"Pencils down: heads up," Professor Hinrik Töframaður said crisply, "turn your exams over, and pass them to the left down the aisle. My assistant will pick them up. Results will be POSTED," he raised his voice over the murmur of students and the waving of hands, "on my office door at the end of next week."

A general grumble of malcontent made him scowl, and he raised his voice again when it seemed his class was ready to mutiny before their time had been completed. Auditorium chairs were already squeaking, and his assistant had not yet picked up all of the shuffling exams. He called the class back to order.

"PEOPLE, please remain seated, we are not yet done for the day!" More grumbling ensued as students reclaimed their chairs. "I want to remind you of the project due at the end of next week! You must research a religious ritual, one you were NOT raised with, explain it in detail, and expound on its virtue to the worshipper and the community in general. COMPARE and CONTRAST it to the faith in which you were raised. Yes, Mr. Sykes, I realize you are an atheist, put your hand down. Atheism is every bit as much a faith as any organized religion, and has its own modes of behavior. I expect a fair and balanced research and recounting of the ritual chosen, and not a pseudo-scientific dismissal of whatever you consider as 'pagan ignorance'. Miss Oliver? Yes, you may work in groups of two or three, so long as each one of you is of a different religious persuasion. Mr. Trent? No, you are not required to take part in a ritual; observing and recounting will be fine. Any more questions may be EMAILED TO ME over the weekend. I will get back to you on MONDAY," the exasperated old man cut off any further questioning hands with a scowl. Honestly, didn't anybody read the syllabus?

Carol Dahl had read the syllabus; her only problem was in finding a religion other than her native Christianity. In a country that was 80% Lutheran, she wondered if simply choosing another denomination would suffice. She closed her binder with a snap and gathered her coat, her auburn-infused curls refusing to behave themselves (again) and her eyes itching with fatigue. Her contacts needed adjusting. Again. Greaaaaaat.

Carol spared a glance to the bottom of the lecture hall, where her professor had changed from a scowling old codger into a beaming grandfather. The girl that nearly tackled him couldn't be more than 14, and was cute as a bug. Isolde, she reminded herself, having met the child on more than one occasion. She was a bright girl, with the typical white-blond hair and rosy cheeks of many Icelanders. Isolde was already filling out nicely, even for her tender years. She's going to break a lot of hearts, Carol smiled to herself.

Crisp springtime air greeted her outside the lecture hall, and Carol quickly found her way to the campus coffee shop: Odin's Table. It could still be nippy in the spring, though the flowers peeping out of the pine needles didn't seem to mind. She didn't want to catch a cold now: now that the weekend was here. Last class until Monday, yay! Carol thought, making her way through the line. She emerged with her steaming café mocha latte and a pastry to find a table full of classmates waving her over.

"So, Carol! Have you any idea what religion you're going to research for your paper?" Bjarni asked. (Carol called him 'Blarney' constantly, much to his amusement) "We're all trying to figure that out, too. What were you raised as?"

"Well, I'm Irish, so I'll jest let ye guess on that one a while," Carol said with a grin.

"Ooooh, I know!" Svana's eyes sparkled. "You're a Druid!" Svana was the beauty of the group, with thick blond hair and a penchant for partying. Rumor said she was a nymphomaniac, but Carol discounted such gossip. Besides, it was none of her business.

Carol laughed at her friend. "Don't be daft! Of course not!"

Hinrik's face puckered in confusion. "Aren't there any Druids left in Ireland?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "Aye, probably so, but they'll be in the minority. I were raised a tad more conservative, if ye take my meanin'."

"My family is Lutheran," Torvald volunteered, "but I'm not." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Well, unless my mother calls."

Hallbjorn snorted. "Gutless. Typical of you, Torvald. When are you going to stand up for what you believe?" Hallbjorn was the de facto leader of their little group of friends, but Carol had a difficult time liking him. Dark haired and often brooding, he had an arrogance she didn't like and was completely sexist. Some of the looks he gave her were downright predatory, which gave her the creeps. Fortunately, she wasn't dating him. That dubious honor went to Svana.

