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Chapter Text

Birgitta stared out the window at the sea. She never got tired of the sea, despite its many dangers, and the quarantine ship was fairly well-equipped to handle those. She thought she had seen a bird fly past rather quickly, but now couldn’t spot it in the sky. There were some gulls circling something just outside the intake mooring area, but she couldn’t make that out either. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. She wasn’t due for shore leave for another few weeks, timed for when Jódís was due to finish her current posting and come through quarantine. She lost herself in reverie, remembering Jódís unravelling her thick dark plaits by the light of the midnight sun streaming through the window in Reykjavik...

Reinald sidled into the office, rubbish bin in hand. Birgitta kept her face neutral, even though she detested the hulking janitor. It was her policy to be at least cordial to everyone on board, since the ship was too small to avoid anyone. How could he possibly be brother to Jódís? He made much of the fact that he was the eldest of four siblings from the same Dagrenning stock. Ah well, at least her work area was always sparkling, since he made such special effort to make himself useful around her. She balanced open a second quarantine register next to the one she’d had open, making it look like she was too deep in concentration for conversation. As usual, it didn’t work.

“There’s three dead porpoise Beasts come alongside.” When Birgitta didn’t answer, Reinald continued, “Our harpoons didn’t get them. Did you hear that boom?” She had, but still didn’t look up. “It’s not natural,” he persisted.

She could resist no more. “Did you strangle them with your bare hands as they poked their heads out of the waves, Reinald?” He at least had the sense to look a bit abashed, and Birgitta was immediately sorry she’d been so sharp. He was known as a braggart, given to telling tall tales to the travellers coming through the quarantine station, but she kept her policy for good reasons.

She apologised and excused herself, grabbing her parka as she left the office. She started walking along the deck towards the canteen, but was caught by the sight of the Beasts Reinald had mentioned. It nearly put her off getting a snack, but they were clearly dead for good. Something else caught her eye. Just a mote on the water, on the surface of the water? As Birgitta strained to see more clearly, Reinald suddenly appeared at the railing beside her and just as suddenly, he pushed off and started lurching back down the deck muttering, “nononono no no.” She puzzled at him for a moment before turning back toward the sea, but in that moment of inattention the mote was suddenly much closer.

She gasped as she could make out limbs, and a head; it looked just like someone running on the waves. A person running, on top of the water, in the middle of the sea, headed straight for the ship. It had to be...”BEAST!!” she yelled, “Beast alert!” Other members of the crew with better eyesight than hers had already come to a similar conclusion, and the guns were swiveling toward the Beast. She started scrambling to get below, but only got a few meters before the beast suddenly leapt lightly onto the deck between her and the hatch.

The creature looked surprisingly like a regular healthy human, all arms and legs in the normal places, one head in the right proportion, long red hair swinging in a plait behind and festooned with what looked like bronze sigils. It looked remarkably like a lithe young man, except that it was perfectly dry and showing no signs of having been running, and in fact wore a vaguely unfocussed yet peaceful expression. Petrified, Birgitta stared at the apparition as it (he?) turned and started to walk away from her, and incongruously the sight of the red braid and his sky-blue peysa reminded her of Jódís.

Reinald burst out from the hatch in front of the (young man?)(not a Beast?)(troll?) and grasped it by the shoulders. Reinald was...protecting the troll? He held his arm out to ward off the ashen-faced crew members swarming toward them with their knives at the ready. “Leave him alone! This is my brother Reynir,” he said. She’d met all of Reinald’s siblings as they passed through quarantine, and there was no mistaking their resemblance, even the youngest brother with the unfortunate haircut. Had he ever mentioned a red-haired, freckled brother? Had Jódís?

Reinald was peering into his brother’s face, and crooning more gently than Birgitta had ever heard from him. “Reynir. Reynir. Wake up, Reynir.”

Reynir blinked and started, but his startled expression changed to delight as he focussed on Reinald. “Mountain! Hállo! You’re home! Ah, ahhh,” he hesitated as he noticed his surroundings. Reynir was looking around in shock, at the boat, the deck filled with crewmen (some of whom weren’t convinced he wasn’t a sea Beast and still had knives ready), at Birgitta and the crew who’d come up behind her, and then at the sea. He turned to face out to the sea, and put his bare hands into his armpits as he gazed around, and around, and around, his mouth gaping wider as he scanned. He was now dressed only in a woolen nightshirt and woolen socks, which were not sufficient to keep him from shivering from the biting sea wind and the disorientation. The single word “where...” escaped his lips.

“Yeah, Reynir, you were sleepwalking again, “ Reinald said gently. He took off his fur vest and put it on Reynir, and his arm around Reynir to guide him inside. Reinald glanced back at Birgitta and she could see he was panicky himself but trying to be calm for Reynir’s sake. When had Reinald changed out of his overalls and into civilian clothes? “We’re on the quarantine ship. I, aah, I...am waiting to hear about my next assignment,” he was saying softly to Reynir. Birgitta lurched out of her petrified state and started to walk after them. She was the intake officer on duty, after all, and he needed to be processed, no matter how he’d gotten there.

The captain was thundering down the deck and the crew parted to let her through. “You there! Back to your stations, on with the butter! Move it! NOT YOU, Árnason, you Stop Right There.” Under command of her imperious hand, both Árnasons duly stopped in their tracks, and Birgitta a step behind them. “What is the meaning of this? Where is your vessel?” This last was aimed at Reynir, who was attempting to fold himself as small as possible into Reinald’s vest.

“I – I’m from the mountains,” Reynir stammered.

“Well, I’m completely from the mountains myself,” she snapped back, “so tell me why Thórvaldson said he saw you run here.”

Reynir’s mouth opened, but nothing emerged other than a squeaky, “I-I don’t know. ”

“We’re in the middle of Aegir’s wide sea!,” she bellowed, “ You can’t just RUN here!”

“This one can.” Who’d said that? The voice was soft and heavily accented. “You say he walks in his sleep. Where is the bed?” Birgitta finally spotted the owner of the voice – an owl perched on the railing of the upper deck. An owl? She remembered having seen something fly past before Reynir’s arrival. “You are immune?” he addressed Reynir, who shook his head. “I watched you running. My sister made sure no Beasts bothered you.” The owl gestured with a wing toward the sea.

The captain automatically swivelled to see who this sister was, but then turned back to the owl, “You there. I am Captain Bára Ólafdóttir, and I command this ship. If you are here from the Nordic Council, come to my office now. Guðmundurdóttir, take this one,” she waved her hand at Birgitta and Reynir, “to quarantine, since he is not immune.” She seemed to take being addressed by a large talking land-based bird with some nonchalance.

Birgitta stepped forward to comply. “Let’s get you something hot to drink and some clothes,” she said to Reynir as she took his arm. He swung wide green eyes from Reinald to Birgitta to the owl to the captain and back again, teeth chattering.

“He comes with me,” stated the owl firmly. With a flourish of outspread wings, he said to Reynir, “Come. Tuuri can keep up with us in the boat.”

Reinald scowled, “No, Reynir, we need to get you home. I’ll radio to Father, and they’ll send for you. Come on,” and put his arm around Birgitta and Reynir both to hustle them into the intake office.

Reynir didn’t move, but watched transfixed and with increasing panic as the owl took to the air. It started chanting something in a different language, Birgitta guessed it was Finnish. As the owl chanted, Reynir calmed. He stood up straight, his teeth stopped chattering, he shrugged Reinald’s vest off his shoulders and onto Birgitta’s arm, and his expression changed to the pleasant unfocussed smile he’d had when he first alighted onto the ship. As he sprang toward the railing, everyone gasped and lunged to stop him, but then he was away and on the water, dressed once more in peysa, running lightly and out of sight, with the owl streaking in the sky above.

Birgitta let the vest drop and shrugged off Reinald’s arm which was still draped across her shoulders. The captain turned to Reinald as he bent to pick up his vest. “Árnason, what are you doing out of uniform?” To the still-gaping crewmen clustered around, she said, “The bird mentioned a boat. Does someone want to tell me which boat he means, and why you lot haven’t spotted it?”

That boat was leagues away before she even got to ask that question. It could only technically even be called a boat, however, since it barely skimmed the water’s surface as it sped eastward. The owl and the young man caught up to it, though, and as they boarded the owl perched on the back of a bench in the pilot’s cabin. Reynir stood quietly just inside the door, even though the pilot emitted a high-pitched “Eeee!” through her mask as she saw him step in. She adjusted the instruments on the console and turned to the bench behind her, where now sat a solid blond man where the owl had been a moment before. She held out a mask to him, but he refused, saying, “You know I’ll go back to owl in a moment, Tuuri. This boat makes me ill.” He gestured at Reynir, “Leave a mask for him for when he wakes up.”

“All boats make you ill, Onni. So Jódís was right?”

“Yes, he has powers, but only when he sleeps. And he did go straight to the intake officer, just like Jódís said. I don’t why she said that, there was nothing special about her.”

Tuuri chimed in, “Maybe she has powers?”

Onni shook his head. “You have to be immune to work in quarantine stations.”

“I trust Jódís. She knows.”

“Well, she doesn’t know how to pilot this thing. Nobody knows except you. I think that’s your power.”

Tuuri blushed and turned back to the console. “That’s not funny. You-you know I don’t have any magic, Onni, it’s just machines, it’s not hard.”

Tuuri brightened again as she turned to look at Reynir. “Eeee! Look at his beautiful braid! Do you think he’s all right?”

“Let him sleep, he needs the rest,” Onni got up unsteadily and closed the two doors to the cabin, “he won’t try to go running again, the runo should keep him with me for now. Have a coat and some blankets ready for him for when he wakes up. Tuuri,” when she turned he was an owl again, “speak slowly to him, your Icelandic is horrible when you get excited, and I don’t think he knows Finnish.”

“S-sorry, Onni.”

“He’s got a big day in Aurland tomorrow, when he meets the rest of the team.” And with that Onni tucked his head under his wing to sleep.

Chapter Text

As she drove, she hunched over the steering wheel, just peering over it into the vista ahead. She wasn’t familiar with the vehicle, its grumbling engine competing with the whine of a transmission that needed to be shifted into a higher gear. She struggled to remember where the clutch was, and her hand swiped empty air when she tried to connect with the shift lever. The bridge ahead of her looked impossibly narrow over the grey sea, and not too far ahead, she couldn’t see the bridge continuing at all.
The bridge started breaking up around her. Chunks of concrete tipped upward at crazy angles, twisted metal cords as thick as her whole body snapped and their broken ends whipped and flailed like burnt snakes. The bridge was heaving and the vehicle was tossed around and almost tipped over several times, the treads connecting only with air several times before crashing down. Somewhere behind her she heard gasps and retching from the rest of the crew, but she couldn’t turn around to see who was there with her. She could only drive and hope for the best. It was up to her.
The bridge stopped just ahead now, and all she could see was a slope leading into the blank water. She guided the vehicle down and braced herself for the inevitable plunge into certain death, until the hole opened in front of her and the whole vehicle was swallowed into its maw....

Sonja woke with a start, heart pounding. The room was dark, but the feeling of coming in from the daylight outdoors persisted. Some of the cats who shared her bed stirred and she could feel vague purring vibrations from Grettir, nestled by her calf.

The earliest lesson a mage is taught in Iceland is to keep a dream journal, but the gift of the gods was fleeting and needed to be captured fresh. One of the first and handiest tricks Sonja was taught at the academy was the stave for making something glow. The soft green light of the staves was all she needed to quickly locate the pen and pad on her nightstand, and she scribbled her dream without even putting her glasses on.

She would take time in the morning to decipher her scrawl and puzzle over the meaning of the dream. Well, one of these days she will, anyway, she has a few to catch up on and transcribe. Someday...

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir noticed before he even opened his eyes. He couldn’t hear the sheep. He couldn’t smell the sheep. He was halfway out of bed before he opened his eyes and saw the room around him wasn’t his room. He’d had a peculiar dream where he was on a ship, wearing only his nightshirt, and his brother Reinald and this weird talking owl were there, too. This must be another dream, only in this one, his sister Jódís was there, sitting on the end of the bed, smiling at him. At least he wasn’t cold in this dream.

“Halló, Reynir. Had a good sleep? Are you hungry?”

Reynir considered this. He was ravenous. “I hope this dream has good food. I could eat the talking owl, I’m so hungry.”

Jódís didn’t look perplexed, she just raised her eyebrows. “Reynir,” she began, sighed, and suddenly grabbed Reynir’s foot through the blanket. Reynir began thrashing about in a panic as Jódís flipped back the blanket, took off a wool sock and methodically tickled the exposed foot. Somebody popped their head in the door to see what the commotion was but just as quickly retreated. Reynir finally succeeded in wrenching his foot from Jódís’ grasp and tucked both legs under himself as he held out two long arms to fend off any further advances from his sister, who still sat quietly on the edge of the bed.

“I-I HATE when you tickle me, stop it!” Reynir gasped, “Why did you do that?!”

“To prove to you that you are awake.” Jódís stood up. “We have some clothes for you here,” she gestured at a chair, “and I’ll show you around later. Breakfast is downstairs.” She allowed herself a small smile. “No owl on the buffet table, though, sorry.” She closed the door behind her before Reynir could unleash any questions upon her.

Reynir sat for a moment, mouth hanging open. He closed it again as he looked around the room. It was sparsely furnished, just the bed and the chair, and a chamber pot. Someone had hung an amulet on one of the walls, but there was no other decoration. Bright sunlight came in from the single window. Reynir got up and looked out, and his mouth hung open again at the view. Before him was a stretch of water, incredibly blue reflecting the sky, and steep hillsides rising around him and across the water. The hillsides were covered in trees! He’d never seen so many trees. Had Jódís not tickled him, he would be convinced he was still dreaming. So where was he?

He dressed quickly. The clothes and soft leather gloves fit reasonably well, although the boots didn’t. He padded out into the corridor in his own woolly socks. A strong wind suddenly blew his unruly hair into his eyes, and when he cleared his fringe away, he saw a pair of wooden clogs placed just outside his door. Were they there a moment ago? The clogs were a bit roughly made, and in fact still smelled strongly of sawdust, but they fit. Clomp clomp along the corridor and down the stairs he went.

He could hear voices downstairs, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. A tall man with glasses rushed around the corner, narrowly avoiding a collision with Reynir but slopping drink from his mug onto himself and the floor. “Åh, jag är så ledsen! Så ledsen för det! Ursäkta! Ursäkta!” He hurried away, with Reynir staring after him uncomprehending.

The spilled liquid was brown and smelled odd; Reynir hoped they had something else to drink. As he rounded the corner, he saw a large room with an assortment of tables, and people sitting in groups eating and talking. There was a table at the side with some food and dishes on it, Reynir hesitantly stepped up to it but when he peered into the first pot he saw nothing more threatening than barley porridge. He scooped himself a bowlful and careful sniffed at the contents of the small pitcher next to the pot. They had some nice fresh sheep’s milk here! Reynir poured some on his porridge with delight and looked for a place to sit.

He spotted Jódís and made his way to her table. Curious eyes followed him from the other tables. He realised he couldn’t understand what most of them were saying, not just the man he saw earlier. Jódís motioned him over, pointing to a seat between two people, a short plump woman with short ash-blond hair and a woman with glasses and long brown hair tied back. The latter didn’t look up as Reynir approached, but the blonde woman gave him a big smile. There was a cat sitting on the chair where Reynir was supposed to sit and he stood awkwardly until the woman with glasses made a small sound and the cat leapt down and under the table.

“Hello, you’re awake! How do you feel? I’m Tuuri, I met you last night! Oh wait, I don’t know if you know that or not, do you remember me? Sit! Sit!” The blonde woman was motioning to Reynir. He could barely understand her through her accent, but at least she was speaking Icelandic. He put down his bowl and she continued, “there’s heaps more, there’s bread and herring and some jam and yogurt and I really hope you like it here and Jódís was telling us about your powers and have you warmed up yet?” She paused for a moment and Jódís interrupted her.

“Tuuri. Wait a moment,” she gestured with her spoon, “he hasn’t been briefed yet.” She turned to Reynir. “Reynir, the porridge is a good choice, eat. This is Tuuri Hotakainen, she is our mechanic.” Tuuri waved her spoon and smiled. “And this is Sonja Eiríksdóttir, one of our cat trainers.” The woman with the glasses raised her eyes briefly and gave Reynir a small smile and nod of her head. “This is my brother Reynir Árnason, he just arrived last night from Iceland.”

Reynir acknowledged Tuuri and Sonja and turned to his sister. “What do you mean ‘from Iceland’? Where are we? What is this place? What am I doing here?” Tuuri opened her mouth to answer but another gesture with the spoon from Jódís stopped her.

She chose her words carefully. “We...are...at a military base. It’s a military cat training facility. We supply Grade A cats to Norway and part of Sweden. We’re...in Norway, Reynir.” His eyes opened wide, then narrowed as his brow furrowed in puzzlement. Jódís continued softly, “we brought you here last night as you slept.”

Reynir’s spoon clattered to the table and his cry of shock caused those at the other tables to look up in alarm. The cat under the table hissed at him, prompting Sonja to peer under the table and make a soft noise at it before reaching down to scritch behind its ears. She said softly, almost as though she was talking to the cat, “There aren’t any boats coming from Iceland to Norway overnight.”

Tuuri suddenly popped out of her seat and went to take away her dishes, with a wide grin and a nervous giggle. “I will see you later, Reynir, nice to meet you.” She hurried away.

“I don’t remember that, I would have remembered that. Pabbi didn’t say anything about me going anywhere. I don’t have any of my things,” Reynir stammered while Jódís calmly ate her porridge, “and th-that girl said she met me last night! Wait,” his mouth formed into a perfect O, “was I sleepwalking? Did I get on a boat to Norway?”

“Something like that.” Jódís gave one of her tight smiles. “You were sleepwalking.”

“I sleepwalk sometimes,” Sonja suddenly said, “but I cast staves when I sleepwalk. Once I turned everybody’s hair red like yours and couldn’t remember how to reverse it when I woke up.” Reynir and Jódís were looking at her with some astonishment, Jódís because she’d never heard Sonja speak more than monosyllables. “Th-that was back at the Academy. When were you there?”

“I’m not a mage,” Reynir replied, “I-I just sleepwalk ...sometimes. I don’t even dream. Well, except last night, but that...” he tapered off and looked at Jódís with comprehension growing in his green eyes. “Was that not a dream, on the ship? With Reinald? Do you mean I was actually on a ship with Reinald, is that how I got here? No wait, it was a quarantine boat, but...,” he shook his head, “there was a talking owl...”

“Sounds like a dream to me. Sorry, sorry. Nice to meet you, Reynir,” Sonja said quickly while gathering her dishes and she pattered away. Three cats came out from under tables and followed in her wake as she left.

Jódís put her spoon into her empty bowl. “You were on the quarantine boat, that was real. I...thought you might go there, and I sent Tuuri and Onni there to meet you. Tuuri’s boat picked you up from there and brought you here. Onni...,” she paused and needlessly repinned one of her flawless dark plaits back to her head, “Onni was the owl.” Reynir simply stared at her, mouth agape, as he often did back home when she was telling stories. He wasn’t to know those weren’t real stories, that they were part of her cover. “Onni is Tuuri’s brother. His superpower is the ability to shift into a powerful owl form, on this plane as well as the dream plane.”

Reynir’s mouth silently formed the word ‘superpower.’ Jódís looked at him squarely. “Reynir, you ran to the quarantine ship, in your sleep. You ran across the sea. Your...superpower...is to run, very fast, when you are sleepwalking.” Now he was staring at her uncomprehendingly. She sighed. “I thought you might be a mage, and have been watching for some years. When you got this old, I thought maybe you were safe and it would be okay to leave you with Pabbi and Mamma on the farm. But when the watchers saw you leave the coast I sent Onni and Tuuri to collect you. I knew you’d make for the nearest anchor person.”

“Anchor. You mean Reinald?”

Jódís shook her head. She pushed away from the table. “Come. You won’t get dishwashing duty on your first day, but the dishes get put over here.”

Chapter Text

Outside the main hall, Reynir blinked in the morning sun. They’d come out on the same side as the room he’d woken up in, and there was the blue water of the fjord ahead of him. He noticed with alarm that some people were swimming down by the wharf! Weren’t they afraid of sea Beasts? He saw a woman with a long red plait like his own and a rifle on the bank a little way down, keeping watch. People didn’t go swim in the sea anymore in Iceland unless they had a death wish, and the sight unsettled him greatly. One person with a rifle wouldn’t help against anything big.

He realised he’d lost the thread of what Jódís was saying to him, something about a power source, but he interrupted with “I thought you were based in Mora now? When did you come here?”

She turned to him with a momentary look of anger, dark plaits swinging as she turned her head sharply, before her face resumed its normal placid look. She ignored his question and continued, “We’re not completely self-sufficient, but we get income from the military cats we train. You’ll probably help out at the cattery.”

“Wait, but-but what about the farm, and the sheep? Aren’t I going home?”

“No. Reynir, now that we are certain that you have powers, you have to be trained.”

“What are your powers?”

Jódís stopped and looked at Reynir. “I am Dagrenning. We’re...chosen for safety, above all.” She turned away and started walking again. “For some reason, only non-immune people develop powers, and only those with an aptitude for magic. That’s not the safe breeding the Dagrenning programme wants.” She then gestured to a dark-haired woman walking ahead of them. “Ana! A word, please.”

She jogged ahead to talk with the woman in a language Reynir didn’t understand and he looked around awkwardly, wondering what to do next. Trained – to do what? Aptitude for magic – did she mean he was a mage, a real mage? That would be awesome. He could make sure the sheep wouldn’t go on the wrong side of fence, and that the wool was fine and spun well, and protect the stock from sea-Beasts, and... He brought his hands up to his face. Shepherd’s goals, and Jódís said he was staying here in Norway. A cattery? As useful as cats were, he wasn’t all that fond of them, he much preferred the farm dogs.

When he brought his hands down, there was a girl standing right in front of him. She was rather tall, with wavy light brown hair and dark dark eyes looking straight at him. Unfortunately, she was not looking too pleased. “I’m supposed to show you around,” she said in brusque but flawless Icelandic. Jódís was gone. “I’m Ellina, and this is my sister Ana,” she tossed her head in the direction of the dark-haired woman Jódís had just spoken to. “There’s the main dormitory,” she waved a hand in the direction of the building Reynir had just come from, “there’s the wood building, there’s the workshop, there’s the wharf, there’s the cattery, there’s the barracks for the hunters, there’s the gymnasium, there’s the other cabins. What are you laughing at?” Ellina interrupted her off-hand gestures to glare at Reynir.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so stupid sometimes. I’m not, ahh, laughing at you. What is that again?” He pointed to a long oddly-shaped metal building nestled at the steep hillside just beyond the wharf.

