10 Days in Iceland

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. I don't like complicated back stories or heavy introductions. Maybe you don't either. Best to get going with the interesting bits, I think. So I'm keeping this introduction to the bare essentials then straight to the main story. What do you need to know? A bit about me, that's necessary and fair. I like history. I own a bed and breakfast in downtown Reykjavik just across from what used to be one of the greatest churches in Europe. My name? Oh we all just use patronyms. My name is Agata and my father's name was Alfred, so Agata Alfredsdottir. Before the occupation I gave tours of Thrihnukkagigur, the only volcano in the world with an intact lava crater. That is how you spell it in English, and that is how we say it, but we use a rune for the Th, so Þrihnukkagigur, because there are three peaks. I used to take tourists inside the volcano to the floor on the window washing stand. I love my country.

A bit of history, just in case. I don't know when you're reading this, but you must know things went wrong in 2025. Damned voters, damned politicians. I don't mean to offend, but really? Couldn't they stay consistent for two elections in a row? Seems not. Two superpowers, two great leagues, just like Athens and Sparta. A tyrant versus the lovers of freedom. But do those lovers have the patience to stick it out over the long term or do they just move on to the next, easier partner? The tyrant forms a police state--he has to. Then he can do what he wants for as long as he wants. An elected politician thinks first about getting re-elected, because he wants to.

Well that's enough ranting, you say. But you can hardly blame me. In the U.S. elections of 2024 the voters (and therefore the legislators) ran out of patience. Putin had not run out of bodies. He didn't care how many Russians he killed. He wanted to expand his empire before syphilis killed him. Of course you know it did kill him, but then there was a successor, much worse, too terrible to be named, I think.

As the Americans wavered, my little country didn't seem important enough for them to take a stand on. To the Russian bear we were an easy target, easier, say, than Norway. A barrage of missiles over a week, some 'tactical nuclear weapons'--someone will have to explain to me the difference between tactical and strategic when they're used on a tiny country--we had no choice but surrender when the Americans decided we weren't worth fighting a bear for.

Enough said. Now there are the occupiers and their not-so-secret police, and then the consequences of those tactical weapons, beautiful purple clouds from the fallout, of course, but a lot of other things too...

It was my nephew's 8th birthday and he told my sister he would like to see puffins. The Westfjords are the best place because you can get very close to them, so I drove the three of us to the coast there. On the way I passed a fox, who told us to stay watchful. I thanked him.

When we reached the coast there were puffins, but there was also a surprise. At a distance I saw a polar bear. I took my binoculars out of the glove compartment to check. Yes, indeed a polar bear, no doubt arrived from a Greenlandic ice floe that had broken off. My sister said, "But there have been no polar bears in Iceland since 2018."

"2016," I corrected her. "Not for eight years." I looked at my nephew, then looked through the binoculars again. I knew the bear was here for us because the fox had as much as said so. I eyed the bear closely and mentally put out the question, Brother bear, do you mean a Russian is coming for me? The bear snorted and ran off, meaning 'yes.'

"We must return to Reykjavik at once," I told my sister, who nodded.

"But I want to look at the puffins," my nephew objected.

"We will come back another day," my sister explained, "but right now we must return quickly." Her tone did not admit of argument.

We drove in silence. It would have been rash to discuss in front of my nephew. Suddenly my sister gasped. "What?" I asked.

"I think I just saw one of the Huldufolk, and he winked then disappeared," she said.

"One of the Huldufolk?" I said, incredulous.

"I'm pretty sure," she persisted. "It disappeared very quickly."

More than half of us believe that elves are real. It is said that it is bad luck not to. "Well ordinarily I might doubt it," I said, but there's the fox and the bear... And you say the elf winked..."

She nodded her confirmation.

We were soon at my B and B, and sure enough there was a security vehicle in front, with a uniformed man inside. Don't raise suspicion, I coached myself. Hostility raises suspicion; seeming too co-operative raises suspicion. Sound blunt, that's better. Shouldn't be hard. My Russian's not very good.

"Comrade Alfredsdottir..." the Russian sounded proud. They always sound that way when they talk to us. Proud of what, I wonder. Proud that they used nuclear weapons on a small country and made it a colony?

"Yes Comrade?" I answered his salutation. "Shall we go inside?"

I brought him into the dining room, large, sunlit, and with a huge mural covering all four walls, showing the history of Iceland, especially the perils that our ancestors encountered: dragons, volcanoes, all manner of trouble. I could see he was impressed. Most visitors are.

"How would you like to re-open your hotel?"

"I wish to, I need the money," blunt enough, I supposed.

