Haven: Book Seven of "The Liminality"

Chapter 29 - Ulf

Grehl reluctantly followed after Ulf as he waddled back along the path to his lodge. His somewhat greasy demeanor made her uneasy but didn't know what else to do. She couldn't return to Sheol without doing her due diligence to find out what had happened to Urszula. James would want to know.

She didn't believe Ulf's story one bit. This was not simply some Good Samaritan who liked to help interlopers. How many interlopers could possibly come into a realm like this? Surely, not enough to support an anti-persecution movement with an Underground Railroad. She smelled bullshit.

Sheol had inured her to the worst of human nature, but at least Ulf didn't seem to pose an imminent physical threat. He was not very tall or fit or young even though, in a realm like this, he probably had the ability to take on any form he wished. Her early days in Sheol had overlapped with the last of the in-realm Overseers. She remembered being struck by their beauty. All had the physiques of Olympic athletes and the faces of angels. Somehow, Ulf preferred being a dumpy old man.

They passed the decrepit farmhouse that had been Urszula's boyfriend's own little private corner of Heaven close to the entry portal. Grehl extended her fingers in hopes of detecting some faint flicker. Ulf noticed and gave her a curious glance, but she just kept flexing and unflexing as if she were just stretching her fingers. She might just as well have been doing finger exercises as there was nothing to detect beyond a gentle breeze. Still, she was certain it was nearby.

A few paces on, the dirt path became flagstones and a wall of cold air hit her in the face. They had crossed the border into Ulf's own little pocket realm. This place was a collection of patched-together micro-realms that abutted each other seamlessly.

Ulf, apparently, was a big fan of winter. The puddles on his flagstone walk were frozen and there was four inches of snow on his lawn. Bits of red ribbon and green glass ornaments decorated his shrubs.

A dog came bounding around a hedgerow as they approached, tail wagging vigorously.

"Ah, that's my good boy Bjorn," said, patting the dog's side. "His sister Frode is off on a mission, but when she returns I can send her after your friend. She is a most excellent tracker"

"A mission?"

"Frode is my courier. I sent her off bearing a gift for a dear friend. Bjorn is my homebody and my confidante. We share poetry. He's not cut out for the rougher stuff."

Bjorn certainly did not look like an aficionado of fine poetry. He acted like any dumb Golden Retriever Grehl had known in life. Though, it had been so long since she had set eyes on any dog, just being in the presence of a non-human creature was a treat. She reached down and scratched behind his ears to Bjorn's great and panting pleasure.

A gust of wind blew snow down from the branches of a fir and a big clump of it landed on the back of Grehl's bare neck.

Ulf chuckled as she shook it off.

"You are not dressed for my little haven. It is always Christmas here. No worries. I have a roaring fire going inside and I can lend you a jumper."

He shoved open his heavy oaken front door and led her inside.

"Something hot to drink? Some soup, perhaps?"

"Um, sure," said Grehl.

The fireplace indeed was burning full bore and shedding heat even though there had been no one indoors to tend it. She took a seat in an armchair next to the door as Ulf slammed the door and locked it. The lodge was small, like a ski cabin. A kitchen and sitting room shared the same space. There was a short hallway just beyond with more rooms.