The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  “Where were you?! Where in Slokna were you when we needed you?” Naiell’s blindling eyes were all she could see in the dark car. “Answer me! If you’re so om-fucking-niscient! If you’re the Seer, then answer me! Where were you when Kolkagga nearly killed Eirik? Where were you during the Rite? When they said that I was the rot? When they threw me in the pits? WHERE WERE YOU?!”

  She gasped for air as she remembered how alone she’d been. In the dark, peering up at the grating. The guardsman who had locked the shutter so Kuro wouldn’t …

  He was there. Kuro was there.

  Stefan dragged her to her feet. “Listen, girl! This is neither the time nor the place! We have to keep moving, and we have to stay out of sight. And you’re doing a really bad job of that right now. Do you understand?”

  Hirka tried to catch her breath. Her throat was raw from all the screaming. She heard another car approaching. Stefan shoved her into the back seat. He slammed the door and climbed into the front. The lights of the oncoming car rounded the bend. She held her breath. The car passed and disappeared into the darkness.

  Stefan drove on. Hirka’s rage dissolved into sorrow. She felt empty inside. Her wrist was smarting where Naiell had grabbed her. It was going to leave a mark.

  This was the Seer. A blindling. Powerful. Dangerous. And conceited. But maybe he had been with her, in the only way that he could—as a raven. Maybe he hadn’t abandoned her. He was here, with her, despite everything. And he was all that stood between her and his brother.

  “He’s never going to stop hunting me, is he?” she whispered, not daring to look at Naiell.

  “No.”

  “And he’s never going to die?”

  “Umpiri don’t kill their own, but I’m willing to make an exception where my brother is concerned.”

  “You can do that? Kill him?”

  “I can. The question is whether I will.”

  “Why wouldn’t you?” She was shocked at how easily the words came to her. She’d already killed. Out of necessity, not hatred. But now she felt hatred. She was becoming what she feared most.

  “He’s discovered something that allowed him to open the gateways again. And if we don’t get our hands on it, then annoying as it is, he’s the only one who can get us back home. Until then, we’re stuck here.”

  Stefan looked at them in the mirror. “What’s he saying?” The car swerved a little and he straightened up again. “Tell me what he’s saying.”

  Hirka hugged her knees and curled into a ball.

  “He says I should have stayed in Ym.”

  SKYNROK

  Rime rearranged the books stacked around him. Everything he’d been able to find about the blind—and it had all been a waste of time. Children’s stories. Songs. Interspersed with boundless praise for a Seer he now knew didn’t exist. He coaxed a history book out of one of the piles and opened it on the desk.

  This was the last place he ought to be. He ought to be in the forests with Kolkagga. Out finding the deadborn, not reading about them. But Svarteld had said no. To him! As if there were anyone in Ym who could refuse him anything at all.

  He closed his eyes for a moment. Centered himself again. There were enough men to choose from, and besides, Svarteld had said they needed knowledge more than they needed swords. He was right, but he had clearly never set foot in this library. Finding the blind in the forests was easier than finding them in here. Unless he was to believe what he’d read so far. And if he was, then Ym was threatened by blind, half-rotten gods with canines to their knees. Deadborn who never died, who could assume different forms, who switched out babies for their own, and who ate souls, much to the despair of the denizens of Slokna.

  He stared down at the book. He knew what he was going to find. The same story he’d found everywhere else. An embellished tale of the Twelve who had ridden into Blindból. One of them his own ancestor. Stories about how they’d met the only deadborn who could see the beauty of Ym, and who had turned against his own to save it. The Seer. In the form of a raven. How the twelve families had formed the Council and united the kingdoms. If he was really unlucky, there would be chapters devoted solely to the honor of these families. About how strong they were, how wise and merciful. The same empty words that had been repeated for centuries until they were accepted as the truth.

  Rime tossed the book aside. If there was one thing he’d learned from being on the Council, it was that nothing was perceived so uniformly by so many. He could take two men to the river and they wouldn’t even agree on what direction it was flowing in. If too many people agreed on the same thing, something was wrong.

