Shattered: The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Seven (16 page)

“I do beg your pardon. What is the proper term for the weapons you carry?”

“They each have a name,” Hildr replies, hefting her own aloft, “but in general this is a whirling blade, not a mere ice knife.”

“A whirling blade. Very well.” I cannot fathom why this is a better name for a knife made of ice than
ice knife
, but I’m not going to criticize them for it.

Ísólfr says, “Brothers and sisters, perhaps it is not too much to ask when you consider what we will ask in return.”

Erlendr stalks over from the fire pit and looms over us. “It is
too soon to think of that, brother. First we must ask why she thinks she needs a whirling blade.”

“Yes,” Hildr agrees. “We do not make them for others.”

I take a long swallow of mead for courage and explain that my father is possessed by a spirit of the air and I need a weapon crafted of water magic to free him. “My earth magic is insufficient. My archdruid suggested that I speak to you, and Manannan Mac Lir agreed, and it was he who sent me with your shipment of bacon to speak of it.” Dropping their father’s name couldn’t hurt. Or at least I hoped it couldn’t. After I said the words, it occurred to me that they might be upset with him if he had not paid them a visit in a hundred years.

“Father knows of her problem and he knows of ours,” Oddrún says, looking up at Erlendr, “and he sent her here. I think we are answered.”

Erlendr and the other three yeti grunt their agreement as a chorus. I notice that they are not creatures given to lengthy debate.

“Propose the exchange, then,” Erlendr says, and they all turn to watch me as Oddrún speaks.

“We will craft a whirling blade for you, tailored to your size and named according to your wishes, as a service of water magic in exchange for a service of earth magic. We can move what lies on top of the mountain but not move the mountain itself.”

“What are you asking? You want me to move the Himalayas? I can’t do that.”

“No, I speak of the sort of movement you have already demonstrated. Our cave is not a natural one; it was created by our father. He spoke to the earth and said he needed a room that looked so, and it was made as he said. We wish you to do the same.”

“Oh, you need another bedroom? I am sure I can arrange that.” I would speak to the elemental and it would be finished within the hour. This was good.

“No, not a bedroom. Something significantly larger. What we
need may sound strange or unnecessary, but I assure you it will prevent us from going insane. We are so very bored, you see.” The other four yeti nod to confirm that they are all bored.

“I can imagine.”

“Good. We have expressed this sentiment repeatedly to faeries sent by our father. Through them, we asked him to visit us or, failing that, provide us with something new to do in the snow and ice, since we cannot mingle with humans. And the faery returned with something he called an iPad. Are you familiar with iPads?”

“Ah. Yes,” I say, encouraging her to continue. “This iPad had images inside it. Images that moved and made sound.”

“Videos of some kind,” I venture.

“Yes. Recorded images of a game called hockey. Humans play it in cold climates. Two teams skate and slap a puck around in an attempt to score goals.”

“I’m familiar with the game. It’s somewhat violent.”

“Yes!” Skúfr bellows, hammering both fists against the table and startling me. “A violent game played upon the ice! We were born to play it!”

“But we need a place to play,” Hildr says.

My jaw drops open as it dawns on me what they want. “I’m sorry. You want me to build you a hockey rink?”

“Inside this mountain, yes,” Ísólfr says. “Underneath where we sit. The faeries cannot do this. Only a Druid can. And you are a Druid.”

“Okay, wait, let me clarify something. I can’t do it either. Only the Himalayan elemental can.”

Oddrún shrugs away this annoying detail and says, “Accomplish it however you wish. We know you can make it happen. We propose a whirling blade for a hockey rink in the heart of the mountain.”

“Gods below, I don’t even know how big a hockey rink is.”

“We do,” they chorus, and Oddrún adds, “Father’s faery told us all the rules and regulations.”

“But what about nets and pads and sticks and everything?”

Erlendr smiles at me and backs up so that he is opposite the door. “We have already thought of this. Our style of hockey will be ice hockey in its purest form.” He holds his arms out from his sides, and in moments he is obscured by a small snowstorm pulled from outdoors through the auspices of his magic. When it clears away, he is padded in snow and has a helmet, a stick in his hand, and a pair of skates made entirely of ice. It’s a neat solution, because I doubt they’d be able to find any equipment their size otherwise.

