The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  He hoped she wouldn’t come to her senses and let him speak. If she did, she’d soon realize how little he really knew. So he listened.

  “I have no choice because men need to believe I’m strong. I’m alive because they all think different things. Some think I’m a temptress and, for that reason, leave me in peace. Others think I’m as strong as I am soft. There are even some who think I prefer women and leave me be because of that. My strength is knowing what kind of man I’m dealing with so I can do what I have to in order to survive. I want to dance without fear of rape. Without ending up face-down in the Ora. So yes, I’m a strong woman. But you know better than most that strength is not the same as fearlessness. I’ve had to do all kinds of things to save my own skin.”

  He looked at her. Had she been lying, she’d have tried to appear more pitiful. To disappear into the pile of cushions on the sofa. But she sat straight-backed, one hand resting on the back of the sofa and the other playing with her glass. She was telling the truth.

  He laughed. “So now you’re going to tell me about all the things you’ve been forced to do?” he asked, hoping to put an end to her performance. Conversations were always so much easier once the masks had been put aside.

  She lowered her chin and looked up at him. Her eyes were rimmed with dark make-up. She nodded at the beak. “Yes, I know what that is. And yes, I thought it had disappeared along with Urd.”

  The hairs on the back of Rime’s neck stood on end. His instincts had brought him here. A remote possibility. But he was going to get so much more. He didn’t dare speak in case she brought her guard back up.

  “What you need to remember, Rime-fadri, is that Urd was a powerful man. He knew I’d grown up among wise women and disreputable men. That I’d learned things as a child. Things he could greatly benefit from. So I was left with a choice: share those things with him or die. And it would be such a shame to deprive the world of this body, so I went with option one. But you’re not like him. So tell me, why should I share something with you if it might cost me my life? Why should I admit to anything and give you what you need to have me set alight and thrown from Askeberg?”

  Rime stared at the beak. She was right. Urd had practiced blindcraft. The forbidden Might. The knowledge Rime had thought was lost and forgotten. Had the Council found out what Urd had been up to, he’d have been stopped long before he’d been able to do any harm. Damayanti knew that, too. And she had every reason to fear the Council. He had to assure her that they would never find out.

  He looked at her again. “You have my word.”

  “You say that like it means something. And it actually does to you, doesn’t it?”

  He could see that she was surprised.

  She bit her lip. “Blood is life. Blood rouses the raven. And the raven is a talkative creature. I’ve been hearing that since long before I was old enough to understand. Give the beak a body to speak from, and you can talk to whomever you like.”

  “Blindcraft.”

  The word made her gaze falter. “No one who uses that word today knows what it means, Rime-fadri. The Council once used the Might the way the deadborn did. That’s how it was before. Before the books were burned. Back when men were slaves or bled to death on the battlefield.”

  “People still serve and bleed.”

  “You’re just as bullheaded as Urd was. He once sat where you are now. He too considered it a show of strength to contradict me.”

  Urd again. I’m following in the footsteps of a madman.

  Rime was desperate to get out of there. His head felt heavy and he was no longer certain of what he wanted. If this woman was truly familiar with blindcraft, and could use the Might like the blind once did, then … so what? What use was that to him?

  She could destroy us.

  He took the beak and got up. “Urd was Urd. I’m Rime An-Elderin. I’m Kolkagga, and Ravenbearer to the eleven kingdoms. I’ve shown more than enough strength for one lifetime. When I say people still serve and bleed, it’s because it’s the truth.”

  She looked at the beak in his hand. “Don’t you want to know how it works?”

  He didn’t reply. She got up as well. “You think what you hold in your hand is evil. You think it’s an instrument of death. Nábyrn sorcery. But the Might is neither good nor evil. It is what it is. It can give you everything you want, or take from you everything you have. Refusing to use or master it is madness, but you know that already. You thirst for control. So what if I were to tell you that the voice of the raven knows no boundaries, Rime? That it can carry across mountains, across countries?”

