The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  The forgotten crowded around them. Moved toward them between the pews. It took a moment for Naiell’s confusion to turn to disbelief.

  “No?” he uttered doubtfully. He looked at her.

  Then he screamed. An unnatural sound from the depths of his being. His canines gleamed in his open jaws.

  “YOU BETRAYED ME?!”

  Over by the altar, Graal started to laugh. “How does it feel, brother? How does it feel to be betrayed?”

  Naiell’s eyes darted around the hall. He was surrounded. His rage turned to fear. It was starting to dawn on him what was happening.

  “You betrayed me,” he repeated hoarsely.

  “No,” Hirka replied. “You betrayed me. And in return, I’m saving your skin.”

  The forgotten closed in around him. He swung his arms around to keep them at bay. “I can give them eternal life! In my service! Tell them that! Eternal life! You have nothing!”

  “I can give them something better than eternal life,” Hirka said. “I can give them freedom. And a chance to forgive.”

  Naiell’s eyes darkened. His lips quivered. He threw himself at her. She saw it coming and pulled away. She stumbled into a pew. He grabbed her, his claws digging into her throat. The forgotten crowded around them. Hirka raised a hand to stop them. Naiell needed her alive. For a little longer. Luckily Graal and Rime knew that, too.

  Naiell hissed in her ear. “You thought you could beat me? You’re nothing, Sulni. Nothing!” He was pressed against her back. Hirka could taste the fear. Like steel in her mouth. Too much was at stake. But she knew what she had to do. It was now or never.

  She flung her elbow back, into his body. He groaned, his grip on her throat loosening. She tore herself free, skin stinging under the tape holding the knife in place. Naiell stooped forward with his hands pressed to his stomach. She’d hit her mark. But she knew he would heal quickly. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to stop him.

  He got up again.

  “Nothing?” she said. She was scared and stretched to breaking point, but she’d had more than enough of being nobody.

  “I’m no mayfly. I’m Hirka!” she screamed. “I destroyed you in Ym. I can destroy you here, too.” He grabbed her. She swiped her elbow across his chest with all the strength she could muster. The tip of the knife sliced into him. Red blood sprayed across the faces of the closest forgotten.

  Everything would happen at once. She knew that. Could see it in the faces of the old blood slaves. Some of them had a wild look in their eyes. Some of them had already lost the fight.

  No! You’re strong!

  But the sticky red fluid had roused their thirst. Their craving. They threw themselves on the floor. Over the precious drops seeping between the stones. Farther back, others started climbing over each other to get closer. Jumping over the pews. Naiell howled in pain and made a grab for her, but she pressed herself into the throng of forgotten. Between …

  Stefan?

  Stefan was standing in the opening in the wall, gaping at the teeming sea of forgotten. For a moment he seemed frozen. Unable to understand or react. Then he drew his gun.

  No! This is not how it’s supposed to end!

  Despair gripped her heart. Squeezed it into pieces. She heard Graal shout. Heard the forgotten fighting their way toward Naiell. She turned to look at him, but he had disappeared beneath them. Drowned under his own army.

  Stefan grabbed her and pulled her close. He shouted something, but she didn’t hear a word. Chaos reigned. Rime came running toward them. Stefan raised the gun and Hirka threw herself at his arm, sinking her teeth into it. Biting down until he yowled. She wrestled the gun away from him. Clutched it in her hand.

  No one dies today.

  She aimed at one of the few windows that were still intact and pulled the trigger. There was a bang. Her arm jerked. She pulled the trigger again. More bangs. The sound of tinkling glass. She felt like she’d been hit as well. As if she were breaking, just like the glass. Shattering into pieces. Raining down on the floor. She was destruction. She was destroyed. Everything she touched went to pieces.

  Her forgotten army recovered their composure and scrambled back, away from the falling glass and ruined idols. Naiell was left behind, crawling in the aisle. Hirka threw the gun at the wall.

  Everything fell silent. Silent as Slokna. She could feel a wetness in her hair. Something dripped down onto her face. She looked up at the gaping hole in the roof. It had started to rain.

