The Garden of Light and Darkness - part 6

After traversing the garden at a brisk pace, we’re finally out of sight and can pick up speed. Line leads the way. Through rooms and swirling corridors, our journey continues. At one point, I carelessly almost walk straight into a corner, barely managing to catch myself. Both my reaction time and balance are worse than they strictly should be. The drink has gone to my head. It must be the bubbles.

“Hurry up!”

Line grabs hold and pulls me along. Have any of them hurt themselves? I hope, in that case, it doesn’t involve permanent disfigurement, but why would something like that be kept secret? It can’t be something as serious as a suicide attempt, can it? The faces of Kajsa and Berit flash in my mind, blinking with unease. Kajsa. She’s the one blinking the strongest. She’s the one I’m most worried about now.

We reach a bathroom door by the children’s bedrooms. Line stops and looks at me.

“This is it.”

I rip open the door and am about to step inside when a push hits me from behind. Stumbling into the harsh bathroom light, I see Kajsa sitting on a toilet lid and Berit standing beside her. They turn their heads toward me simultaneously. The door locks with a click.

Berit points down at her friend.

“She’s scared. You’ll have to comfort her.”

Meanwhile, Kajsa flips up the lid, rummages a bit under her delicate pink dress fabric, and pulls down a pink pair of panties. The sheer chiffon is lifted, and she lowers her bottom onto the seat. For a moment, I catch the full shape of her rounded hips before the fabric settles back into place. I’m aware that Line is leaning knowingly against the door. Up ahead, Kajsa’s outstretched hand finds mine. She raises the roundest blue eyes imaginable toward me and squeezes gently. Red lips part slightly.

It’s impossible to say how many moments pass in breathless tension. Blonde. Blue. Red. I melt into colors and beauty, sensuality and indecency. In the altered landscapes of my honeyed intoxication, I gain yet another of my sudden insights. Shapes and colors and strength meld together, and I understand that they are one. This insight is accompanied by the sound of a faintly trickling stream.

“Ah,” Kajsa breathes. The stream grows stronger, seemingly filling the entire room. Her blue eyes glaze over but don’t let go, and she exhales a long, feminine “Aaahh.”

My face flares up like Vulcan’s own forge, glowing at least as red-hot. I realize I’m flustered, and my lips are trembling. My steady grip on Kajsa’s hand is anything but.

A final trickle, then another, and the stream gradually fades and disappears. “Ah,” Kajsa concludes peacefully.

“Now you can wipe her,” Berit commands.

This is what they want. No matter what I do, I’m now outmaneuvered. I can’t pretend nothing’s happened because I’m already thrown completely off balance. Whether I act like a formalized autistic or display my passion, it all comes to the same thing. The end result is that I’ll be laughed out of the room, and they’ll have their revenge for whatever crime they think I’ve committed. Unless… I escalate the situation and give them more than they can handle. Mercury is my main god, so the realization of what I must do comes in a flash and steps into the world in that very moment.

Puffing an imaginary pipe in the corner of my mouth and chuckling a sleazy old-man laugh, I set my persona into motion.

“Aye, ol’ grandpappy’s gotta keep an eye on the young’uns, don’t he now!” It’s one of those extinct dialects now only associated with comedy. Well, all dialects in Norway are extinct, aren’t they? “But every time I visit the kids’ room, it smells like fish. Hope her ma don’t notice!” With that, I grab under Kajsa’s thighs and flip her back. She lets out a yelp and goes all the way down. Her thighs lift, and her sex is exposed. Fascinatingly enough, a small strip of golden-blonde pubic hair sits at the top, though I don’t have time to look for long. The most valuable commodity in the universe. Blonde cunts. Why does Berit have to shave hers? She’s in second place. I pull down a few sheets of paper from the roll and fold them into a double layer. Kajsa is wiped, and the paper is dropped. This happens several times.

I can only imagine the gaping faces of my witnesses. Kajsa is overwhelmed but seems to go along with it. Well, she clearly goes along with everything, given how her friend treats her. First as a defense object, then as a weapon, and now a victim for the world’s most shameless man.

“Gotta make sure all traces of ol’ grandpappy’s visit are gone!”

I grab a slender arm and pull hard. Kajsa, poor thing, tumbles forward into a standing position. Her neck is gripped, and her head is pushed down. Since she’s so pliable, she practically folds over herself.