  She gripped his belt and moved closer. Whispered in his ear. “What if I were to tell you that the raven can carry a voice across any boundary, even between worlds?”

  He closed his fist around the beak. Pulled away without looking at her. He couldn’t let her see the effect of what she’d said.

  Hirka. He could reach Hirka. Hear her voice, even though impossible boundaries separated them.

  “At what cost?” he asked, remembering Urd being dragged screaming between the stones in the hands of the blind.

  “Urd’s capacity to overestimate himself was unparalleled,” she replied, as if she’d read his mind. “He was a weak man with a big mouth. You’re not like him, Rime An-Elderin.”

  How did we get here? Why are we discussing this?

  It had all happened so fast. From one moment to the next. He’d put a raven beak on the table and now they were talking about blindcraft. About something abhorrent that could cost them their lives. Though nobody would take her side over his.

  He couldn’t help but admire her courage. All she’d had to do was feign ignorance. Say she’d never seen the beak before. That she didn’t know any more about the Might than anyone else. But she’d opened up. Just as vulnerable and exposed as she was onstage. To the head of the Council. To the Ravenbearer.

  “Take all the time you need, Rime An-Elderin. It doesn’t happen overnight. To understand the Might you need to understand our history. Understand the war.”

  “I was weaned on the history of the war,” he replied.

  “Really? So what was the most important thing that happened?” She leaned closer. Her breasts heaved as they were squeezed between her arms.

  “We won,” he replied dryly.

  “Ah, but what you have to realize, Ravenbearer, is that the most important thing isn’t who won. The most important thing is who lost.”

  A CHOICE

  Leaning houses huddled together along the canal. The evening had enveloped the city in fog. Hirka didn’t mind. She was more than happy to remain unseen. Allegra had accompanied her on the boat, dropping her off right outside the house they were staying in. The moment she was out of sight, Hirka yanked off the torturous shoes and put her yellow boots back on.

  She knew she shouldn’t be out on her own, but the fog made her feel safe. And she needed time to think. To figure out what was true. But the line between truth and lie had blurred. What was right and what was wrong seemed to change depending on what certain people wanted. The only thing she had to hold on to was the fact that no one knew who she was. And nobody could be allowed to know. Especially not Naiell.

  A foul stench was drifting up from one of the canals. Nobody else seemed to be troubled by it. Hirka had a horrible feeling she was smelling something that hadn’t happened yet. Allegra had told her to enjoy the city while it was still there. Before it sank. Apparently nothing human was meant to last. Not Venice. Not the world.

  She stopped outside the door. What was she going to do? Go inside to Stefan, the man Allegra claimed had been planning to kill her? Inside to the blindling who said she was an instrument for the destruction of Ym? Or should she just keep walking in the hope she’d never see any of them again?

  Hirka wasn’t afraid of being alone. She was used to that. What was weighing on her was the feeling of never having anyone to trust. Being surrounded by hidden motives. Riddles. Like Naiell. He held secrets from a wor
ld she didn’t know. He’d lived for so many years it was unfathomable. He was a blindling. And he was all that stood between her and his brother, who was desperate for revenge.

  Him and Stefan.

  She needed Stefan. Without him she’d never find her way in this world. She might just as well be a dog slinking around in alleys, begging for food. There was too much at stake now. She had to stop running.

  She walked up the stairs and knocked. Stefan was nothing like Rime. Rime would have heard her coming before she got to the door. Stefan was more likely to jump out of his skin and riddle the door with holes. And her along with it. Maybe Allegra had been telling the truth. Stefan would sooner kill her than feel unsafe. Fear made people dangerous.

  “Naiell?” she heard from inside.

  “Have you lost Naiell?’ Hirka tried to open the door but was stopped by a chain. Stefan closed the door again and took the chain off. He let her in, securing the door again before looking her up and down. He seemed angry and confused. She’d forgotten she was wearing new clothes. She tugged at the skirt.

