Scattered across the sand were boojum trees—tall, odd-shaped trees with arms too long for their thin bodies. Odin noticed their skinny arms spiraled upward and reached for the sky as if begging for water. He ignored their malformed limbs; they were certainly not like his trees on Mt. Grieg. What he could not ignore was the skeleton of a dead troll lying in the sand. He trotted a little faster past the dry bones while fine grains of sand begrudgingly resisted his every step.
In the distance, his ears picked up the hushed sound of humming. Puzzled, he stood still to listen. The humming seemed to be radiating directly from the white sand. As Odin looked closer, he could see the sand grains rubbing and vibrating against each other. The light morning wind was stirring the sand and slowly building up a momentum creating soft harmonic murmurs that changed tone and intensified with the wind’s strength. Playful winds dancing across the dunes orchestrated a strange and mystical serenade. As the enchanting drone swelled, the sand seemed to become an enormous instrument. The rhythmic murmur of its singsong and the warm sun slowly lulled Odin into a calm, dazed state.
Punga, waking from his sleep, sensed that Odin was too quiet. Crawling out of his beard and looking up into his face, he saw the stupefied look in Odin’s eyes. Punga heard the mysterious music but was unaffected by the sand’s hypnotic song. Realizing Odin had slipped into a stupor and could meet the same fate as the skeleton they had just passed, he yanked and pulled on his friend’s beard trying desperately to arouse him out of his trance. Just when Punga was losing all hope of prodding Odin out of his senselessness, a green mist appeared, riding lightly on the wind. The mist briefly hung suspended over Odin. Then, suddenly, it and the sand’s magical music fled with the wind. Without the hypnotic music, Odin regained his senses. Although completely unaware of what had happened, he could not help but notice the flowery scent of jasmine. Punga, unsure if he should leave his friend unattended, but disturbed by the bright sun, once again nestled deep in Odin’s whiskers.
Sand stretched out in every direction. But in the distance, Odin could see what appeared to be the rim of a canyon. As he approached its edge and stared down into its abyss, the canyon’s steep walls made him dizzy. Millions of years of water and wind had created a deep, winding gorge. Shaken, he stepped back and looked away. Near the edge and sticking out of the sand was the arm of a dead troll. Looking around further, he saw more mummified oil trolls scattered in the surrounding sand. Arms and legs from wrapped bodies had escaped their bindings. Now they were waving grotesquely in an excited breeze. Odin quickly trotted away from this disturbing sight.
Gathering courage, he again carefully approached the canyon’s jagged rim. Along its edge, the white sand spilled effortlessly, like a waterfall, flooding the deep ravine in fine sand. From Odin’s vantage point, the bottom looked like the ghost of a gigantic white snake winding its way through the gorge. Along the rim of the canyon, he caught sight of another boojum tree. Odin could see that its meager source of survival came from a bubbling spring. He would keep this in mind for fresh water.
Canyon wrens, disturbed by Odin’s rude intrusion, called out to him in sharp complaint. Nearly knocking him over, the flock of wrens soared off into the northern sky. Then all became very still; Odin could hear himself breathing. The canyon, shrouded in silence, was mystical. He sat down and let its quiet mood relax his weary mind and body.
From the depths of the canyon, a faint jingling chime reached Odin’s ears. Its pleasing melody bounced off the tall, slick walls and lingered atop the canyon’s rim. Odin, pleasantly surprised and delighted by the fanciful harmony, imagined a canyon nymph. She, of course, would be very pretty as she fluttered about his head. Her petite bracelets of gold would intoxicate him with the ever-slight tingle of soft femininity. Yet, this whimsical succession of clear tones from a single chime was different. It sounded nothing like the music of the wind and sand, and it was getting closer.
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Odin stood. His eyes scanned every direction for an appearance of the teasing nymph. Instead, far below in the canyon, he spied a tribe of silent oil trolls led by what appeared to be a chieftain. The entire tribe came into view as they gradually rounded a bend. He watched from above as they moved toward the rim of the canyon.