“Bend and plow, young lass!”

New sheets are grabbed from the roll, and I give her a few swipes. And then… my palm lands on a small butt cheek, and I push, hard. Not so hard that her teeth hit the sink, but she stumbles uncontrollably a short distance and catches herself above the basin. Some instinct must have kicked in because she spreads her legs slightly, arches her winged back, and stands there expectantly with her underwear halfway down past her knees. I’m not slow to follow, driven by a matching instinct. The airy fabric of her fairy dress is flipped up. Fingers and nails dig deep into each flawless, milk-white butt cheek of this perfect, heart-shaped ass. Everything is laid bare to me. The symmetrical lips of a tight sex, flesh-toned on the outside with faint hints of pink inside, and the slightly darker asshole above.

“YEAH,” I growl and dig my fingers deeper. All my deepest dreams are about to come true. I’m going to lose my virginity to a girl in a fairy dress with wings. I wonder if they’ll flutter? Now it’s about getting it in as fast as possible before she changes her mind. What happens afterward, I don’t care. All I want is to have what I want. My pants are a cosplay costume in linen, tied together with twisted sticks at the fly. One hand goes down to loosen them.

Sharp nails strike the hand still gripping a milk-white girl’s ass.

“No way that’s happening! Stop!”

The blows from Berit’s nails are sharp enough to draw blood from my palm.

“Now you can leave,” I say. “Unless you plan to line up with her.”

“As if!” Berit exclaims.

“Let them keep going,” Line says from the other side of my near conquest. “This is actually pretty fun!”

My exaggerated comedy must have rubbed off on her. Even in this situation, it seems intriguing.

Berit moves over and places a finger along her friend’s face.

“One more word from you…”

Good thing the girls are busy with each other. The fly is finally open, and I prepare for the decisive thrust. But those ever-vigilant nails are there again, sharp and painful. Enough to make me partially pull back.

“Keep your dick in check! No fucking here!”

“You don’t get to decide that!”

“Oh, yes I do!”

Kajsa just stands there, motionless. Her redheaded companion kneels and presses her cheeks against her friend’s tender backside. From there, she smiles invitingly and yanks the dress down hard.

“The candy shop’s closed, you see!”

“What have I done to you!” I groan with a despair I’ve never felt before.

“Nothing! That’s the point!”

Kajsa slowly straightens up and is about to turn. The hypnosis I cast over her is starting to wear off.

“OUT!” Berit declares. “You’re not welcome here anymore. OUT!”

“You can’t be serious…”

My Nemesis turns to the other two.

“You know he’s not one of us. Why should he get anything for free? So I demand it… OUT!”

In an absurd way, the other girls join the chorus.

“OUT!”

“AWAY!”

“SHOVE OFF!”

They all point theatrically upward with each “OUT!” and make sweeping gestures for their “AWAY!” and “SHOVE OFF!”

In a united troop, they march toward me, employing this banishing gesticulation.

“Wait…”

I ignore the threat of pointing fingers and sharp nails and push past them. There, I plunge my bleeding hands into the sink, letting pinkish liquid mix with water and soap. When I turn, Berit is still there, right in front of me. My dripping hands lift to her fiery hair and wipe themselves in the flames that have become a being in the making, as if to extinguish them. After all, it’s the Age of Aquarius. She doesn’t resist, just looks straight at me. I try to make eye contact with Kajsa but fail. There’s no sympathy from Line either. Not one of us was probably the magic word.

“AWAY!”

“OUT!”

“SHOVE OFF!”

In disbelief at this theatrical ritual, I back up until I reach the door. Why the hell is it so hard to unlock? I don’t want to be here among these furies.

“SHOVE OFF WITH HIM!”

Finally, the damn thing unlocks. I step over the threshold and grip the frame.

“YEAH, YEAH! I GET THE POINT!”

The door slams shut with full force right in their faces, reverberating through the house.

“Auntie?”

I have to close my eyes and grimace in pain. When I turn, of course, it’s one of the kids standing there with a teddy bear under her arm.

“Why are you making so much noise?”

An orange streak appears over one eye. The streak opens.

Randgrid Nøtterøy:

Will you take care of it?

I blink at one of the response options.

Øyvind Tranøy:

Yes.