  Footsteps approached behind him. He turned. It was a bare-headed shepherd, one of the gray-clad people who worked in the library. He stopped and folded his thin arms across his tunic, looking at Rime.

  “Can I help you?” Rime asked, expecting the shepherd to disappear between the shelves again like the specter he was.

  He didn’t. He came closer. “It’s usually the other way around,” he replied. “Can I help you, Rime-fadri?”

  Rime glanced down at the empty space in front of him. No wonder he looked like he needed help. The shepherd came over to him and rested a hand on the balustrade. “Another man stood here some six months ago,” he said, his eyes wandering along the shelves and down the levels. “He stood right where you’re sitting now. With the same piles of books around him.” He looked at Rime. “And with the same frown. He couldn’t find what he was looking for either. He tore a drawing from a book and took it with him. To a Council meeting, I think. Do you know who I’m speaking of?”

  Urd. Urd was here.

  “Yes, I know who you’re speaking of. He was looking for power. I’m looking for salvation.” Rime wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt the need to defend himself.

  The shepherd smiled. He had a gentle countenance. An enviable calm. “Forgive me, Rime-fadri, but I believe he too was looking for salvation. Many who come here are. It’s difficult to find elsewhere at the moment, but I’m sure you know that already.” Rime didn’t know what to say. It was hard to make sense of the shepherd. He seemed remarkably indifferent to the magnitude of the matter at hand.

  “What’s your name?” Rime asked.

  “Northree, fadri.”

  “Northree? What kind of a name is that?”

  The shepherd pointed at the other side of the room. “I’m in charge of the north side there. On level three. Northree.”

  Rime smiled. “So there’s a Norfour, too?”

  “Well, most of the others use their own names. They rotate, you see. I don’t. I’ve been in charge of the north side of this level for almost twenty years. That said, we do have a Norfour, and a Soufive, but I wouldn’t ask her for help unless I knew what I was looking for.” He winked.

  Rime sighed. “I know what I’m looking for, Northree. I need to understand the blind. I need to know what we’re up against.”

  “Up against? You say that like it isn’t over.”

  “Haven’t you heard?”

  “Oh, I know it isn’t over. Most people know that,” Northree said, looking at him. “But few say it aloud. Few who come in here, anyway. Those who can read come from families that have taught them what one does and doesn’t speak of.”

  “I used to be better at that,” Rime replied.

  It was true. He’d spent years furious at what wasn’t being said. But then he’d become just like them. Just as tight-lipped. Right up until the Seer had fallen. Until he’d met Eirik in Ravnhov. And Hirka.

  “We do have books referencing the deadborn, but in truth, we know very little, Rime-fadri.”

  “How can it be that there are creatures out there that no one understands? Even a thousand years ago we clearly knew enough to fight them. We knew what we needed to know back then, about them and the stone doors. How can we not know now?”

  Rime couldn’t hide his anger. The sheer lack of knowledge was unforgivable. How was he to keep people alive when no one knew what they we
re facing?

  “There was knowledge of the nábyrn, fadri. And of the raven rings. Of course there was, but nothing survived skynrok.”

  “Skynrok?” The word sounded familiar, but Rime couldn’t place it.

  “The death of knowledge. The end of all wisdom. Almost all the stone circles were torn down. And the books were burned. There’s not a single shepherd who doesn’t know the story. It’s said that they burned as many books as there are in the library. Though having said that, they mostly used scrolls back then.”

  “And no one stopped them?” The shepherd didn’t reply. Rime realized his stupidity the moment the question was out of his mouth. Of course not. Fear was fear. He knew that better than most.

  So what was he to do? Resign himself to the fact that he had an enemy stronger and faster than any ymling? That turned blood to dust in people’s veins? That was as difficult to kill as a shadow? As Kolkagga?

  The dancer had been right. She’d looked at his books and come straight out with it:

  You won’t find what you want to know in any book.