  BROTHERS

  Graal walked down the aisle toward his fallen brother. Glass crunched beneath his feet. His leather coat glistened in the rain, like the leaves on the ground. Naiell grabbed a pew and tried to pull himself up, but then he fell to the floor again and started crawling back instead.

  “What have you done?” Stefan whispered behind her.

  “It had to happen sooner or later,” she replied. “And considering a thousand years have passed, this is later.”

  Pain shot through her arm. The knife. It had cut into her. She reached under her tunic and tore it loose. The tape was wet with rain and blood.

  The forgotten were silent. Some of them were staring at Stefan. They knew who he was. The hunter.

  “So have you got enough sense to be afraid, or are you too busy counting teeth?” Hirka asked.

  Stefan pulled her close and laughed into her hair. He shoved his hand in her pocket and dropped something inside. “I think these belong to you,” he said. Her stones. He’d made a choice, and he wanted her to know. She kept her back to him, his arm across her chest. He needed her more than she needed him.

  Rime’s eyes were boring into her, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She didn’t have the strength, and she wouldn’t until all this was over.

  Graal stopped in front of Naiell. “Koy, waiad kwainsair, umkhadari!”

  Strange words without meaning. But her body recognized them.

  Naiell’s hair was plastered to his face. Fanned across his shoulders like wet raven wings. The gash in his chest had closed, only a line of raised skin indicating where she’d cut him. He bared his teeth like a wolf. But Hirka had seen Graal tame wolves before.

  It was an incredible sight. A half-naked, sinewy beast, wearing Stefan’s old trousers. He crawled across the floor before his finely dressed, much slimmer brother.

  Hirka’s throat was stinging from Naiell’s claws, but it still pained her to see him that way.

  “I’d have faced you wherever and whenever,” Graal said. “Unarmed and alone. Yet you come here with an army? With a hundred men and women? How many did you have last time, brother? A hundred thousand thrice over?”

  “Are you blaming me for what men do at war?” Naiell replied.

  Graal tipped his head back and closed his eyes. Then he looked down at his brother again.

  “You misunderstand me. This is not a discussion. This is not an opportunity to explain or defend yourself. I’m not wondering why.” His voice grew louder and louder. “I—know—why!”

  Hirka feared he was losing his temper.

  “You were given all the power under the sun!” he shouted, the echo bouncing between the walls. Then he leaned over Naiell. “Weren’t you, brother?” he asked quietly. “All the power. Yours alone. You and the Might. You’re desperate for it now, aren’t you? Thirsting for it. But you’ll never find it. The earth is barren here. Had you only let the Might live, brother, you could have bound it now. Drawn on it. Poetic, don’t you think? You orchestrated your own ruin when you sentenced everything outside of Ym to death.”

  Graal crouched down, cocked his head, and gazed at Naiell. They looked more like each other now. So much anger. So much hate. It was poison, and Hirka could feel it spreading under her skin. She’d done everything in her power to save lives. This had to stop. Now.

  Naiell didn’t dare look his brother in the eye. His breath came in short gasps. Graal reached out, as if to touch him, but he stopped himself. He straightened up again. More glass crunched beneath his
feet.

  “Hirka was of the impression I wanted to use her. That I needed her blood to replace what you scorched. Who could have given her such an idea, brother? What kind of monster would paint such a grisly picture? I’m almost tempted to try. After all, I have you here. Wouldn’t it be glorious if I traveled home with your blood in my veins? A poor substitute for what you destroyed. What do you think, brother?”

  Hirka tore herself out of Stefan’s grasp and approached the altar. “That’s enough, Graal. It’s over.”

  Graal turned to her. “Blood of my blood, this has barely even begun. Our people will always fight for the Might. For the right to Ym. You know what we are.”

  “So who will you be once you’ve succeeded?” she asked.

  He gave her a wondering look. The forgotten stared at her. Beggars, leaders, women and men alike. Rime. Stefan. Isac.

  She needed to strike while the iron was hot.

