Dustin Long - Icelander

Indeed, she continued to affect a false compassion for Jorgen even as he inwardly reveled in the glory of what he still thought had been accomplished. This was, of course, before anyone realized how implausible the text of the Amleth manuscript was or that—far from “getting away with it”—Gerd and Prescott would eventually return to their homeland in disgrace while Surt—the Master himself—would to all appearances die (yet again) within the next few days.

“But how did you get involved in this?” she had asked Jorgen at the time. She was delirious, perhaps, but it came across a delirious sort of kindness, which Jorgen found horribly sickening. “Were you Surt’s understudy or something? I mean, I know that you were always fascinated with his skill, and you probably just wanted to learn from him, but…” She slipped into unconsciousness before she could complete this condescending sentence.

The mere suggestion, though! After all, had Jorgen been deeply involved in the supposed Vanaheimic forgery scheme—which has never been convincingly established—it would have been in the role of master, not understudy. His work at that point would have surpassed anything that Surt could even have dreamt of doing. Particularly since the man was approaching his centennial birthday, and palsy tolls the forger’s hand…

But Jorgen did not let such underestimation disturb him. He knew how useful it could be. In fact, her comment set him off on a fit of introspection. He had sneaked into the ambulance solely with the intention of bidding Our Heroine farewell, yet her words had served to remind him both of his capabilities and his calling. No, he would not slink away to start a new life simply for the safety of it! He would embrace his fate! He left Our Heroine at the hospital entrance and proceeded on foot back toward his home, hoping as he walked that the party of unwelcome houseguests would have had the time and inclination to disband by the time he got there. Of course, he was in for a bit of a surprise on that score.

Apparently the Refurserkir had arrived at his home just moments before he did, pouring in huge numbers through the door in his basement. Watching the scene unfold through his drawing room window, then, Jorgen saw Blaise Duplain wildly swinging the Viking battle axe that had hung above the mantel, maintaining a perimeter within which Constance Lingus, Wible, and Pacheco cowered for safety. He saw the oafish Prescott trying to command the Refurserkir from the safety of the drawing room doorway as Our Heroine’s precious wonder-whelp nipped at his feet. And most amazing of all was Jon Ymirson, clambering atop one of Jorgen’s tables, spreading his arms and swelling with fury before letting loose a mighty shout that reverberated in Jorgen’s eardrums, outside of the house though he was. The Refurserkir had all ceased fighting, then, and looked to Ymirson. And then he began to speak. Jorgen couldn’t hear the exact words he said, of course, but… Well, I am going on too long.

So, against my better judgment, I have allowed this version of things to stand, exactly as its Author composed it. I have, regardless, exposed the truth beneath all of the falsehoods, not to mention the vice-versa. I no longer have any fear. No one cannot hurt me now with the doubts that they would sow. They think they have won. But oh, no.

For late-night conversations and general inspiration: Rizvan Khawar, Jason Ko, Trevor Perrin, Tony Sertich, and Scott Zorsch.

For lending their eyes when no one else was looking: Steve Margulis, Tony Palermo, Michael Peterson, Chris Coleman, Alex Paknadel, William Vollmann and Jason Woliner.

For life, etcetera: Jim and Beverly Long, Bill and Betty Parsons, Mel and Jean Ireland, Don and Juanita Long.

For Twist-a-plots and comic books: Jaysen Long.

For putting up with me and sometimes even playing along: Devon Kurcina.

For invaluable support, and for Chantal: The Clarkes—Keith, Margot, Liz, Anne, and Caro.

For making the world a better place: The Longs—Katie, Samantha, and Haley. The Kurcina—Dave. And Mackerel.

For lessons learned: Ron Loewinsohn, Clark Blaise, Bharati Mukherjee, Chris Nealon, Alyce Miller, Terri Parent, and Samrat Upadhyay.

For keen insight into nearly everything: Eli Horowitz.

For additional insight: Jordan Bass, Greg Larson, Jim Fingal, Mac Barnett, Caroline Loevner, Gabe Hudson, and Kevin Feeney.

For constant companionship and support; for providing the foundation on which this novel was built; for humor, love, and perpetual wit: my wife, Chantal Clarke.

Copyright © 2006 by Dustin Long

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, or the facilitation thereof, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Any members of educational institutions wishing to photocopy part or all of the work for classroom use, or publishers who would like to obtain permission to include the work in an anthology, should send their inquiries to Grove/Atlantic, Inc., 841 Broadway, New York, NY 10003.

First published in 2006 by McSweeney’s Books, San Francisco

Printed in the United States of America

eBook ISBN-13: 978-1-5558-4864-4

Cover art by Josh Cochran

Grove Press

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In the typescript, an interesting interpolation, more Valisonian than much of the text, has been stricken through: “Crawling eight years old, cramped, through passages of porous rock that crumbled beneath knees and fingers, crashing down to disrupt the final phase of Prescott’s ascension—or at ten, with a twist of a rusty candelabra (cadabra, as she called it), discovering the hidden staircase in her own home in New Crúiskeen, then spiraling up to years of musty solitude and…” One wonders where this passage could have led.

See Volume 9 of The Memoirs of Emily Bean .

Emily Bean, of course, died in 1985. It is at least odd, then, that Our Heroine would willfully deceive her own senile father on the matter.

See also Jon Ymirson’s excellent treatise on Vanaheim and the Mechanics of a Vulcanopneumatic Society . In a brilliant solution to the problems posed by subterranean existence, the Vanatru have for hundreds of years harnessed the heat and steam afforded by the local volcanic activity in order to provide for nearly all of their society’s energy needs. Ymirson’s essay is not only the standard starting point for any anthropologist or engineer interested in Vanaheim’s unique system of heating and power, but it also established the guiding principles on which New Crúiskeen’s own system of steam tunnels was based.

Ymirson’s professed animosity for the Master was one of the key factors in determining exactly which copy of Valison’s will was authentic in the aftermath of this novel’s events. Why would he have appointed a literary executor who hated him? See my Afterword for further information.

See Would as Leif , the seventh volume in Valison’s series of novelizations of Emily Bean’s diaries, and the first in which the Master himself appears as a character.