  There had been something about her. She didn’t strike him as the type of person who usually spent time in a place like this. She must have been looking for something more than harmless flirting. She had something to tell him. Rime stopped and looked at the shepherd.

  “Forgive me, Northree, but I think I know where to look. I just realized knowledge comes in many forms.”

  “I could have told you that,” Northree replied, though he didn’t seem affronted.

  Rime thanked him for his help and left the library. He walked as fast as he could without running. He had a dancer to see—a far more appealing prospect than a Council meeting.

  AS THE RAVEN FLIES

  The harbor was deserted. Normal people were asleep at such an ungodly hour. But not Hirka. She was curled up on the back seat, but she didn’t want to close her eyes. Stefan had stopped the car right by the quay. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, pausing every now and then to shift in his seat.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Nowhere you’ve heard of,” Stefan answered, ducking his head to check outside, again. “How long’s he been gone? He’s been gone a while, right? He’d better be here by the time Nils arrives, that’s all I’m saying.”

  “He’ll be here. He just needed to eat something,” Hirka answered.

  Stefan hadn’t wanted to let Naiell out of his sight. Not that he could have stopped him. The Seer was taller and stronger than he was, not to mention deadborn. But the three of them knew they needed each other. Knew they had a common enemy. All the same, it felt like the balance of power could shift at any moment.

  “Eat what, though? That’s the question. He doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his body! He must run on something, that’s for sure. He didn’t touch the sandwiches, and he didn’t even give the crisps a sniff, so what the hell does someone like him eat? Raw meat?” Stefan laughed, though it didn’t sound like he found it all that funny. Hirka decided not to mention that she hadn’t eaten either. Things out of bags smelled sweaty. And tasted of either poison or dust. She couldn’t bring herself to choke it down.

  The snow at the end of the quay had melted. The same two boats were still moored there. The sea was black, but whitecaps frothed farther out. She didn’t know much about this world, but some things were the same, no matter which world you were in.

  “I wouldn’t put out to sea in weather like this,” she mumbled.

  Stefan didn’t respond. He pressed one of the buttons, and low music began to play. He pressed the button again and it changed. As if there were someone behind the buttons playing whatever came into his mind. He pressed it a few more times. The sounds cut short and intermingled. One final press, and it went quiet again.

  Hirka was always astonished by how unfazed humans were that such things were possible. How they took such incredible things for granted.

  “Nils should have been here by now,” Stefan said. Mostly to himself, by the sound of it. “I said it was urgent. Extremely urgent.”

  “You should never say that,” she said, curling up into a ball. He turned and looked at her. His leather jacket creaked. It reminded her of Rime.

  “Never say what?”

  “You should never say you’re … what’s the word? When you really need help?”

  “Desperate?”

  “Yes. You should never say you’re desperate. No one will help you then.”

  “So what should you say when you’re desperate?”

  “Depends. I’d say I have something they need.”

  “Well, I said that, too.” Stefan turned around again but caught her eye in the mirror. “How old are you?” he asked. She was about to say fifteen but then remembered how much time had passed. “Sixteen winters.”

  “How many summers, then?”

  He was trying to be funny. And she got it. Even though she had a poor grasp of the language. They were from two different worlds, but they could still share a joke. She was surprised by how much it affected her. She smiled and swallowed back her tears. He smiled in return. “So how long have you been here?”

  “Nearly six months now. Not that I’m counting …”

  “Well, in any case, you’ve learned something it takes most people a lifetime to figure out.”

  He rested his head against the steering wheel. He’d asked her about what Naiell had said, and she’d told him. But Stefan hadn’t said a word about her outburst. It was as if it had never happened, and she was grateful to him for that. It was pretty decent of him.

  She drew a circle on the fogged-up window. What did it take to break through a stone circle? What had Graal done to her? A thought was gnawing at her. Something Urd had once said. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but it made her feel like she was holding something dangerous. A box containing an unknown poison. All she knew was that she couldn’t let anyone see what was in the box. Especially not Naiell.