  “Do you want to be the one to lead them to the Might? Or do you want to remain the loser in exile? You have that choice now. Naiell betrayed them. Took what they wanted and kept it for himself. They hate him. You hate him. But he’s your brother. We’re both blood of your blood. And Dreyri don’t kill Dreyri. Isn’t that right, Father?”

  Hirka saw Rime lower his gaze out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps he had only just realized who she was. That she was half-blindling. The truth drove a wedge between them, and it pained her.

  She took a step toward Graal. “This is the moment. Not a thousand years ago. Not a thousand years in the future. Now. You choose your fate here and now. If you kill your own brother, they’ll never follow you.”

  “I was sentenced to die here. They’d never follow me anyway.”

  “You’re wrong.” Hirka went over to him. “They don’t need to follow you. They can follow me.”

  The silence was charged, like when Graal had been sitting at the piano, fingers hovering over the keys. The sound of everything that was yet to come. The smell of ash mixed with the smell of fear. Of blood.

  She looked up at Graal. At the deadborn who had begotten her. “You can do something better than kill him. You can give him to them. Give them the one who betrayed them. Send him to them, along with me, and they’ll forever know it was your blood that brought him back. That he was your gift to them.”

  She could tell he hadn’t considered that. She had a chance. A tiny chance. “You said it yourself, Graal. What has Ym done for me? They threw me in the pits. Humiliated me. Hunted and despised me. You created me to live among Dreyri. To take your place. To be the one who would lead them to the Might. Graal—whether you like it or not, I’m your only hope.”

  His features had softened. He understood, but he was still hesitant. “You didn’t grow up there. You don’t know them. They’ll eat you alive.”

  “Let them try! I’ve brought Ym to its knees before and I can do it again. Just ask Rime. I’m blood of your blood.” She pointed at the forgotten. “You see them? They’re not here for you. They’re not here for Naiell. They’re here for me. I swear I can do this. I can deliver the Might to our people.”

  Rime came toward her. He was frowning. “You’d sacrifice Ym? For him?!”

  She looked at him. “No. For you.”

  Graal laughed. “She’s right, Rime An-Elderin. She knows you’ve taken the beak. Dreyri possess the knowledge she needs to remove it. I know what she’s thinking, and she’s thinking further ahead than you. I look forward to seeing her in your chair.”

  Hirka rested a hand on her father’s chest. “I’m not promising you a world, Graal. I’m not promising you annihilation, or the ruin of all ymlings. That won’t happen. But I promise you’ll get what you want. You’ll get to go home. You’ll get to feel the Might again.”

  Graal turned to Naiell and beamed. “Hear that, brother? This is my daughter. Blood of my blood. See what she’s become!”

  Naiell stared at her, eyes black with fear. “It’s a death sentence! They’ll kill me!”

  Hirka snarled at him. “Then you’d best pray to whatever gods you might have that I’m able to lead them. That they’ll listen to me and spare your life. Because without me, you’re a dead man.”

  Graal put his hands on her shoulders. “Blood of my blood, you’re greater than I’d ever dared hope. We’ll do it your way.”

  Hirka felt a tingling in her chest. A peculiar warmth mixed with the pain. Was it weariness? No, it was something else. Something she couldn’t remember ever feeling before. Pride. She was proud of who she was.

  She lowered her eyes. “Yes. We’ll do it my way. If I survive the night.”

  “Why wouldn’t you survive?” Graal asked.

  Isac took a step forward from the ranks of the forgotten.

  “She’s going to pay your debt.”

  THE DEBT

  Hirka sat down heavily on the altar. Soot clung to her yellow boots. The forgotten stood in silence around her, waiting. For salvation. What if she couldn’t help them after all? She was too tired to pursue the thought any further. She had to try. She’d promised.

  They were all so different. Slaves to the thirst. Graal’s followers. Some were well-dressed. Beautiful. Perhaps they hadn’t thirsted long. Others looked exhausted. Young men with blue circles under their eyes and cracked fingers. The type she’d seen sitting in the streets. The type people looked right through. Desperation had many faces.

  She rolled up the sleeve of her tunic. Then she drew her knife and made a cut in her forearm. Blood started trickling down toward her wrist.