With the skill of a mountain-climbing troll, Odin scrambled into the jagged rocks protruding out of the canyon’s rim. There he hid behind the twisted boojum tree growing alongside the spring. He gulped down the spring’s cool water and, from this hidden vantage point, watched in silence.
He was disappointed when he saw, hanging from the chieftain’s neck, a single bell that chimed light, ringing tones as he shuffled side to side. Odin’s vision of the little nymph vanished. Possibly he was affected by too much sun. Now, with the disappointment of never seeing the nymph, the chimes took on an entirely different tone.
Young, strong trolls were carrying leather stretchers stacked with bodies. Odin recognized the bodies as mummified trolls. The tranquil yet mournful melody echoed between the canyon’s walls with what sounded to Odin like death’s voiceless message. Below him was a funeral procession. He watched as the somber tribe of trolls, in their lopsided gait, slowly climbed up to the rim’s edge and moved out into the great expanse of white sand.
As a youngster, Odin had heard tales of oil trolls gathering mummies from a sacred cave. The tribe would then journey to a distant land of white sand. Gray, mummified bodies of oil trolls, wrapped in skins and reeking of resin, would last hundreds of years when buried in the dry sand. He knew he had now entered such a place and watched as the oil trolls gathered in a selected spot to bury their dead.
The caravan’s hideous creatures with solemn faces fascinated Odin. The tribe had dressed in their best. Male trolls, wrapped in tattered animal skins, displayed a shiny black stone they stuffed in their protruding belly buttons. Their dirty beards were braided and threaded with lizard bones. Each female wore only a belt woven from coarse hair. All wore, hanging from their ear lobes, the sharp teeth of the opossum.
The youngest of the oil trolls dug shallow holes, lowered the mummies into their selected pit, and covered them with white sand. Over time, the whimsical ebb and flow of wind blowing across the ocean of sand had exposed some of the shriveled mummies from past burials. Oil trolls had hearts of oil shale, but a few felt sorrow and mourned their own. Faithful oil trolls who did not forsake their dead, reburied each exposed troll in the endless sand. Once all the mummies were covered, the burials were complete.
Now the funeral took on a black mood and the female trolls reacted. They untied and loosened their braided hair from the tightly drawn figure eight. Letting their hair hang over their faces, they began to sway and moan. Wrenching sounds that erupted into piercing wails escaped their throats, reaching Odin’s ears. Yanking and tearing at their thick hair while rocking back and forth, they caterwauled in grief. The males kept silent and watched, all the while chewing the betel nut, its red juices spilling onto their mangy beards. This ritual continued as the sun settled below the horizon.
Oil trolls were cannibals and Odin knew they were hungry after their long journey into the land of sand. Fearing their appetites, he kept well hidden, watching the caravan for what seemed like an eternity. Even the sun appeared to move in slow motion as it slid below the canyon’s rim. When its orange flare completely disappeared, in some strange way Odin felt the sun had abandoned him and fear once again crept into his chest. But most of all he was surprised at his feeling of profound loneliness. The approaching darkness made him uneasy, but he was glad for the effect it had on his little nocturnal friend. When Punga crawled out of his beard and sat on his shoulder his loneliness vanished.
From behind the shelter of the boojum, the two friends watched the funeral ritual, waiting and wondering what they would do next. Fog, rolling in like thick smoke, made it difficult to see the oil trolls. With the arrival of complete darkness, Punga became Odin’s night eyes and began to describe the trolls’ behavior. He found the females fascinating as they wore little on their gangly bodies except belts of woven hair. Hanging from their necks were ornaments fashioned from bird and troll bones. He crawled off Odin’s shoulder and tried to mimic their frenzied tribal dance. Punga’s impersonation of a dancing female brought a smile to Odin’s face.