  “Allegra?” he asked tersely. She nodded.

  He kept staring. “You look—”

  “—like I own Venice? Where’s Naiell?” She scanned the room and spotted Stefan’s weapon on the table. Bent into the shape of a hook.

  “He needed some air,” Stefan snapped.

  “And you tried to stop him?”

  Stefan grabbed the weapon. Held it up for her to inspect, as though it were her fault that it was destroyed. “This had a custom silencer! Do you have any idea how much they cost?” He roared and chucked it against the wall. It fell to the floor, leaving a tear in the red wallpaper. He slumped against the wall and dragged his hands over his face.

  “What did she say?” he asked, revealing the fear behind his rage.

  Hirka set down the bag with her old clothes. “She said the skirt showed off my legs, and that the blouse wouldn’t clash with my hair.”

  He looked at her, momentarily confused. Then he laughed glumly. “I don’t know how I ended up here, Hirka. I’ve dug myself into a hole so deep I can’t get out.”

  Hirka grabbed his hand. It was warm and rough against hers. “Come,” she said, pulling him out onto the balcony. She pushed one of the wrought-iron chairs against the wall of the building and clambered onto it. Then she stepped up onto the window ledge, where she could reach the ladder on the wall. She started climbing, then paused to look down at Stefan, who stood staring at her. “Come on, chicken.”

  She pulled herself up onto the roof and found somewhere dry to sit. The city was like a dream. Devoid of color. Blurred. Was she starting to wake up?

  She heard Stefan making his way up. It felt safer up here. She could be herself. Hirka, the girl who liked to climb. She could cope with anything up here, no matter who Stefan was. He sat down next to her.

  “You’re not very bright. You know that, don’t you?”

  “On the contrary,” she replied. “I’m brighter than you think. For example, I know we have a choice to make.”

  “Choice?”

  She hesitated for a moment. Searched for the words.

  “You’re hunting the source of a sickness. That rot. And he’s hunting me. So either you’re with me because you think I might lead you to him, or you’re planning to sell me to someone who can help you find him. That means I have a choice to make. Do we stick together or not? That’s my choice.”

  At first he looked dumbfounded. Then he turned away. He knew what was coming.

  “You work for Allegra,” she continued, “in some way or another. Whether I trust you or not is my choice. Allegra claims to be looking out for me. She’s trying to get close to me and Naiell. Whether I let her or not is also my choice. I may be wearing clothes she bought for me, but I already know she can’t be trusted. She says you were going to kill me. And that might have been true. Until Naiell turned up and everything changed for you. But she said that. And that means none of us can trust her. So what choice are we going to make, then?”

  She turned to Stefan. He was sitting with his legs apart, his elbows resting on his knees. Fiddling with a loose roof tile. “Do you believe her?”

  “That’s not important.”

  “Of course it’s important! If you think I was going to kill you, then what’s the fucking point in us talking, girl?”

  In that moment she knew it was true. That had been his plan. Had it been a lie, he wouldn’t have gotten so worked up.

  His eyes looked painfully tired. Yet brown and full of warmth. That’s what had stopped him. The warmth. Stefan may have been a hunter, but he would never think of himself as a murderer.

  “I can rest easy knowing I’m still alive,” she said. “That should be good enough for you, too.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth. She was lying. More than anything, she wanted to show all of them. All the killers. All those who took what they wanted by force. Who hunted. She wanted to crush them. Destroy them. Tear them to pieces. So they’d know how it felt.

  But she’d already done that. Killed. And it hadn’t helped.

  Stefan’s head drooped. His eyes glazed over. A grown man, at least twice her age. But in that moment, she was dealing with a child.

  “I feel like I can’t breathe, you know?” he mumbled. “We left behind a hell of a mess in England. They might have surveillance footage from the alleyway. I might already be done for. And now Allegra’s gone and stabbed me in the back. For you. To get you to do what she wants.”

