Once Upon a Time: New Fairy Tales Paperback(89)

H?kon leaped onto the altar and angled his head at the picture.

His feet gripped and ungripped, repeatedly, like a nervous child. “A favorable omen,” he said. “The giant’s end is at hand.”

“So it would seem.”

Ivar turned away from the book, looking over the church’s interior.

A strong wind wrestled the building, and the wood creaked under its ? 272 ?

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pressure, seeming to list from side to side. It felt like being in the hold of a galley, and Ivar wondered what he might see if he opened the door to the outside world.

“Who keeps this place, H?kon?”

“It is the house of the Lord, Ivar. Surely that’s obvious.”

“But who keeps it? Is Christ Himself dusting these shelves and lighting these candles? Does He heat soup over the fire? Will I find Him drowsing on a cot in the back?”

The crow peered at him. “You must be careful of blasphemy, my prince. You yourself have been drowsing on that prairie in the new country. The church, like the giant in his cottage and like your father in his castle, is maintained by the Story. It was a fog of dust and spiders until you looked upon it from the hill.”

Ivar sat in one of the pews, and settled into thought.

“The Story awakens to you, and you to it. Look at yourself, Ivar.

You’re young again.”

Ivar remembered hiding behind one of the chair legs in the giant’s cottage, the terrible stench of cooking flesh filling his nose, the split carcass of a troll hanging from one of the rafters, its ribs pale and naked in its own exposed meat. The beautiful Bergit in her cage, dangling above the carnage on the table as the giant thrust his head suspiciously through the clotted smoke, filling his nostrils with it.

“I smell a Christian’s blood,” it said. Its voice was old and deep, like something assembled from the rock which rooted the mountains to the earth.

Bergit had said, “A magpie flew overhead, and dropped a bone down the chimney. It went into the pot, but the smell lingers.”

Mollified, the giant had returned to its grisly work, and Ivar nearly sobbed in relief.

In the church, now, he passed his hand over the smooth wood of the pew in front of him. “Why would the giant hide his heart here?

In a church?”

“I suppose because it’s the last place anyone would look,” said the crow.

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Ivar was unconvinced, but could think of nothing to say. “Well.

Let’s find it, then.”

There was only one room in the church, so it did not take long to discover the trap door behind the altar, with a ladder descending into a natural cavern. Ivar descended carefully while H?kon swooped past him and glided to a rest at the bottom. The cavern was cool, and its walls were rippled with the reflection of water. Ivar turned to see a vast lake, as black as a sky, stretching deeply into the distance.

More candles were lit in small rows along its shore, illuminating a boat halfway pulled onto the sand. The crow hopped to a halt beside it.

“It doesn’t make sense that it’s underground,” he said. “Why do you need me?”

Ivar pushed the boat into the water and settled himself inside.

There was an oar lying alone the bottom, and he picked it up. “I suppose it will become clear soon enough.”

“Where are you rowing it to? I can’t see anything out there.”

“Are you coming, crow?”

With obvious reluctance, H?kon fluttered onto his shoulder. His talons gripped his perch more tightly than perhaps was necessary.

Ivar steered them into the gloomy expanse, the small circle of candlelight receding behind them until it was only a tiny flare, a lonely flame of life in the silent, encompassing darkness. They moved through the cool air, the water trickling from the oar and lapping against the prow of the little boat. H?kon’s fear was strong, and he fluttered and clucked in growing agitation.

“I think we’ve gone the wrong way,” he said.

But Ivar had never felt stronger, or more confident in his purpose.

He wanted to leap from the boat and swim the rest of the way, however far that might be, so great was his sense of strength, so great his need to spend it like an abundant coin. He wanted a foe whom he could break in his hands, he wanted a woman whose body he would open with his own. He was young and strong and the Story pulled him the way that God pulls the soul.