In the dream, we were flying under an endless sky. Stars stretched on infinitely, and they were falling around us like rain. Dazzling, glittering stars, and I stared through them all, with Pan by my side. Far behind me—so far I couldn’t see her, but I knew she was there—was Hanna, and I could faintly hear her calling for me. Shouting my name, over and over.
The stars kept falling, until they were all gone and the sky was black. I couldn’t see anything, so there was nothing but the crystal-clear sound of Eliana’s voice: “The sun sets in the green sky when the good morning becomes the violent night.”
And then it was gone, and Pan’s hand was on my shoulder, shaking me gently awake. “Ulla. We’re here.”
I sat up, blinking away my dream. The sun hadn’t gone down yet, but it was close, bathing the car in a fiery orange light. The Jeep was parked on a gravel road at the edge of a swamp, and tall reeds and giant cypress trees surrounded us. Right in front of the car, a long, rickety dock stretched out toward a ramshackle house on stilts.
“Are you sure this is it?” I asked.
“According to the directions, yeah.” Pan grabbed his knapsack out of the back seat, and then he got out of the car, letting in the hot, thick air and a medley of amphibian and insect songs.
I got out as well and stretched out the kinks in my neck and back. That’s when I noticed the leathery alligator head mounted on the post at the end of the dock, above a sign that had NO TRESPASSING written in big red letters.
“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked.
“This?” He tapped the top of the alligator head and smiled. “Rikky calls this an Omte welcome mat.”
“I suppose it’s about time I learned about my heritage,” I muttered as we began the long walk down the dock.
My skin was still cool from the car’s AC, and the humidity clung to me. All around us the swamp stirred with life. Creatures chirped and splashed beneath the warped boards, and a pair of large vultures circled overhead.
The animal life was abundant and obvious, but this dock and dirt road were the only signs of troll (or human) life that I could see.
“This is Fulaträsk?” I asked dubiously as I looked around.
“Not quite. Rikky lives outside of the town, more in between the trolls and the humans. It’s more convenient that way.”
From the outside, the “house” looked like a dilapidated, windowless shack. Most of it appeared to be constructed with unpainted gray weathered plywood, patched up with sheet metal and broken pallets, and in the center of that was a rusted front door.
Pan raised his fist to knock, but before he could, the door swung open. A woman stood before us, grinning broadly. Her dark auburn hair was pulled up into a messy bun, and she wore paint-splattered overalls over a striped bralette. It was hard to tell how old she was exactly—her face was youthful, with full cheeks and dewy skin, but something about her pale brown eyes made me guess late twenties or maybe early thirties.
“Pan!” She held her arms out wide, and he didn’t hesitate to go in for a hug. “It’s sooo good to see you! How long has it been?”
“About a year. I think.” He pulled away from her, then motioned to me. “This is my friend Ulla. Ulla, this is Rikky.”
“Hi, nice to meet you,” I said with a smile, doing my best to hide my astonishment that Rikky was a rather beautiful woman.
“Likewise,” she agreed with a smile, but she appraised me with a sharp eye.
The water to the left of me suddenly erupted as a hefty beak snapped at the air, lunging toward my bare feet.
“Oy!” Rikky shouted at it and clapped her hands together. “Drake, it’s not feeding time yet and you know it!”
Drake was a mossy green reptile, with mud and plants clinging to his bony shell. He looked like a stubby cross between a dinosaur and a bulldog, but I guessed he was some type of snapping turtle.
“Don’t mind him,” Rikky said, and she stepped aside, putting herself between us and the monster turtle as she held the front door open. “He’s an old grump, and I’m sure you’ve had a long trip and wanna get settled in.”
“Thank you for letting us stay here,” I said as I slid inside her tiny home.
While the exterior really screamed “swamp shanty,” the interior décor felt much more stylish—lots of vintage and upcycled pieces (old boat parts converted into a whitewashed flower planter, a light fixture made of fishing line with dyed feathers and glittering bits of broken bottles become a DIY chandelier.)
From the outside, it had looked like there weren’t any windows, but that wasn’t exactly the case. There was a small octagonal porthole in the tiny bathroom—along with a rain shower that was literally outside on a deck. And the ceiling—aside from the rusty metal joints and edging—was all skylight. Really, it was multiple panes of glass—mostly clear, but some were green, and one was a tinted car windshield—stitched together like a puzzle.
If I had to guess, I would say that Rikky had built this house with her own two hands.
That made it even more impressive that it looked as nice as it did. It was very small—one main room with a kitchen (a counter of sheet metal with a hot plate, icebox, and a metal tub for a sink), a couch overflowing with pillows and throw blankets, a coffee table made from an old cellar door, and piles of books and plants on every available shelf.
In one corner was a giant antique birdcage sitting on a stand, but inside, instead of feathers there was fur. A chubby gray squirrel was sleeping in a round fleece pet bed, and Rikky told me offhandedly that that was Wade, who she hoped would be well enough to be introduced back to the wild soon.