The orange streak rolls back and disappears. On my way to the bedroom, I bend down and scoop up the little girl in one motion. She’s still holding her teddy and is winged, and I hold her. Now she’s lowered gently to the bed, where she belongs at this hour. The wings are carefully folded to the side, so she almost looks like a butterfly resting on her back.

“I’m just arguing with some of the big girls.”

The blanket is tucked carefully around all edges, first over the teddy so she’ll accept it, then over her.

“But why are you arguing?”

A fair question, really. I take my musings in advance. It’s not like I need to pray to the gods to find the answer.

“They’re not ready to accept my supremacy yet.”

“What’s supremacy?”

“It’s… like what you have with Auntie Randgrid.”

The child gets a thoughtful expression. Then her eyes light up.

“Oh, like that!”

I’ve gotten through, thanks to my great communication skills. Now it’s just a matter of emotional bonding, which I interpret as getting people to do what you want without resorting to threats.

“Now you must sleep, dear child. The hour when your eyes should be open has long passed.”

My lips are enormous compared to her forehead. There, they’re lowered, and a kiss is placed upon it.

“I want Auntie Randgrid to kiss me goodnight too.”

“She already did.”

“But that was then, not now! It has to be now, or it doesn’t exist!”

A jolt of fear runs through me. Am I in hell or some kind of pagan paradise? When did such words of wisdom fall from a child’s mouth? One thing’s certain: I live in a state of change in a transformed place.

“Alright, child of the night. You shall have your grand now.”

I make sure to leave the door ajar as I leave the room, so her demanded now doesn’t close and become something else. Out in the hallway, I find the bathroom door unlocked, and sure enough, they’re all still inside when I open it. The soft-haired heads turn toward me in unison. What do girls even do in a bathroom all the time? It’s beyond comprehension.

“Come here,” I hiss. “Or I’ll snap every one of your little necks and hang you up like chickens!”

With disbelief in their eyes and mouths agape, they look at each other for a long moment. Demonstratively, I hold the door wide open and watch what will become my handmaidens march past. Once in the children’s room, my helpers spring into action. From every conceivable angle and direction, our faces are pressed toward the child, showering her with kisses in a chaotic manner. We stop just when she expects a smooch on the cheek, only to surprise her from an unexpected angle. The little one squeals with delight. Do the unexpected, and they’ll love you. In the midst of this outpouring of affection, the orange streak appears again. I let my little companions take over and let the text scroll quickly past:

Situation: Possible assault

Perpetrators: Group of females

Ethnic profiling: Not target group

Pattern recognition: Not assault. Signs of affection are being displayed in social group-event

Commitment to action: None

In case direct intervention is deemed necessary, lights will turn on and blink rapidly, and a sonic blast of 130 decibels will be directed at target individual or group for 5 seconds. If assault does not cease, the sound wave will be increased to 160 decibels for a further five seconds. If assault continues, a sound blast of 180 decibels will be committed indefinitely as long as target individual and group is in range. Electric jolts, stink bombs, blinding lasers, or gunfire unavailable on this platform. Note: A sonic shield will encapsulate child(ren). At 180 decibels, shield won’t be sufficient to prevent hearing damage. View more about regenerative ear cell treatment here. View more about treatment for psychological shock here.

Contact listed intervention services (Automatic)

Local police unit (not recommended): Negative

View more about why contacting the police is not recommended here. View more about legal advice for alleged murder here.

Insurance security service (not recommended): Negative

View more about why unarmed security guards might not be enough to stop a house invasion here.

WeShootIntruders Inc. (recommended): Negative

View more about your hired mercenary group here. View more about helicopter and armored deployment here. View more about our free disposal of bodies here.

EvacuateTheCountryNow Inc. (not yet recommended): Negative

View more about relocating to a zone outside the EEC here. View more about waiting for transportation at pickup zone before the terror unit arrives here. View more about economic implications and future employment here.

In the endless stream of information, which I and everyone of my generation are trained to process quickly, something interesting comes up:

Contact listed guardians

Randgrid Nøtterøy

Status: Legal guardian

Condition: Armed

Contact: Negative

Iselin Skjærvold

Status: House owner

Condition: Armed

Contact: Negative

Øyvind Tranøy

Status: House resident

Condition: Unarmed. Present at location

Contact: Viewing display

Administrative rights: Limited

View more about administrative rights here.

I blink into the last menu. I want to test it and try to shut down the invisible guardian.