“The workshop. Let’s go.” While Ana did not look as hostile as her sister, neither was she chiding her for her rudeness. She stood back and looked at them quizzically. As Ellina stomped off and Ana followed, Reynir noticed they were wearing sensible clogs with woolen tops, not the all-wooden ones that were already hurting his feet. He clomped after her, but his eyes strayed to the peculiar metal workshop building.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“That’s a deep spot. Careful. Pack some sturdy ones there.”
“I know, Riika.”
“What is that, mud? I can feel a spring, go next to that maybe.”
“I know, Riika.”
“Use some of the fresh water and get some of the little stuff packed in there.”
“I know, Riika.”
“Did you get a look at that new guy they brought in last night? The one with the long red hair? At least, I’m pretty sure it’s a guy. Just your type.”
“Mrrh. I’m concentrating. There’s some granite right over ....there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Kuss! Riika! Don’t be gross. Jódís wants us to have this at least halfway across before lunch.”
“I know, Martti.”

They stood with their arms around each other on the shoreline of the fjord. They were facing the blue water, but their eyes were closed. As they spoke, ripples disturbed the surface of the water here and there, as objects moved below the surface. Some minutes later Martti said, “Ilya likes him.”

“What?”
“Ilya made that guy some shoes, didn’t you hear them at breakfast? Wait, help me pull...”
“Hmp, who can tell with Ilya? Nope, that’s not budging.”
“Try harder, come on.”
“Can’t we just layer on top of it?”
“No, it won’t hold if we try to run a tank over it. Come on, on three. Oooone....”
“Twoooo....THREE!” they cried out in unison. Out in the fjord, a whirlpool formed and moved sideways, then dissipated among a swell from the depths. An observer would have thought a black whale had surfaced and gone below again, but it was a slab of granite.

“HOLD it, Martti! Hold....hold....THERE!”

“Got it...yes, there, that will hold. I think.” Martti dropped the arm from around Riika’s waist and they opened their eyes. With a huff, Martti sat down, wiping sweat from his face on his shoulder. “Are you sure we’re supposed to just pile a wall across? Shouldn’t we leave some holes in it for water to get through, like a proper bridge?”

Riika just shrugged in reply. She was watching Ellina and the new guy clomping toward them, with Ana trailling behind. “Martti, heads up,” she said softly.

Martti looked up sharply. Riika had switched from their native Finnish to Hungarian, the language of their ancestors. She usually only did that when she wanted to ensure they couldn’t be overheard. He spied the trio coming toward them, and he replied in Hungarian, “What do you suppose her range is?”

Riika just nodded. She waited until the trio got closer before replying loudly enough for Ellina and Reynir to hear, "Who’s your cute friend? Oh, wait, that’s your sister."

There was no apparent reaction to this, and Ana called out in Finnish as she struggled to catch up with her long-legged sister and Reynir, “Martti! Riika! Hello, we have a new person we want you to meet.”

Martti gave a small wave as he got up. He wasn’t about to be rude. “Hello, I’m Martti,” he said in Finnish. The young man looked abashed and smiled at him a bit vaguely, but held out his hand to Martti.

“Hi, I'm Reynir.” It was Martti’s turn to look abashed and give a small wave. He was pretty cute, Martti had to admit.

Ana caught up to them and said breathlessly in Finnish, “Sorry, I forgot, I guess Reynir only speaks Icelandic.” She continued in Icelandic, “Reynir Árnason, this is Riika and Martti Kovacs, from Finland. They’re also training in their abilities. Reynir is Jódís’ brother apparently, he is also newly emergent, and he... we’re still figuring out his abilities,” she ended limply.

Martti repeated his greeting, in lightly accented Icelandic this time. “I have a gift for the earth, and the rocks. Riika is my sister, and she has a gift with water.”

Riika grinned, that sincere-seeming grin Martti knew meant mischief. She couldn’t speak Icelandic as Martti could, but saw Martti gesture at her and knew he was introducing her. She bowed from the waist to Reynir and said, "Martti likes you." Reynir was looking at Martti and Ana to translate, but Ana clearly hadn’t understood either, and Martti was bright red at making a mighty effort to keep his face neutral. Ellina was standing aside and looking peeved. Not conclusive, Riika thought – she usually looked peeved.

Riika stepped a little closer. "My hovercraft is full of eels." A flicker of surprise flashed across Ellina’s face quickly followed by the previous annoyed expression. Riika grinned and exchanged a quick look with Martti, whose face was a study in blandness but whose eyes were dancing with amusement. Reynir’s smile was looking a little fixed as he fidgeted with the end of his braid, looking out to the fjord and then at each of their faces.

Ana just gave a tight smile and said in Finnish, “Jódís said she thought you might have the bridge over the fjord ready, but we’ll go around. We’ll see you later.” The grin faded from Riika’s face. Reynir gave them a little wave and said something cheery in Icelandic as he clomped away.

“I think your brain is full of eels – too much water in there, probably,” Ellina said to Riika in perfect Hungarian as she turned on her heel and strode after Reynir and Ana. Riika glared at her, but Martti laughed, until Riika glared at him too.
“I would say just under three meters, then,” Riika said in Hungarian when they were out of earshot.
Martti nodded, frowning, and replied in Finnish, “Ana said this Reynir is Jódís’ brother? I thought all of her brothers were Dagrenning like she is? Maybe I heard that wrong.” Riika shrugged.

“We can’t cross the fjord because there were eels in their boat?” Reynir asked Ellina when they were out of earshot. “I didn’t know there were eels in Norway.”

Ellina didn’t reply, but glanced over her shoulder to see if her sister had overheard Reynir’s comment. She was relieved that Ana was falling behind again and hadn’t heard. She had no intention of letting that snippet of information about her power get out.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir wrinkled his nose as they walked into the cattery building. There was an unmistakable smell of tomcat permeating the place. A very large grey tabby in military collar strode into the foyer as he entered, giving Reynir an appraising look. He sniffed the clogs intently for a moment, then sat directly in front of Reynir and meowed loudly, twice. Reynir had never actually seen a military cat in action before. He leaned over to pet the cat, but the cat batted his hand away, claws sheathed, and resumed his position.

Sonja from breakfast came into foyer at the cat’s summons, and gave a small smile at Reynir. “Thank you, Grettir,” she said. Reynir was about to protest that she’d gotten his name wrong, but then realised she was talking to the cat. “Can I help you, ahh...um, sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Reynir. I, uh... Jódis said I should ..., um,” he hesitated, and turned to Ellina, but she was gone. “Jódís said I might be w-working in the cattery while I’m here. Because I’m...I’m supposed to...,” Sonja was looking at him expectantly, but he couldn’t finish the sentence. He started again, “Jódís said I would be here for training. I don’t really know a lot about cats, but maybe they’re like sheep and I am good at herding sheep and maybe I can help herd the cats, or something.”

Sonja scrubbed her hands together anxiously. “We don’t really herd the cats, but....”

Reynir interrupted her, “You went to the Academy, is the training like that?”

“I-I don’t know, I’m ....not one of the ones with...ah... powers, if that’s the training you mean. I just train the cats.” She tugged on the ends of her wavy hair in absent-minded chagrin. “So that’s how you got here without a boat. I mean, I am a mage, too, but I’m immune. But, even if you were working here,” she looked at Grettir, who seemed to have his doubts, “there’s still a sort of quarantine. You only just got here? You probably shouldn’t come in here for another week or two, until you’re cleared. Sorry. Sorry,” she said again as Reynir hurriedly backed away.

“No, it’s okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” As he crossed back outside the threshold, Grettir took a place in the doorway and sat again. Reynir took a deep breath when he got outside. Herding cats? Why did the gods make him so stupid? But they made him a mage, too. Isn’t that supposed to be a gift or something? He didn’t know. His father always said that dreams were lies sent by Loki, and couldn’t be trusted.

Ana and Ellina were nowhere to be seen. The swimmers had come out of the water. The sun was rather high in the sky, and glinted off the metal tube of the workshop. At a loss for what to do next, Reynir decided to head over to the workshop to check it out.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

He came through the door cautiously, letting his eyes adjust to the relative darkness inside the train. There was no one in the front room, but there was an odd sound coming from the next room over, snippets of far-away music mixed with radio static. Through the portal in that room, he could see a stuffed bird perched on a pipe with its head under its wing. Then it moved subtly and Reynir realised it was a real bird, an owl. Was that the owl from his dream? Would it talk to him again? Reynir went through the portal toward the owl, but was startled by a clang and thump of metal hitting the floor next to him, followed by static on the radio and a burst of language which was likely rather rude, had he known what was said.

Tuuri was startled and cried out again when she saw Reynir, who cringed and apologised profusely. Tuuri retrieved the heavy spanner she had dropped, and then noticed Reynir looking nervously at the owl, which hadn’t stirred in its slumber even with the noise. “Ah, don’t worry about him. He’ll sleep for another day or so, that was a big flight last night.” She gestured at a length of wire she was attempting to secure along the ceiling of the compartment, “Here, come hold this for me.” As he held it up, the static gave way to music. “When I get this right, I can pick up the radio from around Mora.”

“Is that far from here? At home the radio only goes a little way around the station.”

“Y-yes, same here. But I found a way to boost the signal until it’s as strong as the military channels.” She gestured at a box next to the radio, the source of the wires.

“You made that? Is that your power?”

“Hm? No, I don’t have any magic.” She sighed. “It’s just machines, I don’t why know why everybody thinks it’s a power.” He noticed several other boxes on the table and counters, many with these sorts of wires protruding from them. Most of them had blinking lights and dials on them. They all looked complicated and magical to Reynir. Tuuri continued, “In Mora, they have an announcer who likes to play all kinds of the old music and she’s really funny sometimes. Her name’s Sara Hållander.”

As if on cue, the music ended and a woman started speaking. Reynir couldn’t understand what she was saying, he supposed it must be in Swedish. He looked at the owl again. If the owl was real, then his brother Reinald really had been there, too. Did Reinald know about this place? The music started again.

“In the days before the Rash, this was part of a famous train run, and people would come from all over the world just to ride on this train,” Tuuri was saying into the pipework along the ceiling, “I like to think that someday we can get it running again. Part of the line is back in the safe zone, but the rest is still too dangerous.”

“Did you work on trains where you’re from?”

“Not much, we mostly have boats in Saimaa, but there were trucks and things at the military base at Keuruu.” She came down from the ladder and listened a moment. The music stayed strong, and she put the spanner down. “Lunchtime,” she said happily, “let’s get something to eat. The first apples of the year are starting to come in, I hope they have some out for us.” Reynir followed her out.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Back in the train car, Tuuri had left the radio on. Sara Hållander was announcing her next show, “Good afternoon, everyone, I have with me here in the studio Torbjörn Västerström. Torbjörn, I understand that you’ve received funding for an expedition to the Silent World, would you like to tell us something about that?”

“Ah, yes, thank you Sara, we have indeed gotten some ahhh, funding from the Nordic Council. We are putting together an ahhh, expert team for an exploratory mission into Denmark.”

“Oh my, that sounds dangerous. After what happened to the Danes at Kastrup some years back, aren’t you afraid?”

“Oh, I ahhh, I’m not going myself, my wife and I have three small children at home and I-”
“Yes, yes, we know about your children!” Sara laughed.
“.... Right, aaaaanyway, my colleagues are assembling a, ahhh, a smallerteam and our plan is to go out from Øresund this autumn. They’ll only be gone for the winter, so there’s less danger.”

“Niiii. Are they looking for anything .....in particular?”

“Ha ha, oh no, nothing in ahhhh particular, ha ha! We’re ahhh, expanding our knowledge of the Silent World. The skalds at the Nordic Council are always very keen for information, you see.”

“My goodness, how brave!”

“Yes, we’re the best and the bravest!”

“Fascinating. So, Torbjörn, read any good books lately?”

“....” (sounds of coughing)

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir excused himself after lunch and went up to his room in the dormitory. He took off the wooden clogs and rubbed his sore feet. He had no idea what to do with himself. Jódís hadn’t come to lunch, he didn’t know where to find her, but he also didn’t want to wander around the base any more. He lay down to rest for just a moment...

The night sky was deep above him, the deepest sky Reynir had ever seen, despite a lifetime under the night sky tending the sheep. As he gazed, he became aware of a gentle rocking; he was in a boat. He craned his neck up and peered over the gunwale, gasping at the wide sea around him. Not quite the sea, he decided as he sat up, there were no waves. Nary a ripple disturbed the peaceful water. Then he noticed there were stars coming out in the sky, one by one, and the tiniest sound as each appeared. He was filled with a sudden jubilation and an intense desire to run free under the stars, but he could see no land around him. He peered down and the water was clear and shallow around him. The jubilation swelled within him as he leapt out and let his long strides take him out, out onto the water, under the sky. He felt he had run miles, but at the same time no distance at all.

Suddenly he noticed a green pine forest rising on slopes alongside him, with a lake beyond. To his surprise, he saw Ana standing on the slope, her hands crossed over her chest and looking intently at him. She was wearing a hooded fur cloak over a cream tunic bordered with blue snowflakes, and pale cream breeches tucked into dark brown knee-high boots trimmed with fur. Standing close beside her was a beautiful cobby brindle dog with upright alert ears, also watching Reynir intently with glittering eyes.

Reynir waved, and Ana held out her hands while saying something Reynir could not hear. He found himself walking now, walking toward Ana and the pines. He could smell the scent of the pine wafting toward him. As he got closer, he saw Ellina standing atop one of the large rocks that spilled along the slope between the trees. In contrast with Ana’s wintry appearance, Ellina had small white flowers woven through her light brown hair, a white summer blouse embroidered with pale blue flowers, and a striped skirt that came below her knees. She appeared asleep, and wore a peaceful expression, unlike the watchful light brown marten curled around her ankle, that hissed at Reynir as he approached.

Ana now spoke to him, the accent gone from her Icelandic. “Reynir, you must stay. Jódís thought you might sleepwalk away and has bid me to hold you to this base.”

“I-I’m sleepwalking? Just in my dream, right? Can I get home from here? Can I see my parents?” He was suddenly filled with intense longing for his bed under the thatch, and a cup of his mother’s special tea.

Ana shook her head. She repeated, “Reynir, you must stay. You will need to learn to control where you go before you can leave. You may have powers but you are still vulnerable to the Rash, and our wards and troll hunters cannot protect you if you leave the base alone.”

Ellina opened her eyes and looked down at Ana and Reynir, the scowl returning to her face. “He’s back in bed. Gwenno had to pick him up and carry him,” she snorted. “Send him back.”

Ana nodded and raised her hand again. Reynir raised his hand to ask Ellina what she meant, but then noticed with alarm that he could see through his hand. A chill swept through him, and then with a start he was in the dark, in the small room in the dormitory. He must have slept right through dinner.

As he brought the thin blanket around his neck, Reynir thought he could still smell the pines. Then he realised that there was something on the nightstand next to him. He fumbled for it and brought it into a shaft of moonlight falling across the bed to get a better look. It was a small statue of a dog, freshly carved from pine. It looked like an Icelandic sheepdog. Reynir held it in his hand and thought of his home far away, and hoped Jódís managed to contact their parents.

Chapter Text

Her ears were ringing. There was a huge explosion in the building next to her and a fireball which rolled out of the front door, closely followed by a tall woman with bright red hair hustling a singed and coughing cleanser out the door. Her bloody hands left red smears on the cleanser’s jacket, and as she came out the redhead released her held breath and took in a great gulp of air. The tall woman continued hustling the cleanser toward the tank, and from another part of the tank a voice was asking in Swedish, “Sigrun! Sigrun! Where’s ...?” But Sigrun was explosion deaf and didn’t understand. The cleanser fell into the tank, coughing, her glasses askew and her face smeared with blood. She was trying to tell them they had to go back, and the skald joined her in the chorus, as he tried to push his bulky way out past the tall redhead.

Then her vision was filled with ice green eyes and he was shouting in her face, in Swedish. “DRIVE! DRIVE!” He turned around and pulled the other two back into the tank, still screaming at her to drive.

A window on the second story of the building burst outward, and hurtling through space amid a shower of glass was the scout, rolled up into fetal position. The scout landed on the ground, rolled, and lay still. The skald had gotten out and was running toward the inert form, followed closely by Sigrun.

The door of the tank was slammed shut and the icy green eyes returned. “I said DRIVE, you MORON!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her roughly into the driver’s compartment. She screamed into her mask and she held out her hands to stop her fall...

Sonja cried out in terror. The cats on her bed instantly arose into the alert position and began a sweep of her room. Sonja recovered herself and fumbled for the pen and pad to record the dream, her heart pounding. She couldn’t get out of her head that she needed to go tend to the scout. As she scribbled, her breathing became calmer, and she consoled herself that when the gods granted visions, they weren’t always inevitable.

And sometimes, they were just regular dreams, just phantoms and fancies of the imagination.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“It’s a fantastic opportunity, Tuuri.” Her kinswoman Taru Hollola tapped the table between them. She spoke in Icelandic, “We need an experienced mechanic on board, and you’re the first person I thought of. Think of it, exploring the glories of the Old World. Wouldn’t you like to go see Copenhagen?”

Tuuri shrugged, but before she could speak, the old man on her other side said softly in Norwegian, “I don’t think she can do it, Kristján.” He raised his chin and looked down his pince-nez at her. “We wanted someone with powers. She’s just a mechanic.”

Tuuri bristled, but before she speak, the handsome blonde man opposite her said smoothly in Icelandic, “Nonsense, Trond. I understand she’s the finest mechanic in the Known World.” He fixed his compelling pale green eyes on hers and smiled. “I’ve heard everyone thinks her skills are powers, isn’t that right, Tuuri?”

“Y-yes,” Tuuri squeaked.

“And she speaks Icelandic, Finnish, and Swedish,” he said to his colleagues. Turning back to her, he smiled again, his teeth straight and dazzlingly white, “You could even double as our second skald.”

Tuuri sighed, lost in his eyes. “Do you really think so?” Taru and Trond exchanged a look.

“Only the best team for me. And I understand your brother is also interested?” He touched her arm briefly.

“Oh, ah..! We haven’t, ahh, talked about it. Is he? He’s a very good noita, he learned from our grandmother.” Tuuri was looking at her arm, where he touched her.

“Is that right,” Kristján said softly.
÷÷÷÷÷÷

Ellina scowled at Reynir when he came in to eat, so he couldn’t sit with her. Tuuri was at a table with three other people and no spare seats. He sat down at a table just behind Ellina, where two women joined him. One was the woman with the long red plait he’d seen at the fjord yesterday. The other was a little older, with curly blonde hair and a bag of apples dangling from her wrist.

"Hey, it’s my runaway hair-buddy! How are you feeling this morning?” At his perplexed expression, the woman with the plait laughed and said, “Oh, that’s right, you were sleepwalking.” She held out a hand to him, “I’m Gwenno Vedbackken, I’m with the security here. When you went running yesterday evening, you didn’t really want to let a little matter of a fjord get in your way. I got you in time before you went for a little swim. I don’t think you woke up before I put you in bed.”

Reynir blushed bright red up to the roots of his hair. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I- “

“Gods, I love my job!” Gwenno laughed. “it’s okay, you struggled less than a troll, I only had to be sure I didn’t take any of those long limbs off. I’m glad you weren’t wearing those clogs last night, though, you might have clocked me with those!” Reynir reflexively looked down at the wooden clogs.

“Oh hey, you got one of these stuck in my hair.” She fished something out of her pocket and tossed it to Reynir. He turned it over in his hand and stared at it. It was a small brass disk, with a stave engraved or stamped into it. He wasn’t familiar with it, but it seemed to have some symbols of protection on it, like the ones painted onto the granaries and the shelters for the sheep.

“Thank you. But – this isn’t mine?”

Gwenno shrugged, “You had ‘em all over you. You weren’t wearing that," she pointed at his borrowed clothes, “you had on different clothes, and they had these little thingies all over them, and they were in your hair, too. Which, I must say, is a very good choice in hair colour.” She flipped her own plait over her shoulder with a flourish.

“Have you tried the apples?,” the second woman tapped the table in front of Reynir. He was still bewildered about the disk, and just shook his head. She took one out of her bag and put it on Reynir’s tray, and two onto Gwenno’s. “It’s an early variety, I’ve just brought them in.”

Gwenno smacked her forehead with her hand, “Whoops, forgot! This is Una, she grows apples in Gloppen. Yeah, sorry. And Una, this is....shoot, what is your name? I can’t just call you Runaway Iceland Boy, now can I?”

Reynir blushed again. “Reynir Árnason. Thank you,” he addressed Una.

“Wait, you’re Icelandic? You speak Norwegian pretty well!,” Una exclaimed.

“I don’t speak Norwegian, I thought you were speaking Icelandic?”

None of them noticed when Ellina suddenly got up from the next table and took her dishes to the cleaning area.

“Your Norwegian is fine. You speak without an accent,” Una said in Norwegian.

Reynir hesitated before replying in Icelandic, "I'm sorry, what did you say?”

“Sorry, what did you say?”

Gwenno’s head was going back and forth. She could speak both languages, but was confused at the sudden misunderstanding as Una and Reynir were. Finally she clapped them both on the shoulder and laughed and laughed.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Clutching the disk with the stave on it in his hand, Reynir went to find Jódís, to see if she could shed any light on the puzzle, and to see if she’d spoken to their parents. On his way out from the dining hall, he saw Jódís outside speaking to the people who had been sitting with Tuuri. Reynir knew that posture of Jódís’ well; she was obviously displeased although he doubted her next move would be grabbing one of them by the hair and frog-marching them to Mother. The thought made him smile ruefully, and change course. Best not to antagonise her further.

He saw the cattery across the compound and remembered that Sonja had been to the Academy as a seiðkona. Maybe she had more insight anyway. He turned the term around in his head as he walked, seiðkarl, seiðkarl. He’d never heard of a seiðr who could walk on water, though, that was just weird. He tossed the disk into the air and caught it. No, he corrected himself, that was just awesome.

He came upon the twins he’d met yesterday pretty much in the same spot, with their arms around each other and looking in the water. They were talking to one another but Reynir couldn’t make out what they were saying; he must have been mistaken yesterday when he thought he’d understood them. He called out a cheery greeting but they were concentrating too deeply and appeared to have not heard him.

Ha, Reynir thought to himself in high spirits. I can run on water! He broke into a sprint and ran into the fjord. Ha, so easy, even in the clogs! He was barely even getting his feet wet! Riika and Martti’s cries were unheard as he ran further and further. Then the bridge they had been trying so hard to build turned into so much mud and loose rocks, and Reynir abruptly sank into the cold water.

As he foundered, Riika shucked off her shoes and jumped in to save him. She managed to get him back to shore, even though he was struggling, and she dumped him in the shallows and stormed past Martti back to the dormitory. Reynir staggered out of the water babbling something about sea Beasts getting him. Martti’s grasp of Icelandic was not enough to help him decipher most of what Reynir was saying, but he steered him toward the dormitory to get dried off and changed.