What she wants to put up with is her business. Carol thought to herself.

"When I feel the time is right, I'll tell them," Torvald shrugged.

"You don't believe any more?" Carol asked curiously.

"Not really," Torvald admitted. "I had too many questions my parents couldn't answer, and then, well..."

"You discovered sex," Lilijana candidly stated. Torvald looked at her, scandalized, and she rolled her eyes at him. "Well, it's true. You may as well come out and admit it. It isn't like we aren't all adults here!" she added. Lilijana was Carol's roommate, an outspoken girl with light brown hair.

"So, what about you, Carol?" Bjarni asked again. "I was raised by atheists, but I think I'm an agnostic now," he explained.

"Raised by wolves, ye mean," Carol joked, and then saw the hurt look on Bjarni's face. "I don't really mean that, Bjarni. I've jest had some bad run-ins with atheists over the last year."

"Hálfviti," Svana snapped, her homeland's word for 'morons', "I have no patience for a closed mind!"

"Here, here!" Carol agreed, raising her latte in a toast. "I feel the same way!" She took another sip of her coffee drink. "So, what about you, Svana?"

Svana cleared her throat. "I'm," ahem, "a pagan."

Carol's eyebrows went up. "So, are you the Druid of this little band? We simply must compare notes! I was raised Roman Catholic, ye see," she explained.

It was Svana's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Roman Catholic? Really?" She hmmmed about that for a minute. "Do you really pray to God's mother? I've always found that confusing."

"Not because she disapproves," Hallbjorn added quickly, "our coven recognizes many different gods and goddesses. We're Wiccans," he explained for his girlfriend.

"Ah, I have a friend back home that practices the craft as well," Carol nodded. "We stay in touch with email. And no, we don't really say that God has a Ma, like you're thinkin', Svana. Mary's title as 'Mother of God' is really about Jesus bein' God e'en while He was in her womb, ye see. She were only human-not a deity-but blessed with the job of bearin' the Christ," she explained.

"Now that finally makes sense," Torvald said thoughtfully. "Where were you when I was pestering my folks with this?"

"Ireland," Carol said matter-of-factly.

"I've been to Mass with you a few times," Lilijana said casually, "but I don't really understand it. Can you explain the bread-and-wine thing for me? Is that a ritual, or just part of one?"

Carol nodded. "That be Communion. Think of it as a sacrificial meal: the bread is Christ's body, which was sacrificed for us, and the wine is His blood. When we take Communion, we're eating the Lamb sacrificed for our sins, and receive the blessing that comes from the sacrifice."

"Hmm," said Bjarni, seeming to understand. He turned to Hallbjorn. "Do Wiccans make sacrifices?"

Hallbjorn nodded. "Yes, but nothing like a sacrifice for so-called 'sins'. Ours are presents to whatever deity is being petitioned, or a celebration of a particular event. We have lots of those. Our biggest event is on Mid-Summer's Night; we have a big sacrifice and eat it around a bonfire."

Carol sipped her latte thoughtfully. "Too far away to help with the paper, though." She looked over at Svana. "Do you have any smaller events that I could attend, just to observe? I bet I couldn't go to the big'un, anyway, e'en as you canna take Communion with me."

Svana nodded. "We have one tomorrow night: we're consecrating the altar to be used this Mid-Summer's Night. It's a small ceremony out in the woods," she explained.

"Why don't we all make a trip out of it?" Hallbjorn said casually. "My uncle has a cottage near the place. We can all get away for a while, hike in the woods, and relax. It'll be a nice break," he suggested.

"What about your ceremony?" Lilijana asked.

Hallbjorn shrugged. "Those who want to watch can watch. If you want to take part, it's up to you. We don't exclude anybody who really wants to take part," he explained, with a knowing look at Carol.

Carol rolled her eyes at the obvious jab. It wasn't Hallbjorn's first dig; it wouldn't be his last. Let him be an arse, she thought, I'm not dating him. "So, to what god or goddess are ye consecrating this altar?" she asked, curiously.

"Surtr, God-King of Muspelheim," Hallbjorn answered loftily, "Wielder of the Fire of Creation, Holder of the Energy of Life."

