The Garden of Light and Darkness - part 8

«Girls, look at me,» Iselin says, and as soon as the words are spoken, all faces turn in her direction.

«No, look at me,» Rangrid says. The young girls’ gazes swing back.

Meanwhile, my mother adjusts and fusses over the attire of her intimate companions, getting them to stand. She lifts their chins one by one, looking into their eyes with her cold, cold stare.

«I’m far from done with you two. I hope you understand that.»

The silver-crown fairy and the color-hoop fairy curtsy politely and are released to take their places among their sisters. They look confusedly toward Rangrid. My mother slowly takes her seat, a knowing smile touching her lips.

«Forehead to the ground. Now.»

Amid rustling and whispers, the fairies spring into action. They hurriedly flock to my mother’s seat, and there, one by one, they stretch out their arms, bow their heads to the platform, and let their slender backsides rise.

It dawns on me that Rangrid has spread her full wingspan, which flutters invitingly, creating a captivating breeze in the light of alluring color glints.

«My maids, my maids, come to me!»

The youngest of the fairies, the pale pink one and the one with the ram’s horn, react immediately, rising to run toward Rangrid. Berit follows, grabbing their arms and leading them back to their places. All the others remain still, and Berit resumes her submissive posture.

«That was a fine display of power. You’re taking my girls from me.»

«I am.»

«But you forget one thing.»

«What’s that?»

«I have your son.»

«That can change. Son, come here.»

I hesitate just a moment too long. It’s enough for Rangrid to seize me, her lips brushing my ear with the softest voice I’ve ever heard.

«Stay with me. Stay.»

All strength drains from my body, and I collapse into her arms.

«Will I get him back if I give you one fairy?»

«No.»

«Ten?»

«No.»

«Then let’s negotiate.»

Finally, I regain a bit of mobility.

«I don’t think we should…»

Rangrid smiles. Where she got it from, I don’t know, but she places a piece of tape over my mouth.

«When the woman speaks, the man is silent. Understood?»

She loosens the tape.

«I t…»

The tape is reapplied. My head is brutally grabbed, and I’m pushed down, far down, past her embrace and thighs, all the way to the platform. Her dress falls over my field of vision, and she spreads her legs, so in my kneeling state, I’m left staring straight into a nut-brown pussy. Surprisingly, she’s been sitting without underwear all day. The scent of femininity is overwhelming, and I have to take it in, now that I can only breathe through my nose. Beyond this sensory overload, I listen as best I can to their voices.

«You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?»

«Of course I’ve thought about it. Do I look like I have an 80 IQ?»

«You’re the one who taught me that, back in Texas. What’s known must be practiced, or it’s worthless. Iselin, have you gone back on your values?»

«I thought it would happen later. A bit more preparation, a bit more maturity.»

«I think it should happen now.»

«Is that so?»

«He goes limp just from my touch. Have you done something?»

«No, I got him like that.»

«Rebellious, yet submissive. Fearful, yet brave enough to stand up to forces. Part bully, part poet, with a distinct amoral disposition. Many will love that.»

«I still need something.»

«Iselin, don’t be childish. My maids will be busy. You know that.»

«What do you offer?»

«I offer myself.»

«Yourself…?»

«Yes.»

«In that case, I accept.»

The hem of the dress is lifted, and I receive a gust of night air that takes away the sweet feminine scent.

«Want to come out?»

I nod eagerly.

«Too bad, because you can’t.»

The dress snaps back into place. The feminine scent returns. After her mocking laughter rings out for a while, I’m pulled up into Rangrid’s embrace. Up there, she removes the tape and gently strokes my hair.

«Your mother,» she whispers, «go to her now.»

Like a Russian prisoner exchange, I stride past the kneeling figures, their backsides and wings the highest point of their submissive bodies. As soon as my mother grabs hold of me, she stomps on the platform, and all the fairies hurriedly run back to their source, their fairy godmother. From a distance, I can observe the spectacle. They surround her in a devoted circle, faces lifted, hands clinging like tendrils.

«There, there, my maids. We can’t be kept apart for long. You know that.»

Chins are lifted, heads are patted, comfort is given, especially to the pale pink fairy and the ram’s horn. As for me… When blondes meet, the weight of sunlight can clash hard. I find dominant hands and an ice-blue gaze.

«It doesn’t surprise me that you’re disloyal. Nor does it surprise me that you let yourself be manipulated by that…»

«Yes, what were you about to say…?»

«Nothing!» Iselin smiles at her counterpart. «In any case, I think I’ll call it a night now. I’ll leave it to my son to take my position and be fairy king for a while.»

«Good night, Iselin,» says Rangrid.

«Good night, Iselin!» the fairies declare in unison.

My mother rises. She runs her hand through her hair and kisses me.

«Your ass. In my seat. This should be exciting.»

«Oh, I’m sure it will be,» says Rangrid.

My mother leaves the scene. Left behind are only Rangrid and the unsettling gazes of twelve creatures who have grown with the night and the alcohol. The sparring in the form of sharp-witted banter doesn’t take long to begin. Tentative at first, but here, all parties go for the heart with their jabs and thrusts.

«So, how does it feel to be in the boss’s chair,» says Rangrid. «Unfamiliar?»

«You could say that, but everything new delights me.»

«I’ve gathered as much. Do you think you can command my girls?»