  Stefan prodded his elbow. “He’s really fucked up my arm. This isn’t normal. Here, does that feel normal?” He held out his arm. She gave it a feel. He managed not to wince, she had to give him that. “It’s perfectly fine,” she answered.

  “Really? Is that your diagnosis, Dr. Sixteen-Winters? Don’t you feel that dent? Maybe a bit of bone’s broken off. What if it gets into my bloodstream?” He sounded genuinely worried.

  Hirka had to laugh. “You’re perfectly fine, Stefan.”

  “Right. I’ll ask again when my heart explodes. Is that all right with you?”

  Hirka heard a faint rumbling. “I think someone’s coming.”

  Stefan got out of the car. Hirka put on her raincoat and followed. After a while she saw something coming toward the quayside. It was unlike any boat she’d ever seen.

  “It’s him. It’s Nils! Shit, where is that creature?” Stefan ran up toward the trees. Scanned for Naiell. “What did I say? I said there was no time, and still he had to … Christ, we have to find that damned beast!”

  He turned and jumped. Naiell had been standing right behind him.

  “You’re lucky he doesn’t understand a word you’re saying,” Hirka said, grabbing her bag from the car.

  Stefan spat on the ground. Then he started to open all the car windows. “Come on, we have to get this in the water. They’ll find us otherwise, won’t they?” He walked around to the back of the car and started to push. Hirka joined in and the car started to inch forward. “Is he always this helpful?” Stefan asked, nodding at Naiell, who made no move to assist.

  “Naiell, he says we have to get this in the water so no one finds us,” she said in ymish, before adding, “and he doesn’t think we’re strong enough to do it alone.”

  Naiell came over, put one hand on the back of the car, and gave it a little push. Hirka nearly fell over as the car lurched forward. A moment later, it plunged over the edge. They went to inspect their handiwork. The car gurgled as it took its last breath. The last thing she saw was the sign with the numb
ers. Then it was gone.

  Stefan looked at the blindling. “Christ, he’s … he’s …” Hirka nodded.

  Something came floating up from the deep. The mitten. It bobbed and swayed in the waves.

  “Come on,” Stefan said.

  The boat that had come to get them was white and had wings. It drifted in toward the quayside. A door opened and Stefan clambered in. Hirka followed. It didn’t feel safe, the way it was rocking. She dreaded to think how it was going to cope on the open sea.

  “Wait, wait, wait! Stefan, what the hell?!” a man’s voice boomed from up front. He was swarthy and was wearing cups of some kind over his ears. Stefan pretended not to hear. He pointed out seats for Hirka and Naiell, but Hirka stayed where she was. She didn’t think there was much point in getting comfortable.

  Stefan leaned toward the man. “Nils, I promise, this will be worth your while.”

  “Worth my while? This isn’t a bloody taxi!”

  Hirka stared at all the instruments in the front. Buttons, switches, dials, sticks … more than she’d seen in any car.

  Nils shook his fists. “Stefan, this is the last time, you hear me? Never again. I’ve barely enough fuel as it is, and then you come bounding in with a girl and a …” He glanced back at Naiell. “A metalhead! His hair alone’s going to cost us another ten liters! And the longer the trip, the greater the risk. Hell, you’d think you were a … Am I just supposed to let anyone on board and take your word for it that it’ll be fine? I mean, hell …”

  Stefan flung his bag onto a seat, acting like Nils’s rant didn’t bother him. Hirka leaned forward to touch one of the glowing buttons.

  “Hey, hey, hey!” Nils swatted her hand away. “Don’t touch! What the hell, kid!” He stared at her and Stefan in turns, speechless. Hirka put her hands behind her back. It was like she’d just spat on an icon, but she tried to smile all the same.

  Nils found his words again. He started slowly, as if she had a hard time understanding. “This is not a game. This is a Lake Buccaneer. My Lake Buccaneer. Don’t touch the instruments. Don’t touch … anything!”