He wondered how much time he should give Riika to calm down before he tried to talk to her. She might have been cursing up a storm at Reynir, but it was obvious to Martti that Reynir wasn’t the problem. This was the third time they’d attempted this assignment, and simply adding bigger rocks to the bridge wasn’t working. She thought she knew best because she’d been studying to be a skald before their extra abilities were discovered, but this task was obviously beyond them both.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir sat despondently in his room, wrapped in his bedding, while some helpful person went to see if there was another set of clothes somewhere they could roust up for Reynir until the other ones dried out. He’d lost the clogs in the water, and he realised he’d lost the brass disk with the staves Gwenno had given him as well. Jódís came into the room, and tutted at the sight of her bedraggled brother. She produced a comb and started unravelling his wet plait and working out the knots in the thick red hair, just as she had done when he was small.

“Well, now we know one more thing about your powers.”

“What powers,” Reynir grumped, “they only work when I’m sleeping and don’t know it.”

“Yes,” Jódís said calmly, “and that’s important. Knowing what you can’t do is just as important as knowing what you can do. We’ll see if they can be extended to waking at some point, but for now we’ll work on controlling them while you sleep.”

A sound like a rush of wind ran through the corridor, and Jódís looked out the door to Reynir’s room. There on the doorstep was another set of wooden clogs. As Jódís brought them in and blew off the sawdust, she noticed for the first time the small wooden sheepdog on the nightstand. She returned to working on Reynir’s hair and after a few minutes she said, “Ilya has taken a liking to you, Reynir.”

“Who is Ilya?”

She considered this for a moment. “We actually don’t know very much about Ilya. We don’t know what language Ilya speaks, and we don’t even know whether Ilya’s a man or woman. We do know Ilya’s too fast to be seen, and likes to fashion wood. And, now we know Ilya likes you. Usually Ilya just leaves wooden spoons around, and once a footstool, that we use in the kitchen for the high shelves.”

“I miss my boots,” Reynir splayed out the toes on his freckled bare feet, “the clogs are a little rough on my feet.”

“Yyesss, true. You know what? I am going back to Iceland in a few weeks’ time, I can bring some of your things back.”

Reynir jumped and turned around to gape at her, causing Jódís to inadvertently yank his hair. “YyEEOOwW! You’re going back? I’m coming with you!”

Jódís sighed, “No, I don’t think so. Not until your powers are under some control.”

He turned around again to let her resume work on the hair. “I can work hard, Jódís, I can be ready when you go, you’ll see.”

Jódís just said quietly as she deftly braided his hair, “We’ll see, puppy. We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

Before he even opened his eyes, Reynir felt behind his pillow, along the headboard. Sighing, he found it. Entwined around the bottom of the headboard was a cord of twisted hair. He carefully turned over onto his belly, and felt the tug on his scalp. He couldn’t see the workings of the knot, and couldn’t quite reach the end of the tendrils without the tug becoming painful.

Carefully he began unravelling his hair from the mess, strand by strand, trying to ignore the increasing urge to use the chamber pot. He felt along the underside of the bed; fjandinn, the prankster had moved the pot beyond his reach. But he saw a glimmer on the nightstand; placed just within reach was a pair of scissors. Nei, Reynir gritted his teeth in frustration, I will not give you the satisfaction.

The first few times the prank was played, Reynir had leapt out of bed in the morning as was his wont, only to be painfully jerked back down by his hair. Nor was the long plait of hair simply tied to the bed (or the chamber pot, or the lamp, or the amulet on the wall...), it was unbraided and painstakingly woven into a series of knots. Once it had been knitted into a peysa for the wooden sheepdog Ilya had made for Reynir when he first arrived. He had no idea how this could be accomplished without waking him up. He tried protecting the plait in hats, blocking the door with all of the furniture, he’d tried snaking the plait inside his undershirt and tucked into his sleep bottoms. He refused to give in and cut his hair.

Somehow, however, the prankster did not hinder his sleepwalking episodes. The night watch and Ana’s magecraft had so far prevented him from leaving the compound, and they reported seeing him always with his hair plaited with the brass disks like the one Gwenno had once saved for him. He still regretted the loss of that disk into the fjord some weeks prior, as he had wanted to study the stave imprinted onto it, or at least show it to Sonja.

He would have to ask Jódís when she came back from leave if she knew anyone with this ability. She hadn’t allowed him go back to Iceland with her, but promised to bring back some of his things from home. He’d asked her to see if she could also get a book or something about galdrastafur. The first one he’d learn was one for protecting his hair from this cursed prankster!

He finally worked enough hair free to be able to move to a position where he could see the tangle. The whole bottom portion had been strung along the bottom of the headboard and the leg of the bed, woven into the shape of a spider’s web. Reynir failed to appreciate the artistry of the creation, especially when he noticed an actual spider had taken possession of the free web. He shook the spider off and unravelled the remainder as quickly as he could. He didn’t really have time to comb it out and rebraid it, but relieved himself and jumped into his clothes and clogs as best he could.

Reynir had just enough time to get some breakfast before it was cleared away. As he ran wild-haired into the hallway, Reynir slammed full-on into Julian, the lanky red-haired Swede who spent most of his time in the laboratory. The cup of the vile dark liquid Julian called ‘coffee’ was knocked out of his hand and onto Reynir. Reynir had heard that Julian insisted that the coffee was derived from plants and was very enjoyable, but Reynir couldn’t believe either of those points, especially as the acrid liquid soaked through his pants and socks, burning him. He didn’t want to mess with Julian, though; Julian’s magecraft power was something called ‘Biochemistry,’ and it was something about bits of living things having their own magic potions. Reynir wanted no part of Julian’s potions, and he kept running.

“Watch out! Look where you're going, why don't you,” Julian yelled in Swedish at Reynir’s retreating form. He frowned as he looked into the now-empty cup of coffee, and realised he should have spoken Icelandic to the new guy, even if he was a clumsy doofus. He muttered something else, which his mother would have slapped him for saying. He mused that Reynir’s powers seemed only to involve running, which was pretty useless if he wasn’t watching where he was going. Then he allowed himself a soft chuckle at the state of Reynir’s hair. As he loped away, Julian was already mulling over in his mind designs for a coffee cup that would not only keep the coffee hotter, it would have a lid to prevent spills, even if the cup was dropped.

Olaf was clearing away the breakfast as Reynir stumbled in. Reynir rushed to help Olaf, because it was technically Reynir’s job now. Working at the cattery really hadn’t worked out for him and he ended up working in the kitchen most days. He’d been so hungry for information that he spent most of his time at the cattery trying to talk to Sonja about magecraft, until she started hiding whenever she saw him coming. This confused the cats greatly and interfered with their training, so Reynir had to go.

He managed to cram a few bread rolls into his mouth as he cleared away the platters. Olaf was looking at his hair and stained clothing and muttering something in Norwegian. Occasionally some of the other Icelandic-speaking personnel had their turn at the kitchen duties, providing Reynir with some conversation and assistance with understanding the unwritten rules he was forever breaking in his ignorance. Reynir and Olaf had worked out a system of gestures and Reynir had learnt the Norwegian words for ‘wash,’ ‘scrub,’ and ‘peel the potatoes.’ The last was what Olaf asked him to do next.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Don’t worry, Onni. I’m due some leave, and to be honest I miss Finland.” Tuuri bustled around her workshop, picking up tools and bits of wire and putting them down again.

“Tuuri, you should wait until I can go with you,” Onni stood with arms crossed, in the center of Tuuri’s pacing. The violins on the radio were cascading sheets of notes like gasping sobs.

“Reynir needs you here to help with his training. I’ll be back before the cold weather sets in, before the troll hunters come back in and need their equipment serviced.”

Onni snorted, “That Reynir should not be trained by me, I don’t know his gods, and I can’t do anything about his running except help Ana hold him. Jódís should have taken him back to Iceland with her and put him in the Academy.”

Tuuri picked up a pot and gestured at Onni with it, “They’re not prepared to deal with superpowers at the Academy. They’re still denying that powers even exist. Isn’t Reynir the first one we’ve seen here from Iceland?” She noticed that the pot she was holding had no bottom. She stared at it for a long minute, and then the music rang out with a single bell. She turned back to Onni, “When Taru was here, did she say anything to you about seeing Lalli?”

Onni dropped his gaze. “I asked her. She said was on her way back to Keuruu, and she’d let me know.” He sighed. He thought it was better not to tell Tuuri about the many times he’d flown over Keuruu at night without seeing Lalli on his scouting rounds, or that Lalli’s haven was closed to him. Better to keep his speculation about their cousin to himself. “But you’ll see him first.”

“Oh. Oh, right, I uh..., I will,” Tuuri put down the pot and chewed her lip. Onni was always such a worrywart anyway, perhaps it was better to keep her speculation about her cousin to herself. She’d ask Taru herself when she saw her in Mora, anyway. She glanced up to see whether Onni had noticed her slip, but he was preoccupied. Actually, he looked like his allergies were acting up again, his eyes were puffy, and red when he raised them to her again.

“At least let me fly with you.”

Tuuri averted her gaze but nodded. “Just as far as Mora. I can do the rest of the journey tomorrow. I need to finish packing, though. I should be getting the boat ready already.” She started shoving random things into her carrysack, including the pot with no bottom.

Onni turned on his heel and left the train before Tuuri could see him tear up. The music had stopped and Sara Hållander was saying, “...was a recording of Arvo Pärt’s ‘Cantus in Memory of Benjamin Britten’ played by the Estonian National Symphony Orchestra. Many thanks to the Academy of Historical Artefacts for releasing this recording, taken from ‘gramophone’ equipment their skalds have reconstructed....”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Birgitta looked over at Jódís and sighed. They were enjoying a warm late summer afternoon by the fountain in Reykjavik, and Jódís was distracted and lost in her own thoughts again. “Do you want to try another bookstore?,” she nudged Jódís, “or maybe check with a dream diviner?” Jódís had mentioned finding a book for her brother and they’d spent a lovely morning looking through the dusty stacks in the back of an antiques shop. Birgitta was thrilled with her finds, a book about telescopes and a splendid pre-Rash book about space travel, but Jódís came away empty-handed.

Birgitta had tried to draw Jódís out about the surprise appearance on the quarantine ship by the brother she’d never mentioned, but without much luck. She couldn’t let it go. “You know, I’ve heard some of the people coming through quarantine mention that they had seen others with powers, like your brother. When you saw him in Mora, did he say if there were others like him there? Why couldn’t he come back to Iceland with you?“

Jódís just shook her head, setting the dark plaits festooning her head swaying, and said as though to herself, “He was never supposed to leave Iceland.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Ana and Ellina watched Tuuri’s boat streak down the fjord, with Onni in owl form keeping pace above her. Ellina picked and fidgeted with a blade of grass, and Ana interrupted her lesson on runo to ask her, “Do you want to go back to Finland too?” Ellina only shrugged in reply. “When we finish your training, maybe we can. Or back to Denmark, if you want. I suppose it depends where we can get jobs.”

Ellina sighed and threw the tortured blade of grass onto the ground. “Ana,” she began, then shrugged again, “It’s nothing. Sorry. Go on.” Now was not the time to share her doubts about the job she was being trained for.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sonja settled the newest kitten back into her enclosure with extra pats and treats for a good training session. She would make a splendid Grade A cat when she was grown, now there was only the decision whether to spay her and commission her to a military base, or keep her entire for duty in a safe area. Sonja was finally making some progress again, now that Reynir was leaving her in peace without his ceaseless chatter and stumbling around trying to be helpful. She couldn’t figure out just how his abilities took so long to get noticed, but Sonja simply couldn’t take on training him. Besides, his gifts did not seem to run to prophetic dreaming. Then she stopped and had a giggle at her own pun. She let her mind wander for a moment, imagining herself telling Reynir, “Your gifts run everywhere except prophetic dreaming.” She couldn’t decide whether he would be too dumb to get the joke, or whether he would be impressed with her wordplay. Neither option was all that enticing, she decided.

Sonja hadn’t put much thought into the relationship between magic ability and the development of superpowers. They had quite a few Finnish mages here with powers, but Reynir was the first Icelandic one brought here. He’d been chattering on about galdrastafur and how when he went dream running he was dressed differently with sigils all over him. Sonja never saw herself in her dreams, in fact she was always looking through someone else’s eyes, so she had no idea whether she was dressed differently or had staves on her at all in either realm.

Then she started mulling over her recent dreams. Over the last several weeks she’d had several dreams which seemed to be related, in which she was on some sort of expedition with several other people. They were frightening dreams, in which people were yelling at each other, and at her, and occasionally running away from trolls, and one dream where the person Sonja was looking through had to stitch up a gaping wound caused by a troll. Trolls! Sonja had never seen a troll in her life – dead Beasts that the security detail caught, yes, but not trolls or giants - before she started these dreams, but these people seemed to be plagued by them. Most of them did not seem happy to be there. She was getting to recognise several of the people on the expedition after seeing them repeatedly, but she had little idea where they might be, maybe somewhere in the Silent World. The sheer frequency of the dreams made her believe they were possibly real, and it made her wonder who would set these people on this journey. She had cast some runes to assist her in interpreting the dreams, but all she was getting from those was a sense of Great Danger without specific direction, and that was already apparent.

Sonja moved into the next enclosure, where the cats who had finished their training and were awaiting their postings were housed. These cats did not have individual cages, but occupied a single large room with a cat door to allow them to interact and to patrol the base at will. Three of the cats came up to greet Sonja as she came in, and she bent down to scritch behind their ears. Then she locked eyes with the gorgeous black tom with the enormous pale green eyes and froze. In a flash, she remembered where she had seen the icy green eyes from her expedition visions before.

Some weeks before, a party of clients had come into the cattery. One was the esteemed General Trond Andersen, who had sourced cats from this facility many times. Accompanying him on this visit were a Finnish military strategist and an Icelandic military captain. The latter was fairly aggressive, questioning Felise, the facility’s head, about the breeding and training on the cats until he picked this black cat. “I like this one’s eyes,” he’d said, and in fact they were very like the man’s eyes. They didn’t have enough money to commission the cat, however; in fact, Felise declared that they didn’t have enough money to commission any of the cats. The Finnish woman was most gracious about it, but the Icelander attempted first to charm Felise into giving them a cat for free, then became high-handed about it being their duty to give him a proper cat for a mission from the Nordic Council, before finally becoming verbally abusive and storming out.

She went to Felise’s office, and asked her if she remembered what kind of expedition that rude Icelandic captain wanted a cat for. Felise remembered exactly who she meant. “Oh, that horrible man. I’m so glad I didn’t let any of our cats go with him. Do you know, he said they had funding to send an expedition into the Silent World!” Misinterpreting the shock on Sonja’s face, she went on, “I know! The gods know they would definitely need a cat, but I’m not sorry I turned them away. The nerve of that alleged human! If General Andersen wasn’t with him, I would have sicced Grettir onto him.” Grettir obliged the complement by head-butting Felise’s leg, and she stroked the grey tabby in return.

Sonja thanked Felise and left the office quickly, tugging on her hair in chagrin as she walked to the dormitory. The expedition was real, and happening this year, and in the Silent World! They were all in great danger; how could she warn them? But, who did she need to warn?

Chapter Text

The tall redhead, Sigrun, is blue and lying on the floor of the tank, teeth chattering and the sleeve of her jacket red with blood. The skald is ripping blankets off the beds to cover her, while the driver is attempting to get the wet clothes off her. The green-eyed Icelandic captain is shouting at the driver again, “When I tell you to drive, you drive! What kind of moron are you?!” The driver doesn’t answer, she is busy trying to extract the wounded arm from the clinging sleeve as gently as she can. The driver gasps when she sees the damage the arm has taken. Not only are the inexpert stitches torn, but there are fresh gashes and the elbow looks askew. Sigrun passes out. The captain is still raving as he walks around the tank, “Doesn’t anybody in this pile of junk speak Finnish to talk to this imbecile?”

The cleanser replies dully, “That was Arvind.” She has a blanket wrapped around her, and she glowers at the captain through glasses repaired with tape. “Arvind spoke Finnish,” she continues flatly, “And Swedish. And Icelandic.” She gets up and starts crossing to the captain, her voice rising. “And Arvind was supposed to be the medic. But Arvind wasn’t good enough for you,” the last words coming out as a snarl. The skald clambers over and stands between her and the captain and urges her softly to sit down.

“YOU!,” the captain screams, “Clara, you IDIOT! Don’t talk to me about not good enough! You’re useless! HE could do a better job as a cleanser than you!” He grabs the discarded cleanser gear from the floor, turns the skald around by the shoulder and shoves the flamethrower into the bulky man’s hands. “You’re USELESS with the books, USELESS with a gun, go out there and see if YOU can make that thing OUT THERE calm down!” The skald pales and gapes at the captain, chins quivering, and then stares at the flamethrower, but then the captain opens the door to the tank and pushes the skald and flamethrower outside, slamming the door shut behind him. The cleanser cries out, lunges for the door and yanks it open again, but all the driver can see when she opens it are flames.

“EMILLL!!,” Clara screams.

Sonja woke with a start, again, and dutifully recorded the dream in her journal, weeping as she wrote. Somewhere, there were several people about to embark on a horrible mission, but she didn’t know how to warn them, or even who these people were. She had found out the captain was an Icelander named Kristján Rúnarson, and he was in the company of the reknowned Norwegian general Trond Andersen, who was now retired. After they came through the base looking for a cat for their mission (and were turned away), Sonja didn’t know where they’d gone. They weren’t at General Andersen’s military base in nearby Dalsnes, was all she knew. General Andersen did not seem to be part of the mission in her dreams, nor was the woman that came through with him, a Finn named Taru Hollola. Other than that, she had a smattering of names – Clara, Sigrun, Emil, Arvind. What kind of name is Arvind, Sonja wondered, maybe Finnish?

Suddenly she remembered a friend of hers from Hitra, a wild mage, but very skilled with runes and occasionally gifted at divination. Just the person to help me with a wild and unlikely question, she thought. Sonja dried her tears with her blanket and resolved to see if she could get some radio time in the morning. The cats rearranged themselves around her as she shuffled herself back under the blankets.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri sat glumly in the quarantine station outside Mora. She was tired and frazzled after her long journey from Norway, and she’d forgotten that she would need to go through quarantine and inspection before proceeding into the city. As fast as her vessel was, she’d still arrived in the middle of the night, and couldn’t be processed until morning. Onni insisted that he would stay with her in the boat. The night master at the vehicle facility had whistled appreciatively at the sleek vessel; he ran a grease-stained hand over the painted swan on the prow, and the boat's name painted in gold letters: Aino. He'd never seen a boat that could go overland before, but confirmed that it needed to be impounded and processed separately. Onni and Tuuri continued arguing under the eaves of the processing facility, but then the night sentry had unexpectedly opened the door. Onni was obliged to fly out of sight, while the sentry let Tuuri into the facility, then closed and locked the door again. Tuuri had waved good-bye to Onni through the glass as he alighted again on the banister outside. He’d flown away looking ruffled and upset.

It was not the good-bye Tuuri would have wished for. On the other hand, she had managed to get here without tipping to Onni that she would not be proceeding to Keuruu from here. She would be meeting Kristján here in Mora, where the Silent World expedition had its base. The thought of Kristján gave her butterflies, and her glumness was dispatched by thinking of his smile. She couldn’t believe her luck. By the time the night sentry brought her a mug of hot chamomile tea, Tuuri was sufficiently buoyed to give her a dazzling smile in return.

As she settled onto the bench to wait, Tuuri opened her satchel to find a pillow. She started rummaging around, and realised she’d only brought a set of overalls, bits of machinery from the workshop, and a pot with no bottom. She folded the overalls into a flat pillow of sorts with the greasiest bits inside the fold, lay back on the benches and stared out the window at the stars, wondering if this journey was such a good idea after all.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Captain Fimbulvarg was a bit groggy; this was the third night on night watch for the base. The first two nights had gone all right, but it was terribly hard falling asleep during the day and the sleep deficit was starting to bite. A nasty knock and gash on the head last week rendered the captain less than perfectly fit for leading troll hunting parties, but still fine for patrolling inside the base. It was almost like a vacation. Even through the grogginess, the hunter’s trained ear could just pick out the flutter of wings and they scanned the sky above for movement against the bright stars. Their sharp eyes could only just pick out the shape streaking over the trees and headed for the base. The bird alighted alongside Tuuri’s workshop and the hunter relaxed, recognising the familiar figure of Onni Hotakainen in owl form. In an eyeblink, Onni changed to human form and shambled into his quarters next to Tuuri’s, hunched over with his hands up to his face.

Looking away from Onni, Fimbulvarg suddenly became aware of something springing over the perimeter fence. Rifle quickly at the ready and running toward the breach, the captain realised too late that the figure was running away, on the outside of the fence, and nearly out of sight already over the hills and up to the cleared forest belt. With a last glimpse of a plait swinging down the figure’s back, and realising it was Reynir, One We Watch Out For, they let out a curse under their breath. Ordinarily the guns would blaze and the chase would be on, but under the circumstances that was out of the question; they sprinted back to the tower to raise the alarm.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

As Reynir ran, he felt wonderful. Ana could not keep up with them tonight, and he left her jumping up and down at the edge of her haven, mouthing words he could not hear. The mountains and fjords were behind them, there were so many stars out over the rolling water, and up ahead in the distance he could see rolling hills. Never had he seen so many colours of trees before – red, yellow, and orange, gleaming through the green canopy like flames. Then he was running under those trees, with the riotous colours of leaves flying up around his feet as he ran dodging lightly around the trunks of the tall trees. He laughed in delight, and his companion laughed too. “Just a little further,” the beguiling musical voice called back, “we’ll be there soon.” Then they were running through a pine forest, and Reynir could see animals – non-Rashed, healthy animals – skittering away from them as they passed. His companion’s hair, as long and red as his own but flying free, led him onward. Then there were tall mountains covered in snow, but what did they care? His companion extended a hand back, a bare hand without a glove, and Reynir clasped it gladly with his own gloved hand. They ran over the mountains side by side, their feet making no imprint on the pristine snow.

Chapter Text

“Do you think you can get reassigned back here to Reykjavik? I could probably transfer to the quarantine service here too,” Birgitta lovingly caressed Jódís’ long dark hair as she brushed it out, “then I wouldn’t have to wait months to see you.”

Jódís was plaiting the other side. “You know I just got this assignment,” she said, “and it’s not going to last forever. It’s a good stepping stone to getting a position in the Nordic Council offices here. Besides, Bornholm is lovely, I liked it the last time I was posted to Rønne.”

“I know, but Rønne is even further than Mora,” Birgitta sighed, “and I can never seem to raise you on the radio.”

“Well, they had an opening at a cat training facility in Norway, which would be closer, but that was out of the question with my cat allergies.” Jódís looked sidelong at Birgitta as she pinned the plait up. “I thought you liked working on the quarantine ship?”

“I do, most of the time. I just...,” Birgitta drew her breath in, “I just want to spend more time with you. You- you know that.”

She put down the hairbrush and lowered herself down for a kiss. Jódís obliged and she let her hand stray to the open collar of Birgitta’s shirt, running a finger along her collarbone. “Let’s get ready to go see my family, okay?”