Diplomacy now. With women, you must weigh your words, and politeness lasts longest in that regard. Not too submissive, so she loses all respect, nor too forward, so she gets furious.

«I think so, as long as it’s with your approval.»

«Well answered! The evening is winding down. The girls need to rest a bit. Now you can talk with me, as I did with Iselin. Have you gotten to know her in the time you’ve had together?»

Quite a question, considering it’s only been a few months since Iselin picked me up, which I also explain to her.

«I don’t think any human can truly know another, and the belief in that is an illusion. Besides, she’s hard to get close to. Closed off and reserved.»

«Get to know her through me, then.»

Rangrid tells me. In her student days, Iselin briefly worked as a librarian, a position far below her skill level. Wasted time for someone of her caliber. A female rector had taken a dislike to her and tried to get her fired. Iselin took cruel revenge. She slept with a board member of the entire Texan university complex. Soon, both were out of a job. The rector because she was sacked on the spot for a minor infraction. Iselin because she quit to focus on her studies. In the interim, the older woman, now with a ruined CV, tried working as a barista just to keep her head above water. Iselin visited her at the cafeteria weekly to ensure she was aware of the enmity and what she had done. Eventually, she filed such a damning complaint that her rival was fired from there too. What happened to her afterward is unknown, but rumor has it she moved to Alaska, living in a trailer.

«Characterize Iselin for me, Lysalv.»

«From that story, it’s obvious she’s a tough woman who crushes all opposition. Goal-oriented. Maybe the rector did her a favor by getting her out of that dead-end job. It’s also obvious my mother is vengeful.»

«Did you know she’s an unreserved follower of Nietzsche? The world is the will to power and nothing else, is her philosophy. What do you think of that?»

«I think it’s rigid, unimaginative, and boring. I prefer mystery. Besides, I don’t mind surrendering, as long as it suits me and I get something out of it.»

«Aha… yes, you’ve been both above and below the hem of a dress…»

Hopefully, she doesn’t see me blush in the dim lighting.

«Besides, she’s hypocritical. I’ve read Nietzsche. This vengefulness doesn’t align with his ideals. He’d say it stemmed from inferiority complexes.»

«So you’re saying your mother has inferiority complexes?»

«I’m saying she’s rigid, unimaginative, and boring, with inferiority complexes and a touch of hypocrisy, since she’s so set on revenge. Plus, she’s cold and heartless. She’s a psychopath.»

«Øyvind…»

Honesty is my trait. More than that. Honesty is my weapon. Now it pours out of me. All the anger I haven’t been able to release. I don’t care how it’s received. It’s about me, not anyone else’s feelings. Besides, it feels good to talk to an older woman about this.

«And for what? Even her toughness isn’t good enough. She collapsed in the end and abandoned me, her only child. What is that, if not weakness?»

Rangrid leans back in her chair and is silent for a while.

«Your judgment is harsh, but I understand it comes from somewhere. Know also that when the strong perish, they don’t yield. They shatter into a thousand pieces. That’s what happened to your mother.»

«Drugs, was it?»

«Heroin, which she’s probably told you.»

«Are you saying we’re only dealing with a fragment of her now, since, as you say, she shattered?»

It’s a disturbing thought. Iselin is formidable. If she now possesses only a fraction of the strength she had in her youth, she must have been a force of nature and more. Unstoppable, something we still benefit from today through wild sums of licensing fees.

«No, Iselin pieced herself back together. She became what she had been, and more. She surpassed herself. Of course, she had good helpers.»

«Who? A man?»

Rangrid smiles.

«You could call it a collective. They took away the pain of unfulfilled desires, filled the abyss in her, and with that, there was no longer a need for compensation or heroin.»

«Sounds… kind. Are you part of this collective?»

«I am.»

«What is…?»

«I joined after your mother. During her great fall, I couldn’t do anything, though I tried. You have to believe me, Øyvind. I tried in so many ways. Others saved her for me, and then I got to take part in it.»

«Rangrid… did you know my father?»

«I did.»

«Can you… tell me something? Anything? I know nothing.»

«You have a lot of him in you. In body, in the way you speak. Even the words you use. Like you, he was an athlete… and his intellect was highly varied.»

«Tell me his name.»

«Åsmund Tranøy. He’s dead now. Left no family. A deep shadow of misfortune followed him wherever he went. It consumed everyone else first, and finally him.»

I close my eyes and repeat the name three times to myself so I’ll remember it. So this was my father. That’s the explanation for why I’m so exceptional and strong, and a language person, not a math genius like my mother. Luck is my own. It’s in my name that I have fortune with me.

«Tell me more about what you believe in, Øyvind.»

It’s striking when she uses my real name. Lysalv is me as a god, but there, the light is sometimes so radiant that no figure can emerge.

«I believe in chaos and meaninglessness. Intense meaninglessness. Meaningless intensity. I just want to kick and lash out as long as it lasts. Jump and dance in great joy and great anger.»

«Characterize yourself.»

«I lack what my mother has. I wield great power, perhaps, but I’m not goal-oriented. I don’t get things done in the outer world. I’m not socialized enough to navigate among the vile middle class, like her. I don’t have practical skills, so I can’t be part of the working class. That’s why I can never be fully free. That’s why I have to submit to others who can give me what I need. I’ve done that with my mother, too.»

«What is your goal?»