"Would you have any objection to security on your property?"

"Security is a good thing," I said levelly, wanting him to believe me.

"There is a group of geologists. Canadians. I am instructed to allow them entry, but only if they are watched carefully. If I lodge them in your hotel, I will need to install equipment. Also, I would want you to escort them wherever they go, and report anything unusual. I will need you to report on them daily."

I pretended to reflect, but the winking elf my sister saw had already given me my answer. "If it means business for me, I will do all that you say, Comrade."

"Good. A crew will arrive this evening. Your Russian is not good, but it is passable, Comrade Alfredsdottir." He drove off.

I nodded, and he drove off.

My nephew went upstairs to play. "You trust the Russian?" my sister asked.

"Of course not," I answered, "but you know I need the money. We both need the money."

"And there was also an elf," she said slowly.

"It has been a busy day," I remarked. "Find out where we can buy fish and bread. The travelers will want to eat." I sat in front of my home a long time that evening, watching, thinking, but nothing else came until midnight, when I watched the purple clouds. I thought (or did I just imagine?) that there was something different about their dance that night.

I asked for a dream to reassure me that I was doing the right thing letting the Russians into my house. Of course if I had said no they could have taken the whole house from me, but I still wanted confirmation that we were on the right track.

I dreamt of a lava field. As the dream progressed I knew it was the lava field of Galgáhraun. Everyone agreed that there must be a settlement of Huldufolk in the midst of the field. They could not be seen, but when men tried to build a straight road, always their equipment broke down at the same spot. In the end the road was built to curve around that place so that the elves were not disturbed. Then the equipment did not break.

In the dream there was a bear in that field, not a white polar bear, but a brown grizzly. Iceland has only a thin layer of topsoil. If you trample the grass or cut deep, it will be years before that spot heals. The Russians have not respected our land. Already they have destroyed much, after we surrendered. In my dream the bear went straight on, off the road, trampling the grass. Two of the Huldufolk came out, angry, shook their fists at the beast.

I awoke to an empty house, but not as quiet as it once was. All over there were microphones and cameras with high pitches. I set about making coffee. For decades we have used the tap water from melting glaciers. It is (or was) the purest water in the world. Now there is radiation so I don't know about this water. But what choice do I have?

My sister arrived early so we get provisions before the guests arrived. On the way we saw a rock move. I stopped the car. We could see a scar on the rock. "Drive on!" my sister said. "Can't you see it's a troll?"

"I see," I said. "Can't you see it's hurt?" She stared at me. "Those missiles came and killed and hurt all manner of folk," I explained. "They killed your husband. They killed mine, and they hit other creatures too. Men know what they are doing when they make war. They have done it for thousands of years. We know the consequences. Other folk are caught up in our wars."

I always carry my runic staff with me for emergencies. I took it out of the back and walked with it and my first aid kit to the creature. I held the staff high so it could see the runes, and said, traditionally, “Aegishjalm er eg ber, milli bruna mer.” ("I bear the helm of awe between my brows.”) The creature nodded. I spread some salve on the radiation burn and, for good measure, I drew the thorn rune with my finger on the skin for the healing of wounds. Here too we pronounce the rune like the English th, but we draw the thorn rune a bit differently from the English. It is the initial letter of our first parliament, the first in the whole world, Þingvellir. The troll gave a sigh, of relief, I thought. I offered it water, and it drank. The healing would take time. I returned to the van.

Provided with food, we returned to the guest house. In a few minutes they arrived, escorted by Russians. The travellers all had little Canadian flags on their luggage, a little too convenient for me. My Russian is not much, but my English is fine. I've had many English-speaking guests, a lot of them Canadians. I listened closely to these foreigners. They were not Canadians. I made no remark on it.

In summer here the sun shines all night. If you arrive in the late afternoon there's plenty of time for an excursion. I decided to drive the guests some 25 miles north, to Þingvellir. As I drove, I talked with the one who sat across from me, the leader of the group, I supposed.

"As geologists, I'm sure you want to see Þingvellir, because it sits on the border between two large tectonic plates." He said nothing. Not a Canadian and probably not a geologist either, I thought.

"It is also the site of the world's first parliament, in which the people voted on their laws." Still nothing. Not a historian ...

Then he asked me, "Have you lost family members in the war?"

Ah, I thought, alarmed but not really surprised, what he is really interested in... am I for or against the Russians, collaborator or potential resistance? My mother did not raise stupid daughters. I said nothing of significance until we were all walking in the center of the park, where the plates have been separated by just a few feet, and the walls of rock are high. I turned to face him.