“Well, if I can get the elemental to agree, then I’ll do it. Hockey rink for whirling blade.”

Toothy smiles all around and toasts to health and hockey. Erlendr announces that the musk deer is at least partially edible and uses his whirling blade to slice off a few juicy hunks. There are only five plates and now seven of us including the hound, but with the yeti’s permission I unbind a new plate for Orlaith and one for myself from the wall. They grill me about the NHL and which teams are the best. I feel woefully inadequate, since I know so little about the sport and can remember only some of the team names.

They are unimpressed with the Toronto Maple Leafs. “Who fears a leaf?” Skúfr asks, and I assure him that no one does. At least no one I know. Atticus makes a habit of mocking Toronto whenever he can, but I think that he has reason for it due to some unpleasant episode he had in the 1950s, when he lived there under the name of Nigel. He’s never explained to me what precisely happened, and I make a mental note to ask him.

“You would probably like the Colorado Avalanche,” I tell the yeti.

They grunt and nod. “A fine name! Worthy of the sport.”

After we have eaten our fill, Oddrún says she will begin to craft my blade while I’m working on the rink. While still seated at the table, she summons snow above her right hand, condenses and shapes it into a crude ice knife, then asks me questions as it floats there. Did I want my blade to be shaped like theirs or of a
different design? How large? Serrated blade or no? I opt for a blade in the style of a military fighting knife, no serrated edges or sawing teeth. She balances it and makes the handle thin and grooved so that I can wrap leather around it. Along the top of the blade on the blunt side, a transparent tube of ice waits like a thermometer lacking mercury. She lets me hold it to see if it feels comfortable, albeit without the leather wrapping. It seems a tad light to my hand, and I say so.

“That is perfect. It will be heavier soon. You can go start your work now. I have what I need.” Oddrún takes the knife back and floats it above her right hand again, but this time the tip is pointed directly at her. She passes her left hand over the top of it, left to right, and the knife twirls clockwise. Another pass and it speeds up, and after a final pass it is moving so quickly that it blurs.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Erlendr answers. “The whirling begins. We will each take a turn before it is finished. Come with us.” He and the other yeti move toward the door, their turned backs indicating that the subject of the blade is closed. I’m not sure what he means by
the whirling
—I think there is some significance there that I am missing—but I don’t wish to be rude and persist in my questioning when the yeti are so clearly ready to move on. “We will show you where to build,” Erlendr says. “We want it separate from our home.”

With an uncertain glance back at Oddrún, I leave the table, and Orlaith takes her place at my side. I grab Scáthmhaide on the way out, and the yeti lead me downhill “the slow way,” once they discover that I cannot ski. What they consider the “slow way” is in fact quite convenient. Walking single file, with Erlendr and Hildr in front and Ísólfr and Skúfr in back, they use their skill with snow to create a firm, level series of steps for us and then disperse it back onto the mountainside after we pass, leaving no trail behind us.

Seeing their complete mastery of their element, I ask them, “How did humans ever manage to spot you?”

Hildr snorts in amusement and says, “Sometimes we would leave a footprint or let them see one of us on purpose. We were bored. But we stopped doing that once they came hunting us and we were forced to eat them. We felt badly that they would die for our sport.”

“Plus they didn’t taste very good,” Skúfr adds, “and they were scaring away all the animals we do like to eat.”

I try not to shiver at that but then go ahead and do it, because it’s cold, after all, and somehow it grows colder as I realize I’m all alone with four large creatures who have eaten humans in the past. The yeti hunters were hunted by the yeti and were probably hung on hooks in the freezer and then roasted slowly over the same fire pit we just used and, oh, gods, let’s think about hockey instead.

We descend about five hundred yards from the yeti cave and some additional distance to the west. Once we burrow inside I imagine the rink will indeed be below their living area above. I don’t know why they chose this particular spot for the entrance, but, like their cave entrance, it is in an open area, completely covered in snow and therefore unattractive to mountain climbers, who prefer bare rock in which to lodge their pitons.