  “No, not for me. For Naiell. It’s all about Naiell and what he’s capable of. Him and … Graal.”

  His name sounded different now. Now that she knew. No longer just an empty sound. It was raw. Harsh. Laced with meaning. Burning her tongue. Was she right? Was that a name for a father? She pushed the thought aside. There was no time for it. Or space. Even up here on the roof. That’s how bad it was.

  Stefan tossed the red roof tile aside. “Jeez, you say that like it’s normal.”

  “It is. Where they’re from.” Hirka grinned.

  Stefan looked at her. “Who are you, girl? And like hell you’re sixteen.”

  It sounded like he was saying something nice, so she didn’t question it.

  “Stefan, there’s a reason Allegra is trying to come between us. She doesn’t think she needs you anymore. She wants to control me. Control Naiell. Because she knows a lot more than she’s letting on, and we need to find out what.”

  Stefan snorted. “If she hasn’t told you by now, she’s not going to.”

  Hirka lay back and looked up at the colorless sky. “Well, she says plenty without knowing it. For example, she’s gone to hear people explain their theories about Graal. Why would she do that? And what does she want with a hunter like you? Someone who’s also looking for him? And why is it so important to keep us here? I know the reason, and she’s going to tell us whether she likes it or not. I have a plan, Stefan.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “I have a plan.”

  He pressed his hand to his chest. “I’m the one who comes up with the plans here, girl.”

  “In that case, it’s your plan, too.”

  “What, then? What’s my plan, Your Highness?”

  Hirka got up. “We’re going to break into Allegra’s.”

  THE INNOCENTS

  Rime pulled his tunic over his woollen undershirt and tied it at the side. The cord was concealed. There weren’t any loops, pockets, or fastenings. Nothing that might impede movement. Nothing that might get caught on a sword. He was back in black. Kolkagga black.

  Svarteld stood before him with his arms folded over his chest. “So this is how you think you serve us best?” he asked. “In black? At war and in danger?”

  Rime pulled his hood up and slid his mask over his face. It concealed almost everything, apart from his eyes. “Better like this than in the chair.”

  He sheathed his swords behind his back. Svarteld could think what he wanted, but Rime knew who the gre
atest threat to Ym was. And they weren’t sitting around a table, whining. They were out there, with claws and twisted minds, a threat to ordinary people. And it was out there they had to be fought.

  “And when you die, who will sit in your chair then, An-Elderin?”

  “Am I not Kolkagga? A black shadow? Already dead?” Rime tightened the leather around his wrist.

  Svarteld started toward him. He didn’t stop until they were face to face. “You can’t govern the world from Slokna, boy! You’re the Ravenbearer. You took the Seer from them. You’ve made yourself the beginning and the end. And you’re going to use that power to offer yourself up as blind bait in the wilderness? Contempt of death has its place among Kolkagga. Not on the Council. You’ve more than just yourself to think about now.”

  Rime tried to step around him but was stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. Svarteld’s skin was almost as dark as his clothes. There wasn’t really any point in him wrapping his tail in black before missions, but he always did. He led by example. It annoyed Rime that he still feared the man who had taught him fearlessness.

  “You think I don’t know that? I was born for them. I live for them. And I risk my life for them. And for everyone else.” Rime tore himself free, making for the door.

  “No,” Svarteld said from behind him. “It has nothing to do with anyone else.”

  Rime stopped, just for a moment. This was a wound he didn’t want to poke at. He glanced at Lindri, who was standing behind the counter drying teacups, pretending not to listen. Everything in this place reminded Rime of Hirka. They’d sat there together the evening she’d left. Him furious and inflamed with the Might. Her sensible and level-headed, like only someone who’s about to leave can be.

  Rime went out the back door and walked along the platform that stuck out across the Ora like a jetty. The river was black and silent in the dark. Lights from the fishing camp flickered in the distance. He could hear the wind chime tinkling mournfully inside the teahouse. The door opening. The others had arrived.