In addition to the main room, there was the bathroom (antique porcelain sink and a composting toilet inside, the shower outside on a deck about the size of a postage stamp), a small master bedroom, and Rikky’s screened-in porch/workshop that also included a daybed, so she said it technically counted as a guest room.
“I know it’s not as fancy as what you’re used to in Merellä,” Rikky said, once she’d finished giving us the brief tour of her home.
“Honestly, Rikky, you know it’s better than my place,” Pan said.
She laughed loudly, then in a flash of embarrassment covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, no, Pan. You can’t possibly still live above the tannery?”
He shrugged and stifled his own laughter. “I can’t find a place cheaper that’s any better than what I’ve got.”
“Oh, yeah,” she said. “There’s plenty of things I miss about living in Merellä, but how damn expensive everything is isn’t one of them.”
Pan sat down on the couch, and Rikky grabbed a throw pillow and tossed it on the floor near his feet. She sat on it, leaning up against the couch—and almost leaning on him. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat on an old steamer trunk across from them.
“This place here”—Rikky paused, gesturing vaguely at our surroundings—“costs me two hundred dollars for the entire year!”
I gasped. “That’s unbelievable!”
“There are some major trade-offs living in Merellä,” Pan said.
“I love it out here.” She turned her attention to me and brushed her bangs out of her eyes. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about the Omte. We’re not all backwater Neanderthals.”
“No, I didn’t think that,” I said, but truthfully, I didn’t really know what to think.
“Did you grow up around any Omte?” she asked.
“Sorta. Iskyla is home to all sorts of trolls that don’t fit in anywhere else, so that means we had a large population of TOMBs and half-TOMBs,” I said. “But since it’s a Kanin city, I’d say that was the predominant culture around me.”
“That’s gotta be hard,” Rikky said. “I grew up in Sintvaan, this little podunk Omte village. I knew I was Omte— my mom raised me, so I knew all about our culture. But she didn’t know anything about my dad. Which was how I got involved in the Inhemsk.”
“Were they able to help you find your dad?” I asked.
“Yeah, they did.” She leaned against the couch, resting her arm on the cushion so her hand rested casually on Pan’s knee. “I got to meet all my Trylle family, which has been cool, but weird. There really are so many differences, since the Trylle live much more like the humans. They use so much technology.” She rolled her eyes.
“Ulla’s actually been with the Trylle for the past five years,” Pan said gently, and Rikky blanched.
“I didn’t mean anything,” she said hurriedly.
I laughed, brushing it off. “No, it’s true, but I’ve come around to their ways. It’s been such an adjustment living where Wi-Fi isn’t viewed as a basic necessity.”
“We do have Wi-Fi here, and I know some Omte that are a little addicted to their social media and crushed-candy games. But it is always an adjustment moving to a new city. The weather, the neighbors, the food,” she said. “Which reminds me. Are you guys hungry?”
Pan patted his stomach, flat under his slim T-shirt. “I could eat.”
“Yeah, I’m definitely craving something more than gas-station food,” I added.
Trolls’ sensitive stomachs and particular dietary needs made traveling and dabbling in human cuisine tricky. We’d mostly been eating some fruit and vegetables we bought at a roadside stand in Texas.
“Excellent. I thought, to help you get in touch with your Omte roots, I’d cook you guys one of our most common meals—pepper-and-bullhead kebabs with a chadron thistle salad.”
“That sounds awesome,” I lied with a forced smile. “Thanks.”
“Why don’t you two relax, freshen up, get settled in, and I’ll get the grill going,” she suggested.
“Thanks, Rikky.” Pan slowly got to his feet and stretched. “What is the plan for sleeping arrangements?”
“I don’t have a ton of room here. I thought one of you could take the daybed in my workroom, and the other could take the couch.” Rikky stopped short and her eyes bounced between the two of us. “Unless you’re sharing a bed—”
“No,” Pan answered quickly.
“The daybed sounds great for me,” I said, calling dibs on what I thought would be the worst place to sleep, thereby giving Pan the better bed.
“Perfect.” She smiled. “I thought we’d relax tonight, since it’s so late. And then first thing tomorrow I’ll take you down to the Omte offices to talk to the records officer.”
“That sounds great,” I said.
Later on that night, after we’d choked down extra-salty chewy fish kebabs that left my stomach burning and cramping, and after I’d excused myself for the night, I lay on the lumpy bed under a thin sheet, staring at the moon reflecting on the swamp. The screens that surrounded the porch managed to keep the mosquitoes out, but they did nothing to dampen the sound of their buzzing, along with the sound of all the other bugs carrying on outside.
As loud as the wildlife was out here, it didn’t drown out the sounds of laughter and chatting as Pan and Rikky stayed up late, reminiscing.
I wondered dimly if this was mad. If I was doing the right thing. But mostly I wondered where Eliana was, and I hoped that she was okay.