"All right!" I pointed at him. "You are not Canadians and you are not geologists. You are lying about who you are. Are you bringing trouble to my home?"

"Good," he smiled appreciatively. "You wait until we are protected by these high walls. There is not a scanner, satellite, radar, or microphone in the world that can here us while we talk here. Agata Alfredsdottir you have lost your husband and your sister's brother to this horrific invasion. I do not think you are a collaborator."

"You know too little, and you assume too much," I answered neutrally. "I must survive. I must give a report on you every day. You know who I am but I do not know who you are. If you know I have lost family members and I am not a collaborator, then why do you not say plainly who you are?" I snapped.

"My name is Robert. I am an American intelligence officer, here to plan the liberation of Iceland," he said easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're late, don't you think Robert?" I wasn't letting him off that easily. "If you had taken a stand before the nuclear missiles came, we wouldn't need liberation now, would we?"

"No you wouldn't," he agreed, and something about his look told me he would have liked to say a lot more about his opinion on the American inaction.

"You've seen that my hotel is full of surveillance equipment," I said, "and I have to make a report on you every day to the Russian."

"What will you report today?" he asked.

I paused. "For the moment, I plan to say that I drove the Canadian geologists to Þingvellir and they examined the gap between the plates."

"Thank you," Robert smiled. "Are there other partisans, and will you introduce us to them?"

"Not," I said pointedly, "if it makes the police round us all up. We've already been bombed with nuclear weapons and conquered. Do you want us to go to jail too?"

"No, but if you want your country back, we will need to co-ordinate our efforts," Robert answered. "Consider it, that is all I ask."

We drove back, talking about nothings. There were almost certainly bugs concealed in my truck. I always tell tourists about the Icelandic entertainer who did all of the voices of The Muppets in Icelandic for the children. He died in a missile barrage. Back at the hotel we ate a simple meal of fish and bread. I telephoned my report. "Tomorrow I will take the geologists to Thrihnukkagigur, to the floor of the lava crater," I said.

So much to consider, and so difficult to decide whether to trust or mistrust. A word from me and the Russians would arrest the whole group of Americans and reward me. But what would I gain? On the other hand, notice from me to friends could set up a meeting that might lead to--what? A rebellion? Liberation, if one could believe the American, but disaster for all of us if the past was any guide. I had no love for the Russians, but I wanted a life for my nephew and I did not want to see my sister in jail. It is so easy to tell with animals. They do not lie. I can ask a fox or a bear and get a straight answer. With a human it is harder. Animals kill for food. Humans do so for many other reasons.

What was I to make of these Americans? They were taking a risk. Even drinking this water they were taking a risk. Suddenly I decided. I did what the contestants do on that silly American show where they become millionaires. I phoned a friend.

"Anna, do you have milk?"

"Yes," she said slowly.

"I need milk for breakfast. I have guests. I am taking them to the volcano tomorrow but I need to give them breakfast first. Do you think that Ingrid could manage some meat soup at the base camp? It's traditional, and it will be cold on the floor of the volcano. They will need to be warmed up after the trip. Also is your brother available for the safety harnesses and to operate the lift? Oh they will pay, they pay well. Yes, your brother and one or two others. It is safest that way. All right. Until tomorrow."

Then I went out to look at the purple clouds. The dance had changed again. And one of the clouds seemed to have a shape that I recognized. I looked for a minute. It was the thorn rune.

The walk across the lava fields, from the parking lot to the volcano always takes a few minutes. We stopped at the places where the plates have opened gaps in the rock. One of them took notes on the terrain. I wondered about it for a minute. This rebellion, if it took place, would not be fought in the old way, no battles on a lava field with axes and maces. But I supposed they had been told to keep notes on everything, to dot their I's and cross their T's, as you English like to say.

We reached the foot of the volcano and climbed up to the base camp. Anna had arranged for three men to meet us at the base camp, plus there were women to prepare the meat soup. As always, Anna's brother gave the instructions for putting the harnesses on, and guided them to walk across the plank--you English always shudder a bit when we tell you to "walk the plank". One of the Americans was afraid of the heights. They're not commandos either, I thought.

In groups of six we rode the window-washing platform past the brilliant colors from the eruption, to the cold floor. When we had all arrived, Anna's brother addressed the foreigners, coolly and honestly. "You are late. We have lost everything. Why should we trust you now? Do you have a plan? We are only talking to you because of Agata."

Robert answered. "An apology from me would be meaningless, I think. But yes we have a plan. There are two keys. One is air superiority, which we can achieve. We have already seen that the civilian airport outside Reykjavick is serviceable. The second point is knowing the Russian positions to limit the use of artillery and drones. Do you, or others, know where there bases are, and to where they have moved mobile units?"

