The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  Hirka understood. “Being after the same thing doesn’t make us allies.”

  He didn’t answer. His silence gave her the opportunity she needed.

  “We’ve been running long enough, Stefan. Allegra and Silvio found something. Before he lost his memory. Something that belongs to Graal. Or something he needs. We don’t know what, but that doesn’t matter. It could be what we need to get the upper hand. To stay alive. We have to find the books, Stefan.”

  He nodded. She’d thought it would take more to convince him. It was encouraging and alarming at the same time. “We’ll rent a car as soon as Naiell gets back,” he said.

  “He’s coming. I think he’s just out trying to find his courage.”

  Stefan snorted. “He doesn’t seem to be lacking in that department.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. I thought he was hunting his brother. But all this talk of finding Graal … I think it’s mostly about knowing where he is. So he doesn’t just run into him. I think he’s scared.”

  Stefan laughed. “He’s scared? Girl, I get the shivers just looking at him. Those eyes … the claws. He’s un-fucking-real! What does he have to be scared of?”

  They stood with their hands on the railing, the two of them, and she knew they were thinking the same thing. Whatever Naiell was afraid of, now that was something to fear.

  Stefan dragged his hand over his face. She could see the determination he’d had moments earlier starting to fade. She pulled the drawing out of her pocket and handed it to him.

  “Stefan, you’ve been hunting Vardar your entire life. Hunting the source of this sickness. And if you get what Graal wants, you’ll find him. It’s that simple. We have to go after those books. It’s our only lead! And if he’s after them too, then we just have to find them first. Easy as pie.”

  “And what if he’s there? Have you considered that, Wonder Woman?”

  “In a museum? Full of people? Why would he be there? He doesn’t know we know. And maybe there’s nothing to know! Maybe it’s a coincidence the books are all in one place, but I don’t think so. We can’t ignore a clue like this. This is bigger than both of us. This is about my world—and yours. If Naiell is right, whatever it is, it can be used to open the gateways. I have to know. I have to stop Graal. Even if that means I have to destroy what we find.”

  Stefan gave her the drawing back. “As if you’d destroy anything. You can’t even part with a picture.”

  Hirka crumpled up the drawing and threw it in the canal. She regretted it straight away, and as a show of her capacity for destruction, it was pretty pathetic. “I can destroy something if I have to,” she muttered.

  “Is that right?” Stefan looked at her. “Even if it means you have no way of getting home?”

  Hirka felt warmth blossom in her chest. It was the first thing he’d said to suggest he actually believed her. She fought back an urge to hug him, settling for a nod instead. “If I can’t get to Ym, he can’t either. At least that’s something …” She took a sip of water. It tasted unnatural. She tipped the rest out. It rained down over the canal.

  Stefan pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “Well, I poked around a little while you were snoring away. The book collection was donated by a company.” He continued as though she understood what he was talking about. “It was purchased a few years ago, by a developer. Investors, you know? There’s one partner I can’t find a picture of. Joshua Alexander Cain.”

  “What does that matter?”

  “I don’t know. It might not. But … Cain, I mean, talk about sibling rivalries. It doesn’t get any more epic than that. Bit too much of a coincidence, if you ask me.”

  The name Cain sounded vaguely familiar to Hirka. Maybe something Father Brody had talked about. “You’re afraid it’s him? That he’s already been there?”

  Stefan shrugged. “It probably doesn’t matter. We don’t even know what we’re looking for.”

  “Something that doesn’t belong here.”

  He flicked his cigarette in the canal and went back in. She followed him and sat down next to him on the pink sofa. His gun was on the table. A strange object that gave far too much power to someone like Stefan. To anyone, for that matter. He fiddled with his phone and a small hatch opened. A white chip appeared, and he swapped it for another. “Anyway, we’ve got bigger problems than Allegra,” he said and snapped the old chip in half with his teeth.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He held up the phone. “That’s how they get you, isn’t it? If anyone is stupid enough to steal this, it takes me thirty seconds to find it. If I can find it, what the hell do you think they can do? Think about it.” He rubbed the back of his neck. The fear had returned to his eyes, so she changed the subject.