«To give birth to something greater than myself, through art.»

Ugh, here I’m speaking so openly. The thing is, I know almost nothing about women, and even less about how they work. If I try to lead them in one direction, they seem to flow in absolutely every other direction. Now Rangrid looks at me with glittering eyes from the half-darkness, and I don’t know how to handle it.

«Tell me now what you believe in?»

«Have you heard of Frigg’s box? The knowledge about it was mostly eradicated by Christianity, but I believe the box itself is reality. I possess this box, and in it are many secrets. A secret within a secret within a secret. That’s what existence is.»

«Cool. A kind of paradox. Characterize yourself.»

«Hardworking. Concerned with justice. I take care of those around me.»

«What is your goal?»

«That others get what I didn’t.»

«What didn’t you get?»

«You don’t know me that well, my boy.»

Well, no. Not that. I’ll have to manipulate and coax that out of her one day.

The conversation has been so intense that I haven’t noticed the many small listeners. The fairies encircle Rangrid’s seat, reaching their arms toward her, still looking at me with inscrutable gazes. Here, I’m supposed to be their king and have command over them.

«What about you, my little maids,» I say, giving them what I think is a regal smile. «What do you believe in?»

«WE BELIEVE IN OUR MOTHER!» they shout in unison. They draw even closer to their great fairy godmother. Some crawl around her legs or under her dress. They surround her embrace, receiving many pats on their little heads.

«Describe yourselves.»

«Our wings are mighty, our antennae see and know in the night, and our song is eternal!» the choir sings.

«What is your goal, fairies?»

«That every girl in this land becomes like us! Gets wings, antennae, and a proboscis, drinks the honey… and… is with our great mother!»

«You answer well,» I say, gesturing grandly. «I wonder if you’ll be rewarded for it.»

«So fun that you have chemistry with my girls,» says Rangrid. «Now you, Lysalv and fairy king, may make a wish regarding them, and if it’s reasonable, I’ll approve it.»

Now it’s my turn to lean back in the chair.

«Very well, generous fairy godmother and loyal maids. My wish is that this great flock… dances for me, with their antennae and wingbeats included.»

Rangrid takes an artistic pause. Then she stomps hard on the ground. Immediately, a swarm takes flight and approaches so swiftly that they fill my entire field of vision. It dawns on me that not only are slender bodies and young girls’ breasts close. I can smell the fresh scent of young girls. So close, it’s unsettling that the girls stand still. In a circle around me, they look at each other and adjust their positions accordingly. I realize it’s a rehearsed routine. My brain, dulled by alcohol, can’t grasp it as the dresses begin to spin in repeated twirls. Clinging to the seat, I look around and finally register the source of my confusion. Each fairy spins in the opposite direction of her mythological counterpart. Suddenly, they take each other’s hands, run, and stop in a new constellation. They spin again, in the opposite direction this time. With each turn of the circle, a new fairy stands before me. It was Berit first, confident, red-haired like the god Thor and just as ferociously dangerous. Then came the silver-crowned one, model-pretty and beautiful, whom I shot with a champagne cork and whom my mother amused herself with. Finally, the yellow fairy, who so aggressively followed me and got the choir to sing for me for the first time. Psychopath, that’s what she called me. And the performance continues.

The hierarchy. It’s their hierarchy they’re dancing for me. How poor people must be not to understand the language of dance and postures. I both understand and sense, an overwhelming sensory impression that makes the seat beneath me seem to disappear. Now I’m floating through the air, as the swishes and rustles seek my life more powerfully than any sword or blade could, returning with the force of an amplified desire.

Twelve times the circle runs around. Twelve fairies before me. The one who climbed out from the full moon with someone I don’t remember is next; she led the hunt for me. The moon-elf fairy completes her parade, and then comes Kajsa. She’s… number five in rank. Her pink finery fills with air, almost like a parachute, and then she runs off, caught by the circle’s iron ring. Line appears, her brunette hair fluttering, her eyes empty, not even a hint of recognition of me or the situation. She disappears, and the butterfly fairy takes her place, antennae waving over the mask covering the upper half of her face. Behind it, I see her eyes hold understanding. Intoxication and ecstasy led to different worlds; the external sparked an inward journey of discovery. The blue fairy takes over, the one who came from the evening sky and kissed me. Star trails glitter through her attire, and her wings are a mesmerizing cosmos, into which my consciousness slips for a moment. When my imaginative world returns, I see the color-hoop fairy has made her appearance. The one who stared so longingly at the mead bowl. Earlier in the day, she was in the fairy godmother’s embrace, later over her lap, and finally in Iselin’s clutches. Numerous are the color hoops on her head as she completes her spin and is pulled away by the chain of the circle dance. Her place is taken by the green fairy, the one who blew glitter dust in my face at the start of the festivities. The color of life spins and vanishes, as it does for us all. The astrological omen in the form of the ram-horned fairy announces herself, the one who mercilessly sprayed me with the water cannon. Young and uncertain, she is, but the intoxication and her sisters’ presence give her courage. It’s somewhat interesting to see symbolic and biological masculinity in the form of horns attached to a female. Lastly, the pale pink fairy takes over, the youngest of them all. Reassured by her sisters’ presence, she is, but here, intoxication has taken over, and she barely manages to complete the many spins before the circle carries her away. Berit stands before me again. She raises her arms, and her mouth opens with a captivating hum coming from all directions, because they’ve all opened their mouths now.