There was a loud discussion. All of us were angry with the Americans. And they listened. I'm sure they expected that. In the end it was decided that the Americans should meet a larger group. Anna's brother asked me, "Agata, where and how should we meet safely and without suspicion?"

I considered for a moment. "Since they are supposed to be geologists I can take them to the falls and the hot springs this afternoon," I said. "Then, they are thought to be Canadians, after all. Tonight they could visit the Blue Lagoon and we could talk there."

There were murmurs of assent. "The Blue Lagoon," a place we could control. Nothing surprising in seeing people lolling in the Blue Lagoon, and no wires in the water, no electronic snooping, just some ocean-loving Icelanders and movie-loving tourists enjoying the salt water late into the night. It was agreed. The Russian I had to report to was not an idiot, but he was stupid, and vain. It would be easy to continue the daily reports without arousing suspicion.

The afternoon touring was more relaxed now that my guests were not needing to pretend to be people they were not. They were intrigued by the field of geysers with the temperature labelled on a sign by each one, and they enjoyed it when I told the warning joke, "How long does it take to boil a tourist?" The famed multi-level falls and the two rivers of different colors side by side both went over well. I found a restaurant open and they seemed satisfied with the herring and dark bread. They had not yet gotten to the point that most tourists do where they are dying for a cooked meal--raw fish only goes so far for most of you English--I know, I've seen you wandering in downtown Reykjavik muttering "it's got to be cooked ..."

As the evening crept on we made our way to the Blue Lagoon. My friends had arranged to open the bathing suit rental stall and the house with the change rooms. We all made our way into the salty paradise that had been featured in the film. We were alone, my party and my partisan friends, and when enough had gathered, they began to talk about details and practicality. It was soon clear that this was the expertise that my guests the false Canadians, false geologists really had. All of their ideas were on point. And they benefitted from the on-the-ground knowledge that we had. None of them took notes. I don't think they needed to. Communications protocols were established. They needed to report to their command before a date could be set. Co-ordination of air and ground attacks was essential.

Some of our swimmers kept a weather eye out for interlopers, but none came. After two and a half hours, all were satisfied with what had been discussed, and plans were put in place to be confirmed and scheduled. The mood among my countryment was much more optimistic than it had been since the invasion. Everyone seemed more themselves. We changed, got into the truck and headed back to the hotel.

Suddenly, along the road, I saw my Russian overlord's jeep overturned. He was standing beside it, waving a rag. I pulled to a stop. "Comrade!" I shouted. "What has happened? Are you hurt?"

"No, Comrade Alfredsdottir, I am well. But it is the strangest thing. I learned of your excursion here with your guests and I thought I would like to join you. I have never been to your Blue Lagoon. It was still light, of course, but suddenly a rock seemed to come out of nowhere. I smashed into it, and my vehicle was damaged and overturned."

I looked around and could not stop myself from asking "But where is the rock? I don't see the rock!"

"That," he went on, "is the strangest part of it. I swear I hit a rock but I don't see it anywhere."

I scrutinized the area carefully. There was no rock, but there was an unmistakeable impression in the dirt, if one looked closely. It would not have meant anything to my Russian overseer, but I recognized it immediately as the Icelandic thorn rune.

Trolls are not, as most people think, stupid, or slow. They are just big, that's all. And although it is true that they generally have little or no use for humans, it has often been repeated that, if you help a troll... if you help a troll... My troll must have gotten word of our meeting, and it must have chanced to see the Russian driving in that direction. It certainly would have put two and two together, and, by way of thanks and loyalty, caused a minor collision to prevent our being interrupted. I have found that acts of kindness never go unnoticed with any species but humans.

We drove back to the hotel with the Russian, and my pseudo-geologists regaled him with stories of the sights they had scene and compliments of the country and of myself as a hostess. They played their parts to perfection, not overdoing, not omitting details. The comrade could not help but be reassured that they were who they said they were and that my reports were accurate.

I dropped him off at his station. "Thank you comrade Alfredsdottir, your arrival was timely. And of course we may dispense with the report today, since I have been fully informed of everything. By the way your guest house permit has been renewed and I look forward to bringing you more business very soon. Good evening."

None of us said a word that would spoil the comrade's favorable (though false) impression. Robert and one of his companions joined me on the porch to watch the clouds, which, this midnight, seemed to have co-ordinated their dance. One could almost count the time. One of the men gasped. I saw it too, out of the corner of my eye. I said, "Don't worry. That was just one of the Huldufolk. I'll tell you all about them tomorrow.