Chapter 7
Sander
Sander wakes with a start to a deep rumbling like distant thunder.
The sound vibrates against his back, where something massive and warm cradles his body.
Adrenaline floods his veins as he fumbles around in the darkness, but he finds neither Niillas nor the sleeping bag, only the softness of fur and the warmth of a huge body.
A thick hide tickles his cheek, and against his back, he feels the steady rise and fall of breathing belonging to something larger than any man.
What the hell?
Memory returns in fragments: the Halloween party, the bet, the abandoned farmhouse, the ghost in the attic, and finally, Niillas, calm and unshakeable, carrying him to safety.
Where is Niillas then?
Disappointment and fear creep over him.
Niillas promised to stay with him, and now he’s gone.
Carefully, hardly daring to breathe, Sander tilts his head, and his whole body locks up.
He isn’t alone, but it isn’t Niillas who’s looking down on him.
His gaze is met by intelligent black eyes watching him from ursine features.
A bear. A fucking polar bear, from the long neck and sleek skull, but its fur is black as a nightmare.
Primal fear crashes down over Sander, making him freeze in the face of the predator only inches away from him.
The bear huffs, its warm breath fanning across Sander’s face.
This is worse than falling into the bear enclosure at the zoo, worse than wandering around Svalbard without a rifle.
Sander is going to be eaten alive. He bites down, his bottom lip hard to prevent any sound from escaping him, keeping his body as still as possible.
Maybe if he stays perfectly motionless, it won’t—
There’s a scratching noise from the door, and the bear’s head whips around. A predator sensing danger. Or prey. The nightmare bear watches the doorway with an attention like it’s ready to jump at an invisible threat.
Just like Hektor before running off to chase ducks, Sander’s shock-fried brain supplies helpfully.
Wait.
Waitwaitwait.
Sander’s panicked mind crashes to a halt.
He knows these expressions.
Knows these black eyes. Has stared into them across locker rooms and ice rinks, has seen them flash with annoyance and amusement and something darker, hungrier, when he thought no one was looking. But Sander didn’t miss a thing about Niillas Vars, because he’s been looking the whole fucking time.
Oh god.
“Niillas?”
The word isn’t more than the faintest whisper, but the bear’s small, round ears twitch toward him anyway.
If the creature weren’t so intimidatingly large, so obviously designed for violence, it would look almost cute.
And then the bear turns to Sander, and there’s nothing cute about its razor-sharp teeth and too knowing eyes, and Sander thinks he’s going to faint as the bear opens its maw wider to—
Slobber a wet stripe across Sander’s cheek.
What the actual fuck?
The creature looks back to the doorway, and Sander has all of a second to freak out about being slobbered on by a bear that is probably Niillas, before the living room door shatters under the onslaught from something massive and violent.
The thing forcing its way through the destroyed door makes Marta look like a character from a children’s TV show.
It has to duck to fit through the frame, its hulking form broader and chunkier than any man, radiating ancient power and brute strength, with its skin like carved rock and hair of moss and fur.
It’s a troll.
A stállu.
The antlers Sander spotted through the window crowns its head as if a small tree is sprouting from its skull.
Sick with fear, Sander presses himself closer to the bear.
It’s only a tiny movement, but the troll catches it. Its yellow eyes focus hungrily on Sander, and its hand tightens around the huge club it’s dragging behind itself.
“I smell him, noaidi,” the troll rasps, with a voice like a millstone grinding bone. “Sweet Christian blood, warm with fear. I want to taste him.”
The bear growls, deep and angry.
But Sander nearly jumps out of his skin when he opens his mouth and speaks.
“No.”
It’s unmistakably Niillas’ voice, but rougher, wilder, laced with authority.
My God. The bear really is Niillas.
The thought is equal parts horrifying and glorious, and maybe he’s losing his mind, but Sander can’t bring himself to care.
Niillas didn’t leave him. He stayed, as promised, and the gratitude and relief make Sander’s chest flood with warmth.
Maybe not all is lost yet. Maybe there’s still a way out of this dark fairy tale.
The troll laughs, and the sound is so horrible, Sander has to clench his hands in Niillas’ fur to ground himself.
“Very well, you found him first. But I wandered far tonight, and I’m hungry.
Why don’t we spare us the fight and share?
Half the meat for you, half for me. I am not unreasonable, noaidi.
” It licks its lips with a tongue like old leather, and Sander can’t turn his eyes away from the teeth like sharp rocks.