«ALU!»

The shout comes as one, and they throw themselves into the air. Plastic and fabric wings flap as they perform a pirouette and land on their backs in complete surrender. Arms raised above their heads. Breasts and pelvises thrust forward, legs in all directions: folded beneath them, twisted, or spread. The fairy order’s dance is complete. A primal instinct makes me want to rise and lie over Berit where she’s sprawled, but I don’t get the chance before a new call resounds.

«Come, my maids. Come.»

This time, nothing stops them, and their limbs scramble, hands clawing in their haste to get up, and soon they’ve run to be under their fairy godmother’s protective umbrella, where pats and kind words await.

«You did well, my maids. Eloquent he may be, but now you’ve taken all his man-speech and measure, for a while.»

It’s true. I can’t utter a word. Never have I seen a more powerful spectacle, a richer troupe, or a greater gathering of variety and color.

«You must remember, Lysalv, that you’re only fairy king in name. Everything they do is at my command. Would you have it otherwise? Answer truthfully.»

«I… I would.»

«Then you’ve opened a gate that won’t easily be closed. Now I’ll confer with my maids for a while. Stay here, but leave us be.»

I end up in solitary majesty on my throne. That’s how it is with titles that are only effective in name. Can that change? Some kind of decision is being made by this… the word comes to me… this collective. Was this Rangrid’s salvation? It was what saved my mother. My senses, numbed by the performance, reach out, and my face burns. Now I remember the coin that fell from my shirt pocket during my own headlong performance. The skald’s reward I received might give me answers, and I simply have to see.

Where the dance led me, it’s impossible to recall. Already, the stream of words that poured out of me is starting to fade in my memory. It was something about a colorful costume in the night. So I wander around the platform, letting my gaze drift up and down the gaps between the planks. I’m such an introspective person that even my senses are turned inward, which is why I prefer to observe under intoxication. Silent on the outside, while inner storms rage, unseen by surface dwellers who can never break the film on the water’s mirror. It also means I struggle to notice details in the external world. How many times have I missed the obvious or misplaced something essential? Once, I was supposed to participate in an Airsoft competition, and when I jumped into the car heading to the combat zone, I’d forgotten the plastic containers with the pellets my team was supposed to use. Another time, I was to take part in a gift-giving event at a nursing home and forgot the gift sack entirely.

Where intuition fails, system can take over. My wandering gaze is finally rewarded by the dull gleam of silver. Deep at an angle between the planks lies the coin I received, surprisingly close to the edge of the whole structure. The mad dance truly led me astray. The problem is, it’s stuck. If I use my middle finger to lift, the coin only jams against the wood, and there’s not enough space down there to adjust. I open my mouth in frustration. So close, yet so far. My thoughts hum with the urge to know and understand, and for that, I need the coin.

Nearby, the color-hoop fairy sits, tending to her toes with her legs outstretched. Again, I use my gift, the hunter’s silence, the terror of all females. She doesn’t even notice I’m nearby until I open a hoop and lift it from her hair. Her head jerks up, and I’m met with an accusing glare.

«I need to borrow this, little miss.»

Now it’s easier. The hoop is used to nudge the coin into place, and my finger slips beneath and lifts. As a sliver rolls over the gap, I’m quick to grab it. Finally, I can see the temple outline and the runic inscription as I remember it: ᛊᚲᛁᚱᛁᛜᛊᛊᚨᛚ I flip the coin, and I see an engraved fairy in blushing colors and wild dance, her wings burning like fire. It doesn’t seem like plastic or cheap dye. What minerals were used? This can’t have been cheap. Along the coin’s outer edge, more runes circle on both sides.

ᛞᛖᚾ ᛊᛏᛟᚱᛖ ᚠᛖᛟᚱᛞᛖᚾ

ᛇᛊᛖᚱ ᛟᚷ ᚨᛚᚢᛖᚱ ᚾᛇᚱ

If only I could read runic script, huh? But I’m so aloof that I rarely bother to acquire new knowledge, as my cosmic thought patterns can’t be disturbed by nitpicking details and fuss. In the background, I hear a lot of buzzing. It’s Rangrid pulling each girl close and letting her whisper in her ear. Now she lifts her head and looks straight at me. In that moment, the irrational butterfly returns.

«WELL, WELL!»

To my great dismay, my instincts don’t kick in. This is the moment I should have fled. No, run for my life. And I couldn’t have run far enough for what awaits. Instead, I resort to the interactive lens of the hologenerator, which I let scan the coin on both sides. The high-tech does it simultaneously, and this is what I get:

Objekt: Coin

Likely composition: Precious metal. Primarily silver, with traces of gold and electrum

Written language: Elder Futhark

Obverse

Translation: Skiringssal

Shows a temple foundation, possibly Skiringssal, a cult site and trading place located at present-day Huseby. Norway’s first city. Read more about historical Skiringssal here.

Reverse

Translation:

The great fairy order

Aesir and elves near

Shows a fairy, a mythological creature tied to ancient Celtic and Germanic religion. Read more about fairies in old Disney films here. Read more about the TV series The Fairies here.

«Oh, you idiot!»

