“Did you become friends through the Inhemsk Project?” I asked.
“Yeah, but that basically describes literally everyone I’ve hung out with over the past two years. I guess I don’t really have much of a social life outside work.”
I scowled. “Now I feel even worse for dragging you away.”
“No, don’t. It only goes to show that I needed the break. And I want to help you,” he said, then added, “and Eliana.”
“Well, thank you. I’m really glad you’re here.” I reached over and put my hand on his arm, gently touching his bare skin.
He glanced down at my hand, at the unexpected touch, and embarrassment rolled over me in a hot, sickly wave. It took all my restraint not to jerk my hand away, and instead I pulled it back in a normal, casual manner.
“Are we close?” I asked loudly, and I turned my face away so he wouldn’t see the reddening of my cheeks.
“Are we close to the Omte city?” Pan asked, sounding confused. “We still have over a thousand kilometers to go.”
“Yeah.” Then I shook my head. “No. I mean, can we stop at a gas station soon?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said, then we lapsed into an awkward silence.
2
Swamped
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.