  “What do you mean, bigger problems than Allegra?”

  He looked at her. “Your priest has woken up.”

  “My priest?”

  “I saw it in the news. Two of them survived. The priest has been in a coma until now.”

  “Father Brody? He’s alive?!” The glass almost slipped out of her hands.

  “It isn’t good news, Hirka. Don’t you get it? He’s going to tell them about you. If they weren’t looking for you before, they will be now.”

  Hirka knew what he was saying, but it didn’t matter. Father Brody wasn’t dead. “He’s alive …”

  “Barely. Comas are pretty serious. You’re asleep, but you can’t wake up, you know? I guess you don’t have those where you’re from.”

  “I know what it is. It’s when a small part of you is in Slokna and won’t leave.” She put the glass down and grabbed his arm. “You said two. Who’s the other one? Is it Jay?” It had to be Jay. It had to be. She could picture her so clearly, like she’d just walked out of the café. Buds in her ears and her ripped jumper fluttering in the wind.

  “A man,” Stefan answered. “The older one. They don’t know who he is.”

  Hirka knew. Her heart sank. Jay had never hurt anyone, and now she was dead. While he had survived. Isac. The man with the zigzag shirt. The man who had smelled like a festering wound. Rotten. Sickly sweet.

  Stefan smirked. “They don’t know what’s wrong with him either. They’re at the same hospital. Sounds like fun, don’t you think?”

  Hirka didn’t think so.

  She leaned over and picked up his gun. Stefan had already told her not to fiddle with it. It felt cold in her hand and made her feel clumsy. He looked at her.

  “Careful, girl. You don’t want to go down that road. It’s bad enough one of us has messed up their life, don’t you think? Anyway, you barely know what it is you’re holding.”

  “I know what it is,” Hirka said. “It’s a longer knife.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. There was a pained look in his eyes. He took the gun and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close. “They’d have made me king where you’re from,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. It was an awkward gesture, but it still felt nice.

  THE THAW

  Damayanti sat alone at the table. Rime guessed she’d arrived early to make sure he would be the one coming to her, not the other way around.

  There were few others in Lindri’s teahouse. Fewer and fewer every time he visited. Two women—merchants on the wrong side of town—sat at a window table, their age obscured by jewelry and make-up. Maybe they were there to see how fortunate they really were.

  A lone drudge with a backpack sat in the corner, a wooden puppet on the table in front of him. The strings were tangled around the puppet’s neck. Its head lolled as if it had been strangled.

  Rime sat down on the bench across from Damayanti. For a brief moment her eyes betrayed how happy she was to see him, but then she caught herself and gave him her usual beguiling smile.

  Rime dropped two heavy books on the table. The other women glanced at them but continued their conversation.

  “Stories?” Damayanti asked, leaning forward so that her bangles clinked against the table. Ri
me caught a whiff of her perfume.

  “I used to think so, but it’s not that simple, is it?” Rime nodded at Lindri, who shuffled toward them carrying a fully laden tray. Lindri was old, but he’d never looked older than he did now. He put the tray down on the table. One of the cups was chipped, a small triangle missing from the rough ceramic.

  “It’s good to see you again, Lindri.”

  “You honor me, Rav—Rime-fadri. It’ll be ready once you’ve forgotten it.”

  “Sorry?”

  “The tea. It’ll be finished steeping once you’ve forgotten about it.” The tea merchant’s smile tugged at all his wrinkles. He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but then he left them to it.

  Damayanti lifted the lid from the pot and inhaled. “Mmm, you should bring me here more often,” she said, looking up at Rime from under heavy eyelids. “Clearly only a select few are treated to the good stuff.”