Birgitta nodded and withdrew. “Are we going as ‘friends’ or have you told them about us yet?”

Jódís got up and laid her carefully folded clothing into her satchel. “My parents are good people, but they’re farm villagers,” she said, not looking at Birgitta.

Birgitta chewed on her lip a moment, but then hoisted her own satchel and started picking up her own strewn clothing from around the room and cramming it in.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The shop bell jingled. Like everybody who came into the bakery, Torbjörn stepped in and inhaled deeply. He looked longingly at the sweet buns inside the glass display case. Then he spied the person behind the counter. “Clara!,” he brightened, “Hallå, you’re back!”

“Hello, how may I serve you today?” Her tone was dull and automatic. Her wavy brown hair was stuffed into a hairnet, and she dejectedly pushed her glasses up her nose.

Torbjörn deflated a little, and looked away as he replied, “Oh, well, I ahhh...”

“Your usual?” Clara went into the back without waiting for his reply, and fished a few loaves and a knotted roll out of the day-old bin. She paused a moment and went to the bin of two-day old goods laid out for the pig farmer to take away, and carefully picked a few not-too-shabby currant buns out and laid those in the bag too. Coming back to the front counter, Clara saw Torbjörn was shifting from foot to foot, fidgeting with his krona. Her heart softened. Torbjörn had always been nice to her, it wasn’t his fault she was back here.

“Thank you, Clara,” he bowed a little to accept the bag and gave her his coin. “Are the crews back in for the winter already?”

Clara leaned two hands on the front counter and through force of will kept from rolling her eyes. “I’m waiting for my next assignment.” She certainly wasn’t going to tell him that she’d been tossed out on her ear, after she torched the sergeant’s underwear hanging on the camp clothesline. He’d deserved it, the miserable, skiving, no good-

Torbjörn interrupted her thoughts. “I- I know of an expedition going out in a few weeks that needs a cleanser.” Clara pushed herself off the counter and looked up at him. “Umm, a private expedition, not an official one.” He smiled nervously.

Clara cocked an eyebrow and paused before answering. “I’m listening.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri ruffled her wet hair as she sat in the examination room. She’d been through the screening procedure for entry into Mora a few times before, and actually quite enjoyed the baths they had there. They were almost as good as a sauna. She regretted not firing up the sauna before she left the base; she had made a splendid one that fit up to eighteen people, heating off the old train’s boilers. The sizeable Finnish contingent appreciated it greatly, as well as the more intrepid of the other staff. She wasn’t going to get another sauna now for...months. When she came back, she could modify the boilers to...

Her train of thought was interrupted by the entry of the quarantine doctor. Tuuri must have gasped in surprise, because he wryly smiled and said in Swedish, “Yes, I get that a lot.” He put a fresh sheet on the clipboard he was carrying. “I am Doctor Arvind Ganeshsson, and I will be going through the checklist with you today,” he spoke by rote. “Please state your name and your immunity status.”

“T-Tuuri Hotakainen, non-immune.”

“Thank you, Titu. You are Finnish, yes?” When she nodded, he switched to Finnish. “Very good, now, in the last fourteen days have you experienced,” and took a deep breath but Tuuri interrupted him.

“No, it’s Tuuri, T-u-u-r-i, and my surname is H-o-t-a-k-a-i-“ but it was the doctor’s turn to interrupt her.

“Yes yes, i-n-e-n, thank you. In the last fourteen days have you experienced fever? Any headaches? Stiff neck? Vomiting? Itching....” Tuuri answered no after each of the usual questions, the litany familiar to everyone, the symptoms of the Rash. He brought out his stethoscope and listened to her heart and lungs, and brought out the blood pressure monitor. Through all of this Tuuri was covertly staring at him, at the fall of black hair over his forehead, and at the small coloured dot in the middle of that forehead.

She could hold her curiosity no more. “How is it that you speak Finnish so well? You don’t look like you come from- ahhh, I mean...”

He looked up from attaching the sleeve of the monitor. “I am Swedish,” he said, “but my ancestors came from India. I studied medicine in Reykjavik, and spent some years working on Niinisaari.”

“But Niinisaari fell to the Rash,” then paused as she remembered the island’s name being painted out on the wharf of her former home. Tuuri’s eyes fell to her lap and she coloured.

“Yes, we tried our best. Now, make a fist,” he said softly, and continued checking her blood pressure. They went through the checklist, until at the end of the form the doctor asked, “how long do you expect to stay in Mora?”

“Oh, about a month. Then I am going on an expedition,” she blushed again, remembering that the mission was meant to be confidential. “I mean, I-I’m going to Denmark after that, but to ahhh, ummm, do some study. About old Denmark, yes, some study of old engines and ...stuff. In Bornholm.” She smiled brightly, fidgeting with the belt on the terrycloth robe she was issued while her clothes were being decontaminated.

Arvind looked at her, looked down at the clipboard but didn’t write anything, and then looked back at her. A shadow of a smile formed at the side of his mouth. “Bornholm,” he stated. “You’re going to Denmark to look at old engines.” He picked up her hand, and looked pointedly at the grease in her nailbeds that the baths had failed to dislodge. “You are a mechanic.”

“Yes?” She took back her hand and resumed giving the belt of the robe a thorough wringing.

He poised with the pen over the clipboard, “Do you know, I am going to Denmark too in a few weeks’ time. On an expedition. Are you perhaps acquainted with Taru Hollola or Siv Västerström?” He looked sidelong at her.

Tuuri’s eyes widened. “Taru Hollola is my kinswoman, a cousin.”

Arvind nodded and he glanced at the door, “Yes, yes, I think we shall meet again perhaps, neiti Hotakainen,” he said softly. Then more loudly he said in Swedish, “Thank you, miss. That is all, you may proceed to the waiting area to collect your things now.” He stood up and opened the door for Tuuri to leave the cubicle, inclining his head to her as she passed.

As Tuuri walked down the corridor and went to the waiting area, her head was buzzing. Was that doctor going on the expedition too? She hadn’t given any thought to any of the other roles on the expedition. A doctor would definitely be useful, especially against any injuries from – and Tuuri’s heart stopped as she thought about it – injuries from trolls. Suddenly she was very glad to have a competent doctor like that around.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Where is he?” Onni stared at Ana and Ellina as he stood in the doorway of his cottage. He blinked his red eyes at them and squinted in the morning sun. “What do you mean, away?”

Ana recoiled as though she’d been struck. Ellina placed her hands on Ana’s shoulders for support and glared at Onni from over Ana’s head. Ana gulped and continued, “Reynir was running too fast for me to catch him. The other person - I only got a glimpse. There was another with him, I don’t know.” She balled her hands into fists to keep control.

“Another one? Reynir was with a mage?,” Onni gaped at Ana.

“I don’t know. Maybe? I couldn’t really see them. They were gone so fast, and the runo couldn’t take hold.”

“I wasn’t here to help.” His mouth set in a grim line, then suddenly Onni’s grey eyes opened wide as he stared without seeing across the fjord. “Kade,” he said as though to himself. Turning to Ana again with eyes now in laser-focus, he said, "in your training, have you been taught how to guard against kade? Has Ellina?”

“S-some, yes, but I’ve never met one,” Ana stammered.

“It might be another person with powers,” Ellina glowered at Onni. “Maybe there’s another one like Reynir, and they’ve gone off for a little run together. Have you thought about that?”

“Another one like Reynir? No, it has to be a kade,” Ana spoke over her shoulder to Ellina. Turning back to Onni, she said, “we have to protect little Bjorn,” meaning the baby son of one of the staff, “but why would a kade want Reynir?”

Onni had no answer to that. Instead he focussed on Ana again with wide eyes and said, “Does Jódís know?”

Both women shook their heads, but Ana spoke. “She’s still in Iceland, I don’t think anyone’s been able to contact her yet.” Ana looked at the ground. “Felise sent the scouts out to alert the troll-hunting parties to look out for him. But I...I don’t think he’ll be nearby. They were running so fast.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

In the twilight, Reynir’s mother was serving Birgitta another piece of lamb pie. “Tell me again, please,” she was saying, “you actually saw him running to your ship.”

Birgitta nodded, “thank you, I can’t eat another bite, honestly. Um, yes, I saw him running across the water. It was so fast, he was suddenly there and on the ship.” She related the story again, but on Jódís’ coaching she left out the part about the owl and also Reinald’s part in the story, merely saying that Reynir stayed on board until the authorities from the Nordic Council came for him. Reynir’s mother stared at Birgitta with wide green eyes, as though scanning Birgitta’s face would help her see her son. Reynir’s father listened with downcast eyes, occasionally running rough hands through his bright red hair and sighing.

Suddenly he spoke, his voice rumbling as though to himself, “I should have had him tested for the Academy. I thought he might be a mage.” He sighed deeply, and his wife laid her hand on his, “but I wanted him to stay here, and help us on the farm. Oh, it’s nice for you others,” he raised his hand as Jódís opened her mouth to speak, “it’s all right, you’re all Dagrenning, of course you’re all in Mora and Reykjavik and all over the place. But Reynir.... Reynir was supposed to stay here.” He scrubbed his face with his hands. “We thought he’d finally run off to be with that lovely boy of Einar’s from the village, that would have been all right, but Einar said he hadn’t been there.” Birgitta stole a glance at Jódís, who was staring fixedly at her plate with wide hazel eyes.

“Jódi sweetie, are you going to go through Norway to see Reynir on your way back to Mora?” Reynir’s mother asked Jódís sweetly.

Jódís tore her eyes away from her plate to answer woodenly, “I’m going to Rønne for my next assignment. I’ll be going through Øresund. But I’ll try,” she added hurriedly at her mother’s disappointment, “I’ll see if I can go a little later.”

Her mother pursed her lips as she looked at Jódís. Turning brightly to Birgitta, she said, “We tend to turn in rather early on the farm. Before it gets too late, dear, we better get your bed fixed up. Are you staying in Reynir’s room or Jódi’s?”

Brigitta smiled. “I’ll stay with Jódís, thank you.” She didn’t dare look at Jódís as her mother smiled and went over to the linen closet.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Ana had dragged the reluctant Ellina over to sit with Martti and Riika at dinner. Riika greeted Ellina coolly; she still hadn’t forgiven Ellina for insulting her in Hungarian some weeks back. Martti tried to smooth the waters with small talk, but Ana interrupted him.

“I need your help, both of you,” she began, “we need to try and find Reynir if we can. Can either of you leave your havens?”

Martti looked at Riika. Riika stared intently at a roll she was picking apart, throwing the bits into her soup. She flicked her glance up but Ana was still looking at her for an answer to her question. She looked over at Martti’s earnest expression and sighed. She nodded curtly.

Martti was the one who spoke, “yes, some. If I am with Riika, she can part the water,” which prompted Riika to throw more bits of bread into her soup. “And then I can build the path.”

“But the path turns to mud and catches your feet after a little way out,” Riika mumbled to her soup.

“Yes,” Martti agreed and stared sadly at his soup.

“Just like all those,” bread in the soup, “stupid,” bread near the soup, “BRIDGES!” The last pieces of the bread roll scattered into the air. Riika had turned quite red as the bits of roll rained onto her and Martti. “Leave him alone. He wants to run, how else is he going to learn how to run except by running?”

Ellina coolly picked a piece of bread roll off her sleeve, flicking it onto the floor. “Praise Ukko, we agree on something.”

Ana shot her sister a cross glance before answering, “Onni thinks he may have been taken by a kade.”

Both Riika and Martti’s eyes flew open as they stared at Ana, and then at each other. They remembered hearing about a kade, long ago when they were children, in their village in Finland. Ana began explaining Onni’s plan.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir suddenly felt tired, bone tired. His hand slipped out of his companion’s and he stumbled. There was a stone bench nearby and he staggered over to it. He sat down with a huff and watched his companion turn for a moment, only a moment, and then kept running out of sight. Reynir had an impression of a very pale face and enormous eyes that matched the flying red hair, but that was all. He realised dawn was breaking over the stones around him, and then he realised that the stones were part of a wall. A chill ran down his spine and he saw with horror that he was dressed only in his nightshirt and woolly socks again. The dawn was chilly, but the air was fresh and smelled very clean.

A dog ran up to him and barked. It looked somewhat like a sheepdog, but was much bigger, brown with black on its ears, muzzle and paws. It had a collar, sort of similar to the collars the Grade A cats wore. It didn’t look or act like a Beast, Reynir decided, but wished suddenly that he’d taken Onni’s advice to start wearing clothes and a mask to bed. “Hállo, puppy,” he called out tentatively. The dog barked again, snarled, then whined and hunkered down, looking at Reynir with beady eyes. Then it sprung up, barked a third time and started to walk along the wall, which Reynir could see in the growing light was actually a rampart high above a wooded valley. Reynir put his cold hands into his armpits and followed the dog.

Chapter Text

Haiz was peering at the rune they’d cast intently. “It looks like your friend is influenced by a fast person, probably running since that’s what the guard saw, with long red hair. They’ve gone south, beyond the range I can see.”

“That can’t be right.” Sonja looked at her friend in dismay. “Maybe it’s turned too far anticlockwise? Are you sure that was the right kind of mushroom spore in the ink?”

They were sitting in Reynir’s dormitory room, with the afternoon sun lighting the table where Haiz’ materials were strewn. Haiz had agreed to come quickly when Sonja contacted them, jumping at the chance to try their skills on a genuine mystery. It certainly was more interesting than casting runes for protecting woolen garments from pilling, for the current posting at the mill in Hitra. “No, I’m certain it’s correct,” pointing at the places on the rune, “great speed, south, only one other person, looks governed by the autumn quadrant so probably red or orange hair, maybe reddish-brown. Maybe it isn’t the hair that abundant, maybe they’re fat.” Nervous fingers tapped on the table next to the rune. “But I doubt that if they’re running that fast.”

Sonja pulled on the ends of her hair and grimaced. “That describes Reynir, not the person he was with. The guard who saw him running away saw him running alone, anyway.”

Haiz and Sonja both looked at the rune morosely, as though it would tell something else. Haiz sighed, “Are you sure you don’t have anything else that’s his own? The stray hairs and the wooden shoe are giving the same answers. Is that his amulet on the wall?”

Sonja squinted at the amulet and shook her head. “No such luck, that's a Norwegian one. What about the other question? Can we warn the expedition crew, maybe stop them?”

Haiz fiddled with the oak stylus. “You know as well as I do that the events the gods reveal to us cannot be changed by our actions. You’re pretty sure they’re in the Silent World. I see them in the east, and I see them in the south, so I’m guessing they are going from Mora or Keuruu or Saimaa or someplace like that, and moving south. That could be the south of Sweden, or maybe old Denmark. Maybe even toward old Russia, I don’t know.”

Sonja ticked her points on her fingers, “They mostly speak Swedish or Norwegian, although at least one speaks Finnish. I know the captain is Icelandic, but he speaks Swedish to the crew. So maybe they leave from Mora or Øresund.”

“Norwegian? Maybe there are some still here in Norway that haven’t left yet?” Haiz ran nervous fingers through the riot of rainbow colurs dyed in the waves of their short hair.

“Hmmm, yes,” Sonja considered, “Sigrun is Norwegian. She is the tall redhead who keeps getting hurt going into places and fighting trolls.”

“Tall redhead, eh? Could be Sigrun Eide. She’s a troll hunter, a captain, over in Dalsnes.” At Sonja’s blank look, Haiz exclaimed, “Oh come ON, Sigrun Eide! Everybody knows about her. She killed a troll with her teeth once.”

“Not in my dreams she didn’t,” Sonja shook her head, “She’s getting hurt worse each dream, and the person who I see the dream through is the one who has to try to be the healer, so I get to see how bad.” She shuddered at the memory.

“What we need is some luck,” Haiz declared, tidying up the drawing materials, “and some dinner. I smell lingonberry cobbler baking, and it’s driving me to distraction.” Sonja sniffed, but could smell only fish broth boiling. She shrugged and helped clean up.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

No one had come to meet Tuuri after she was released into Mora from the processing station. Another train had arrived and there was a rush of people through the processing centre, leaving Tuuri craning her neck to try to locate Kristján, or even Taru or Trond. Swedes are tall, she thought, not as tall as I thought before I came here the first time, but tall all the same. Then the crowd dissipated and she was left more or less alone in the lobby. She was struggling her bag toward the door when she was overtaken by a woman walking rather stiffly with a cane. “Excuse me,” she called out to the woman, “do you know where I can get a carriage into town?” As the woman turned around and give her a pleasant smile, Tuuri stammered, “Mm-maybe one of the ahh, less fancy ones?”

“Would you like to share a bicycle cab with me?,” the woman offered, “We can split the fare.” Tuuri agreed readily, and they found a driver who grudgingly agreed to take them two places on one fare. The driver seemed to regret that decision as she helped Tuuri hoist her satchel into the basket behind the passenger seat. As they settled in, Tuuri could see that her companion wasn’t old at all despite the cane. Blond tendrils spilled out of the bun on her head, and cheerful eyes glinted behind the eyeglasses. “Hallå, I’m Sara, and you are...?”

“Ah, Tuuri. Tuuri Hotakainen.” They chatted pleasantly for a few minutes, before Tuuri suddenly exclaimed, “Wait, I know your voice! You’re Sara Hållander, aren’t you! I listen to your radio show all the time!”

“What? I mean, yes, yes I am. But – my show, how do you get my show in Finland, may I ask?”

“EEEEEE you are her! I knew it! Well, I’m living in Norway right now, but I ahh, I set up a receiver. I amplified the transponder signal after I found out the correct frequency modulation and had some trouble with the amperage of the old equipment but then found a way to resurface some of the contact points on the transceiver and I-“

Sara’s eyes were glazing over slightly as she said, “Niii, yes, fascinating, I should get you to help out our engineers. Are you perhaps looking for a job in Mora, then, Tuuri?”

“Oh, no, I have a job waiting for me! They want me to go on an expedition to the Silent World and they need a mechanic and I can’t wait, it’s so exciting and the captain will be meeting me here in Mora!” Tuuri’s eyes were practically glowing with the thrill of meeting the real Sara Hållander.

Sara peered at the piece of paper Tuuri was clutching, and noted the name and address. “Torbjörn Västerström?,” her eyebrows raised, “Niiii.” She remembered her interview with Torbjörn, and also some of the rumours swirling around Mora. She couldn’t imagine him leading such an expedition, but maybe the mission was real after all. “Well, we’re almost there now. I will follow your expedition with some interest.”

“Oh! Really? EEEEE! Thank you! Thank you so much!” The driver stopped the bicycle outside the fence of a large house, and stretched a bit as she told Tuuri that this was her destination, and looked plaintively at the krona Tuuri paid her. But Tuuri was already lugging her satchel up the walkway, so the driver sighed and got back on the bike.

In the back of the cab, Sara looked at Tuuri’s retreating figure. “Niiii,” she said softly to herself.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“What do you want?” There was a boy was standing in the doorway of the house. Just behind the boy was another boy and a girl peering out at her. They made no motion to take her bag or allow her inside. “No bums allowed!,” the younger boy with the blond bob cut shouted and ran inside.

A very tall man with a goatee holding a tea towel appeared behind the children and looked down at Tuuri. “Yes? Can I help you?,” he asked, flinging the tea towel across his shoulder and putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders, gently guiding him away from the door.

“I...I’m supposed to be coming for the mission?’” Tuuri peered at the paper in her hand. “I’m looking for Torbjörn Västerström?”

The man looked shocked but motioned Tuuri to hand her bag to him and quickly come inside. “Yes! Hallå! Come in, come in! I’m Torbjörn, I’m sorry! Are you Tuuri Hotakainen? You- you’re a little early? We, ahhh, we didn’t quite expect you for ahhh, another few weeks?” A woman appeared in the front room, drying her hands and looking from Torbjörn to Tuuri with a worried expression.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Gwenno held the bucket at arm’s length as she approached Sonja and Haiz, who were putting their dinner dishes in for washing. “I lost a bet with Captain Fimbulvarg so I get to bring you this.” She was having difficulty crossing the dining room floor, with all of the base’s Grade B and C cats milling around her ankles, mewing. The slop bucket held the fish guts cleaned from the day’s catch, while the kitchen was boiling down the bony frames to make broth. Several hours in the hot kitchen on a late summer’s day was enough to render the slop bucket more than slightly malodourous, and Haiz gagged and backed away. Sonja, however, was long since accustomed to making the cats’ feed from such sources and simply nodded as she held out a hand to accept the bucket.

Gwenno cursed as one of the Grade C kittens attempted to scale her leg to reach the goodies, digging in claws. Sonja called out to admonish the kitten, but it was too late. The slop bucket tipped and dumped most of its contents on the floor, splashing onto Sonja and Gwenno’s legs. The cats leapt forward to lap at the pungent mess, ignoring the Icelandic and Norwegian curses raining from above. A glint in the pile caught Gwenno’s eye, and she bent down to pick it up.

“Hey, this is that disk I got off of Reynir that one time when he was sleepwalking. How did it get here?,” Gwenno exclaimed. She handed it to Sonja, who carefully wiped the slime off it and quizzically peered at the disk, reading the stave imprinted on the disk.

Haiz peered over Sonja’s shoulder, carefully avoiding the stinking fish slop on the floor. Then a broad grin broke out under the rainbow hair, “Sonja, I think we have just gotten ourselves some luck.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The dog led Reynir along the wall, ears upright. A second dog with a collar similar to the one the first dog was wearing came along the wall and gave the first dog a short bark, then approached Reynir. The first dog sat and waited. Reynir stood still with his hands tucked into his armpits, feeling rather vulnerable in his woolen nightshirt, as the second dog sniffed Reynir front and back. The dog then gave a short bark and went back the way it had come, while the first dog barked at Reynir and nudged him to proceed.

The wall bent around a crag in the mountain, and Reynir saw a stone building built along the wall, with a stout wooden door on it. He was disquieted to see several large gouges in the wood of the door, some of them fairly fresh. The dogs both gave two barks and sat down, and a viewing window opened in the door. Reynir could see motion in the window, but no other detail.

Then the door creaked open, revealing a short but solid man dressed in an iron helmet and leather jerkin, who looked Reynir up and down. He addressed the dogs in a language Reynir did not understand. The second dog stood up and barked twice, tail wagging, then sat down again. Then the man addressed Reynir, obviously asking him something, but Reynir shrugged and said, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand? I-I’m kind of lost. Sorry.” He smiled his most ingratiating smile, to try to show that he was no threat.

The man’s eyes opened wide, but his mouth set in a grim line. He opened the door to the wall again and said something to the first dog, giving him a treat from a pocket in his jerkin as the dog left, with his ears and tail high. “Folge mir,” he then said to Reynir and turned, opening a door behind him into a stairwell. The second dog stood up and nudged Reynir on the bottom to go ahead, and Reynir could see no option other than to go down those dark stairs.