I myself would require bare rock if anything was to happen. I couldn’t talk to Himalaya through all the snow. Once I explain this, Erlendr clears a space for me and I remove my right shoe, exposing my foot to the cold again. Himalaya is willing to help but would like my aid in preserving musk deer, tigers, and the Himalayan black bear, all of which are endangered and frequently poached. Feeling guilty about our recent meal, I pass this on to the yeti, who agree to stop hunting musk deer altogether and do what they can to protect the tigers and black bears from poachers.

They give me dimensions and describe what they want, and I relay these ideas to Himalaya in images through our bond. I’m a little uncertain, so it goes slower than when Atticus asked Colorado to build him a road or had Sonora create a cache for him to store his rare-book collection. Still, the earth begins to shift and
move, and a tunnel forms in front of us, like a navel of rock growing deeper. We follow along, and soon it becomes clear we’ll need some light. Hildr and Skúfr run back to the cave “the fast way” to fetch candles and matches, and once they return, they set them up at intervals so we won’t be tripping in the dark. I come up with the idea of creating little niches in which to place the candles, and they congratulate me for being so sensible.

I realize much later, in the midst of an epic yawn, that it must be far past my bedtime, but I can’t imagine taking time out to sleep when who knows what could be happening back in Thanjavur.

We create more than a simple rink. There’s a track around it, penalty boxes, players’ benches, and stands for spectators, because the yeti insist that they will have an audience someday. We design a lighting and ventilation system for the top of the stands and circling the rink. The yeti will continue to use candles but will back them with mirrors to reflect more of the light to the middle of the rink. Inefficient but effective. Ventilation shafts to the outside provide airflow and a source of snow and ice for the yeti. At some point, Orlaith chooses a spot in the stands and curls up for a nap.

When the yeti pronounce themselves satisfied, they spend about ten minutes summoning in snow and transforming it into a floor of solid ice. They alter the crystal structure of the ice to achieve that frosted blue look, and thus they give the ice its face-off circles and blue lines. Forgoing the goals and sticks and everything else, Skúfr runs back to the cave to get Oddrún. She looks exhausted when she arrives, but she brightens up when she sees the rink. They all waddle awkwardly out to the middle of the ice, whooping with joy. As soon as they encase their feet in custom ice skates created on the spot, they promptly fall on their asses, laughing and giddy.

“Oh, this is powder!” Hildr says, and for a moment I am unsure what she means.

“The best powder ever!” Ísólfr agrees, and then I get it. They’re talking about snow and equating powder with something excellent. Achievement unlocked: I have learned yeti slang.

“You know what our mother, Freydís, would say right now?” Oddrún asks the others, beaming up at the rock ceiling.

“She’d say, ‘Graah!’ ” Skúfr says, and they all laugh again.

Though I hate to interrupt, I do have an emergency to attend to. “If you’re satisfied,” I call from the players’ bench, “then perhaps I can take the whirling blade and bid you farewell?”

Five incredulous yeti heads raise up from the ice to regard me.

“The whirling blade isn’t finished yet,” Erlendr says, and though he doesn’t add, “you idiot,” it’s implied in his tone. “Oddrún has just finished her piece of it, and I must do mine next.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Clearly. Let us return to the cave.”

Leaving the others behind, Erlendr dissolves his skates and shuffles off the ice, then leads Orlaith and me back to Castle Yeti. It’s dark outside, but I cast night vision and can see well enough. Inside, there’s a freshly laid fire and a much larger animal roasting. It looks nearly finished. How long had we been gone?

The whirling blade sits on the oak table. It appears perfectly serviceable to me, and I say so. “All I need to do is wrap leather around the handle.”

“It will melt as soon as you leave the mountain. It’s not ready.”

“When will it be ready?”

“After each of us works on it. Four more days.”

“Four more
days
?”

“I do not understand why you are upset. We told you it was a thing of great value. Such things are not made quickly.”

“Explain what you’re doing.”

Erlendr sets his whirling blade on the table next to mine. “Aside from the size and shape, what’s the difference between these right now?” he asks.

“That red glow. Mine doesn’t have one.”