"Cool, I'll go," said Torvald.

"Yeah, count me in," said Lilijana.

"Sounds interesting," said Bjarni.

"Are you going to kill an animal?" Carol asked, a little squeamish. "I dinnae think I could watch that without being sick," she explained.

Hallbjorn waved a hand dismissively. "Nothing like that. It will be an interesting ceremony, I promise, but no killing."

"Ok, I'll go," Carol committed.

/

Carol spent the rest of her evening packing for the weekend, and trying to look up Surtr or Muspelheim in the library. With the latter she had no success. Finally, at wit's end, she sent an email to Jamieann in Ireland-her Wiccan friend, asking for any advice for the upcoming ritual or information on Surtr or Muspelheim.

Not surprisingly, she didn't get a reply until the next day. Fortunately, she and Jamiann had started text-messaging each other on their new cell phones (they had always loved trying out the latest technologies).

Unfortunately, she didn't get the message until she was crammed into the backseat of Bjarni's car with Lilijana and Torvald.

The message was short and to the point.

SURTR A DEMON. DONT GO

What the hell?

Carol stared at the phone in shock. She hadn't checked her email before leaving that morning, not expecting an answer from Jamiann so quickly. The sudden text message was unusual from her friend; Jamiann had obviously expected her to call back right away.

As a Roman Catholic, Carol had been taught that the so-called gods of other pantheons were all considered demons. This had been a sticking point between her and Jamiann since secondary school, since most of the spirits in her pantheon were considered 'good' by alignment. Demons were, by definition, only evil. For the lass to be concerned enough to contact her with such a warning meant her friend was genuinely concerned.

Not that she could do much about it now. They were an hour into a journey that would take at least two, bumping along the Icelandic highway towards a cottage near the foot of the dead Hekla volcano. Carol didn't have her own car in Iceland; she didn't have the money for it, so she was dependent on her friends for rides outside of Reykjavik.

Like now.

She closed her phone and put it back in her jacket pocket before anybody else could see the message, but not before Torvald saw the look on her face.

"Is everything all right?"

She gave him a wan smile. "I dinna know," she confessed. Patting her jacket pocket, she explained. "I jest received a message from a friend back home. I need to call her when we get to the cottage. Somethin' may be amiss."

Bjarni glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. "There may be a landline at the cottage you can use, Carol. I don't think you'll get any cell reception near Hekla."

She nodded, her face now clouded with doubt. Torvald saw the look on her face and patted her knee in a comforting gesture.

"I'm sure everything will be all right," he soothed. He continued to study her face and her hair for a moment and then changed the subject. "You're not what I expected from an Irish girl," he admitted.

"Let me guess," Lilijana snorted, "white skin, red hair, and a shamrock?"

"Well," he stammered,

"Did ye think there were no black people a'tall in Ireland?" Carol gave him a mildly annoyed look and pulled his hand off of her knee, where he had started tracing patterns with his fingers. He had been trying to ask her out for the better part of the last year.

"Well," he stammered again, "I guess I never really thought about it."

"Besides, I'm only half," she informed him, brushing away his fingertips again. "An' stop that."

Lilijana gave her a questioning look. "Half what?"

"Half black," she told her roommate. "My da is black, an' my ma is white. T'was quite the scandal when they married, years ago. There's still some folks what don't agree with mixin' the races, ye see. On top o' that, my da wasn't Catholic at the time. He were a Protestant. He had to convert to Catholicism before gran and gramps would consent to the match, but he said he dinna mind."

"Couldn't they have eloped?" Lilijana was openly curious now.

"Aye, they could have, I suppose," Carol said with a nod. "But that would have meant ouster for my ma from her church and her family, an' he dinna want to put her through that. The Dahl clan-my Da's folks-they're Protestants and more acceptin' o' such differences."

"Wow, that was really nice of your da-your dad, I mean."

Carol grinned. "Keep it up, Lilijana, and I'll have ye speakin' like a good Irish lass in no time a'tall."

"We're here!" Bjarni announced a short time later.

TBC