Chapter 20
After school the next day, Anthony takes me directly to a shooting range he made himself, situated in the middle of a forest. There, he teaches me how to shoot a rifle, and after that he tells me he is going to show me a few basic self-defense moves. I like learning how to shoot a rifle—it is easy—but self-defense lessons probably won't come as effortlessly. I'm used to being graceful, but not to being aggressive.
"The human, Huldra, and Darkálfar bodies are all very similar. What I teach you today may be applied to all species."
"Are there more species than just us?" I ask.
"Yes, but not in this war. Focus, Sonia."
I can't help but wonder what types of beings these other species might be.
"There are several points on the body that will cause a great deal of pain, if hit properly. Since you are not a large person, you need to go for the most painful ones immediately. A forceful blow to just one of these areas can put a quick end to the fight."
Anthony stands close to me and my pulse quickens. Why can't I just not care? He presses his palm squarely between my eyes.
"A forceful blow that lands squarely on the forehead can knock an attacker's head back, causing whiplash." He takes a step back. "Hitting the eyes is very painful, and it can also damage the opponent's vision, giving you time to harm them further."
"Okay," I say.
He grabs my shoulder and presses the heel of his hand against my nose. "A direct hit to the nose can lead to it fracturing and bleeding." His hand presses against my collarbone. "Striking the collarbone with adequate force will break it and disable your opponent. A powerful kick to the knee or groin is equally disabling." He doesn't touch me there.
I nod.
"There are two methods of attack I want you to remember."
"Two, got it," I say.
"When you hit a smaller area like the nose, eyes or groin, it's better to use your fist..." Anthony shapes my hand into a fist and continues, "your elbow..." he touches my elbow, "or your foot." He steps back. "When aiming for the head, chest or stomach, an isolated strike is best."
"How?" I say.
"With a knuckle punch. It's very similar to a normal punch, but you focus the force of the strike into your knuckles instead of your entire hand."
Anthony shapes it into a fist again. His hands are warm, and he traces my knuckles with his fingertips.
"Don't tuck your fingers in all the way." He helps my fingers release. "Then you strike your larger target directly with your knuckles. Don't try to use this style to hit a person's head since the hard bone might damage your hand."
He teaches me a few more self-defense techniques and then we're ready to put my newfound knowledge to the test.
"Take a wide stance and put your dominant foot forward," Anthony says.
I take my stance.
Looking down at my feet, he says, "Don't turn your toes outward like in ballet."
I turn my toes straight forward and it feels unnatural.
Now make a fist with your hands and keep them close to your face." He shows me how. "You want your weight to be on the balls of your feet, not in your heels."
"That's the only thing that comes naturally to me." I am getting frustrated. This is hard work.
"Come on, Sonia, hands up to your face."
Oh yeah, I forgot about that. I lift them up again.
"I'm going to come at you slowly." He moves in my direction and presses his fist straight toward my face. I duck.
"Good," he says. We continue moving slowly for about fifteen minutes. My stamina is not what it should be, and my muscles are already shaking from fatigue.
"Now let's try the legs. Kick me," he says.
I lift my leg and kick him in the side. I do it for a few minutes, but find myself winded.
"Harder, Sonia." His voice is impatient.
I kick harder, but he doesn't move at all. My legs are tired.
"Do I have to say harder?"
I clench my teeth and take a deep breath. This time I give it all I've got, but he moves out of the way so fast that I miss him completely. I fall belly-down on the forest ground. "Hey!"
His eyebrows arch, but he doesn't smile. "Not fast enough."
Now I'm angry. He's playing with me, and by his mischievous expression, I would say that he's enjoying it. I stand up and come at him, kicking the side of his knee, but his leg feels like concrete. He charges toward me and deftly moves to my back, grabbing me from behind. His cheek feels warm against mine and I hate that my mind is lingering on that instead of trying to improve my fighting skills. He's holding me so tight that I can't wiggle free.
"Come on, Sonia, what would you do if this were a real situation?"
"I don't know," I yell, struggling to get out of his grip.
"Think. If your mother were lying on the ground dying, what would you do? Don't practice half-heartedly." His voice is stern. "Do whatever it takes."
