by Amy B. Nixon
He interrupted me by lifting both hands in the air, then glanced at my companion without giving me as much as a word.
“Marcus, would you please explain?”
What the fuck? Didn’t I have a right to explain myself?
“I found her outside the front gates. Eitr threads were flowing from her. Her magic had intercepted two guards and a Gjenferdet spirit. By the time I Apertured on the premises, my colleagues were dead and the apparition was immobilized. I’ve banished it, the men are revived and back at their posts, but I’m afraid Miss Dustrikke is more dangerous to herself and to others than we suspected.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt them!” I yelled in frustration.
“Did you get a chance to count her eitr threads?”
“At least twenty, spanning from every direction.”
“And you’re sure the spirit was a Gjenferdet?”
“Yes. I believe it belongs to the same bird she transformed into a Draug on Sunday.”
“Hey, I’m still here! Before you lock me in a dungeon, will you at least hear me out?”
Dann Nordstrøm ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “I’m aware of your presence, Miss Dustrikke. As you already mentioned, you don’t know what happened, which is why I asked Marcus to explain. No one will lock you up or punish you for unintentionally murdering two of our guards, in view of the fact both men are now alive.”
Murder. I had murdered two people. A gut-wrenching tornado hit my stomach.
“I’m sorry! The ghost was scratching at my bedroom’s window, I came outside to look for it, then it attacked me. It… went through me. Again, and again. I don’t know how those eitr threads appeared, and I didn’t see how the guards died. Like I said, I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. It just… just happened.”
Even I couldn’t fully comprehend the words coming out of my mouth. How could murdering someone just happen? Not someone, but two someones! How could he believe me, when I found it hard to believe myself?
His eyes landed on mine. Blue. Cold. Intrusive. Frostbite gnawed at my bones as those arctic blue irises pierced me, shattering my frozen being.
“What are you going to do to me?” I asked breathlessly.
“First and foremost, I’d suggest a good night’s rest. You can begin your training tomorrow.”
“Training?”
“Due to these outbursts, it’s imperative that you learn how to control your magic, especially when it comes to evocation. As long as you’re on this island, it will be mandatory. Judging by Adaline Dustrikke’s explanations, you’ll be staying with us for at least a month, which is more than enough time for you to unintentionally hurt yourself if–”
“You spoke with my aunt?”
“Not personally, but she informed the Council you would stay here at least until December.”
She couldn’t bother telling me anything, but she went around making such plans about my life behind my back? Was I a five-year-old incapable of taking decisions?
“As I was saying, one month is more than enough time for you to hurt yourself or others. We will also appoint you an Elemental mentor for good measures. Aperture will be necessary, unless you wish to find yourself in unexpected places at the least convenient of times. Marcus, I believe you’ll see to it?”
“Unexpected places?” I repeated, eyeing the guard.
“Aperture is the act of materializing your corporeal form in and out of a certain space.”
My jaw hit the floor. “Like… teleportation? Necromancers can teleport?”
“Aperture, not teleportation,” the guard corrected me firmly, clearly not surprised by my shock.
So, not only did I have the power to kill people, raise them, and transform them into soulless undead beings, but I could also teleport? This place got crazier by the minute. And the worst part was, my bitterness over my aunt’s deceit only grew more acidulous with every bit of magical information I learned.
***
Sleep never came. I had committed murder, and I couldn’t get over it as easily as I had learned how to accept the existence of magic.
Worst of all, the four men who knew about it – two of whom had died because of me – didn’t seem bothered by the actual murder. But I wasn’t like them. I came from a world where murder meant prison.
And I sure as hell wasn’t someone who descended from the famous Linnea Dustrikke. I was simply a twenty-year-old girl from San Francisco. Writing codes, learning programming languages, operating with new software… all of it came naturally to me. But learning magic? How the hell was I supposed to do that, when I had taken a year off the easy studies to deal with my emotional issues? How was I supposed to learn about necromancy when all functions in the code of my being screamed murder?