ACCESS DENIED

Rights to system have been denied by: Randgrid Nøtterøy

View more about sending an appeal here. View more about your current rights of access here.

System status: Monitoring

Situation: Pending

So she doesn’t trust me. How interesting. Well, that will change. I’ll make sure of it.

The girls are still carrying on with their affectionate assault. It probably comes naturally to them, and they’ve even opened the little one’s nightgown to kiss her bare skin. Eventually, even the squeals of joy fade, and exhaustion sets in. It’s probably too much. A whole day of running around like a wild horse, and now more impressions than small senses can handle. Her little brain will shut off soon. Just as we intended.

“Auntie says I have a bedtime at nine. When’s your bedtime?” the little one asks sleepily.

“Much, much later, if at all,” Line says.

This is hard for her to grasp, and her childish brow furrows.

“Auntie also says I get to stay up fifteen minutes longer every time it’s my birthday. So you must have had a lot more birthdays than me.”

“We’ve blown out a few more candles,” Berit says. “If we got any cake.”

“But I don’t understand… what’s fifteen minutes?”

“It’s a quarter,” I say.

“What’s a quarter?”

“It’s one out of four. Like you.”

Communication, my friend.

“Oh, like that. Imagine, you almost never have a bedtime.”

“When you get old enough, you’ll get bedtimes again, you’ll see,” Kajsa says.

As her eyes begin to droop, and she sinks limply with her teddy, she still manages to say something revealing. A chubby hand lifts toward me.

“He wants to be the daddy to all of you. He said so. So maybe you’ll get bedtimes too.”

In the silence of the bedroom, all the soft-haired heads turn toward me. I lock eyes with Berit. It would’ve been a triumph, but I realize I’m blushing too.

We close the door softly as we leave. Best that no sounds intrude now. Soon it’ll be a new day, and she won’t remember wanting the door ajar when she storms out.

Now that there are no little witnesses, I can be my shameless self again. Out in the hallway, I grab the girls around the waist and maneuver them into a small circle, where I can subject them to a brutal group hug.

“Thanks. I said I’d make the kids’ room smell like fish, and now it does, since you’ve been in there! HA HA HA!”

The girls are shaken vigorously with my arms slung over their slender shoulders.

“Asshole!” Line says.

Still, I kiss the brunette right on the cheek. It’s Kajsa’s turn next. The blonde’s cheek is kissed. As usual, she doesn’t resist, and I almost feel guilty for being so crude with her. She probably has too delicate a nature for that kind of talk.

I release my victims and approach Berit. As I lean in to plant a smooch on her redheaded cheek, she turns her face at the last moment, and our lips meet. My eyes pop open in surprise, while hers are closed. Her hips are caught in a firm grip, so the kiss lingers. She’s passionfruit and passion in one package.

“See you later, handsome,” she says, letting me go.

I walk away rather unsteadily. I don’t know what I was doing or supposed to do, and I don’t care either.

Let me tell you a secret. I’m prone to madness. But just as reason has locked chambers and as many faces as there are boring men, there are many kinds of madness. My senses have begun to change. Sounds become sharper and fill with a growing harmonious choir. The darkness surges forward to envelop me, caress me. That’s why I’ve now staggered sideways to the part of the garden covered in vegetation. Strange, because I’m not that drunk. It’s in these moments that I’m visited by gods. I sense them in the breeze. See their outlines where there’s movement. The only certainty is that I don’t know who I am, what this place is. What anything is or will be. I’m lost in the many paths and wherever a cosmic wind might lead. I spread out in the choices. Get lost in alternatives. Find myself in new places, with new faces. Once again, I take up arms in a fateful battle at a border stone in Wallachia. I’ve been here before. The riders are dragging me away, limping behind snares. Don’t hold back; release lies in a sphere of lightning. On foot, I catch up to them, my Spanish sword raised for one final thrust.

The explosion comes from above in the form of a whirlwind of blades. Before my eyes, a fairy drops right onto my head and hangs there with a smile.

“HEEEY!”

“Hey.”

She’s blue. Blue as a bright night and clad in starlight. In faint unease, I see how the star trails shift on her slowly swaying wings. On her head is a sapphire deeper than the sea.

The blue fairy raises her hands toward me. Our palms meet as they must. I bend down, she lifts up, and purple lips touch mine in a lasting kiss. Giggling, the fairy rises and disappears somewhere among the branches. My staggering journey continues.