Chapter Text

Felise wasn’t sure Jódís had heard what she said, as she showed no reaction. She repeated, “Our mages are trying their best to find out where your brother has gone. We saw him traveling south-“

“I heard you the first time, Felise.” The voice was its usual calm, even tone. Jódís turned to the next report in the stack without looking up. Felise opened her mouth, then closed it again. “He’s been gone for three weeks,” Jódís continued, “during which time he has presumably been in the Silent World, since I ASSUME you have been in constant touch with every base in the Known World.” She looked up and stared over the desk at Felise, fixing her with a pointed look. “Haven’t you?”

The cat training manager drew herself up to her full height. “Yes, of course I have alerted the other bases. Admiral Olsen at Øresund suggested he might be a stowaway on a tuna boat, but Captain Fimbulvarg saw him running.”

“Captain Fimbulvarg?” Jódís creased her brow quizzically, “Reynir got past the troll hunters?”

“Ah, no, the captain was on night duty, inside the fence, on the wounded list. But the hunters have seen no sign of him or his trail.”

Jódís looked back down at the papers. “When is Tuuri Hotakainen due back from leave?” She’d certainly missed getting a ride in that fast boat back from Iceland.

Felise fidgeted, but said nothing. When Jódís looked up at her again, she gathered her nerve and said, “She was due back two days ago. There’s been no word from her.” She took a deep breath and carried on, “She’s not in Keuruu, and in fact never arrived. Onni dropped her off in Mora, and she hasn’t been seen since.”

Jódís stared at her. “And Onni?”

“He’s been wearing himself out flying around Finland looking for her.”

Jódís leaned back in her chair, wide hazel eyes in an unfocused stare. Felise had never seen her look like that, and briefly wondered whether she should call in the healer.

Mora.

Suddenly Jódís shot out of her seat and picked up the radio. “Get me General Trond Andersen, please, and on with the butter,” she said to the exchange operator. Her voice was no longer calm and even.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“No, thank you, really, I can’t eat another bite.” Reynir gestured by pushing away his plate. “Nei, nei essen. Thank you Heike, but nei...” He tried to wave his gloved hands over the plate to ward off the ladle, to no avail. Another ladleful of succulent stew filled his plate, while the ladle’s mistress Heike simply clucked her tongue at him. Reynir sighed as she took the tureen back to the woodstove.

When he’d first arrived, his hosts had had a long discussion in their language about Reynir, with many gestures at him and at the dog who had escorted him down from the wall. At one point, they brought out a mask and held it out to him. He’d been covering his mouth with the neckline of his nightshirt, and when he dropped that to take the mask gladly, they nodded and carried on discussing. Then Heike had come in, taken one look at Reynir and his skinny frame, and pushed aside his guard, admonishing him in her language. She thrust a bread roll into Reynir’s hand, and hadn’t stopped feeding him at every opportunity since.

Heike had handed him a paring knife on his second day, and he had learned the words for ‘washing,’ ‘scrub’ and ‘peel the potatoes’ as well as ‘food’ and ‘drink,’ in Danish. Or at least, what he thought was Danish. He thought Denmark would have palm trees, not mountains covered in forests and meadows, but he supposed that was where he was.

He was given a pallet in the kitchen for a sleeping area alongside the other kitchen staff, and while it offered no privacy, it was certainly much cosier than other rooms throughout the building, with their stone walls. He was often tasked with carrying trays of food, following one of the dogs, around to rooms throughout the complex, and many of them were already cold this early in the autumn.

Most of the others residents paid him little attention, treating him as though he was an idiot, and he tended to agree with them most of the time. Unlike Iceland or Norway, there was a structure and ranking to the people, and he could tell fairly easily where they ranked just by the way people dressed and where they ate their meals. In the beginning he received several clouts on the side of the head from people who were offended by something he did or did not do, although no one could explain to him what was expected. He felt like he had when he was growing up in the shadow of his older siblings, the four Dagrenning children, wise in the ways of the world in ways he could never comprehend. Even in his time at the training base in Norway, Jódís still treated him like the ignorant little brother.

As he endeavoured to eat the extra helping of stew, he spied the dog he called Berthe reclining but watchful by the kitchen hearth, fire glinting dully on her collar. He had only seen one cat since he had come here, a large orange tabby who lived by the animal stables, and who might charitably be called a Grade C cat. Back home, cats were known as The Blessed Felines, invaluable partners against trolls and vermin Beasts, but here, that function seemed to be taken up by dogs. He had always thought that Denmark was like the rest of the Known World in that regard, but apparently he was misinformed about that too. He supposed they had bred these immune dogs, as they seemed to largely fit two types: the large brindle dogs with black ears, muzzles, and paws, and the smaller thinner brown and white dogs that would burrow after vermin.

He missed the shepherd dogs back in Iceland; he was even starting to dream of Iceland, with the sheep on the hillsides and the shepherd dogs looking after them. Sometimes he even imagined that one of the dogs was talking to him. As he idly chased a piece of sweet squash around his plate, he wondered why he wasn’t getting the urge to run in his dreams anymore. And as always when he thought of running, he thought of the person who had brought him to this place. All he could remember was the swishing red hair, and the enormous russet eyes, and always, always, the elation that had filled his spirit during that one run. Perhaps it was just a dream apparition, not a person at all, for they hadn’t appeared again. Reynir sighed, and brushed his fringe out of its face, where it had fallen in the draft from the stairwell. Heike bustled over, concern on her face. For her sake, he leaned back and rubbed his belly to show appreciation, although all this feeding hadn’t managed to fatten him up at all. He got up, saying in her language, “Washing?” She beamed. Then she stopped for a moment and looked quizzically at the table next to Reynir, and his eyes followed hers.

On the table was a wooden spoon, freshly made with the sawdust still on it.

“Der Waldgeist!,” Heike exclaimed.

“Ilya!,” Reynir exclaimed.

They looked at each other in surprise.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Ana stood with her back against the tree with her eyes closed. She adored her sister Ellina, but she could be so very trying sometimes. Ellina had argued bitterly with Ana about coming here to Norway to the training facility. Ellina grudgingly accepted Ana’s mentoring in magecraft, but would accept no training in use of her powers. “They work just fine,” she would argue, “besides, the Nordic Council has plenty of translators, they don’t need me. Why keep me here?”

Ana knew why she felt like that, of course. After all, she had been there too. As she had so many times before, she relived the moment when her 14-year-old self was knocked backward by a troll as it attacked them while they were in the forest outside the cordon, beginning Ellina’s mage training. Ten-year-old Ellina was cowering with her hands over her ears and screaming into her mask. As Ana got up and lunged with her knife at the troll, Ana could hear the troll screaming at them. In Finnish. As Ana cut and stabbed the troll, it – he – was pleading for her help, and begging her to stop it, please take him home, he wanted his mama.

As soon as the troll was dead, Ana herded Ellina away without allowing herself to touch her, until Ana could be decontaminated. Ellina collapsed, vomiting, as soon as she was back inside the cordon, and was put in quarantine for two weeks as a precaution. Ana could not go to her and comfort her, and when Ellina came out, she was sullen and silent.

Ellina still refused to make her own mage haven, and stayed with Ana in hers. For her part, Ana had never admitted to Ellina that she could understand the boy begging as she killed him. Much to her shame, she never had gone back and completed rites for the boy herself, instead leaving her own mentor aunt to do it.

Now Ana had let Jódís down by letting Reynir get away, and Ellina was refusing to work with Onni in his effort to find and fight the kade that he was convinced had taken Reynir away. “It wasn’t a kade, Reynir took his opportunity to run away from here and hasn’t come back. I don’t blame him one bit, I wish I could do the same,” Ellina had insisted, arms folded.

She saw that Riika and Martti were down on the banks of the fjord, standing straight with their legs apart and grounded and elbows intertwined, practicing their part. Putting Ellina out of her mind for the moment, Ana centred herself and felt for the lifeforce of the tree, falling now as autumn approached, coming to a rest. She began to practice in her mind the runo that she and Onni had composed. They did not know who the kade might be, but she would implore Mielikki and Tellervo her daughter, goddesses of the forest, to aid them.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Come in, come in, the others are just in here, let me get your bag, here you go,” Torbjörn bustled in from the foyer carrying a satchel, followed by a young woman with glasses and wavy brown hair. “Tuuri, Clara’s come, this is Clara Bergström, our cleanser. Clara, this is Tuuri Hotakainen, she will be our mechanic and driver.” There was another knock on the door and Torbjörn excused himself to go answer it, calling out for Siv, his wife, as he went.

Siv came down the stairs looking as frazzled as usual. Tuuri thought when she first arrived that Siv was upset at her presence, but soon learned that Siv was generally of a nervous disposition overall. She was however very good company when she wasn’t jumping up to do something else urgent she’d just thought of, and Tuuri had enjoyed making herself useful the last few weeks with fixing things around the old house. It seemed that Clara and Siv already knew one another, and didn’t need Tuuri’s introduction.

When Torbjörn came back into the lounge, he was followed by Kristján. Tuuri’s heart leapt and she turned away from Clara. At last, he was here! She beamed at him but he walked right past her, scowling. “....No, I didn’t bring him. That stupid scout you put me onto was an idiot. You said he’d been part of the Kastrup force, and he couldn’t even point to Kastrup on a map!” He crossed the lounge to dump his satchel into the corner.

Siv disappeared into the kitchen, wringing her hands. Three small faces appeared on the steps from upstairs, and Clara moved away from the steps. Tuuri was amused to see that Clara obviously knew the children too.

“But Trond specifically put him forward,” Torbjörn countered, “Trond had dealt with him before.”

“That old coot is losing it, radio to Taru and see how far away she is with the night scout,” Kristján spat. He looked through Tuuri standing by quietly with a nervous smile, with Clara edging around the wall behind her. “The mechanic’s here, and who’s this?,” he suddenly switched on his brilliant smile for Clara. Clara blinked at Kristján, dazzled as Tuuri had been. Tuuri looked at Kristján with dismay as he said, “Ah, yes, our cleanser, that's awesome! I’m your captain, Kristján Rúnarson. We will uplift our flamethrowers and canisters at Øresund, although we don’t really expect to torch Copenhagen, ha ha!” Clara echoed his small laugh, but her smile faded to a half-hearted grin as soon as he turned his back to address Torbjörn again.

Torbjörn spoke first, “We’re expecting Arvind tonight in as well, he should be here shortly.”

Kristján nodded his approval as he accepted a cup of hot chamomile tea from Siv. “Yes, I read his file. Looking forward to it. And we’re meeting the other troll-hunter in Øresund when we rendezvous with Trond. Maybe she can scout.”

“Errr, Trond said she was a ‘damn good troll hunter,’ but she’s a captain, not one of the scouts,” Torbjörn fidgeted with his mug.

“Good, then she’ll know how it’s done,” Kristján nodded.

Torbjörn opened his mouth but closed it again, as another knock came on the front door. Spying his children on the stairs, he tried to shoo them upstairs, but as soon as he turned they came back down. Siv called out from the kitchen that she’d get the door. She came back with a pretty young woman with long wavy brown hair, who smiled shyly at the people in the lounge as they walked through.

“...and here are the children! Children, this is Sofie,” Siv called up to them, “She’ll be looking after you while we’re away.” Siv continued going up the stairs, unsuccessfully attempting to herd the children in front of her as they burst into chatter and reached up to clutch at Sofie, who tried to smile even as she recoiled from the small grasping hands.

Torbjörn had disappeared into his study and came back with a sheaf of papers that Tuuri recognised as the files on the expedition. She had had good opportunity to read through them over the last few weeks, and was looking forward to getting started at last. Torbjörn approached Kristján with them, but the latter edged away to talk to Clara, chatting about the time he’d spent with the cleansers in the north. Tuuri started picking up the map file as she had done many times before, but noticed Kristján’s file below it. She’d read the file; she didn’t remember any mention of him serving with a cleanser unit. She paused, as the doorbell rang again.

Torbjörn came back followed by Arvind in his stockinged feet, who smiled broadly when he saw Tuuri. Torbjörn put his satchel alongside Kristján’s, and started introducing him to Tuuri, but Arvind inclined his head at her and said with a smile, “Ah, but we’ve met! Hei taas, Tuuri Hotakainen, I look forward to working with you.”

Torbjörn looked confused for a moment but brought Arvind over to Clara, who was also waving at him, and Kristján. Kristján turned around with his broad white smile in place, but it disappeared as he looked at Arvind and took in his small frame and the Kumkum spot painted on his forehead. Torbjörn was saying, “Kristján, this is Arvind Ganeshsson, he-“ but Kristján interrupted him.

“What is this?,” Kristján’s eyes were icy green circles in his livid face, “Is this why you didn’t have a photo in his file?” He looked Arvind up and down. Arvind didn’t look fazed.

“I am pleased to meet you at last, Captain Rúnarson. I am here to be a medic and skald, not a troll hunter, as you will appreciate.” He stood straight with his hands clasped in front of him, facing Kristján with his chin held high. He then turned to Clara, “Hålla again to you Clara Bergström, you look well, I look forward to-” Kristján interrupted again.

“You’re supposed to be our cook as well, I won’t have any of that smelly slop you lot eat stinking up the place,” he turned to Torbjörn, who was wringing his hands, “what were you thinking, are you a moron?”

Arvind inclined his head, silently crossed the lounge to his satchel, picked it up and walked back to the foyer. Torbjörn followed him and was trying to apologise as Arvind put his boots back on, but Arvind simply wished him good luck as he closed the door quietly behind him.

Tuuri had been frozen to the spot as she watched this play out, but then found herself moving, going up the stairs as Torbjörn and Kristján argued in the lounge below. She went up to the guest room where she’d been staying, where Sofie had put her bag on the bed, and picked up her satchel. She hadn’t finished packing yet, and looked at her new uniform laid out on the chest by the bed. She’d stroked it and tried it on several times this last week, imagining herself hand-in-hand with Kristján in the grand old buildings of Copenhagen, with unbelievable crystal chandeliers and shelves of books of old knowledge, that she, Tuuri Hotakainen, would help reclaim for the world. With tears in her eyes, she grabbed her few possessions and stuffed them into the satchel, even the pot with no bottom. She left the uniform where it was and headed downstairs.

Clara was still leaning against the wall, biting her nails, as Torbjörn was putting on his coat to go after Arvind while still arguing with Kristján. Only Clara saw Tuuri leave, following her with large eyes.

On the footpath outside the house, Tuuri paused. What now? She should have said good-bye and thank you to Siv, she realised with a pang of guilt. No, I’ll have to radio her and Torbjörn later. She dejectedly put her arms through the handles of the satchel and hoisted it onto her back, trudging through the puddles in the streets of Mora to the vehicles sheds where her lovely boat was waiting. She remembered with a start that they’d been counting on her boat to get them to Øresund. That thought almost sent her back, but she shook her head. Kristján can get the Swan of Tuonela to take him to Øresund for all I care, she thought grimly as she trudged onward.

Chapter Text

“Eat.” Gwenno had hustled Onni into the dining room and sat him down at a table, where he slumped and put his head on the table. She had gotten him a plate with some steaming fried eggs on it and a slab of rye bread, but he hadn’t responded. She lifted his head up by the fringe of white-blonde hair and peered into his ashen face. “EAT,” she said more forcefully, “so help me, I will force feed you. Onni,” she gave his shoulder a shake, “you can’t fly if you don’t eat.”

That last bit roused him to sit up a little and turn red eyes to the plate of eggs. She was right, of course, and he couldn’t get away with the pretense of not speaking Norwegian, not after a few years here. What Gwenno didn’t know was the last thing that Onni saw before she hustled him in here: his owl luonto flying away and then disappearing as he fell to his knees on the dead grass outside his cottage. He couldn’t fly until his luonto came back. Who knew when that would be? He’d overdone it, the strain was too much, and worse still, after all that he hadn’t found Tuuri, or Reynir...or Lalli. He’d failed, and now he was completely alone.

He let his head slump to the table again, but he could hear Gwenno gearing up to grab him again, probably to carry out her threat. He brought a hand up to grasp his fork, and with supreme effort made himself eat the eggs. The bread was gagging him from the effort of chewing, but he forced it down. Finished, he laid his head on the table again and unbidden a groan escaped him. He hadn’t noticed that Gwenno had disappeared and returned with the healer. He didn’t notice when the two of them had to carry him back to his cottage. All he could see was Lalli’s face the last time he’d spoken to him, impassive as the village elders and yet looking so very young, growing more distant as Onni and Tuuri pulled away from the dock at Keuruu.

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“Absolutely, Emil, I think you’re right. They certainly didn’t appreciate you properly at the Academy. This will be a great career move.” Torbjörn took the satchel from his nephew as Emil struggled to carry it up the stairs into Torbjörn’s house, and sprang lightly up the last two stairs to the door. As he opened it, the three Västerström children came hurtling out, screaming for their Cousin Emil. Emil smiled as the phalanx of grabby hands attached themselves to him and greeted them amiably.

Sofie had opened the door for Torbjörn and gave a wan smile as he came inside, then blushed as Torbjörn did a double-take at her appearance. Her long brown hair had been rolled up in places with curlers made from old socks, and several strands that didn’t make it into the curlers were plaited and then knotted at random intervals. Fastened on top of her head, with a thin plait around its neck, was Siv’s grandmother’s wooden Dala horse. As Emil followed Torbjörn inside, with his small cousins literally in tow, he smiled at the mortified Sofie and said, “Hairdresser?” She nodded silently, and the Dala horse tumbled off its perch. Sofie caught it as it fell, and sighed as she closed the door.

Inside, Kristján was sitting on the sofa, and looked up at Torbjörn and Emil as they came in. He looked Emil up and down, taking in the latter’s plump figure, tidy city shoes and perfectly groomed golden blonde hair, and pursed his lips. He’d let his temper get the better of him, and now they had to replace Tuuri and Arvind quickly. Torbjörn said his nephew was a skald, and was disgruntled working at the Academy for Historical Artefacts, but he hadn’t mentioned how unfit he was. Kristján was compelled to keep his mouth shut, but figured the boy would go on a diet anyway. He wondered sourly if this Emil would cry when he didn’t get the rations he was obviously accustomed to.

Sofie herded the children away from the lounge, and Torbjörn introduced Emil to Kristján. Emil shook Kristján’s hand grandly, saying, “I am pleased there will be two troll hunters on this trip, it won’t do to put the research in danger from trolls.” Kristján bit his tongue with an effort, but Emil volunteered to go say hello to Siv and go upstairs on his own. Torbjörn turned to the fuming Kristján and waved his hand at the folder Kristján had just put down. “Did you radio Admiral Olsen to ask about this Mikkel Madsen?”

“Did you even read his file?,” Kristján scoffed, “I did. We’re not that desperate yet.”

Torbjörn wrung his hands. “The next running of the D-Dalahästen is tomorrow, and the next one isn’t for two weeks. We might miss our window.”

A wail arose from the kitchen. Sofie emerged with Torbjörn’s daughter Anna from the kitchen, with Sofie carrying a roll of bandages and the girl holding up her bandaged hand and wailing. Seeing Torbjörn and Kristján staring at her, Sofie said, “Sorry. She’ll be okay, she just cut herself a little tiny bit on the scissors. I gave her a few stitches.” Misinterpreting Torbjörn’s expression, Sofie added quickly, “No, it’ll be fine, I do this on the farm all the time, it’s just a few stitches, we can take them out in a few days.”

Kristján ran his hands through his blonde hair to tousle it and grinned broadly at Sofie. She blinked, dazzled by his smile. “Say, Sofie, can you drive a truck?,” Kristján drawled. Sofie nodded. A sock fell out of her hair.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Welcome back, everyone, and welcome to our new listeners in Östersund and Pori! It is wonderful to greet you all with our newly boosted signal. This is Sara Hållander, bringing you a little different item for our show tonight. We have for you tonight a newly-accessed recording from someone that the Academy for Historical Artefacts tells us is one of the most-acclaimed artists of old Sweden. He’s not singing in Swedish, though, I’m fairly certain he’s singing in English, if my research is correct. Anyway, sit back and enjoy while I share with you this recording of “Heroes” by Måns Zelmerlöw. My new engineer dedicates this to Torbjörn and Siv Västerström in Mora, with her thanks.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

For what felt like the thousandth time in the last few weeks, Haiz retraced the patterns of the stave imprinted in the brass disk they’d gotten at Sonja’s base, the disk that had belonged to the sleepwalking manifestation of the nascent mage Reynir Árnason. They managed to look up his ancestry in the vast geneology database Iceland had been keeping since ancient times. There were strong patterns from his ancestry, and hints of magic ability going back to generations before the Rash, and Reynir wore this lineage in these sigils. There was also something of Yggdrasil itself providing an underlying basis and universality. Haiz furrowed their brow to work out the conundrum between the rootedness of Yggdrasil and the speed of Reynir.

The original question also remained – they could say who Reynir was with some conviction, but not where. The speed and direction would place him deep in the Silent World, but the wild luck detected indicated he was still alive. Haiz was faced with the conclusion that there was some place of safety somewhere south of the Known World, in that warmer and more populous part of the world hardest hit by the Rash plague. They looked at the precious old map with all the names in the dead language English, and ran a finger south from Flåm, through what once was Europe. Germany, France, Austria, Switzerland, Italy: could it be there were still some of old Europe alive, and offering refuge to Reynir? There were some very high mountain ranges, maybe they would get cold enough? Mountains....trees and mountains. Mmmmmaybe, Haiz thought.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

If I’m not in Denmark, Reynir thought, where am I? He’d gone out to the wall one day with pretty blonde Renate, Heike’s main helper in the kitchen. He’d gestured at the slopes around him and said, “Denmark?” She’d laughed, shook her head and said, “Helvetia.” He’d pointed to himself, said “Ísland,” and then mimed running very fast, and stopped to wipe his brow, and said “Norge.” He’d mimed running some more and then held his arms out and said “Helvetia.” Renate had laughed at him, and mimed getting hit on the head and then being woozy and dizzy, and then pointing at him. Reynir put his hands on his hips and grimaced, for he had done this pantomime several times, and no one ever believed him. But then Renate had put her soft hands on either side of his face and cooed at him, so he let it ride. He had no idea where Helvetia might be, although the flag looked like Denmark’s to him.

Ilya had found him here and had dropped off another pair of clogs for him, which he favoured over the cloth shoes most of the castle wore. Those were much too thin for the stone floors; even with the tapestry carpets laid over them, they still were abominably cold as the weather cooled. Reynir appreciated the extra separation from the floor the clogs gave him. Reynir was convinced that Ilya was his mysterious running companion, but had not seen him or her again. He took comfort that Ilya was at least close by, and maybe someday they would go running again. Heike and the other kitchen staff believed Ilya was a forest spirit, and some of the more credulous inhabitants believed Reynir was also a forest spirit and gave him a wide berth. The fact that Reynir seemed to be on a first-name basis with a forest spirit did nothing to allay their suspicions.

But today he was sent to bring the lunch up to the throne room, where the lord and lady of this castle sat during the day. He was usually assigned to this duty when a traveller arrived at the castle, as they were still trying to find someone who could speak to their mysterious kitchen hand. He got his mask on and clomped up to the room, accompanied by Berthe, the dog who had taken it upon herself to be Reynir’s special guide around the castle. His stomach rumbled as he carried the tray of delectable meats and fruits; he would get his meal later with the other servants. They usually had leftover bread and hearty stews made from the scraps off the bone from the nobles’ meat.