I scream and then elbow him in the gut as hard as I can, but it's to no avail. He's too strong for me. I'm furious now and hit him several more times, but nothing is working. He's got me in a deadlock and I'm quickly running out of steam. How can I get out of this? I do the only thing I think to do and turn toward him and lick his cheek. The surprise attack shocks him, and I see my opportunity. I lift my foot up and stomp his as hard as I can. He yells out in pain and I elbow him in the stomach again. He's taken off guard so he loosens his grip around me. I fling my arms open and I'm free.
"I did it!" I'm ecstatic.
Anthony, however, does not look too happy with me. He's holding onto his foot like he's in pain.
My hands hit my hips. "What, don't like being beaten by a girl?"
His eyes lock with mine and there's so much anger there that it frightens me. He grabs my arms and pushes me up against a tree. It doesn't hurt, but I am frightened and my heart is beating nervously.
His face is one inch from mine. "You're not taking this seriously. Do I have to remind you that your mother's life is at stake? You'll never learn to fight if you cheat."
"I'll do whatever it takes, Anthony," I spew. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"
"What you just did will not work with others."
"It worked on you. Maybe it was my instinct."
"Instinct? Hardly. It was a cheap way to get out of a difficult situation. It teaches you nothing about the real world and the types of creatures we'll need to fight. We're done here." He slams his fist into the tree behind my head and trudges off.
I wait a while before I follow him. When I get to the car, he doesn't acknowledge me at first. Guardedly, I get in my seat.
"I'm sorry. I hope I didn't hurt your foot," I say.
"No, I'm sorry. I think—I wasn't expecting you to do what you just did, but I guess it worked to your advantage. Surprise attacks may not be honorable, but they are effective." He reaches his hand out and places it on my knee. "I hope I didn't scare you. I would never want to do that."
"You did, but I'm over it, and I know you would never hurt me." I take his hand for a moment and then let go.
"I'll be sure to not let my temper get the best of me, and you are right, I don't like losing to a girl, especially when I was the one who taught her how to fight." The left side of his lips rises.
"Well, I think I should take the credit for this one. It was, after all, my instinct that made me win," I say.
He looks over at me and smirks. "You're right, Sonia, good job."
I try not to smile too much.
* * *
"Can I draw you up a nice Epsom salt bath and get you something to drink?" Anthony asks once we get home.
"Yes, please, that sounds awesome," I say.
"You know, for your first time, you did really well in the self-defense lesson. Your ballet training comes in handy as you're very flexible and you have the best balance of anyone I've ever met. We just need to work on your strength," he says.
"Thanks. A bath and a smoothie sound nice, so I can build my strength," I say.
Anthony laughs. "Yes, Your Majesty," he says.
I roll my eyes. Either I want to punch him or kiss him; there is never an in-between.
After soaking in a steaming hot Epsom salt and jojoba oil bath for about an hour, though I am still tired, my body feels relaxed.
"So how do we get in touch with the Lightálfars?" I ask, coming down with my hair twisted up in a towel.
"I have one lead, but it's weak," Anthony says, looking up from his laptop. He smirks and raises an eyebrow when he sees me.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," Anthony says.
"What, you don't like my hair pulled up in a towel?"
"You mean your turban? You almost look like the fruit lady who has all the produce on her head." He keeps smiling.
"Is that a bad thing?" I sit down next to him at the kitchen table, placing my elbows on the table. I'm tired and not really in the mood for his jokes.
"Nope, just eccentric," he says with a light laugh.
I decide to let it go, as there is no use in arguing with him. "So, Lightálfars?" I say.
"Oh, yes, I almost forgot since your Arabian turbanado threw me off."
"Now you're just being annoying," I say, giving him a lethal look.
"Oh, and you're not?"
I go to punch him in the arm, but he grabs my arm instead. I don't know how he manages to get me down and pin me to the floor so quickly, and with such gentleness that I feel I have fallen onto a bed of roses.
"What are you...?" I say, baffled.
"Just checking to see if you learned anything in your lesson today. Apparently not enough." His eyes rest in mine as he hovers above me, locking me down with his hands and legs.
My turban has partially come undone and I try to grab it, but he holds my arms tight. My heart starts beating faster, and I can no longer deny that there is some nearly magical force pulling us together. His face is so close to mine and I want to lift my head to kiss his lips. But, before I can act on it, he pulls me up to a standing position, picks up my towel, and hands it to me.
"Hair all dry?" he asks casually.
I notice that I desperately need to exhale. "Ah, yes," I say, still wondering exactly what just transpired.