What I overhear from the ladies is enough to unsettle even the steadiest. It’s Iselin delivering the punchline to some story I’d rather not hear.

“So I told him: The more you resist, the hornier Mommy gets in her pussy!”

I’ve never seen anything like it, but the ladies have to fight hard not to slide off their fur-covered seats. Their nearly empty dragon glasses spill over, so much do they shake with laughter. Mirth has taken its throne here in this garden. Finally, the waves of laughter subside a bit, tears are wiped, and they look at each other expectantly, ready for the next story… or event here and now, where I could easily become a victim.

Randgrid finally spots me.

“Now! There you are! You’re supposed to be our cupholder and jester.”

“You seem to be doing fine.”

“For now. Have you been flirting with my girls?”

“No. Well. Maybe…”

“Careful with them. They’ve just discovered their womanly power and won’t hesitate to use it on a blonde little whippersnapper like you.”

That warning could’ve come earlier. I crawl expectantly over to the mead bowl and fill my dwindling Thor cup. Lean back contentedly and bring the silver to my lips.

“The bowl needs refilling.”

“What are you talking about? It’s half full.”

To be honest, I’m shocked at how much we’ve already drunk. With half left, we’ve consumed 3.5 liters among just the three of us.

“Where I come from, we don’t drink from half-empty bowls. Fill it.”

My eyes close in irritation. Can’t I just drink in peace without any of them interfering?

“Do you really come from so far away from me?”

“Yes, imagine that. North isn’t south.”

“How much is left?” my mother asks.

I search my formidable long-term memory. What I’ve seen, I’m often able to recall.

“Five mead bottles and two bottles of sparkling water,” I reply.

“Then fetch two of each, so we can top up with just honey if the night gets long, and it’s shaping up to be.”

By Odin! That’s madness! Are they really planning to pour ten liters of alcohol down their throats? Even the Einherjar don’t carry on like that. Then I’d better help them. I can gulp down a river of good drink, fueled by the great sorrow in my body. Light-elf at your service! Light-elf will drink you out of house and home!

Randgrid activates the unseen mechanism on her back in some unknown way. Immediately, her wings rise where she sits and unfold. Now the surface is glossy and transparent, vibrating like a dragonfly’s, so fast they become blurry. A dangerous hum comes from the wingspan, partly artificial, partly from the air current. For a moment, I almost expect her to take off.

“Do as I say, or I’ll smack you with my wings!”

What did the Greeks say? Willing obedience beats forced obedience, but with her, it’s obedience either way. Why is that, exactly…? So I grunt sourly and get to my feet.

“Then I’d better get going before your wings beat me to death.”

It’s exactly at that moment that I experience the most alien sensation of my entire life. Randgrid turns her face quickly toward me, and there’s a total absence of irony. It’s humor that makes humans greater than even the gods, and she… has stopped appearing human.

“YAH!” she says, and the jolt that follows opens an abyss. In a frozen moment, she appears as a gigantic, irrational butterfly, proboscis and antennae included, representative of all femininity long before women came to be, and a violent fear fills me. A terror so great I recoil and want to scream. The unease goes beyond species or biological taxonomy. All creatures fear the same thing. It’s the fear… of being eaten. She’s pulled me back to primordial times. This is woman in her primal form, and what she originally did… and still does, just in a more sublimated form. When I regain my senses, I’m no longer standing there, stunned before an alien and incomprehensible being, but hurrying to obey her command. Obey… or be eaten. The bees know it. The larvae know it. Everything that crawls, scampers, and flies in a garden.

I must forget it. Forget it. Push it as far away as possible. It’s a primal fear I can’t confront. Not now, when I’m busy with everything else. Trying would leave me bedridden for a month. My hands tremble uncontrollably as I try to find the bottles in the bar cabinet that’s swung open.

What’s this I see? I catch sight of just the butt and wings of a fairy, clad mostly in turquoise. The rest of her body is inside one of the cabinets here in the living room. The rush in my body calms, and I set the bottles down on the bar shelf for now. The little miss is on her way out, suspecting nothing, when I grab her neck and elicit a startled scream.

“And what are you up to?” I snarl.

“I wasn’t doing anything! Absolutely nothing!” she gasps back.

My movements grow calm. That’s how I am when anger takes hold. Inside the cabinet is a mess of trinkets, women’s things, objects, and some papers.