He clomped in to the vast room and all heads turned to gawp at him, as usual. He kept his eyes downcast as he’d been taught and brought the tray around to the table beside the ornate chairs where the lord and lady sat. He then backed down from the platform (a tricky operation in clogs) and waited with his hands folded, and Berthe sat beside him, ears alert.

There was a very tall man in matte black armor strapped over full leather jerkin and leggings standing before the throne dais. He had his helm under his arm, his dark hair bared to the lord and lady, and his impressive sword was laid on the dais in front of him. Cool grey eyes apprised Reynir, until the lord and lady turned to him expectantly. He asked in Icelandic, “What in Freya’s name are you wearing on your feet, man?”

Reynir forgot protocol as his head jerked up and his eyes opened wide. “You speak Icelandic?”

Everyone in the room broke out in murmurs, processing this piece of gossip. The fearsome warrior in black could speak to the forest spirit! It was rumoured that he was a powerful mage as well as a warrior, this surely was confirmation. Berthe nudged Reynir’s leg, and he hurriedly cast his eyes down again. The black mage spoke to the lord and lady in their language, and then turned to Reynir and said in Icelandic, “If you’re half as strange as the rumours make out, you’re still twice as interesting as this lot. I’ll come down to the kitchen later, we’ll talk.” With that, he turned his back to Reynir, and Reynir understood he was dismissed. As he clomped back down the stairs to the kitchen, his mind whirled.

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Jódís sat at the radio, listening to the static. She been calling all the bases, and almost every place where one of the known anchors lived. No one had seen Reynir, or had even heard rumour of him. As though to taunt her, the static formed into the partial phrases of the trolls, crying out in confusion and pain. She switched the radio off and let the darkness gather around her.

She remembered the first time her little brother had gone sleep-running, at 10 years old. She was still living at home then, aching to be free of sheep and the village attitudes. He was found in the village, curled up in bed with Birkir Einarson, with no recollection of how he’d come there. The tut-tutting chatter of the village around the incident had convinced Jódís that she needed to leave this backward hole once and for all. She hadn’t tried calling Einar, to avoid tipping to her parents that Reynir was missing. On the other hand, if he had turned up with Birkir, she wouldn’t know it; they all thought she was in Rønne now.

The Nordic Council was aware of some enclaves of survivors on the European continent, mostly in the high mountain areas. Part of Jódís’ overarching mission was to gather intelligence on these enclaves. She had had high hopes for young Ellina Nimetön and her language abilities in particular. But now Jódís had to hope that there was an anchor in one of these enclaves, and Reynir had prematurely ended up inside one. She shuddered, remembering some of the reports of the paranoid culture of some of them; he wouldn’t necessarily be safe.

Not for the first time, she considered how she could make reliable contact with Ilya. The Nordic Council had brought Ilya to her attention a few years ago when she was setting up this base, and she’d succeeded in attracting them to the base, if only to shoot through and make the wooden presents that were their hallmark. She was still no wiser how to communicate with Ilya. Onni and Reynir were the only superpowered people she’d met so far that had a chance of seeing the super-speedy Ilya, and it seemed Ilya favoured Reynir in particular. There hadn’t been any sightings of Ilya’s presents in the last several weeks, though the woodshop did report a visit, marked by the characteristic fountain of sawdust emanating from a previously idle machine, with no visible operator. What she needed was someone who could slow him or her down. She tapped her finger on the desk for a moment, and then left abruptly. She knew just who to ask, why didn’t she think of him before?

÷÷÷÷÷÷

She looked up into the column of swirling rocks and water with awe; there were boulders, gravel, glittering sand, dark and light rocks, all caught in the vortex. Spraying out from the column was a shower of white crystals spattering them all. One had hit her in the mouth; it tasted of salt. The driver looked out and saw a fragile-looking web stretching across the sky, and where it encountered the web, the column hissed and steamed. The cries of the people at the bottom of the column distracted her from the wondrous sight, and as she looked with alarm at their anguished faces Sonja gasped and woke up. She grabbed the dream journal and started writing furiously. The Academy usually prepared its students well for the eventuality of seeing people they knew in difficult situations in their dreams, but Sonja had been taken by surprise. She berated herself for not having had the presence of mind to stay in the dream to get more information.

Chapter Text

Ana walked out from her haven, carefully placing her steps in safe places in the water, her sielulintu bright beside her. Ellina watched fearfully from the slopes inside the haven as her sister moved forward. Ana could see Onni’s haven ahead, its mountains high and majestic, but Onni himself was only faintly visible. He was sitting on a rock, looking down, not like his usual watchful state. He looked up wanly when Ana called to him. Ana sent her cobby shepherd dog luonto over to the entrance of Onni’s haven and bade her stay there to watch over Onni. Onni was already looking down at his knees again. Ana returned to her own haven and sat heavily upon a log. Ellina rushed over to sit beside her, looking anxiously into her face.

“It’s...not that much of a separation, don’t worry,” Ana reassured her, “my luonto is still in touch with me here.” Ellina’s marten luonto came up from her accustomed place by Ellina’s feet and positioned herself on the log between Ana and Ellina, laying her head on Ana’s arm. “Thank you,” Ana sighed.

“Do you think the kade did this to Onni?,” Ellina whispered to Ana.

Ana shook her head. “No, Onni strained himself flying every night, I was afraid he’d do this to himself. He’s a powerful noita, but he has his limits.” She gave a small smile, “I thought you didn’t believe there was a kade.”

Ellina just gave an impatient wave in response. “How long can you watch over him?”

“I’ll only take a few hours at a time, not enough to strain myself. Martti will take the next shift.” Ana looked up into the sky and let her fur hood fall back from her dark hair. “Riika has some training as a healer as well. None of us really can do anything though, just watch and support.” Ellina’s eyes dropped down to her lap, and Ana quickly chided her, “No, I am not expecting you to take a turn. If you would like to try to send yours with mine later, we can see, but this is not something appropriate for your level.”

Ellina appreciated the lie; she knew that if they were in Finland she would be considered trained enough to take on duties at her age. Ana indulged her. Maybe a little too much, but she couldn’t really face the spirits herself yet. She didn’t want to know what they were saying all the time. Maybe she’d go back to Denmark where her family had lived for a while, where they didn’t really believe in magic and wouldn’t expect her to deal with that sort of thing. Ana interrupted her train of thought by standing up, and Ellina stood with her. “Come now, time to talk with the base healer and let her know what’s going on. I’m not sure it’s a great idea to have her gods over to have a look at him.”

Ellina resumed her normal scowl as she prepared to wake, “They surely would just make a mess of it, require him to drink something vile or something.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Taru Hollola looked at the clock on the wall at the processing station and cursed. The processing had taken most of the day. The crew would have already have left to board the Dalahästen, they had no time to go back to the house. She grabbed her bag and looked for her scout. He was crouching over by the travelator, looking quizzically at the people on it and just tentatively reaching out a hand toward it. She called to him and he came over, looking as dispassionate as ever. For better or for worse, he hadn’t brought any baggage other than his rifle, and fortunately that had come through quarantine without confiscation. “We’ll have to go directly to the train, and hope they brought your uniform and kit with them,” she said.

She was never quite sure he was listening, but now he turned those large luminous pale grey eyes to her. “Is Tuuri going on the train?”

“Yes, yes, we will see her there,” she said, lumbering toward the door. Blast, she would have to pay for a carriage, they had no time to walk it. She couldn’t run like he could either, not even in her active duty days.

As they exited the building, he suddenly hid behind a column, eyes wide with alarm. “Weird, ugly moose,” he said as he peered cautiously at the bustle of horse-drawn carriages for hire that usually jockeyed for prime position outside the processing station.

“Lalli, it’s called a horse. Surely you’ve seen a horse before?” Taru briefly considered whether a bicycle taxi could still get them there in time, but no, not in the rain. He still clung to the column. “Come on now, we have to hurry to make the train on time. Get in,” she gestured at a carriage, before turning to the driver and saying in Swedish, “and I haven’t just fallen off the turnip truck, three krona to the train station, no more.” The driver’s ingratiating smile dimmed but he took Taru’s bag and put it in the back of the carriage. Taru hopped into the carriage, and she had to hurriedly extend her arm to Lalli, still transfixed to the spot, as the carriage started rolling away.

He took her arm and sprang lightly aboard, but immediately cowered into himself on the seat, not coming in contact with her considerable bulk taking most of the seat. He sat looking with wide eyes at the bustle of Mora and its shops as they drove by. Taru spared some pity for the boy; Keuruu was the largest settlement he’d ever seen, and that was a fairly spartan military base. She didn’t really keep in touch with her Hotakainen cousins, and in fact had exchanged very few words with Lalli on the whole trip from Keuruu. He’d been motion sick for much of the journey anyway. He really hadn’t that many questions about the expedition, even. She did tell him he would be on scout duty, telling Tuuri where it would be safe to drive, but she couldn’t even be sure he appreciated he was going to a foreign country.

Taru gave a shudder as they pulled into the train yard. In the days before the Rash, this train station had been a busy hub for central Sweden, but now on the tracks facing south there was just the Dalahästen making the perilous journey to Øresund past the former big cities in the south. The Dalahästen itself was an impressive sight, gleaming and sleek, but fitted with huge buzzsaw attachments at various points along its carriages to repel trolls and giants. It looked downright sinister in the bleak twilight drizzle. The driver looked at Taru grimly as he handed her her bag and said simply, “Good luck,” as she paid him.

Taru hurried aboard the train, but Lalli stood rooted to the platform, looking up at the train and at the sky with huge pale grey eyes. The conductor said kindly to him in Swedish, “Time to get on, now,” but he didn’t budge. Instead, he clutched his hands to his heart, closed his eyes, and chanted. Coming back to the door to see where he’d gone off to, Taru recognised the sound of runo. She sighed and reassured the conductor that he’d be along shortly, and watched as he finished the runo, gazed into the sky, and then leapt lightly into the passageway. Taru was hustling him toward the passenger cabins as the train began to move, not noticing the clouds parting and the full moon shining upon them. Lalli certainly noticed.

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Sonja couldn’t resist giving sidelong looks to the next table at breakfast. All the Finnish mages – well, Onni excepted, he didn’t seem to be around – were there at one table. She knew the young one, Ellina, was like herself in mostly wanting to sit by herself, or with her sister. Sonja respected Ana as an appropriately studious person, and one of the few people who had learnt all of the Nordic languages and some of the pre-Rash ones through her studies. Martti and Riika were nice enough, but she didn’t know them well. Martti had spoken to her in Icelandic sometimes, a little, when they were stuck on kitchen duty together. She knew they were here for training their superpowers. She chewed her bread thoughtfully.

And there was Julian, talking to Jódís at a far table. She appreciated his dedication to his studies, but she really had had nothing to do with him or his laboratory. As a Swede and a ‘scientist,’ he scoffed at magic. Interesting. She fed a scrap of boneless herring surreptitiously below the table, not paying attention to which of today’s feline coterie got the morsel.

She repeated to herself the basic rules of interpreting dreams as she brought her dishes to the cleaning area.

“Well, I suppose the main limiting step would have to be knowing what sort of energy spectrum Ilya travels within,” Julian was saying to Jódís, “and in certain conditions we could modify that spectrum through filters to more closely correspond with the spectrum of our own sensory processing. I’ve had some readings taken which could in fact correspond to a manifestation by Ilya, during some of my other experiments, but I haven’t set out to specifically take readings of ...whatever Ilya is.”

“Not a ‘whatever,’ Ilya was referred to me as a superpowered individual,” Jódís interrupted firmly. “They just seem to have manifested this power when still very young, and not a lot of details of Ilya’s life pre-manifestation are known.” She ate a spoonful of porridge thoughtfully. “Ilya seems to be attracted to certain anchors, and Reynir seems to as well.” She had his full attention now, she noted with satisfaction, although he perhaps winced when Reynir’s name was mentioned? “Anchor persons simply seem to be people that they can orient on as they travel, even over long distances. They don’t seem to be that aware of one another, from what I can tell.”

“Yes, yes, like a lightning rod,” Julian was nodding as he pulled a notepad from his shirt pocket, “What makes an anchor different?”

Jódís paused before answering. She was thinking of the first time she met Birgitta, on the quarantine ship when Jódís’ transfer ship came in for processing during a storm. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. Julian jiggled his pencil in his fingers as he looked over his glasses at Jódís. She seemed lost in thought, then she shrugged and returned to her porridge. “I know one when I meet one.”

“Are there any here on the base? Can I perhaps study them?”

“There are two here,” Jódís nodded, “but I’m not sure either of them would like to be ‘studied’ by you. Neither of them know they are anchors, although it is why I brought them here.”

Julian looked around furtively at the other diners. There were several of the ‘magic users’ here, and there was the cat facility trainer crossing the room, the one who always seemed to have several cats following her, was that something? He’d often wondered about the differences in those marked as mages in other cultures, and he had taken some readings on.... but only two anchors, and there were many more magic users. Another thought pushed to the surface. He looked up at Jódís, who was now getting up, “Even if we do get to ask Ilya, how would we get Reynir back here?”

She did not meet his eyes as she said flatly, “That depends where he is.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Heike, they don’t know how lucky they are to have you here.” Jón spoke to her in her language, mopping the very last molecules of stew out of his bowl with a heel of bread. She brandished her spoon at him threateningly, but her smile was pleased as she walked away. “I don’t know how she hasn’t managed to fatten you up,” he continued in Icelandic to Reynir, “but I bet she’s trying.”

Reynir rolled his eyes and nodded vigourously, setting his wild fringe bobbing around his face. His mouth was full for the moment, although he’d spent most of the last three-quarters of an hour talking, allowing the words in his native language to tumble out of him in relief. Jón hadn’t spoken much at all, just mostly took it in. In just his leathers without his fearsome black armour, he suddenly looked much younger, not even older than Reynir himself. However, he still wore his sword belt and a dagger sheathed at his hip, as well as the sundry pouches hidden on his person.

Reynir had told his new acquaintance virtually his whole life story, about the sheep and the farm, and his Dagrenning siblings (he didn’t note Jón’s wince when he brought that up), and the running, and the talking owl who was a Finnish mage, and about working in the kitchen in Norway, and having his hair tied in knots, and how blue the fjords were, and how nice the food was here and he didn’t know the Icelandic words for this or that, and how clever the dogs were, which brought him back to the dogs in Iceland....

“So do any animals speak to you in your dreams, or do you see a certain animal repeatedly?” The question came from nowhere, and Reynir blinked at Jón mid-chew, with a piece of roll still sticking out of his mouth. Jón was casually cracking open hazelnuts and picking out the meats. Reynir had sort of forgotten about being a mage in his weeks here. As he finished chewing, he realised that he had indeed been spoken to in his dreams, the ones where he was back in Iceland on the farm. He told Jón about the shepherd dog, but couldn’t remember what the dog had ever actually said.

Jón nodded, and threw a nut across to Reynir. “Crack it open,” he urged Reynir. Reynir tried to get him to hand over the nutcracker, but Jón kept a firm hold on it. Reynir attempted to swipe it from him a few times, but then Jón held it up just out of reach and said, “I believe that dog is your fylgja, your spirit guide,” and he handed Reynir the nutcracker. “They can teach you much,” with a barely perceptible motion, Jón whipped the nutcracker right out of Reynir’s hands as he fitted it around the hazelnut, “but it doesn’t do any good if you don’t listen.” And he sat back, brandishing the nutcracker with a smug smile and grey eyes dancing.

Reynir coloured red as his hair as he glared at Jón, being made to feel once again like the feeble little brother. With a petulant scowl, he reached under the table for a moment, then hammered the unfortunate hazelnut with one of his clogs. Berthe gave a yip as part of the shell rocketed off her flank, Heike and Renate’s alarmed faces poked around the corner, and Jón sat up on full alert. Reynir began collecting what he could of the smashed nut meat from the table.

Jón carefully placed the nutcracker back on the table between himself and Reynir. “Aaannnd,” he mused, “you remind me that sometimes you do have to use whatever gifts you are given.”

Chapter Text

Lalli followed the conductor and Taru through the carriages of the train. He wasn’t passing many people, just some scattered people in uniform, strapping themselves into the berths and putting on ear protectors. He could feel Kuutar’s benevolence even inside the train, but he thought some ear protectors would be an excellent idea in general principle. He called ahead to Taru, and asked her where he might get a set. She must not have noticed the others using them, because she just frowned and mumbled something about not knowing as she turned around again.

In the third car, she stopped and heaved her bag onto a lower berth, and patted a middle berth across the aisle from the one she’d just claimed. “We’ll just get ourselves strapped in here for the night,” she told him, “look, here’s your captain. Lalli, this is Kristján Rúnarson.”

Kristján came to the edge of the top berth just ahead of Taru’s and extended his hand down to Lalli with a grin. “Lalli Hotakainen! Hei, hauska tavata.” Lalli didn’t take Kristján’s hand, but inclined his head, and then turned and took his rifle off and placed it on the berth Taru had indicated. His captain awkwardly withdrew the proferred hand and carried on talking to Taru, but Lalli couldn’t understand them and stopped listening. He didn’t know Kristján was saying softly to Taru in Icelandic as she drew some things out of her bag, “Ha, that’s all the Finnish I know, anyway.”

As he climbed into the berth and took off his boots, there was a plump young man with neatly brushed blond hair in the berth just forward from his, watching him. He didn’t seem to have any ear protectors. Lalli was really wishing for a set of those now, because the blond man was chattering to him in a different language, and also reaching out to touch him like the captain had. He tried to ignore the blond man, who eventually stopped trying to touch him.

Emil had watched Taru introduce the slender young man with ash-blonde hair to Kristján, who greeted him very appropriately, but the young man hadn’t replied. They’d waited as long as they could for Taru Hollola to arrive with the night scout, but finally Torbjörn had to hurry them along to the train. Perhaps this was them now? He didn’t know any Finnish, but it sounded like Kristján knew some. “Are you Lalli, the night scout?,” he asked in Swedish, “I’m pleased to meet you. I am Emil Västerström, I’ll be the skald on the expedition.” The young man didn’t answer, he just carefully placed his boots on one side of the berth, and his rifle by the wall of the train. Emil withdrew his hand. “Say, where is your bag? Torbjörn will have your uniform, but where are your things?” Getting no answer, Emil tried to think of what to say in Icelandic, but all he could think of was the phrase ‘This report is filed by Emil Västerström’ which was always followed by the date. He didn’t think that would be helpful. Emil lay back down in defeat, but then heard Lalli’s stomach rumble.

“You must have missed dinner getting here. I have an extra sandwich for later, but would you like it?” Emil shifted and got the sandwich out of his bag. Actually, he had several sandwiches, but he could certainly spare one for his new teammate. He waved the sandwich in front of Lalli’s nose. “Sandwich?”

From the berth over his head came Clara’s muffled voice, “I want a sandwich.” She peeked over the edge of berth. “How did you get one? That new babysitter they got wouldn’t let me in the kitchen.” Emil didn’t answer her, but he had to agree that the woman was scary and had also made rude comments about his figure. She hadn’t specifically barred Emil because he was from the family, but he had no access to the pickles or relishes or other things in the pantry.

The sandwich had had the desired effect. The slender young man had taken the sandwich and was munching the meat from inside it happily, and then polished off the bread. Emil was suddenly glad there wasn’t any messy relish on the sandwiches. He looked at Emil anew with his remarkable large pale grey eyes, although Emil couldn’t quite tell whether he was smiling or not. His hair was cut longer in the front and stuck out at somewhat odd angles. Emil reached out and tidied the man’s hair, “Mind your hair, you look like a bum.”

Lalli hunkered down in his berth, but the grey eyes still watched the blond man, just in case he got grabby again.

Hmph, Emil thought, maybe he can’t talk. He’d read something about people like that. “You’re welcome,” he grumped as he settled back into the bed.

Lalli didn’t know why the blond man in the next berth gave him a sandwich, but wondered if he was supposed to be one of his new teammates. He decided he couldn’t be; he was almost as fat as Taru. But then he had messed up Lalli’s hair? Maybe it was something Swedish people did to each other? And where was Tuuri?

His thoughts ranged to the days before she and Onni had left to go to Norway, which was even further away than Sweden. He thought Tuuri was chattering aimlessly as usual about getting out of Keuruu; she been saying that since they’d come there. But then Onni started saying it too. He started talking about having a superpower and this was a chance to help train others with superpowers. Lalli didn’t quite comprehend why Onni taking the form of his luonto completely and flying was any different from any of the other powerful mages doing the same thing. Grandma had done that sometimes.

Lalli definitely did not want to go to Norway with Onni, that was understood. But Tuuri didn’t have a power, and yet she was still going with Onni. When they were little, he thought Tuuri definitely had one of those powers, but it turned out she wasn't even a mage, she was just very talented with machines. Lalli remembered when she fixed some old boat towed in from Niinisari, which hadn’t worked for years. Not only did she get it running smoothly, she even tried fixing up the old paint job it had once had on the outside, with the Swan and a bunch of weird love hearts on it. She hadn’t bothered to fix the deep gashes in the woodwork inside one of the rooms below the deck, but then she said she couldn’t see them when Lalli pointed them out to her. He liked walking around that boat, it somehow reminded him of Grandma and not the Swan, but when they tried releasing it from the mooring and riding it around Keuruu, it still made Lalli and Onni sick. Lalli sighed. She probably pushed Onni into bringing her with him to Norway, she was like that.

Onni still came to see him sometimes after he left, and brought him to his haven for training from time to time. He asked Lalli if he could look out for people who might have powers – always non-immune mages. Lalli couldn’t understand why he should want to send people away, especially the non-immune; they had special duties to perform at home and were needed there.

Lalli remembered the little girl in Keuruu who could help plants grow. She had a special affinity with the gods of the forest and spoke to them regularly; nothing unusual about that. Then one winter’s day she grew a blackberry bush which surrounded the whole sauna building, because she wanted some berries. Somehow Onni heard about her and flew back in the spring to talk to her parents about taking her to Norway. She’d panicked and managed to flee into the forest. A search found her inside a nest she had made of tightly intertwined roots and brambles, but they had been rent through by a troll or beast and she had been gashed. She died of the Rash in the quarantine area; Lalli had released her tortured soul himself. He didn’t really want to talk to Onni after that, and kept himself out of sight when Onni flew by during Lalli’s scouting runs.

A few weeks ago, some of the scouts started talking about a military strategist named Taru Hollola, who was looking for a scout to go on an expedition to the Silent World. They were all in agreement that it didn’t sound like a good assignment, and they were all turning her down. Lalli thought nothing of it until she came to talk to him last week. She mentioned that they were cousins, but Lalli had never met her before. She explained the mission; night scouting and reporting to the driver, working from old maps. Lalli didn’t really know much about maps, since his scouting was all just around Keuruu, but Taru didn’t pay attention to his shrug. Then she said Tuuri was the driver, and the medic was also someone from Niinisari. Lalli was confused and asked if this was in Norway, but Taru just laughed and said something about Denmark. Denmark was in the Silent World, Lalli knew that, and then Taru said they would be going to Denmark on Tuuri’s fast new boat and then driving around.