It’s the color-hoop fairy taking back her stolen adornment and clipping it back into her hair. Worse is the intervention from above. My wrist is grabbed and squeezed so hard that the object of fascination I’ve been engrossed in slips from numb fingers. Rangrid catches the coin as it falls.

«Things have come to my ears that make me think you don’t deserve the skald’s reward after all.»

Only then does she toss me aside with a contemptuous sneer. The shadows around me are fairy creatures that have drawn eerily close. Only their eyes gleam in the night, like those of predators. The night has changed them. The late hours have already made them larger than they were. Why haven’t I noticed? Things are growing out of their heads. Crooked horns and bizarre antennae. Their faces aren’t faces but belong to an insect swarm.

«SEIZE HIM!»

A cascade of butting heads and seeking hands is upon me. The weight of the insects topples me from the platform into the grass, now wet with twilight dew. My limbs are pinned under hard knees and the sharp nails of girlish hands. There are two of them for each body part, and still more pressing on my chest and stomach. The color-hoop fairy is right by my head. She followed the command spontaneously, though she couldn’t have known what the others must have agreed on. Yes, what have they agreed on? Now she quickly glances between me and her fairy godmother several times, her young face wrinkled with an expression of intense schadenfreude. Rangrid stands there, towering and evil. Her medieval shoe is placed against my throat and squeezes. The shock delays my realization that I can’t breathe.

«You little devil. I must admit, you had me for a while.»

The kick lands square on my face, pressing in my already sore nose. Warmth streaming over my cheeks tells me I’m bleeding long before I taste the metallic tang. At least my airway is clear. I fight to keep my breathing from coming out in sobs, so it’s not obvious I’m crying. When I’m able to register things again, Rangrid is kneeling by my side with the yellow fairy.

«Tell me what he did, my dear child.»

«He raped me.»

«Is that true?»

«Yes.»

Rangrid embraces the yellow fairy fiercely, holding her tightly to her chest.

«My poor, poor child. No girl should have to experience that, but I promise you justice will come swiftly for once.»

«It’s not true! She’s lying!» I scream. «You must see she’s lying!»

«Shut up, snake. I believe my girls a thousand times before I believe you. Girls, fetch our things.»

Some of the fairy creatures disappear into the pitch-black night.

«This is the price,» whispers the moon-elf fairy.

I barely register it, but I know the words were spoken. Am I really to be the victim of a childish game? No, there must be more behind it.

If you’ve ever been slandered for something, you can understand how desperate you are to be understood. Once, I was branded a terrorist because of a poem. This is far, far worse. I look around, searching for a friend, or at least a sympathetic glance. The measure of a friend is whether they’ll defend you in your hour of need, even at their own cost. Yes, I recognize some here. It’s not just trolls and insects.

«B-Berit. We’re friends. You know it’s not true. You have to defend me now.»

The redhead’s gaze is only hard. Not just that. She’s helping hold my right arm.

«I warned you, didn’t I?»

Instead, I look the other way, where Kajsa and Line sit on my left.

«Kajsa. You know me. Help me. Please.»

She looks at me with warmth, at least, and what I gradually realize is deep pity. But her words betray her. The measure isn’t met. She’s not my friend.

«I can’t do anything.»

My cheeks and mouth overflow with blood, but now my ear canals fill with cool liquid too. Further down the line, I look. Desperate enough to try there too.

«Line, I didn’t mean to say your pussy smells like fish.» Despite myself, I let out a laugh-sob. «Please.»

«You’ll never get near a pussy, you fool.»

Frustrated, I turn to the highest authority, though I know the irrational butterfly Rangrid has become can’t be reasoned with, and no logic or appeal will work. So it’s rape and assault that sends her straight into madness. It must be because it once happened to her. That’s the explanation. The fairy wings are the result of a great pain that never went away.

«Injustice can’t fix your past,» I say. «I haven’t touched any of them.»

«He almost fucked Kajsa,» says Line. «But Berit stopped it.»

Even without this betrayal, there’s no chance. Rangrid won’t soften. With a jolt, I realize she’s already decided my guilt, and once that’s done, nothing can sway her.

«Falsehood in one thing is falsehood in all. But here we’re dealing with the falsest of the false. Just like his father,» says Rangrid in a butterfly language. No irony. No distance. It’s the insect world in human form, the most gruesome thing you can see.

I turn my gaze to the yellow fairy, with a look I hope is accusing.

«You can’t do this to me. I’m innocent. You know that.»

«He said he’d rape me, and then he did.»

The yellow fairy won’t even address me directly.

«You know,» I say, addressing Rangrid. «I can fight. But I don’t want to hurt the girls.»

«Try me, you pussy,» says Berit.

«If you’re talking about fighting your way free, that moment has already come and gone,» says Rangrid. «You’d have done it already if you could, son of evil.»

Suddenly, I jerk with all I have, and I know it surprises the girls. The youngest around my left leg let out frightened shrieks, but I’m still pinned. Their grips tighten further, yet I sense weakness. So I gather my strength for a desperate attempt when they least expect it. Berit and the traitors I thought were my friends only reacted stoically to the lift that loosened them slightly. It doesn’t matter. Soon, I’ll hammer them down. I’ll tear, rip, and rend with my teeth. Anything to break free. Now that it’s threatened, my freedom is my only value. Damn my gentle nature! I should never have let them pin me to the ground in the first place.

«Ah, here come the girls,» says Rangrid.