“I’m not from this place,” I say. “Where I come from, we do this.” I grab her hand and grip each finger in turn. “It’d be a shame if your little hands couldn’t touch what doesn’t concern you because every finger is broken!”

“She… she told me to do it! It was to find information!”

“Who? What do you have to do with Iselin?”

“You know who. We know everything about Iselin. We’re trying to find information about you!”

This leaves me perplexed enough to pause and think, and she takes the opportunity to push me away and run off.

Spies. Spies everywhere. If not on the internet, then here. At least this is a more organic process, and maybe it’ll lead to something other than persecution, arrest, and forced institutionalization. How much have they already found out, and what will they use it for? At the edge of my thoughts, I sense the contours of the gigantic, irrational butterfly. Everyone here has wings.

Back with the ladies, I let the contents of the bottles clunk into the bowl under their watchful eyes, and the alcohol level rises back to where it was. The level of bubbles reaches a frothing storm, like it was in the beginning, not just a rise now and then.

Randgrid comes right up to me. Does she know what I experienced? No, that’s impossible. It’s a feeling that can’t be described or translated, least of all from human to human and across the divide of gender. Still, she fishes out a cucumber slice and puts it halfway into her mouth to chew slowly.

“Fetch a new cucumber.”

Her gaze is empty.

I find it best to take refuge in a persona, so I thump my chest and bow deeply.

“Of course, fairy godmother and wise weaver of unfathomable fate.”

Once again, I’m on my way, taking the empty bottles with me, a result of my latent sense of order. Striding this time, not fleeing in fear. A quick glance at the living room confirms no one’s there right now, and the cabinet has been tidied. They know how to cover their tracks. In the fridge, I find the last damn cucumber. If I were in the extinct Taliban organization, someone would’ve had it shoved up a certain place. I just don’t know if the redhead should get it up her pussy or her ass. Heh… what would be most satisfying? Damned if I know. In a drawer, I find a cheese slicer. Quick! Quick! The company’s waiting. The ones I’m supposed to entertain.

Back at the bowl, I have to kneel. Both ladies smile at me. Fireflies. Fireflies everywhere. They flicker and dart through the night, wandering over twigs and grass blades in a circle around the mead. There, they take turns swarming until their little wings tire, and they fall back down, and at the places of their congregation and congress, they let their fiery tails shine. Glimmers, small glimmers. They open a flap to another world, where I can sense a great light. That’s all my dreams are. The only thing I want, for I hope the glow of chaos will lead me there. And my antenna-clad brothers have given me that, with lanterns they carry for us all. Light doesn’t hide.

It’s not natural. It can’t be. True, we live outside the city, and beyond the city’s suburbs, but even here, it’s a fairly built-up area, with a sterile forest and extensive asphalt. There’d probably need to be wetlands, puddles, and ponds for such insects to thrive, and there aren’t any here. Water, disorder, and irrationality are what it takes for a forest to truly live, not just humans.

“These gods of yours, you must have prayed to them,” Iselin says.

“Our prayer is shared,” I reply.

“Then let it be so,” she says.

“Honor.” We turn to Randgrid. “They honor the coming bard.”

For a long time, I sit there, breathless, watching the celestial play unfolding here on earth. And in respect and gratitude, I let my head sink until my forehead touches the deck. The glimmers come momentarily and will therefore last forever. Since I saw them, my life can never be extinguished. I can always return. The universe’s first moment will lead me there.

Our many fairies gather around the bowl that’s been forbidden to them. Even very young eyes, captivated by the sight of themselves, can’t help but marvel. Among them are Berit, Kajsa, and Line. It’s a rich night, and human artificial light now mingles with the insects’, without either shying away. The holo-generator on our hacked network gives each fairy her personal touch. Starlight here, rainbow garb there, glimmers, glow, and sparkling silver rain. Iselin gives herself the snow sheen of high peaks. Randgrid cloaks herself in a churning galaxy of colors, and I, what do I do? The orange streak over my eye gives me the options. Sol Invictus – To the new god. Light-elf tongue – Earth’s light. The Sun Emperor’s tears. No, too intense for the middle of the night. I don’t want to scare the insects away.

My mother has noticed my hesitation.

“Among the Norse, the moon was a masculine force. That suits you well here, you who are to become a bard.”