Monika woke up a few hours after I got back to our room, asking why I looked miserable. She waved off the fact I had taken two lives tonight, as if death and homicide were trivial things.
However, when I told her about my eitr threads, she jumped in bed.
“No way! You shot twenty freaking threads from your body?”
“That’s what Marcus Dahl said. I have no idea what I did, or how they appeared to begin with.”
She fidgeted with her left hand’s fingers, rolling them between her right one’s thumb and index.
“Spill, Monika. What sort of shit did I get myself into?”
“It’s not shit per se, but… Umm, I guess you were scared and hurting, the way you were with your Draug. That explains your magic shooting out of you in uncontrollable ways. And since it has manifested as eitr threads, not as Elemental magic, anything in those threads’ way would have dropped dead.”
“Uh-huh, since eitr is poisonous and all that,” I noted out loud. “But the ghost couldn’t die like those men, because ghosts are already dead. Kinda. Right?”
She grimaced, nodding to the side.
“Learyn, there’s something I didn’t tell you on Sunday because I didn’t want to scare you after the Draug.” She paused to bite her thumb’s fingernail, fueling my curiosity. “Remember how I said it’s an advanced and dark form of necromancy? The practice of using Draugar became popular among dark covens of sorcerers in the Renaissance. Nowadays experienced casters don’t do it, but not just because it’s wrong.”
“Is it because they don’t want to steal souls?”
“Stealing a soul calls for different aspects of necromantic magic. It’s easier to draw out a soul and entrap it into becoming your slave than it is to make Draugar.”
I shuddered, wrapping the covers around me. If I could kill people and make Draugar without trying, was I going to accidentally steal someone’s soul tomorrow? Like I needed something else to look out for!
“Experienced necromancers don’t make Draugar because it’s dangerous for them, too, not only for their target. This type of magic calls for risky complexity; and if it’s not performed properly, it has an outcome worse than death. Mustering so much eitr from your magical core can transform you into a Livløs.”
I remained silent as I tried to swallow the thick lump in my throat to no avail.
“A Livløs state occurs when a complex spell goes completely out of a necromancer’s control, because he or she can’t properly conduct their magical energy. The flow of too much eitr consumes the sorcerer or sorceress. Their soul turns into primordial eitr, corrupting every cell in the body, erasing all traces of humanity, and leaving behind a terrifying creature in its place.”
My vocal cords ached when I whispered my next words. “So, I can lose my soul if I’m not being careful?”
Monika slowly shook her head, picking at her nails.
“You can lose everything. Your humanity, compassion, sense of social, lawful, emotional boundaries… A Livløs creature is the ultimate manifestation of a dreadful, lethally violent, immortal monster. You can lose yourself. And once you become a Livløs, the transformation is irreversible.”
After Monika’s less-than-subtle warning, my mind entered such a sinister
state of genuine horror, I wasn’t even bothered by the looks everyone gave me later at lunch.
The shock and fear didn’t leave my system in the afternoon either, but I was determined to learn how to control my magic. I rushed straight for my first practical exercise in evocation as soon as my phone told me it was time. Only problem was, when I walked into the room Marcus Dahl had mentioned last night, my bravery vanished.
The small room held a long table, two chairs and some cluttered wall shelves. I couldn’t focus on the two women on each side of the table, because there was a body between them – a lifeless, wide-eyed man, whose chest wasn’t moving.
I hadn’t seen a dead body before coming to this island. Now, only five days after my arrival, I had already seen two corpses – maybe even three, if that man was dead – and the carcass of one animal.
My brain caught up with the idea of evocation exercises.
Learn how to control a soul, spirit and whatever. Maybe even learn how to kill. And learn how to revive. I finally grasped the meaning of necromancy.
In its full fucking capacity.
Death magic. Death.