  Stefan shouted and pushed between the forgotten. Over toward her.

  “This! This is your cure?” He stared at her like she’d lost her mind. “For all of them? Can’t you count, girl?!”

  “They don’t need much, hunter.” Isac spat the last word. Stefan looked around as if he’d only just realized who he was surrounded by. His hand moved instinctively to his chest, hiding the small container of teeth he wore around his neck. Teeth from the forgotten.

  He backed away. “Haven’t you people heard of hygiene? Surely there’s a more civilized way of doing this? At a hospital? What the actual fuck.”

  Deep down she knew that Stefan was more worried about himself than her. This was all he knew. The forgotten. The hunt for Graal. If she cured the rot, life as he knew it would be over.

  Hirka smiled at him. She wanted to explain but was too tired. And the solution was so simple. It would soon be over. “A hospital, Stefan?”

  His gaze faltered. He remembered. In this world she was nameless. Numberless. She didn’t exist. And even if she had, they both knew that none of the forgotten would let her go before they got what they’d been promised.

  Stefan turned to Graal. “And you … You’re going to let her do this? Clean up your mess? She’s just a girl!”

  Graal walked toward Stefan, who stayed where he was despite every instinct. They stood face to face. The hunter and his Graal.

  Hirka found herself wondering whether her father knew who was standing before him. Did he know that Stefan was more forgotten than the forgotten themselves? That he’d been abandoned by a woman who had chosen Graal over her own son? Maybe that didn’t matter to Graal. Maybe that sort of thing meant little to someone who would never die.

  Stefan was shaking.

  Graal rested his white gaze on him. “Forgive me,” he said.

  Stefan’s face twisted in pain. He looked like he wanted to reply, but nothing came out of his mouth. Graal caught his eye again. “My blood is yours, Stefan, if you want it.”

  Hirka hardly dared breathe. Many of the forgotten standing before her would have accepted. Even now. Even though they knew the pain it would bring in time, when they were no longer close to Graal.

  Stefan shook his head and fell to his knees. Then he started to cry, in deep, gasping sobs. Hirka felt for him. She knew what he’d said no to. Understood the strength it had taken. He looked broken, kneeling on the floor. But he’d never been stronger.

 
His sobs prompted the forgotten to throng together before the altar, his strength infecting the very people he’d always hunted. They were ready for her.

  The first to approach was the beggar from London. The man with the nice eyes and hollow cheeks. He looked at her arm and then at the others, confused about what he was supposed to do.

  Hirka offered him her arm. He took it in his hands. His chapped hands in their fingerless gloves. He clamped his mouth over the cut. It was cool against her skin. Isac said something to him, but she didn’t hear what. It was as if all sound were muffled. All she could hear was the rain drumming against the church floor. The plastic on the roof flapping in the wind.

  The beggar moved aside to make way for a woman she’d never seen before. Dark hair. Anxious. She lifted Hirka’s arm to her mouth, drinking what would finally give her back her death. Drinking before moving aside for the next person.

  Hirka’s arm started to tingle. She gazed up at the sky. She’d won. Won the ceasefire she needed. Rime would return home. Graal wouldn’t hurt him. Not for now. Naiell was alive. Graal was alive. She was alive.

  For the time being.

  But at what cost? Would it cost Ym? She tried not to think about it, about how she didn’t know where she was going. About how she had to leave Rime again after a kiss that had torn her from the clutches of Slokna.

  And the next time they met, they would be enemies.

  An ymling and a blindling. Dreyri. Each on their own side of the war she knew would come.

  She felt numb. Darkness was closing in on her. Was this what it had been like for Rime as a child? Sitting on a pedestal, blessing hordes of ymlings in Eisvaldr? She smiled. Her blood roared in her ears. Wet, pale faces came and went, drinking from her as if she were a holy grail.

  The wind blew in through the hole in the wall, sweeping ash along the aisle. The pages of the burnt book started to flutter on the floor, coming loose and sailing in black flakes through the air before gradually crumbling into dust.