“I accept others’ thoughts as long as they’re good. Distrust and stubbornness were never my disease, so I let my gaze wander down the menu until I find Moonlight. At once, a glow springs to life around me, gentle and understanding, perhaps nourishing to the inner self if not the outer. Words come on their own, though they aren’t mine. It’s another speaking through me from a heavy, resonant place. The wondering gazes of the girls are now drawn to me.

The bees gather honey

all day long

For me, dew is my wealth

Crane flies my guides

Pathfinders

Dripping, oil-slick

Over landscapes that always

come to be

Because they are hidden

O moon’s pale light!

Always I am stretched toward the moon

This magical orb with

invisible lightning

Which I embrace, caress tenderly

Wrap myself gently around

Lay against my cheek

It holds such a cool light

In the most wondrous way

My desire grows in pale glow

I must have become something else, for I look straight at the girls while speaking of desire. I’d take each one of them if I could, without a moment’s hesitation.

The sun I have never seen

It’s the moon, only the moon

Approaching me with all

as reflection

My crown’s mystical spire

is cold

Cold, yes. Cold. Odin’s milk. The icy certainty that fills the body with warmth… By casting aside the notion of man as a solar force, concocted by desert dwellers and Mediterranean folk, I’ve grown stronger. My path north has been struck by a bludgeon. There’s no end to my coldness and calculation, and everyone here knows it. It dawns on me, suddenly and without warning: They all fear me. That’s why they use their many weapons so freely and carelessly, in a womanly way, a bit here and a bit there, erratic and uncontrolled. Is it really they… who hold the power? We’ll see.

As if to answer my assumptions, Randgrid raises her magic wand and lowers it toward the bowl. I take the hint and crawl over with my cucumber, the one I won’t get to violate Berit, the little spy, with. The cheese slicer goes to work, peeling off slice after slice. It goes a bit too fast, and when only a small stump remains, I cut myself, and a drop of blood splashes into the bowl.

“OW! In the blackest, most nigger-fucked hell!”

“Virgin blood in the pool. I like that,” Randgrid says.

The cry is immediately taken up.

“He’s a virgin! He’s a virgin!” sings one of the fairies. The youngest and most innocent-looking, clad in soft pink hues, like the aurora at its most intense. Everything happens in the same moment. All the girls’ eyes turn to me. Twenty-four eyes scrutinizing. And they see me unwittingly raise my hand to my forehead. That’s enough. They’ve seen my insecurity, and laughter erupts.

“Maybe we should call him Virgin Øyvind,” Line says. The girls’ laughter becomes unrestrained.

“THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Randgrid rises and stomps. All the girls let out startled screams and scatter to the winds, darting off in every direction. They’ll probably be back soon. In the meantime, we can drink, and drink a lot. My cheeks are still warm, and I have to glance at Randgrid. Did she just defend me? In the beginning, she only defended the girls. Have I, in my genuine vulnerability, become one of them? I now know the role she’s assigned me, for that’s how I’ve been named: Bard.

“Full moon tonight,” Iselin says, looking at the clouds that will soon release a mighty brother.

I blink and recall a thought.

“Did you know the moon is constantly moving farther from Earth and was much larger in antiquity? That means humans will become less creative and less profound. It’s the degradation of Suttung’s mead, of which there’s only less and less.”

“But not tonight,” Randgrid says. “Tonight, the moon is big and round, and you’ll feel its power.”

The glasses go down.

“Tell me a funny story,” Randgrid says.

“Once, I was a prison guard, and I locked myself out of my own prison. The inmates had to let me in.”

“Is that so.”

“Once, I was a nurse. I was supposed to apply cream to an old lady’s vagina and used toothpaste instead.”

“You did that.”

“Once, I smiled at a beautiful woman in a hallway. She grabbed my shoulders and turned me the other way.”

“Well, then.”

“Once, I made love to my beloved for the first time. She said, ‘It can’t get worse than this.’”

Randgrid falls silent.

“That’s an awful lot of nonsense you’re spouting,” Iselin says.

Randgrid rises and touches my bowed, sorrowful head with her magic wand.

“All this has happened, as part of the web I wove for you. But because of your great clumsiness, a god looked upon you with pity and granted you a freedom few others are given. There were wounds…”

“But no healing.”

“…and that is a gift.”

“There are only two, and all great things come in threes.”

“The web is not yet fully spun,” Randgrid says. She withdraws her lowered wand, turns, and takes her seat.