My stomach turned upside down. Clasping my mouth with one hand, I ran off, barging through the door without giving any explanation.
I ran for as long as my nausea could take it, until I paused in some corridor, bent forward, and puked my entire lunch on the floor. The sight of partially processed food made things even worse, and I threw up once again. The atrocious mess was too much.
What followed next was even more repulsive.
Somehow a stumpy, grotesquely looking creature had appeared a few footsteps away from me, pushing a wheel cart twice its size. It had four fingers on both hands, wrapped around the cart’s handles. An unnaturally large head, shaped like a perfect circle and covered in several strands of grey hair, was positioned over its short body. A pair of grey eyes the size of snow peas stared angrily at me under a set of tightly knit bushy eyebrows. Its face had a crooked pink scar running diagonally across the nose. The mouth was a thin, barely visible line, parted to reveal two sets of jagged teeth.
I shrieked, stumbling backwards, and fell directly on my ass. Any pain I was supposed to feel was numbed down by the horror rushing through my system.
The monstrous thing snarled under his nose, took a tube from the wheel cart, then spilled some of its liquid contents directly over my vomit. I watched in shock as my lunch literally got incinerated.
“Wh-aah… are… you?” I squealed in gasps.
“A house spirit,” the thing replied through gritted teeth, producing a scraping sound.
That’s what Húsvættir looked like?
The house spirit pulled a bunch of other things from the cart. Silently, it started scrubbing the floor. I wasn’t even able to catch my breath before it finished cleaning my mess, then just disappeared into thin air, along with its cart.
I spent the rest of the afternoon in my room, too scared to think what waited for me in evocation. Or what would appear next if I vomited again.
At some point Monika returned to find me hiding in our bathroom.
“Learyn, get out,” she spoke firmly on the other side of the door.
“I like it here,” I replied and tried to put on a brave face, even though she couldn’t see me. “It’s a really nice bathroom. The stone tile finish on the walls gives off a SPA vibe. Think we can get a bathtub?”
“Girlie, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna kick it down.”
“I’m sick, probably ate something spoiled at lunch.”
She didn’t say anything for a few moments. I hoped my lie sounded convincing enough.
“What happened with evocation? Did you throw up?”
A sudden wave of fury overtook me.
“Who told you?” I shouted, unlocked the door and flung it wide open. “Who was it? Tell me their name!”
“Calm down! No one said anything. Many people can’t handle evocation. They throw up, faint, scream, swear… A boy from my high school even jumped out of a window…”
“The fuck?! Did he survive?”
Was this why that sleazeball Axel had joked how I was invited to his party if I didn’t die by then?
“He’s fine,” Monika assured me, waving a hand in the air. “My point is, we’ve seen it all. Whatever your reaction was, someone has already done crazier stuff before you. It’ll get better in time. If it doesn’t, just don’t eat before your evocation exercises and don’t poke at the dead flesh.”
She put her arms around me. I immediately sensed her Sentinel magic as it soothed my emotions. I couldn’t remember the last time I had exchanged a hug with someone other than my aunt. It was strange, yet somehow comforting, although I barely knew Monika.
“Your pep talk sucks,” I breathed out, returning the hug.
Despite her lack of pep talk skills, Monika came up with an awesome idea. Over the weekend we went through lists of activities I could join to ease into the supernatural world, and most importantly – to help me avoid earning a reputation of a crazy, rampant murderer.
Naturally, I ruled out all parties, clubs and covens Monika suggested. My misanthropy, short fuse and my aunt’s warning to not leave Nordstrøm Island played a key role in my decision. The only club I agreed to was actually a book club, and it didn’t require sneaking off the island. I had always wrinkled my nose at the notion of joining a book club in my human world, but Monika said Professor Geira Brekke’s one on Magiessence would come in handy. Besides, if this woman had such an academic degree, she probably had enough brain cells to perceive me as something more than what everyone else thought of me.