  “Clearly,” Rime replied. “But you get to choose what you want, unlike me.”

  “Because he always gives you the best. You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  “Try going a year without the freedom to choose and get back to me.”

  She raised an eyebrow and Rime realized he knew too little about her to assume anything at all. She swept her hair forward, her ponytail brushing her collarbone.

  “The women by the window know who I am,” she said without lowering her voice. “They’re pretending not to, but they’ve heard about me. They’re talking about me. And they’ve already decided what kind of woman I am. To them I’m a whore. I’ll never be anything else. I’m free to go where I like, but I’ll never be free from people’s assumptions. I’m the dancer. That means that all of Mannfalla thinks they know me.”

  “I’m Rime An-Elderin.”

  The smug look was wiped from her face. She blushed. Something he’d never thought he’d see. He did her the favor of changing the topic. It was time they got down to business.

  “Graal lost the war.”

  She glanced around. She knew the name. Rime rested a hand on the books. “What are you scared of, Damayanti? No one here knows that name. No one in this teahouse, no one in Mannfalla, no one in all of Ym. Who here cares about a war that ended a thousand years ago? And a name that’s been buried for just as long? It’s not in the book of the Seer. It’s not in the war chronicle. So how is it that you know a name no one else does?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair. “One hears things …”

  “Damayanti, if I wanted to see you rotting in the pits, you’d be there already. I’m not here to punish you for what you’ve heard or what you know.” She gave him a suggestive smile and he felt his irritation grow. “No, I’m not here for that either. I’m here because you’re going to help me fight the blind. I’m no fool, Damayanti. You sought me out. You invited me. You said I had to understand the war to understand the blind. So tell me why.”

  “You still think the Seer doesn’t exist?”

  “I know he doesn’t exist.” Rime didn’t sound as sure as he wanted to. He’d read too much of late to be sure of anything.

  “In that case, what you know is worthless, Rime An-Elderin. They were brothers.”

  Rime knew that. He’d found the books. He knew more than she realized, and it was time she understood that. Rime leaned toward her.

  “There’s a story of two brothers. Graal and Naiell. Deadborn, blindling brothers. Nábyrn. Idolized by their people. They led the war against the ymlings. Until Naiell took the form of the raven and saw the beauty of Ym. He turned his back on his own and became the Seer. Fact and fiction intertwined. A soup of history and lies we’ve been served ever since. But the brothers did exist, didn’t they?”

  Damayanti nodded. She wasn’t able to conceal her surprise. Rime continued.

  “Losing a war is a costly affair. Graal’s punishment was a study in cruelty. He was betrayed, maimed, and exiled, while his brother was worshipped like a god. An eternity has passed since then, and none of it should matter anymore. But it does, doesn’t it? Because that’s why the blind are back.”

  Damayanti shifted on her bench. Rubbed the back of her neck and stared at the ceiling, considering what she should and shouldn’t say. But when she looked at him again, he could tell she’d made a decision. She had come down on the right side—she was going to tell him what she knew.

  “It matters because they don’t die.”

  “Keep your superstition to yourself. I’ve killed them with my own two hands. Sure as Slokna they die.”

  She leaned toward him. “Everything can be killed, Rime. But what does that mean? A thousand years is nothing to them. Nothing.” Her eyes were burning. “Not even half a lifetime for a blindling.” He suddenly had the feeling he was seeing her clearly for the first time, and it unsettled him.

  He’d thought he had the upper hand, but the conversation was going in a direction he hadn’t foreseen. He tried to fight off his doubt. She’d known Urd, but still … She was wrong. She had to be wrong. Nothing could live forever.

  “Think about it,” she said, like she was reading his mind. “How did he become the Seer? What made us worship one of the deadborn for a thousand years? And why would people lie awake at night, terrified of something they barely knew anything about? How are myths created, Rime?”

  “You’re telling me the Seer exists? That he’s alive?”

  “I’m telling you they’re both alive.” She leaned back against the wall again.