“That’s an awful lot of nonsense you’re both spouting,” Iselin says.

I get lost in my thoughts and my glass.

Randgrid and Iselin start reminiscing about a time they tricked a man into masturbating his penis off. In the distance, I see Kajsa sitting alone on the ivy-covered swing. This time, I won’t let myself be stopped. The ladies are busy with their own thing and don’t need me. They don’t even notice me get up and leave. The moon theme ends with a voice command. Now I want to be invisible. I’m a natural hunter. Where others trample around, I move completely silently, by natural instinct. Many are those I’ve startled by suddenly being in the room, especially women. Not because I wanted to scare them, but because they didn’t hear me. This is because I have a lot of the genes of Norway’s original hunter-gatherer population. All the signs are there. Recessive traits, so I’m turned inward and have returned as blue-eyed light. A preference for silence, for streams and forests. A way of approaching women that isn’t social but primal. I can negotiate for their favors with nuts or just take them.

Kajsa sits with her slender back to me, on her melancholic swing. Her colors barely push back the darkness. The night’s darkness, in turn, gives her figure a dreamlike quality. Her insect wings are almost still now. Yes, why wouldn’t she seem that way? She’s my dream, after all.

Silent steps bring me ever closer. My breathing is soundless too, but I can see that she’s breathing. Her senses can’t detect me, and her instincts deny her that. All girls want to be caught. Any moment, I expect her to turn suddenly and look at me with a face contorted in fear, but she remains peaceful, and it doesn’t happen. Vines and white flowers twist around the ropes. Then, at the very last moment, as the edge of the swing in its slow motion is about to hit me, I lean forward, wrap my arms around her, and press my face against her velvety cheek and honey-blonde hair.

“Hey.”

There’s surprise, but her body doesn’t flinch as one might expect. Either she’s overcome her fear, or it’s me she doesn’t fear. That makes me proud.

The neighboring swing is empty. That’s good, in a way. I’d hate to have sent someone to their grave, but I’d do it if necessary.

“Can you push me?”

I want face-to-face contact, so I stand in front of her. I place my hands on her small shoulders and send her into the night. She comes back smiling. Back and forth she sails like that. Her feet push toward me like an arrow, but she makes sure to part them before we collide.

“Why are you a virgin?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“You look good enough. Very handsome.”

“Thanks. Maybe most girls don’t like me.”

“Why not?”

I have to think.

“I’m an intuitive, not a sensory person. I’m not interested in the outside world or status. It’s actually completely irrelevant to me.”

“You seem to like girls, though.”

It creaks and hums. The swing’s pace has increased considerably. It’s my muscles behind it. I try to push her and her words away, but the message keeps coming back.

“There’s more. I have a feminine core energy, while I don’t care about rules. That means girls see me as a competitor, not a partner. And as a crazy woman to boot. Those need to be disciplined or driven away. Have you heard of Cassandra?”

“Do I know her?”

“You know me. I’m Cassandra. I’m doomed to tell things no one believes.”

The pace is wild now. Kajsa almost lifts off, standing nearly at a ninety-degree angle at the peak of her arc. The motion of a swing can simulate sex. This is what I’d do with her. She spreads wide to avoid hitting me with her feet. I catch glimpses straight to her panties.

“You seem masculine enough to me,” she gasps. “Just like other guys I’ve known. You talk aggressively, swagger with your body and shoulders, and… look at me with lustful eyes.”

“There you go.” I groan with the rhythm. “That’s Cassandra’s curse. Even you don’t believe me.”

“Maybe it’s all just mental constructs. Maybe you intellectualized yourself out of the world. You certainly seem to have lost touch with the ground… LIKE ME!”

At the end of a soaring arc, her small hands let go of the ropes, and she flies into the air, her soft pink plastic wings flapping wildly. So they’re capable of flight for the fairy. It wouldn’t occur to me to dodge. Instead, a lightning instinct kicks in, and I leap up to catch her. For a moment, she hangs there in my outstretched arms. Her feet dangle against me, and as I pull her closer, my fingers find her neck to caress it. She wraps her arms around my shoulders as I shift to holding her tightly around the waist, my cheek pressed against her small stomach. She breathes calmly under the fabric. Completely without fear. If only I could stay pressed here forever.

Kajsa is lowered to the ground from that unseen element, the one closest and dearest to me. She’s completely calm, while I’m trembling and breathless.