Another unlikely idea I agreed to was checking out those lectures on History of the Nine Realms. Finally, I accepted my roommate’s advice on opting for a group exercise organized by Marcus Dahl next weekend, where I would be among necromancers whose spell work was on a beginner level.
Dann Nordstrøm hadn’t mentioned anything about me using spells, though it seemed like a useful thing to learn while I was trapped here for at least a month, as my aunt had decided. And since I wasn’t looking forward to joining any covens on the island, practicing with guards was my best option.
***
On Monday morning, I entered a room full of people from every age group. Professor Geira Brekke’s Magiessence Book Club was comprised of at least fifty people, and their meeting was held in a huge drawing room – or in whatever they called such places in medieval castles.
Dozens of armchairs, sofas and lounges were positioned in an almost circular formation, in a way that would allow everyone to face each other. For a second, I regretted coming. The book club meeting probably hadn’t commenced yet since many of the seats weren’t taken. I pondered over sneaking out before it was too late.
I had tried running away from problems by taking a year off university, then I had literally ran from the US all the way to Northern Europe. My twenty-first birthday was in less than a month. It was about time for me to stop running and start acting like a grown-up.
“Learyn! Learyn Dustrikke. Come sit with me, child.”
An elderly woman was gesturing to an empty seat next to her. I approached slowly amidst the mortifying silence that had suddenly overtaken the room. Any chances I had of flying under the radar had vanished because all eyes were fixed on me.
“Hello?” I said hesitantly, sitting on the sofa next to the woman.
“I’m Geira Brekke,” she spoke softly, taking my hand in hers. “We must speak more later, but for now, let us focus on the Álfar.”
“Álfar?” I repeated the Old Norse word for elves.
“Yes – Dökkálfar, the dark elves who inhabit Midgard. We’ve been discussing them for the past two weeks, but I’m sure you will catch up on our club’s reading material soon.”
“How can you welcome her with open arms?”
I twisted my neck backwards to see an angry man, probably in his sixties, who was anything but delighted by my presence. The others w
ere still silent, but as I quickly examined their faces, I got the confirmation most of them weren’t fond of me being here.
“Have you seen what this girl does, Geira?”
“This girl,” I said with a caustic tone, “didn’t mean to murder anyone. And she has no intention of doing it again.”
The man’s stormy expression was replaced by bewildered shock. He stumbled back and quickly exited the room. Shit! Apparently, he hadn’t known about the dead guards until I opened my big mouth.
Other book club members also headed for the door. I noticed children, young men, women and elderly people leaving. Before I could apologize and explain myself, Geira Brekke rose from her seat.
“If memory serves me right, this is the child of Eivind and Syverine Dustrikke. Have you forgotten their names already? Or have you forgotten we’re to thank the Dustrikkes for the survival of Dökkálfar? Need I remind you of the Dark Ages for elves and necromancers alike?”
What the hell? I had felt like the black sheep in my family when I took a break from university. Now, hearing praise for the Dustrikkes, I wanted the ground to open and swallow me.
On the bright side, this kind woman’s words convinced most of the ones who were leaving to stay. I silently thanked Geira Brekke for seeing beyond my terrifying deeds, and kept my mouth shut for the rest of the meeting, while her book club discussed elven heritage. I didn’t know anything about elves in general, so grasping the idea of their existence was the Mission Impossible. If someone had switched me with Tom Cruise, even he wouldn’t have been able to assimilate so much magical information overnight.
By the time I entered the castle’s enormous Dining Hall for lunch, my grey matter was an irresponsive pile of mush. Good thing it was full of dozens of oval tables and hundreds of people, so I easily got lost in the crowd. As I sat on an empty chair and took some Nordic rice dish with red beets from the buffet displayed on each table, I wondered why my aunt had sent me here.
What was my purpose as a necromancer? Fight declining population in some part of the world? Travel the globe as a shady physic specializing in helping her customers communicate with dead relatives?