Niillas growls again, his muscles coiling as if he’s ready to pounce.
“I’m no shaman. I’m the bear. Spirit and body. And I do not share. He’s mine.”
“You would spill blood over this mortal scrap?” The troll sounds honestly surprised. “Why waste our strength fighting when we could feast together?”
“Because the mortal warrior is mine, and you’d be dead before you’d even touch him. Go back to the woods and find a reindeer to hunt, or die in this abandoned place. Your choice.”
“Doesn’t look much like a warrior to me. Just a scared boy.”
The troll’s massive hand twitches around its club, and Sander is reminded of a particularly vicious defense player ready to launch an attack.
It isn’t going to back down without a fight.
And though Niillas’ polar bear form is huge, probably larger than any natural bear would ever be, and undoubtedly dangerous, the troll still towers over them both.
Its claws look deadly, and what the club can do, Sander witnessed first-hand on poor Marta.
He can’t allow Niillas to fight that thing. Not because Sander was too proud to refuse a silly bet from his teammates. There has to be another way.
“Wait!”
Sander is surprised that his voice comes out steady, almost commanding. He’s always been good at faking confidence.
And now he’s going to outwit this foolish heap of rock and bark.
As a child, Sander loved reading fairy tales and fantasy books.
He knows from Tolkien and from the fairy tales of Asbj?rnsen and Moe how to defeat a troll.
Sander takes a quick look at his watch. 3 am.
There will be no sunlight for hours, but trolls have other weaknesses, don’t they?
Sure, they’re strong, but they’re also dumb, and Sander is going to exploit that weakness.
Rising to a crouching position, he makes himself more visible to the troll while staying within the protective circle Niillas has created with his body.
“I have something to offer you, stállu.”
The troll’s burning eyes fix on him with predatory interest.
“What do you want, human worm?”
Sander can barely stand its malevolent scrutiny, but he forces himself to remain calm. He rises to his feet, and he’s incredibly grateful that Niillas rises with him, staying close.
“I challenge you to a contest. A battle of wits, like in the old days.”
“What are you doing?” Niillas rumbles next to his ear, low enough that only Sander can hear him.
Burying his hand in the fur on Niillas’ neck, Sander tries to convey a calm he doesn’t feel.
But the troll goes very still, and Niillas tenses further, probably wanting to tell him to shut up and let him handle the negotiations with teeth and claws.
But Sander won’t put him in danger if he can help it.
And if Sander’s knowledge holds true, the troll is bound by ancient laws.
It has to honor a properly issued challenge.
“What stakes do you offer, boy?”
The troll sounds very sure of itself.
“If you win, you get what you came for. You can eat me.”
Niillas utters an offended snort as if he couldn’t believe what Sander is saying, and somehow it helps Sander keep his nerve.
“But if I win,” Sander continues, raising his voice. “You leave this place forever and trouble no one who finds shelter here.”
The troll grins, showing off its horrible stone teeth.
“What battle of brains do you suggest?”
Sander takes a deep breath.
“Answer my riddle correctly, and I’m yours,” Sander challenges, his heart fluttering like a panicked bird. “Answer wrong, and our bargain is sealed. You leave and never return.”
“Riddles?” The stállu leans forward and snaps its teeth, suddenly curious. “Yes! It’s been too long since I heard a proper riddle. Very well, boy. Ask your question. But when I answer correctly, I’ll pick your meat from your bones while you scream.”
Sander is dizzy with horror, but he must think quickly. The riddle has to be perfect, something the troll can’t possibly know. He can’t mess this up.
Niillas’ snout nudges against his ear before his mind can go blank with fear.
“Breathe. Whatever happens, I won’t let him have you.”
Niillas’ voice is a soft growl, and his protectiveness helps Sander to relax just enough to think properly.
“Okay. Here is my riddle: What has keys but no locks, space but no room, and you can enter but cannot go outside?”
The stállu’s face contorts as it considers, yellow eyes narrowing with the effort of thought.
“Keys…” it mutters, the word rolling strangely off its inhuman tongue as it starts to pace. “Keys are for opening, for unlocking treasures. But no locks? How can keys exist without locks to open?”
Sander remains silent, letting the creature stew.
“Space but no room,” the troll continues, its voice rising with frustration. “What kind of sorcery is that? Your riddle makes no sense, boy!”
“Do you have an answer, or do you have none?”
The creature thumps its club on the ground in fury.
“This is trickery!”