Page 2 of Heart of the Mountain King

Looking up sharply, Rask squinted at the tiny human before glancing down the slope of the mountain. The quarry's ugly white scar was visible even from here, glowing bright under the light of the triple moons as they hunted. Around that pale patch, the chords of the Song warbled alarmingly.

Rask frowned. The magic should rightfully flow in harmony over and through the world. Instead, it was twisting about itself in a discordant snarl, struggling to avoid a flutter of tension; the spirits of the quarry producing a series of sour notes, like an instrument out of tune.

And Rask had missed it.

He didn't come to this side of his mountain anymore. He hadn't meant to today, either, but he'd been distracted by his game of cat and mouse with the human.

The snarl was still small, but it would not stay that way for long. The humans no doubt would continue banging and sawing at whatever had caused it, just as they always did. And come Mistide, any damage they didn't manage, the thurs would.

Rask sighed in irritation.

"Something wrong," Rask admitted at the man's questioning expression. "What humans do?"

"How should I know?" the man asked. "We're a small village of stoneworkers, not mages. All three of the local priests made a big show of invoking their gods, but not a one of 'em saved that lad from his fall. We've tried leaving out offerings, but they're still there the next morning, untouched. If it really is just a spate of bad luck, then — that's how it goes sometimes, I guess. But if it’s something to do with the vættir… There's got to be a way to fix it, right?"

"Yes," Rask answered him, considering the snarl. "If humans willing to pay price. Or humans move. Find different valley, build new village. Cause problems there."

"But — " the man turned to Rask, his eyes wide. "This valley's our home!"

"For now."

"What's that supposed to mean?" the man asked, his expression darkening.

Rask shrugged. "Before, it was not. After, maybe not again."

"You say that like you want us gone."

"If humans gone, then not snarling the Song. Less work for Rask."

"Seems rather heartless," the man said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wanting everyone dead just to play some music?"

"Not dead," Rask corrected him. "Somewhere else. Away from Rask's mountain. Humans make trouble. Pile up sticks and roads and beds in places they should not be; disturbing the Song, drowning out the magic. Bad neighbors. Messy. If humans go, vættir stop being unhappy. Then not Rask's problem."

"But… it is Rask's problem now?"

"…Yes."

"And Rask can do something to help?"

Rask sighed again, deeper. "Yes."

"Great!" the little human said brightly, looking around the glade. "So…where should I look for him?"

And oh, for a moment there? Rask was sorely tempted to tell this man his target was on the other side of the mountain. Or dead. Or perhaps the name of one of the goats, if only to see what he would do. But instead, Rask thumped his chest, the sound heavy and hollow like a drum. "Man's Son does not need look. Man's Son has already found."

"Oh! Er…you're Rask?"

There were not enough sighs in the world. "Yes, Man's Son. Æthrask, called Rask; son of Ægrom, son of Æbrundr, She Who Remembers the Sun."

"Mason," the little human said, bafflingly.

"What?"

"I'm a mason," the human corrected, gesturing vaguely at himself. "Though I suppose I'm a man's son, too. Not a very creative man, mind you. Tryggvisten the mason, at your service. Son of Björnsten the mason, son of Arnsten the… Well, you get the idea. But my friends — " and here the word took on a special emphasis, " — just call me Sten, because…you know. Mason. Stone."

Spreading his hands, the man shrugged.

"Sten good name," Rask decided, eyeing the human as he wandered closer to the bergsrå. "Easier to say."