A group of five fairies arrives with large bags in each hand, unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Rangrid opens a rectangular leather case with an old-fashioned combination lock. She twists the dials, opens it, and pulls out a long, slender dagger with SS runes on the blade, clear in the moonlight. The metal glints coldly, as cold as her heart must be.

«A relic from the great war, when the avatar Hitler walked the earth,» she says.

I had no idea she was a Nazi in the vein of that narcissist Savitri Devi. The world was ravaged by insane women then as now. Women are scum. Not even capable of creating civilization. If it were up to them, we’d all live in caves and eat grass.

Rangrid comes right up to me, letting my gaze follow the full length of the steel. Despite everything, I observe it with fascination. In a way, I’ve already left my own body. The dagger is antique, so it’s probably true that it’s over a hundred and fifty years old; the edge is notched and sharp.

«A man who rapes doesn’t deserve to be a man,» her voice rings with indignation. «If you’re wondering what’s going to happen now, I’m going to castrate you.»

How do you deal with something like that? I can’t grasp the scope of what she’s saying.

«Y-you’re just saying that to scare me. I see what you’re trying to do. Fine. I’m scared. You win. Satisfied now?»

«I’ll be satisfied when I hold your severed manhood as a trophy.»

«Iselin is your longtime friend. It’s impossible that you’d do something like that to her son. Besides, I’m innocent.»

«Let me tell you a secret. I’ve always hated her. She’s treated me like a sidekick my whole life. Ordered me around and took credit for all my work.»

«But… You like each other. You laughed together… You…»

«Castrating her son will be the ultimate revenge. With that, I’ll have ended her bloodline. Girls, get his clothes off.»

Dozens of hands are at work over me. I’m numb. I’ve forgotten my vow to fight. Soon, my pants are pulled off entirely. Shoes and underwear follow. My shirt disappears over my head not long after. The creatures, because that’s what they are, secure control of my limbs again. Their gazes brazenly look down.

«Is that supposed to be a man?»

«Not much longer.»

«Make him spread like a virgin on her wedding night,» says Rangrid.

My thighs are pressed, pushed upward into a V-shape, exposing me completely. So this is how women feel, vulnerability their most powerful expression. Why am I so passive? This isn’t happening to me.

The purple demoness takes her place down there, bringing both the dagger and the leather case. Lifting my head, I catch sight of the glint of surgical instruments and medical equipment under the raised lid. Soon, I watch as my groin is swabbed with alcohol-soaked cotton. The cold liquid makes everything shrink to its smallest size. I practically have a swimmer’s dick. No wonder the girls mocked me. Such strange and practical thoughts come in an extreme situation. This is the life-threatening danger I was warned about. This is…

«I feel like informing you about the process you’re about to undergo. First, I’ll extract each testicle from the scrotum, then remove the penis itself. The remaining skin flap will be folded over the wound area and stapled in place. I’ll make room for the shortened urethra, of course. You’ll get a bandage or pad that needs changing every six hours for the first few days. You’ll be bowlegged, but eventually, you’ll get used to the new normal.»

«Y-you’re insane… This is utterly deranged!»

«Now I’ll stop the blood flow to the area. After five minutes, I’ll begin. I’ve castrated about twenty boys, so this will be done professionally.»

A leather strap is fastened around my cock and balls and tightened excruciatingly. Immediately, all sensation in the extremities vanishes, replaced by a constant, aching pressure as my vital blood flow bangs futilely against a wall. A terrible certainty hits in that same moment. There’s no doubt in my heart. She’s going to do it. Suddenly, I realize I’ve never known fear until now. It feels like all my insides are being torn out, and my heart is in free fall. I open my mouth to scream in despair, only to receive a fountain of vomit that hits everywhere and continues to stream down the corners of my mouth.

«The mess can be cleaned up after the process is complete.»

«Rangrid… don’t do it… M-m-m-mercy!»

«Three minutes left,» she says in a formalized voice. Nothing is as inhuman as the formal, the bureaucrat, the ticking numbers, and the rulebooks. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be anywhere. If my existence could be erased in this moment, I’d gladly accept it. I’d embrace non-existence with joy. Why did I come into this world? Why must I be here?

«It’ll be over soon.»

Over, yes. I wonder if Iselin will accept me now that I’m a castrato. Maybe I’ll still be allowed to live in her house. All physicality can be forgotten. The same with dreams and hopes of any honor. The only joy I’ll have is playing video games. Every single day. I won’t even be able to jerk off to porn.

Kajsa strokes my cheek. I hate her and wish she were far away. If only she could give me a bullet.

«Y-you won’t get away with this. I’ll go to court and have you locked up forever. My mother’s money will ensure it.»

The yellow fairy rises and conjures a holographic display of an old-fashioned cassette player. The reels start rolling, producing a voice identical to mine.

Øyvind Tranøy here. I’d actually like to change my gender, and as soon as possible. Therefore, I approve the emergency operation that Rangrid Nøtterøy is performing on me. If it doesn’t work, I can just change back.

Only females could come up with such absurdities so straightforwardly. So that’s why she followed me to record my voice. It was to gather enough data to create an AI-generated imitation. It’s lifelike, but any analysis will reveal the sound is synthetically created. Even in this situation, with my genitals numb, I have an ice-cold rationality. It’s the only thing I have left.