It was a very weird conversation, but then Taru showed up again three days ago and asked if he was ready to go meet his new boss. He went with her, but didn’t realise they weren’t coming back after the meeting, they went on a boat just like that, and Lalli was sick the whole way, and then she said they were in Sweden and they rode another train. It was a much nicer one than this one, even though it was filled with people jabbering in another language. They went to the place where they made Lalli take a bath, and Taru came and said she’d had a message that they weren’t going on Tuuri’s boat after all, but going on another train.

Lalli tossed fitfully in his bunk. Somebody had come around and tried to get him to use the harness in the berth, but it was uncomfortable and Lalli tossed the belts aside again. The blond man tried to talk to him again, but Lalli tuned him out. He really wanted some ear protectors, but none of the people around him seemed to be wearing any either. Lalli couldn’t feel Kuutar anymore – were they travelling too fast? Occasionally a shudder passed through the train along with a strange high-pitched sound, and the sentry cats were restless. Lalli dropped off anyway, but then a vision of a large and hideous spirit interrupted his sleep and he bolted awake. He couldn’t remember whether he knew this spirit or not, but there was definitely something close by.

Then it was WRONG *there* and Lalli propelled out of the berth and into the next carriage before his next heartbeat. Another heartbeat, and he registered that the conductors were arming themselves with pistols. One of them spoke to him and made to restrain him. Another heartbeat, and he pinpointed the entry point, wriggled away and pointed at it. He couldn’t speak their language, but they had to know. The cats were puffed and noisy around him; they were too slow. An entire heartbeat passed he stared at one conductor, willing her to take action against the WRONG spirit that was making its way right ...here...

She peeled away and yelled an alert, and as she hurled herself to the door to give the warning, someone else wriggled through the door and approached Lalli. It was the man who had greeted Lalli earlier, his new captain, at last someone who could speak Finnish! The conductors were yelling at him as they swarmed into the compartment, but the captain ignored them. Lalli told him, “there is a giant coming through right through here,” but he didn’t answer. He had a respectable knife ready, Lalli could see. And then the giant broke through the ceiling.

Lalli stepped out of the way and plastered himself to the wall with his hands over his ears, as he had no weapon with him. This was the kind with many heads, the worst kind, because you had to get all the heads. The conductors and his captain were doing the best they could at shooting and disabling the heads, but there were so many, pouring through the ceiling like a waterfall. It tossed some of the conductors around, but Lalli saw the captain dodge and weave with green eyes flashing while he slashed and stabbed; the man could handle a knife. Suddenly a terrible sound filled the carriage, a shudder passed through the whole train, and the monster went limp. Lalli could no longer sense its malevolence. They stood around for a moment breathing heavily, then talked amongst themselves while having the presence of mind to shoot and stab the individual heads left over.

A medic came in and started working on one of the wounded conductors, and another conductor came and spoke to Lalli and the captain while escorting them out of the carriage, but gave the captain a clout on the shoulder. Lalli didn’t know why they would hit him after he helped them, but the captain could understand them and spoke briefly with them while casting glances over his shoulder at Lalli. Then he flicked his head to indicate that Lalli should follow him, and took a cloth to his knife to get the gore off.

Many pairs of wide eyes and some annoying chatter greeted them as they passed back into their carriage. Lalli suddenly realised with relief that Tuuri must be with the other non-immune passengers, because no one in this car was wearing a mask. He climbed into his berth, but the fat blond man with the sandwich was staring at him agog in the next berth. Lalli reached over, took the man’s harness and crossed it over his chest, to motion that he should wear it, and then he buckled his own to show him. Someone was snoring loudly; was it possible that someone had slept through the whole thing? He shifted himself up to see who it might be; it was Taru. His eyes met those of the captain, who was also shifting himself into his berth. Lalli nodded to him in acknowledgement, but the man only stared back for a moment with cool green eyes before turning away to tuck himself in.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

As Lalli finally fell asleep on the Dalahästen, he awoke in his haven. After the seemingly endless parade of horrid metal ships and trains and crowds of people and officious cats, the cool green solitude was a welcome relief. He stretched and rolled onto his back on his platform, looking up at the tree canopy arching over him and lazily tracing a finger in the water next to him.

He wondered if maybe he should try to talk to Onni after all, if only to tell him that he would see Tuuri when the train stopped. He summoned his sielulintu and went out into the dark night between the worlds. There was no sign of Onni’s haven nearby, only some faint ones far away. He was about to go back inside his haven when a flash of red caught his eye in the distance. He had seen this spirit before, the pale one with the long red hair and enormous eyes, who always went running past so quickly, just a streak against the endless stars and water. As always, Lalli tried to call out to this spirit, but also as always the spirit kept running with only a quick backward glance at Lalli, and then was out of sight like a shooting star. He didn’t know what he would ask if the spirit ever stopped running. He returned to his haven to rest, comforted that even this far away from Finland, the red-haired spirit ran here too.

Chapter Text

“No, I’m pretty sure I can get this working.” Riika stepped back from the train’s boiler unit for a moment. “I have helped her fire it up before, you know,” she said over her shoulder to Martti, “steam is a specialty of mine.” This was actually an understatement, as control over water in all its forms was her superpower. Martti resisted the urge to add ‘as long as you are in contact with me dear sister.’

They had spent the morning enlisting many of the base’s youngsters to help them move a pile of firewood to just outside Tuuri’s quarters. Part of Tuuri’s conversion of the former scenic passenger train into her apartment and machine workshop included setting up a proper Finnish sauna running off part of the train’s boilers. She and her brother Onni had considered it an essential part of their existence so far from their Finnish home, as had the other Finnish personnel around the base.

Now Tuuri had been absent for several weeks, and Onni had over-strained himself looking for her. His owl luonto had left him, and he took to his bed yesterday, waiting for its return. It was Riika’s idea to set up a sauna to at least help his body and mind maintain its sisu while he waited, and not incidentally providing a morale boost to them all. She had stoked the fire and started adjusting the controls.

Martti let his attention wander around the workshop as he waited for her to need him to activate her power. His own power involved control over earth and stones, and he could feel the crystals inside the workings of some of Tuuri’s machines. He didn’t know what most of them were for, however, so he resisted the urge to tune those crystals he could tell were not quite true. He could do that much on his own, without Riika. If Tuuri came back, he would ask her about those and offer to help. No, he corrected himself, when Tuuri came back. “Riika,” he called over to her, “did Tuuri tell you anything about who she was going to see in Keuruu?”

Riika didn’t look up. “Just ‘old friends and stuff’ was all I heard. I think she was just a bit homesick.”

“Doesn’t she have family there?” Martti was looking at a small picture on one of the cabinets, a photo of Onni, Tuuri and someone else. Onni looked hassled and worried as usual, Tuuri was a bit younger and had long hair, and was smiling brightly at the camera. The third person had the same nose and the same shade of ash-blonde hair, but was much thinner and sharper-featured than Onni and Tuuri; he was looking off-camera at something else.

“Probably. There’s no other reason to go to Keuruu,” Riika offered sourly, wiping the sweat from her face with her sleeve. Water was running through the pipes connected to the woodburner.

“Safety is a reason,” Martti admonished, “and jobs.” Riika shrugged. “But, Tuuri didn’t go to Keuruu anyway. For all we know, she didn’t go to Finland at all.”

“Maybe she arranged to meet Reynir,” Riika mused, turning to look at Martti, “maybe the two of them have gone off together, and nothing evil about it. They didn’t seem lovey around each other, but who knows?” She leaned back against work table with her arms crossed, satisfied at Martti’s thunderstruck expression. “Anyway, I don’t need you after all, it’s going. Let’s let this warm up now, I’ll keep an eye on it. Let the others know there will be sauna tonight.”

“Hey, good work, Riika!,” Martti brightened. “I think this will be great.”

As he left, a blast of cold air came through the doorway. Autumn was definitely taking hold, Riika thought, this will be just what was needed. They had been getting together and running spells for protecting against kade, with little to show for their efforts. Perhaps that was the point, maybe the kade who took Reynir was repelled. It was good practice, too. But privately Riika had to agree with Ellina that there probably wasn’t really a kade, and maybe Onni was just mistaken. He’d seemed so certain, and it was certainly a logical explanation why the sharp-eyed sentry who saw Reynir run away only saw one person, and Ana saw two from her haven. A mage had to be involved.

Eh, she grimaced, Tuuri isn’t a mage, so much for that theory. She bent to the woodpile to stoke the fire. Piled amongst the wood were some offcuts from the woodshop, including what looked like someone’s clumsy attempt to carve a wooden shoe. A wooden clog.

Like the ones Reynir used to wear around the base.

The ones Ilya made for him.

Riika ran out to find Martti, clutching the offcut.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The train was approaching the Øresundsbro base, and a man and woman came into the compartment where the rest of the crew were. They handed Lalli his kit while babbling in some language and then started talking to the bleary-eyed captain, Kristján. Lalli was relieved that they didn’t mess up his hair in greeting. The blond man who had done that to him last night was now speaking crossly to these new people. Lalli wished Taru would wake up and help him find Tuuri, but she was still turned to the wall. At least she’d stopped snoring. He opened the bag he’d been given and looked inside at the new uniform packed inside, noting with approval the extra-long boots and gloves.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Torbjörn and Siv came into the compartment where the rest of the crew had spent the night (probably none of them actually slept, Siv mused), with Torbjörn lugging along the kit bag intended for the scout that Taru was supposed to bring. He hoped she got the size correct, as they doubted the man would be that slender, but the tailor put the rush order through for them as Taru specified. However, once they got up close, it was obvious that the thin young man in the berth across from Taru’s unmistakable shape, staring at them with alert grey eyes, was certainly the scout as described. Yes, he resembled Tuuri somewhat, now that he looked closer. Torbjörn welcomed him in Icelandic and Swedish, but he didn’t reply. Torbjörn then greeted Clara and Sofie in Swedish as they peered over the sides of the top bunks, hair askew. They returned the greeting before they retreated and started rummaging for their bags.

Kristján sat up and gave them the debrief of what had happened during the night, “Breach, a big giant, the nasty kind with multiple heads,” he said in Icelandic. Siv blanched and started wringing her hands. “Got knocked out when we went into a tunnel. Gotta find out why that new scout was in there.” He rubbed his face with his hands. Torbjörn could see there was still blood on them, and he quickly double-checked that Siv was indeed wearing her mask.

“We must complain to the train management.” Torbjörn winced as he recognised his nephew’s voice in full whinge. “A person couldn’t sleep properly with all that ruckus going on.” As though in answer, Taru started snoring again. Then Emil yelled out as Clara’s booted foot came down from the berth above his, searching for a foothold, and finding it on Emil’s face. She hastily apologised, but then the other foot followed the first as she swung down, fully dressed in uniform. Emil yelled imprecations and clutched at his face.

“There, don’t you look smart,” Torbjörn said brightly to Clara, ignoring Emil’s howls. Sofie also lowered herself down, managing the feat without using Lalli as a stepping stone. Arvind’s uniform fit her reasonably well, Siv noted with relief. “Big day, big day, getting our gear!,” Torbjörn cheered at the team. “Everybody, meet our new scout, Lalli Hotakainen,” he gestured grandly at the uncomprehending Lalli, “and we’ll meet the last member at the base later today.”

Kristján had just noticed the blood still splashed on him and excused himself into the toilet. Emil had considered getting dressed in there, but made do with being in full view of everyone in the middle berth. After all, he thought to himself, we will all be out there in the Silent World together, ha ha, no time for niceties. He looked with dismay at his ankles sticking out the bottom of the uniform pants as he pulled them on, and then grunted as he struggled to close the button on the waistband.

He didn’t catch Siv looking away pointedly; she didn’t think he’d fit into Tuuri’s uniform very well, but it was all they had left at such short notice. The sleeves on the skivvy and jacket were too short as well and he couldn’t zip up the jacket, but Emil was concentrating on keeping his gut sucked in as he pulled the gloves over the sleeves. Lalli who he’d shared the sandwich with last night was pulling on his long boots; Emil marvelled at how skinny he was. He couldn’t imagine himself so thin. He’d have to keep an eye on him, and see that he ate.

Kristján had somehow ‘managed’ to toe Taru awake while climbing back up to his berth, and she was sitting up in her berth now. She motioned Siv over and asked her sotto voce who these other people were and where Tuuri was. Siv wrung her hands some more and explained to Taru that Arvind had been unsuitable after all and Tuuri had inexplicably left just after Arvind had, and no one had heard from her. Then she pointed out Sofie and Emil and explained their qualifications in brief. Taru kept her face carefully neutral as she asked who in the expedition now spoke Finnish, as Lalli knew no other language. Siv unsuccessfully kept the panic out of her own face as she stuttered that Kristján knew some, according to his file. Taru nodded, her face impassive for the benefit of Lalli’s searching eyes across the aisle, and she reached for her own satchel. She was now aware of several gaps between Kristján’s file and reality, and wondered yet again why Trond with his endless connections had put him forward to lead this expedition. The Moose of Hiisi certainly had Lalli by the balls, she sighed to herself, how to best explain this to him in a way that didn’t involve him pulling out of the mission?

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri looked warily at the owl perched in the tree next to the radio station as she approached in the cold pre-dawn stillness. It wasn’t Onni, she noted with relief as it flew away. She wouldn’t put it past him to come spying on her. On the other hand, she hadn’t told him, or anybody, where she was really going, and surely they’d missed her by now. Was Jódís looking for her? The vision of Jódís marching toward her, looped dark plaits swinging, ready to admonish her for her absence, suddenly alarmed her. Was she sending Onni flying over Finland? Wouldn’t that be too much for him, if he was doing it every night? He was a pretty strong noita, and superpowered too, he’d probably be okay, she rationalised as she unlocked the transmission shed. Besides, he might find Lalli while he was at it. But Jódís... it was not a great idea to get on Jódís’ wrong side.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

As Reynir slept, he was in Iceland again, and sure enough, there were the sheep leaping around the hillsides and the shepherd dogs herding them. One peeled off and came to Reynir and sat while Reynir crouched and scritched behind his ears, tongue lolling. Remembering his conversations with Jón, Reynir asked the dog, “You’re a good boy, you are. Are you my fylgja?”

The dog answered, “Go home.”

Reynir stood up quickly, looking down at the dog dumbfounded. “I need to go back to Iceland?”

The dog walked in a circle before sitting down again. The Grade A dogs here in Helvetia did that when they wanted you to stay where you were. “Go home,” the dog repeated. Then the dog started walking off, tail high, the meaning clear: Follow me. Reynir followed.

They left the Icelandic landscape and entered the realm between havens, with the still water and the dark starry sky. Reynir felt the call to run under those stars, but the dog sat on a convenient rock and looked up at Reynir. Reynir could see shapes in the water around the dog, which resolved themselves into skeletons, distorted skeletons, writhing toward a single focal point: himself. As he recoiled in horror, suddenly there was Ilya, running past in a swirl of long red hair, extending a hand toward Reynir. But Reynir was loath to step on the water with those skeletons and extended his hand half-heartedly while looking down at the skeletons, and then Ilya was gone.

The dog barked once as the skeletons started coming out of the water, and Reynir yelped and ran back to his haven in a panic. The dog skipped lightly back following Reynir and caught up to him on the hillside. Reynir sat on a rock, panting, and the dog looked at him expectantly, also panting.

Reynir woke up and started to sit up, but his braid was caught on something. For a second, he thought he was back in Norway and the hair prankster had gotten to him, but by the low light of the embers in the fire he could see Renate on the next pallet, with the end of his braid wrapped around her hand. Reynir carefully lay back down and looked at her sleeping form while he puzzled over the dream, trying to immediately commit it to memory as Jón had suggested. “Go home,” the fylgja had said. Where was home now?, Reynir wondered.

Chapter Text

“Well, that’s what I thought too, but apparently not. ... You could have knocked me over with a feather, but there she was, chatting away with Birgitta while helping her make up my bed. ... You are NOT allowed to call me that, ever. ... No, they think I’m in Rønne now, coming through Øresund, that’s why she thought I would see you. ... Of course she did, two jars, but I let Birgitta take them. She loves that stuff, and the food on the ship is even more appalling than that. ... Yes! Did you find any? ... Yes, General Andersen, the original scheming mountain monkey! ...Ugh, Rúnarson, he was here, but he must not have recognised me, he didn't say anything. ... Six. Mm-hmm. ... Odd, that’s exactly what they said when they were here? ... All winter, wow. ... No, Hotakainen, H-o-t-a-k-a...what? Are you sure? ... No, no, just surprised. .... Eh, not my type. ... If you could, please. ... That’s why you’re my favourite brother! ... Reynir is cuter, but that’s not hard to do. ... That’s not funny. Reinald can’t help being like a poorly-made object. ... Try it and I’ll make sure your hair is braided like mine next time I see you. ... Ha! I can make it happen, just try it. ... Okay, keep me posted. ... Yep, bye.”

Jódís shut off the frequency and hung up the radio microphone, a shadow of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. She could always count on Mosi. Then with a sigh she pushed herself away from the radio desk and composed herself. Time to go talk to Onni, if he was awake.

On her way over to Onni’s cottage Riika and Martti ran up to her, ignoring the rain in their haste. Riika was clutching a piece of wood. She started talking in rapid-fire Finnish, but Jódís’ rudimentary Finnish couldn’t quite keep up, so she looked at Martti for assistance.

“Riika thinks that Reynir’s gone with Ilya,” Martti translated to Icelandic, “This piece of wood reminded her of Reynir’s shoes. We’re pretty sure a mage was with Reynir when he disappeared, and Ilya’s likely a mage, and well, we know Ilya favours Reynir, and...” Martti hesitated as Riika ran out of steam and looked down at the chunk of wood.

Jódís recalled her conversation with Julian about contacting Ilya. She nodded and asked slowly in Finnish, “Do you know any runo that can help slow Ilya down or help communicate if we see them here?”

Martti and Riika looked at each other searchingly. “Maybe, I think so,” Martti replied. They’d had good practice trying to find and repel the kade, after all. “If Ilya comes by,” Riika added.

Jódís nodded and continued toward Onni’s cottage, Martti and Riika falling into step with her. Martti said in Icelandic, “We were going to tell Onni there’s a sauna tonight.”

“Splendid,” Jódís agreed, “maybe he’ll revive enough to help you with the runo. I could use a sauna myself, thanks, after a wet day.”

Martti shot Riika a look behind Jódís’ back, but she hadn’t understood and just looked at Martti curiously. Perhaps Jódís did not fully appreciate the severity of Onni’s loss of his luonto, he thought to himself; she was just Icelandic after all, and not a mage herself.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“...Please don’t let tonight’s experience keep you from choosing the Sveavägen line in the future! We swear, this almost never happens.” The conductor’s voice sounded ever-so-slightly hassled as she made the announcement, but Clara felt the knot in her stomach slowly release. She hadn’t told any of her new teammates, but this was not her first ride on the Dalahästen, although it would be her first time at its Øresund terminus.

Her former cleanser unit was assigned to the maintenance of the slender corridor around the track, and selected runnings of the trains made very brief stops to transfer the maintenance teams. To disembark, the wheeled pallets of incendiaries and supplies were positioned by the cargo doors, and as the train slowed through the station, the troll hunting team opened the doors and leapt out, rifles at the ready, followed by rest of the team pushing the pallets and themselves out the doors at a run onto the platform. The train crew would disconnect the animal carrier car from the back of the train, leaving the cleanser unit to stop its momentum and offload the ponies, and then hitch the ponies to the car to pull it off the tracks until autumn. The train never came to a complete stop on the southbound run. Only the northbound runs that uplifted the maintenance crews at the end of autumn allowed themselves to actually stop at the stations, mostly to reconnect the pony carriers.

When Clara was kicked out of her unit earlier this summer, they radioed back to base to arrange a pickup for her on the next northbound run. The sergeant assigned a troll hunter to escort her to the nearest train station to await the train. As soon as they arrived, the hunter sneered and wished her good luck before taking her pony and heading back to camp at a gallop. Clara was left alone on the platform with her gear, a rifle, and a small supply of food, a day and a half before the next train was due. She spent next 32 hours wide awake shut in the pony car, sweating in the summer heat, until she saw the far-off headlight signalling her salvation. As she came out onto the platform and positioned herself to make the running leap onto the moving train, a troll picked that moment to lunge onto the platform next to her. Somewhere Clara found the reserves to grab hold of the handle, deliver a panicked kick to the general direction of the troll’s head to get it off her, and slide inside the door as the conductor helped her in. She released herself from the memory with a shudder.

She was surprised none of the train crew seemed to recognise her, especially the cool blonde woman who had just made that announcement. Agneta, that was her name. She had been the one to decontaminate the sobbing Clara just a few months ago. Maybe I look different when I’m not covered in snot and terror, she thought wryly. To help dispel her nerves, she joined Emil and Sofie, who were chatting about some old gramophones Emil had been charged with restoring at this old job, something called “Emil i Lönneberga.” Clara was a bit abashed to see a large bruise forming on Emil’s face where she had missed her footing and stepped on him last night, but he didn’t seemed too fussed, so she didn’t mention it lest she’d have to apologise again. Emil’s story was fairly diverting as well, and Clara soon found herself laughing along at the escapades of Emil’s young namesake.

Lalli sat on his berth as the train slowed into the station. He didn’t get sick on the trains he’d ridden, not like on the boats, but he still found them disquieting. The echoes of last night’s giant invasion was still ringing in his head, and he was admonishing himself for not even having his puukko with him when he went to investigate the spiritual disturbance he’d felt. While it was true that his scouting usually involved reporting troll activity and not taking care of it himself, he felt he’d dishonoured himself in front of the captain by not joining in the fight.

He looked wistfully at the Swedish young people laughing together, sharing a joke in a language he did not understand. Taru Hollola had broken the news to him that Tuuri was not on the expedition after all, and the woman with the sensibly plaited long brown hair who had taken her place did not know Finnish. Lalli was used to not saying very much, but that was around Keuruu, where every landmark was well-known. He mused that he could mark up the map to show a safe way or draw a new map, but some things should be explained, especially if none of the ways were actually safe. But this driver had steady eyes and he could tell she had sisu, even though she was Swedish. The man with the sparkly blond hair had tried to talk to him some more, but didn’t offer any more sandwiches, and Lalli knew he had more in his bag. Lalli saw the bag unattended while the blond man talked with the others, maybe he would just move...a little closer...and carefully slide his hand under the flap...

The captain turned around suddenly and barked something at Lalli. He’d seen! Lalli was mortified, although puzzled when the captain simply leaned down until he was practically nose-to-nose with the shrinking Lalli and growled something in his own language. Then the three Swedes started laughing together and made a wall of irritating sound, and Kristján whirled away. Lalli had renewed respect for his captain’s sensitive and fast reflexes, but why hadn’t he spoken Finnish to him?

