?”

Bryn took one right away, and Pan shared a look with me—brief, uncertain, a little hopeful—but Elof spoke up before either of us could say anything.

“Pan and I made fine roommates before,” Elof said as he reached for the key. “I suppose we can manage here.”

Margarit told us where the rooms were, but the hotel wasn’t big enough to get lost. We went to the hall to the left of the small lobby, and through the open breezeway that connected the three trees together. And there were our rooms—201 across from 202.

Bryn unlocked the door, and I gave Pan one last look over my shoulder before going into the room after her. It was small, styled nearly identical to the lobby, and it was clean. The three-piece washroom was about the size of ones I’d seen in motorhomes, and we had a teeny balcony through sliding glass doors that overlooked the swamp.

I grimaced at the beds. Not because they were narrow and hard—although they were. It was the duvet made of velvet the color of burnt sugar. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why the Omte insist on combining their moist climate with tons of plush velvet.

“What’s the plan from here?” I asked, lying back on the bed. It was really more of a cot than a true mattress, but it felt good to stretch out after a long day of traveling.

“Well, I need to contact Bekk.” Brynn was taking her clothes out of her bag and hanging them up in the mirrored wardrobe, and she glanced at the flip clock on the nightstand. “Oh, shit. It’s after six. I told her I’d call her by now.”

“After you call her, then what?”

“Well, it depends—” she began, but her phone started ringing, and she pulled it out of her pocket. “It’s Bekk.” She answered and talked for a few minutes, but most of the conversation on her end was monosyllabic until just before she hung up and said the name of the hotel.

“So?” I asked when she hung up.

“Bekk will be here in about twenty minutes,” Bryn said. “And we’ll talk then.”