«As I said, I’ve done this many times. It always ends up in court. They get nowhere. Delay tactics and moving goalposts are usually enough. Wasn’t it you who wanted it? So you regret approving the operation she performed?»

«I… I’ll win,» I hiss quietly. The authorities are, of course, supportive of all forms of gender confusion and sex changes and other sick things like that, because it reduces the fertility of the Aryan race.

«So? Even if you did, it won’t change the fact that I’ve taken your balls.»

The purple fairy demon places a shiny capsule in a syringe and taps the device.

«Anesthetic. I’m not entirely inhuman.»

You have to believe me when I say I’m strong. I may lack fine motor skills in my hands, but I have coordination and lightning-fast muscles. For a moment, I relax completely. Hopefully, I let the winged demons think I’ve resigned and accepted my fate. Demons, yes. I must be in hell. But my rage is greater than all the fire in all hells and all worlds. So I let out a primal scream and wrench with all my strength. Berit and her accomplice lift with my right arm before it falls. At the same time, I free a foot and kick the nearest fairy in the face. I turn the other way and sink my teeth into Kajsa’s neck. She screams as my teeth draw blood. It’s not enough. I’m ready to kill them all, and I will when I get up. My fists won’t stop.

«GET HIM UNDER CONTROL!»

Many against one, as it’s been my whole life. Countless hands and the weight of bodies are upon me. Even as strong as I am, I can’t lift off two people sitting on my arms, and the insect creatures soon grab hold of my wildly flailing foot. I gurgle in despair as I realize I won’t break free. Beside me, Kajsa holds her neck.

They haven’t taken my tongue, so I still have words. So I scream with the full force of my lungs. I don’t know what I say, only that I say something. An endless stream where I declare I’ll pursue them to the ends of the earth, twisting the necks of every single one. That Rangrid is an insane narcissist who’ll be raped to death with a crowbar, and I’ll kill and rape all her cousins in front of her eyes. Swing the little critters by their ankles and smash their heads against a wall. Then I’ll jump and stomp on their corpses. Bathe in blood and torn-out guts. Let brain matter flow. Crush eyeballs under my heel.

«This aggression will be corrected when your body no longer produces testosterone. You’ll be docile as a lamb, you’ll see. I’ll check on their injuries later, girls. That said, it’ll have to happen without anesthesia now. Insults must have consequences, you understand.»

The beastly woman puts the syringe away. I keep fighting, fighting in vain. My arms are pinned by those pressing down with both weight and all the muscle strength in their thin girl bodies. My legs have been forced back into a V-shape, so I lie there more undignified than any dog.

«Prepare yourselves, girls. He’s going to scream, and we don’t want hearing damage.»

My wildly darting gaze catches that all the fairy demons are putting in earplugs. Each tiny plug is a different color. The details flash by like a breeze, and time seems to slow. My struggle is unrestrained and boundless. I’m ready to do anything, anything to escape what’s about to happen.

«ISELIN! HELP ME! MOM! MOOOOOOM!»

My limbs are locked, but I arch my entire torso so it lifts with my screams. It’s like this, with my body shaped in an inverted “U,” that I utter the word I never thought I’d say, which has been inaccessible to me my whole life because my mind wouldn’t allow it.

«MAMMA!»

Suddenly, Rangrid is over me, her face a mask of pure hatred. She grabs my ears and slams my head repeatedly into the ground.

«You’ve never, never had a mother, and you never will. Iselin has failed you, as she always has. You’ll always be completely alone, you motherless bastard. Understand? UNDERSTAND?»

It’s my greatest wound she so mercilessly exploits, and she knows it. I don’t want it to happen, but I cry uncontrollably. The tears don’t form drops because they’ve become a continuous stream. I sob under her relentless presence above. The heavens have shown themselves to be evil.

«F-f-fuck you, you damned whore. I’ll kill you and all yours when the time comes. I’ll strangle you slowly with my own hands.»

«Shut up. Don’t make me smash your teeth. You’ll be missing more than enough soon.»

Why doesn’t she hear? Is the house so soundproofed? Iselin is my only hope. She has to save me. She must. Get them off me. Use a gun.

«The semen on my dress will be the memento of a man,» says Rangrid, her laughter cackling. Some laugh with her.

«This is it,» says one of the fairies.

The damned whore Randgrid smiles wickedly, her eyes gleeful, as she slides off me and finds her place between my legs. The SS dagger is raised dramatically, like an Italian fascist soldier saluting, before she places the blade against my groin. Even as numb as I am down there, I feel the touch of cold metal. Maybe my genitals have already withered away. Despite knowing I shouldn’t, I lift my body and head to see the knife resting against my own shrinking groin.

«I’ll count to three or you count to ten, and then I’ll start cutting. One, two, three…»

She holds the knife still. When I sense the hint of a twitch and movement, boundless fear drives me to continue the countdown.

«Four! FOUR! Randgrid, show me mercy. I beg you.»

The only response I get is the hint of a bite. I don’t know if it’s in my imagination or if she’s actually cut me.

«Five! FIVE!»

I can’t believe I’m counting down to my own castration. That’s how far desperation has driven me. On autopilot, I hear the sound of my own despairing voice.

«SIX!»

«SEVEN! SEVENnnnn!»

«OH… EIGHT!»

«NIIIINE!»

«TEEEEN!»