  “You can’t know that.”

  “I can.”

  “How?”

  “Graal and Urd talked,” she said, shrugging as if she were talking about the weather.

  Rime stared down at the table, his thoughts scrambling to find the right hooks to hang on. They all converged on one. “The beak …” He looked up at her. “It’s the beak, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Urd took the beak.”

  “Took?”

  “That’s what they call it. Taking the beak.”

  Rime knew he was entering dangerous territory. He’d been focusing on all the wrong things. He’d wondered how any of this was possible. The gateways. The Might. Blindcraft. He of all people ought to have known better. The how wasn’t important. He gripped her hand.

  “Why? Why did he take the beak?”

  “Because he really wanted to talk to Graal, but Graal isn’t in our world. He was exiled, remember?”

  Rime let go of her hand. The sudden certainty was unstoppable, making his pulse race. He closed his eyes. “To the children of Odin,” he heard himself say. “He was sent to the humans.”

  Damayanti got up. She leaned over and whispered in his ear. “And from there he can orchestrate another war. He has the means now, and I think you know why.”

  Hirka …

  Rime remembered Hlosnian telling him that Hirka was the reason the gateways were open. She didn’t belong here. There was something about her. Something that influenced the Might. She had traveler’s blood, and now there was someone who needed it. She was alone. Alone in an unknown world. Alone with an ancient evil that wanted to reclaim Ym.

  He’d sent her to her death.

  “You’ve forgotten the tea,” Damayanti said, then left.

  Rime stared at the pot. The tea had stopped steaming. He felt cold as well. He got up and surveyed the other patrons. The women tittered. The man with the puppet was still sitting in the corner, nursing the same cup. Lindri was filling small boxes with tea. All of them going about their lives, unaware that there were monsters that could live forever. Deadborn a thousand years old. None of them even suspected …

  Suddenly there was a loud crack. For a moment Rime thought it had come from him, but it had come from outside. It was the ice. The ice along the riverbank was starting to melt.

  Rime put a stack of coins on the table and headed for the door.

  “Ravenbearer?” the man with the puppet asked tentatively. Rime looked at him but said nothing. “It’s
you, isn’t it? Rime-fadri?”

  Rime nodded.

  “If you hadn’t taken your seat on the Council, I probably wouldn’t be sitting here right now. I feel I ought to thank you.”

  Rime moved closer. “What do you mean?”

  “They said I was lucky for making friends with the rot while I was in the pits. She was the one who demanded they let me out.”

  “Hirka?”

  He nodded. “People say you know her. Would you thank her for me? If it isn’t true that she’s dead, that is.”

  “She’s alive.” Rime barely suppressed the urge to grit his teeth.

  “Good. Tell her not to drink the water. They forget to change it. She’ll know what I mean.” He laughed awkwardly. His eyes only met Rime’s very occasionally. He mostly looked at the puppet. A king, dressed in blue with a copper crown.

  Rime turned to leave, but a niggling thought made him stop.

  When? When would Hirka have demanded that the Council release people from the pits?

  “When did they let you out?” He turned back toward the man.

  “Just before the handover ceremony, Rime-fadri. I got to see you take the staff. The youngest ever. They say everything will be different now, but I’m not so sure. In any case, I’m out. Poor but free, and that’s good enough for me. I wanted to thank her, but … They say she’s not here anymore.”

  Rime was no longer listening. If the man was right, it could only mean one thing. Hirka had met with the Council before the handover ceremony. Under what circumstances would she have been able to demand anything from the Council? And have those demands met?

  They made a deal. Forced her to leave.

  Rime had said as much to Hirka the night she’d left. That had been his first instinct, that the Council had forced her to leave Ym. What had she said? Had she denied it? Or just brushed him off?

  He opened the floodgates for the Might. Rage. Fear. It surged through his veins, forcing them open. The man in front of him pulled back into the corner, staring.