"Come check this out," he says, sitting down at the table as if nothing happened. He turns his laptop screen so I can see it.
With my heart still racing, I sit down next to him to look at the screen. "What is Alfablot?" I ask.
"It means 'sacrifice to the elves.' In Norse mythology, one could sacrifice to the elves to either get healed from some malady or to summon the elves to you. I want to try to use the same method to contact them."
"What kind of sacrifice are we talking about?" I ask, thinking it sounds dark.
"The blood of a bull painted around a feast that is meant as an offering to the Lightálfars," Anthony says.
I make a face. "That sounds gross! Isn't there an easier way to get hold of them?"
"What? Do you mean we should try to find their cell phone number?" Anthony asks.
I don't know whether he is teasing me again or being serious. "Ha, ha," I say.
"No, I mean it. Don't you think that if we as Huldras have access to technology the Lightálfars would, too?" Anthony says.
"Yeah, but it's not like we can look up their numbers online or anything..." I say.
"Well, we can search the web and see. There might be some leads there." Anthony types in 'white elves,' but none of the results are of much significance. He tries searching 'Lightálfars,' instead, and again, just a few general facts about light elves and Norse mythology.
"What if you search for the Asatru religion? They might know something about it," I say, remembering the name of the recently revived Viking religion.
"There's the Asatru Association." He continues to read in silence for a while. "Here's a little blurb about feast days." He clicks on it and reads on. "There's something about blot here, meaning 'sacrifice to Balder,' and something about a high feast, but it's not until June twenty-first and it will be too late by then."
"Let's call them, maybe they have some leads," I say.
He nods. "Looks like they're in Arizona." He picks up his cell phone from the table and dials the number from the website. "Hello? Hi, I would like to talk to a representative about the Lightálfars."
I desperately hope it leads to some information about the Lightálfars because I get the distinct impression that we need them on our side to have any chance of winning.
"Hello, are you there?" Anthony says. "Yes, Lightálfars." He runs over to the kitchen drawer, pulls out a pen and yellow sticky notes and writes something down. "Thank you so much, I appreciate it." He hangs up the phone.
"So?" I ask.
"They say they don't have any information there, but he gave me the number to someone named Skuld." He dials the number right away. "Yes, hello, is this Skuld?" He pauses and listens. "My name is Anthony Jensen. I got your contact information from Ragnar at the Asatru Association. I'm looking to meet and do an interview with someone who knows about the Lightálfars." He pauses to listen. "No, it's not for publication or anything, just for...my own use." He listens for a while. "I'm trying to track down someone who is associated with Lightálfars. Can you help me with that?" Anthony looks at me, appearing frustrated. "Please, it's a matter of life and death. I can fly out and be there tomorrow morning. Can you help me?"
"Tell him you're a Huldu," I whisper.
"I have reason to believe I am a Huldu," Anthony says. "Hello? Hello? Are you there? The code of virtues?" He listens. "Oh, yeah, in Huldu school, they taught me that the codes are courage, uh...truth, honor, fidelity, discipline, hmm...hospitality, industriousness, self-reliance and, uh, what was the last one...? Oh, perseverance." He pauses again. "The first charge? Let me see if I remember...to remain honest and faithful in love and devoted to the tried and true friend."
I am impressed.
"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow." Anthony is writing fervently, an address it looks like. "Thank you so much, and I look forward to meeting you." He hangs up the phone.
I look at him intently, but when he doesn't say anything, I have to ask. "So...? What did he say?"
"It was a woman," Anthony says.
"Okay, what did she say?"
Anthony tears off the sticky note and holds it up. "I'm meeting with her tomorrow in Arizona."
"Is she a Lightálfar?"
Anthony's eyes squint. "That's what she said."
"I'm coming with you."
Anthony hesitates. "It's the last day of school, and I think it would be best if one of us goes to school, don't you think?"
School is the farthest thing from my mind right now. "I'm assuming that by saying one of us, you mean me?" If I'll be waiting around to save my mom, I might as well go to school.
"You choose," he says, folding his arms in front of his chest.
I am not prepared to travel to Arizona alone to meet with a Lightálfar. I still don't know enough about Huldras or my heritage to be useful, so the choice is clear. "All right, but keep me posted. I want to hear all about the Arizona trip as soon as you get back."
"Of course," Anthony says. "I'll probably be back before you're out of school, if I can catch an early flight.