«Here we go,» says Randgrid after the countdown ends. In wide-eyed fear, I stare as the knife begins its cutting motion, and my vision starts to blacken and swirl in a maelstrom of my own mental turmoil.

«Mmmm-mamma!» I gurgle and tip back. There’s a snap as the leather strap breaks, then I feel the torrent of blood rushing back into my groin.

«I’ve decided not to castrate you after all. Because he didn’t rape you, did he?»

«No, he didn’t,» says the yellow fairy.

The sounds coming from me are indescribable. They’re attempts to breathe, gasp, and cry, and since it all comes at once, I can’t manage any of it.

«Umm… I thought we were going to do it. So boring,» says the color-hoop fairy.

The slender girl arms holding me release at once. I immediately turn my face to the ground, hands over my groin, and cry. There’s no blood there. She didn’t do it. And I cry like that, for a long time. I cry until my jaw nearly dislocates. Meanwhile, the girls remove their earplugs and fix their hair.

«Comfort him,» Rangrid commands.

At once, the girls sit around me in a circle, stroking me gently.

«Don’t be sad, Øyvind.»

«We care about you, Øyvind.»

«We’ll never hurt you. You’re safe with us in our great fairy order.»

It’s only when I see the glint of red hair that a human instinct kicks in, enough for me to act. So I grab Berit in an utterly violent way and bury my head against her chest. Her strength and masculinity are my only source of safety in this horrible feminine circle. She receives me, and I can sense the hint of a smile.

«There, there. The worst is over now. I wish I could hold you like this forever.»

Berit rocks me slowly back and forth. I’m powerless as a small child in her arms.

«Hush,» she whispers. «Hush.»

Someone is nearby, and I don’t want that. When I sense the contours of a purple dress, I let out a scream and jerk away from the seeking hand.

«You have to understand, Øyvind, that I want my girls to have the experience of having had a parent,» says Rangrid.

She tries again. I still pull away and want to stay with Berit.

«That’s why I dominate them. The greater the abyss, the more it must be filled with love. And with you, the abyss has been very great.»

Her gaze seeks mine, unrelenting in its approach. «From now on, there’s no abyss anymore, because you’ll receive endless love from us all. You’ll get what you always needed, and you’ll become one of us. Come.»

Without will, I let myself fall into Rangrid’s arms. She strokes me too, and since she’s far more experienced than Berit, her fingers find my hair, letting them glide slowly through. Don’t you understand that a sunbeam wants to be touched?

«Any injuries?» she asks the group.

There are none. The fairy I kicked in the face is fine. Kajsa has my teeth marks on her neck, but I didn’t manage to tear out chunks of flesh, as I tried.

«What about you?»

She examines my nose and cheeks, which have taken more than a beating. Wipes my nose with a piece of her dress. Says it looks good. She’s not even offended by the remnants of vomit.

Rangrid clears her throat.

«You remember earlier tonight when I said I like it when young men are polite?»

I nod eagerly.

«Then you surely understand that I still have to punish you.»

I’m numb, speechless. Whatever she’s going to do, it can’t compare to what just happened.

«You can do whatever you want with me, as long as you don’t hurt me.»

«I’ve understood that, dear. A woman of significance demands a bit more than total surrender.»

«What, then?»

A fingertip is placed on my battered nose.

«I want your trust, friend. Will you give it to me?»

«Trust?»

«Relax your body completely for me.»

For a moment, I don’t know what to think, but then I let myself sink back into her arms. She’s there to catch me. I can’t help it. I lie there trembling. I’ve never been held like this before, as it should have been, originally, for the child I never got to be.

«Good boy,» she says softly.

Her words lift something deep within me, making my vision quiveringly blurry. Why did the darkness have to come, so long ago?

«Good boy.»

I fall, yet I float, for the first time in my life held up by a power not my own. My breathing is unevenly gasping. It’s not fair that she’s doing this to me. She’s taking all of me. Every dark corner of me is being conquered. Gently, I’m lowered to the grass. A foot in a medieval shoe is placed on my chest.

«And that, girls, is how you conquer a man. Now we move on to step two of the plan. Prepare yourselves.»

The girls form a long chain and look down at me with evil gazes, here where I lie naked and powerless. Rangrid has ensured all strength is drained from my body in ways I don’t understand. Between them, they pass some bottles, taking turns with the few sips left.

«Give it to me, bitch,» says the silver-crowned one to Berit, securing the last swig. The bottle is tossed into the darkness of the night. Where are my friends, the fireflies? I truly don’t know. Maybe they got scared and fled. I’d have taken wing long ago myself, if I only had some. Speaking of which. Rangrid’s wings spread out like those of a menacing Valkyrie. I didn’t know our women were so boundlessly violent, but that’s what the myths say. Perhaps our wounds come from being blind to the truth.

«Lysalv. I don’t like it when you’re rude to me and my maids. I’ll now correct that with a disciplinary measure.»

Discipline? That’s truly a foreign word. Discipline stands in the way of all freedom and every expression. I just want to do what I do when I do it, regardless of rulemongers and shrill misses, the piercing screams of cowardice’s inhabitants, which we noble souls must constantly hear in the darkness of Kali Yuga.

«Ordinarily, I punish through pain and humiliation. There’s been enough fear in this wild witch-night, so now it’ll be the other way, right?»