As the Dalahästen slowly pulled into its terminus by the Øresund Strait, the base crews stopped and stared soberly at the damage the train had taken on this run. As well as the usual gore adorning the front saw blade, there was a breach in the midsection of the train and tendrils of troll limbs and assorted other remains trailling out of the breach. The yard crews scrambled to hose down and cut off the bits, while the base medical team moved in to tend to the wounded train crew.

“Time to move out,” Kristján muttered as he shouldered into the circle between Clara and Emil, “let’s go.” After the wounded were uplifted, the passengers were helped to disembark onto the sky bridges. With wide eyes, Sofie, Emil, Clara and Lalli followed Torbjörn and Siv across the bridge, taking in the impressive outpost extending over the water of the Øresund Strait. Kristján and Taru brought up the rear; they had both been here before at various times and had eyes only for the good weather that had greeted them.

Emil hung back a step to fall in next to Lalli, giving him a friendly punch on the arm and asking in Swedish, “How did you like that ride? Bumpy enough for you? The captain’s not telling, what really happened in the other compartment last night, huh?” He was greeted with a glare from the affronted Lalli. Undaunted, Emil took two sandwiches out of his bag and handed one to Lalli. The latter shot a sidelong glance back to Kristján, who was not paying attention to them, before taking the sandwich. Lalli thanked him in Finnish, which made Emil beam.

Out on the deck below where they queued for border processing, amongst the jostling people Kristján saw Trond Andersen and the Norwegian 2IC, Sigrun Eide. They had been briefed by radio when Trond recruited her (something about a vacation trip?), and Torbjörn organised a uniform to be sent to Dalsnes for her. She had astonishing red hair, was smiling broadly and waving at them. She towered over the eternally scowling Trond, and Kristján’s heart skipped a beat. Her photo had not done her justice.

While Torbjörn, Siv and Taru organised the paperwork with the desk, Emil came up to the observation windows between Clara and Sofie, looking at Sigrun waving. “Have you worked with a Norwegian before?,” he asked them. Sofie shook her head, but Clara snorted. Norwegian troll hunters usually travelled with the cleansers. “I’m not sure they even have proper civilisation in their dumb fjords,” Emil continued blithely, “and they let their babies teethe on knives. And the Danes! Well, the Danes, you just can’t understand a word they say, it’s as if they’ve shoved a potato down their throats.” The Danish guards were glaring at them, but Emil was just warming up. “They just sit there on their dumb little island and plot taking back the rest of Denmark, while here in Sweden we go out and fight to take back our land! Isn’t that right, Clara? Maybe I should have been a cleanser, ha ha!”

Clara bit back her answer. Best not to antagonise people right away, I have learnt my lesson, indeed I have, she thought to herself. She had rolled her eyes behind Emil’s back, and Sofie had caught her eye and rolled her eyes in answer. So, Sofie wasn’t fooled either, Clara thought, good to have another intelligent person around, maybe she wasn’t as credulous as she looked.

------

However, Sofie was so excited, she forgave Emil his inaccuracies. She had never been so far from her farmstead home in her life, and was still a bit stunned that she had been whisked away on this adventure. She had only prepared herself for a week’s babysitting of the Västerström children, and had only packed good storybooks, a children’s songbook, and her basic recipe book. Most of the books were left behind in Mora, but the recipe book would come in handy, and at the last minute she tucked her favourite storybook into her satchel. And now, she had been briefed what the real mission of the expedition was - looking for books. Looking at the Danish flags fluttering around the outpost and the clear blue water of the strait, she felt almost giddy.

Once the paperwork was in order, the crew proceeded down to meet up with their new crew member. Sigrun strode over and greeted Siv and Torbjörn, then Kristján extended his hand as he gazed up at her. “So you’re my captain for this expedition, eh? Great!,” Sigrun riveted her steely gaze on him and gave him her firmest handshake.

Kristján felt his knees going weak, only partly from infatuation. Her violet eyes swam in his vision as unbidden tears came to his eyes. He tried to dazzle her with his smile, but succeeded only in a baring of teeth. “That’s right, Trond tells me you’re a competent troll hunter,” he managed to say.

“Yeah, I’m pretty good,” she laughed. She released her grip and extended her hand to Sofie as Kristján surreptitiously tried to get the blood flowing back into his hand and his heart. “Hi, are you Arvind, then?,” she asked Sofie. Torbjörn laughed nervously and made the introductions all around.

As Torbjörn motioned Taru over to translate for a reluctant Lalli, Kristján heard a voice behind him say in Icelandic, “So, Rúnarson, out of your league again?” He whirled to see an official in a Nordic Council jacket, smirking as he placed the expedition’s requisition papers onto his clipboard. “Tsk, tsk, tsk.” His hood was thrown back, revealing that his head was shaven on the sides only, leaving a narrow strip of hair along the apex of his head, blowing in the wind off the strait.

“Árnason.” Kristján fairly spat the name. “Shouldn’t you be, ah... petting a sheep somewhere?”

“Nah, just herding them,” he snorted, then switching to Swedish said more loudly, “Speaking of which, do you want to follow me for your supplies?” Torbjörn raised his hand and walked briskly over to them and introduced himself. They started walking toward the warehouse, with Taru and Siv urging the rest of the crew to follow. Kristján stewed over the memories of his last encounters with Mosi Árnason and allowed himself to fall behind to the rest of the crew as Torbjörn discussed the supplies with the officer.

Sofie fairly skipped as she saw the large armoured vehicles lined along one side of the warehouse, but their intended vehicle was down by the end of the row. It was much smaller than the more impressive tanks, but Sofie consoled herself that it would likely be easier to drive. It was actually bigger than any of the farm vehicles she’d ever driven.

Clara looked at the crates of incendiaries waiting to be loaded, and her eyes lit up. Lovely tanks, lovely boxes of torches, accelerant, flamethrowers...with a gleeful smile she rubbed her hands together and started loading the tanks. Just then Emil made it to the tank, puffing from the walk. “I...I could help you with those,” he wheezed. Clara shrugged and let him take one side of a crate. He almost dropped it but adjusted himself and shuffled along with Clara while, becoming mightily red in the face, finally helping her position it into the tank’s hold. He stood up, breathing heavily, and declared, “There, that should give you all the firepower you’ll need. Heh heh, those trolls won’t stand a chance! Yes, I should have been a cleanser!” Clara had walked back to the stacks of incendiary crates and gestured at the remaining items to load, smiling sweetly at Emil. “Oh, I need to load the important skald gear now,” he said and rushed back to the other side of the tank, rubbing his sore hands together.

He leaned against the side of their tank to catch his breath, and caught sight of the bruise Clara had inflicted on him in one of the side mirrors. He was chagrined - what was wrong with his face?? He tried to get a closer look, but the side mirror broke off when he put his weight against it. He panicked and threw it behind him toward the loading docks. A worker pushing a trolley with two crates on it caught the mirror in one ham-sized hand and continued pushing his trolley toward the crew. Without saying a word, he looked at the tag on the crates, and proceeded to load the crates into the back of the expedition’s tank. Then he came around to the side of the tank with the mirror and the tank’s toolbox, and reattached the mirror.

He put the toolbox down on the trolley, stroked his phenomenally bushy blond sideburns and said to Emil in Danish, “Your face is bothering you.” Unfortunately Emil had difficulty understanding his Danish accent and asked him haughtily to repeat himself, a few times. Finally the man spoke slowly, “It’s a bruise.”

“You can get a bruise on your face!?’” Emil exclaimed, “There’s not a risk it’ll leave a scar, is there?” He touched the bruise gingerly.

“A scar?,” more stroking of the sideburns, “No. I’m more concerned about cancer.”

“D-Did you say ‘cancer’?? What are you saying?,” Emil was beside himself by now.

“Yes, and without proper treatment face bruises can turn into what we in the field of medicine call ‘face cancer’.” He nodded sagely and peered into Emil’s face.

As Emil gibbered, chins quivering, trying to understand, Mosi Árnason called over in Icelandic, “Oy, Madsen, cut it out! I don’t care how many calves you’ve delivered back home, you’re not here as a medic! You’re already on your last warning with Admiral Olsen.”

The hulking man with the impressive sideburns gathered his dignity and phlegmatically pushed the trolley away. Emil did not understand the Icelandic exchange and started to go after him, yelling, “Please go get the medical kit! You’ve got to help me!” He rushed over to Sofie and grabbed her arm. “Please help me! You need to unpack the medical kit. That man said I could get face cancer!”

Sofie blinked at Emil and said shakily, “Th-there’s no such thing as face cancer, Emil.” She touched the bruise gently. “It’s just a bruise,” she said softly, “did you fall out of the berth on the train when we hit the giant?” Emil shook his head, but she could see the panic subsiding in his face.

Meanwhile Kristján was looking at the workman’s retreating back. He thought he recognised that workman, and thought that while he’d done well to not take this Mikkel Madsen on this expedition, but he was doubly peeved at having to take Torbjörn’s fat nephew. Listening to him whingeing about having a bruise on his face was making him want to dump Emil into the strait. “He’d make an excellent sjødraug, don’t you think?,” he said as an aside to Lalli, “Maybe we’ll find him a girlfriend on this trip.” Lalli was not even registering that Kristján was talking to him, but was looking at the treads on the tank, calculating what sort of terrain they were limited to.

Mosi closed his clipboard and told Torbjörn and Trond that everything seemed to be checked in and they were cleared to go. “Best of luck to you,” he said in Icelandic, “the Nordic Council will expect complete reporting.” Then looking at Kristján sidelong he told Torbjörn more softly, “They will need more than luck, they’ll need a superhuman effort and maybe the whole pantheon of gods to get them through this successfully.”

Trond frowned, but Torbjörn waved his hand airily as he laughed, “oh, we Swedes don’t go in for that sort of thing, you know.”

“Can I take a picture of your crew?” They whirled around, and there was a girl wearing glasses and dressed in black standing with Siv, holding a camera. “The first people to go to the Danish mainland since Kastrup. I really wish I could go with you!,” she gushed in Danish.

“Yes, yes, a splendid idea,” Torbjörn said, “a picture for posterity! Emil, get the expedition camera too, we’ll get photos with our camera as well as...?” He looked questioningly at his wife, who just smiled nervously and shrugged.

“Madeline Christensen, sir,” the girl said. “I want to go to the Silent World, too.”

“Okay, everybody, get together for the picture!,” Torbjörn called out. Kristján posed, smiling down at Madeline. Clara and Sofie came over with Emil, who was tidying his already-perfect hair, but Sofie shyly hung back behind Kristján.

Taru called over to Lalli that they were having a photo, but he shook his head, “I don’t like pictures. It’s weird having to look at yourself later, it never looks right. Besides, these people keep hitting me.” She told him only that he’d never have to see the picture, and put up her hands to propel him toward the group. He shrunk from her hands and edged over next to Clara.

Sigrun was called over and she put one arm around Sofie and pulled her in, and reached out to bring Lalli in with the other one. “Say ‘Orange!’ Appelsiiin!,” she chortled, even as Lalli retreated from her hand. They took a few more, but Lalli could not be persuaded to come closer than lurking behind Sigrun.

They all jumped as a booming voice came from behind them. “AH, HERE ARE THE INTREPID EXPLORERS! ARE YOU EXCITED?! I KNOW I AM!” Trond craned back his neck and looked down his pince-nez at the tall figure bearing down upon them, with his long blond beard braided into two plaits down the chest of his brass-buttoned coat. He waved his arms about and gestured to the bridge. “WELCOME TO THE EDGE OF THE KNOWN WORLD!! OH, IT’S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE THIS PORT SAW A MISSION OF THIS SORT AND NOT JUST TRADE AND FREIGHT! HOW I ENVY YOU!”

Trond gave Sigrun a smack on the shoulder, saying, “You need to move out before it gets too late. Best of luck to you all, let’s go.”

Admiral Olsen echoed, “YOU’RE RIGHT, WE SHOULDN’T WASTE TIME CHIT-CHATTING! WE’LL WANT THESE YOUNG WARRIORS TO BE ABLE TO SET UP CAMP BEFORE NIGHTFALL!”

The new crew piled into the tank, while Torbjörn and Siv hugged Emil and thanked Sofie again for agreeing to come on the journey. Siv called out, “Remember to call us in the morning if the radio works!”

Sofie sucked in her breath as she sat at the controls. Several of them were things she had no idea what they were for, but she could locate the clutch and brake well enough, and that would have to do for now. She stalled it out a few times trying to make the first turn out from the line of tanks, prompting Sigrun to tease her that perhaps she should take the first shift driving instead. Sofie ignored her and managed to set the tank puttering slowly through the warehouse.

As they pulled alongside the workman with the splendid sideburns still walking back with his trolley and the tools, he barely looked up at them. But as they passed he suddenly reached out and plucked Madeline off the back of the tank where she had been clinging. He dangled her for a moment off the ground before setting her down on her feet. She glared at him for a moment before turning on her heel and walking away without a word, cradling her camera. Mikkel frowned as he looked at her and at the tank driving toward the bridge, then shook his head and continued pushing the trolley. It wasn’t until he got back to the trolley bay that he realised that the toolbox on the trolley belonged to the tank.

Chapter Text

In the autumn twilight on the dimly lit stairs, Reynir was having difficulty negotiating down the tight stairwell with the tray loaded up with dirty dishes. The smell of half-eaten game fowl was making his stomach rumble with hunger, too, but he had a few more trips to make before he could join the others in the kitchen for the day’s round of ‘Heike tries to fatten the foreign boy.’

He was mulling over a remark made by one of the nobles while he was collecting this load. They often joked about his long red hair while he was working among them, not realising that Reynir had picked up enough of their language to get the general gist of their jibes. And fair enough, Reynir had also learnt the hilarious nicknames the house staff had for the nobles. So far as he could tell, some of the pre-Rash nobility had been among the immune, and apparently thought it proved their superiority. The other day he thought he heard Baron Hairy-von-Buttcrack say that redheads had no souls (or was it minds?) and they should get rid of them. Lady Chinless-und-Boobless just laughed and replied that that was (something something), they should just make sure none of them could have children, or be with children, or something like that. And just now Duke Sun-Shines-Out-My-Arse grumbled to no one in particular (most everyone at the table was snoring from drink) while Reynir was getting this load that he was thinking of decreeing a death penalty for witchcraft like they had in his grandfather’s day, after the witches caused the Rash. Herr Wannabe Noblerealbad called out that he could smell a witch better than the dogs could, and looked pointedly at Reynir as he said it. Reynir kept a straight face and continued the charade that he couldn’t understand them, but he could feel his face reddening, and left before his blush betrayed him.

As Reynir navigated the stairs, he pondered his fylgja’s message, “Go Home.” His last fleeting encounter with Ilya had ended badly, when he noticed the skeletons lurking just under the water in the dream realm and missed reaching out to Ilya. Could he make himself run away on purpose, without Ilya? He still hadn’t resolved where he would want to go, even if he could control that. He would have to ask Jón what the comments meant, perhaps he misunderstood.

The Duke and Herr Wannabe were gone when he returned to the dining room, leaving him to clean up in peace as well as he could around the drunken nobles. The ones that had fallen onto the floor, Reynir turned on their sides in case they should vomit, which was a trick he’d been taught early in his tenure here. Food was a lot more scarce back in Iceland and Norway, and the amount of food wasted in this castle shocked Reynir when he first arrived. He knew now that the waste was fed to pigs or composted for use in the vegetable gardens, so he felt a bit better about it. The fact that the Helvetians turned any of it into alcoholic drinks shocked him even more, but he had also developed a taste for their beer.

He clomped back down the narrow stairs, laden with trays of dishes. Jón met him near the bottom, taking one of the trays from Reynir as they returned to the kitchen. “Listen, my unit is heading out in the morning, and I wanted to say good-bye,” Jón said in Icelandic. “Don’t know if we’ll meet again this side of Valhalla.”

Reynir laughed, “I don’t think they let kitchen boys into Valhalla, even if they manage to poison the enemy!” They deposited the trays onto the tables near the buckets for the pigs, and Reynir stretched his long arms behind his back. “At the facility in Norway, they made everyone take a turn at dishwashing duty. I’d love to see the Duke trying to wash these platters.”

Jón laughed along. “True! Baron Hairy von Buttcrack would fight the dogs for the privilege of licking the platters clean when no one was looking.”

Reynir pointed at a platter which was fairly well cleaned-off, “I don’t think he cares whether anyone sees him or not.” Then he sighed, and related what he’d heard earlier to Jón, then asked, “Are they going to do something to me if they find out I’m a mage? How do you manage?”

Jón raised his eyebrows, “Well, I mostly practice alchemy, and they respect that, because they understand the usefulness of enchanted weapons. If any of them can see my fylgja Grim, they don’t let on. Grim has made his peace with all the dogs in the castles, so they don’t spook around him, either.” Reynir looked up at Grim looming behind Jón, looking right back at Reynir with softly glowing eyes. Jón continued, “The Duke is right, they did kill magic users here back in the first years. There certainly aren’t many around here, I think their God doesn’t grant much in the way of powers.” He clouted Reynir on the shoulder. “But, you can always run out of here before things get that bad, and go back to Iceland if you want.”

Reynir shrugged, “I guess so.” At that point Heike came over with a platter of leftover game bird pieces and other tidbits for Reynir and Jón, and bade them sit.

“Heike, you make me cry to be leaving your wonderful kitchen,” Jón gushed melodramatically in German, dropping to one knee and laying his hand over his heart. “As I march forlornly to my next posting, I will sob terribly, and my fellows will shun me, but when I tell them I cry for your cooking, they will perhaps forgive me and even join me.”

Heike looked at him sideways, but then shook her head as she laughed, unable to keep a straight face. Like most of the castle's residents, she'd been a bit in awe of Jón, but had gotten to know him a bit better with his visits to Reynir this week. Renate came up from behind her with two pitchers of beer and set them on the table, explaining that it would be a shame to let the opened beer go flat, they may as well have it. Jón stood up quickly and rubbed his hands together with anticipation. Heike came back with four glasses and another platter of leftovers, and sat down at the table as well.

A few more pitchers of beer and empty platters later, they all clinked their glasses together and toasted to safe journeys with no grosslings, and Jón retired to his quarters to prepare for the morning.

A few more pitchers and another platter gleaned from the nobles’ cheese stores later, Heike got up unsteadily to see whether the dishwashers had done their job properly, not appreciating that most of them were asleep by now. She suddenly belched noisily and as she hurriedly begged their pardon, she looked back at Reynir fast asleep at the table, with his head slumped onto his chest and long legs stretched way out. One of his clogs had fallen off, and Heike giggled as she unsteadily put the clog back on, dangling awkwardly from his toe. Reynir didn’t stir. Renate was asleep next to him, with her head resting on her arms and the end of Reynir’s braid clutched in her hand. Heike shook her head ruefully on Renate’s behalf, but then did a double-take as she saw the freshly-made wooden spoon on the table beside Renate. “Thank you, waldgeist!,” she slurred into the air around her, “thank you, Reynir’s friend Ilya.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Ellina looked up from her book when Jódís came through the door of Onni’s cottage, followed by Martti and Riika. “He’s still asleep,” she told them, “not even a ruffled feather.” She put a bookmark into the book and tucked it under her coat on the chair next to her, then looked up expectantly. “I thought Gwenno was taking the next shift.”

Jódís raised an eyebrow. She looked at Onni lying still in the bed, even more pale than usual. He was barely breathing. “Has the healer been here today?,” she asked. Ellina nodded, but then just shrugged.

“Sauna should be nearly ready,” Martti said in Finnish, “do you think we can get him in there?” He knelt next to Onni’s bed and said softly to him, “Onni. Onni, time for sauna. Sauna, Onni.” He didn’t react, and Ellina crossed her arms skeptically.

Riika took the piece of wood she was still clutching and waved it under Onni’s nose. Onni breathed a little more deeply and stirred. Riika grinned and said to Jódís, “Birch wood. It does wonders for a Finn’s soul.” She grinned more broadly at Ellina, who held her nose in the air and shrugged. Then in Hungarian Riika said to Martti, “Great, the sauna will be exactly what he needs. C’mon, we can hoist Onni between us. Little Miss Up-Herself won’t be good for helping, and Boss Lady is happier supervising.”

It took her just a moment longer to realise why Martti had such a horrified look on his face, before she remembered Ellina’s translation powers. She turned slowly to see Jódís unimpressed, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised, and Ellina just behind her stifling giggles. Riika flinched and apologised.

“Boss Lady would rather not supervise the part where you strip him down,” Jódís said crisply, “nor should Little Miss Underage, thank you.” Ellina opened her mouth to retort, but Jódís silenced her with one hand upraised before turning back to Riika. “I would also be happier if you brought one of the healer staff in with you to help keep an eye on Onni. One without an inflated idea of sisu, please and thank you.” Turning to Ellina, she continued, “you can be ‘good at helping’ by getting some towels and fresh pajamas for him.” Turning to go, she said to Riika, “Please don’t forget to come get me when it’s my turn.”

Martti decided not to pick that moment to remind Jódís that Riika had had training as a healer before coming to this facility, and gently sat Onni up, causing him to wince and yawn, not opening his eyes. Each twin propped up one of Onni’s shoulders as he groggily peered at each in turn. He let them put each foot into woolen clogs and wrap him in a blanket for the short trek next door to Tuuri’s train. “Lalli needs me,” he slurred, “are you taking me to the train?”

Martti and Riika exchanged a puzzled look before Martti said softly, “yes, that’s right, Olaf will be at the train too, he’ll take sauna with us.” Onni frowned but said no more, concentrating on shuffling his feet forward.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Does anybody else think it’s odd to be going on an expedition into Denmark, and there aren’t any Danes in the crew?,” Emil asked nobody in particular. He was seated at an open window, and looked around at the faces in the back of the tank with him for confirmation. Clara shrugged noncommittally, looking at her hands. Lalli was slumped on the floor, looking decidedly green in the face. Kristján was in the passenger seat next to Sofie, looking out at the bridge ahead of them.

Sigrun was seated behind Kristján, but she grinned at Emil and said, “Silent World Denmark is too dangerous for Danes! No cows to milk there.” She laughed at her own wit, and Kristján grunted. Sofie was busy concentrating on driving and never heard Emil’s question.

As Sofie drove, she hunched over the steering wheel, just peering over it into the vista ahead. She wasn’t familiar with the vehicle, its grumbling engine competing with the whine of a transmission that needed to be shifted into a higher gear. She struggled to remember where the clutch was, and her hand swiped empty air when she tried to connect with the shift lever. The bridge ahead of her looked impossibly narrow over the grey sea, and not too far ahead, she couldn’t see the bridge continuing at all.

The bridge started breaking up around her. Chunks of concrete tipped upward at crazy angles, twisted metal cords as thick as her whole body snapped and their broken ends whipped and flailed like burnt snakes. The bridge was heaving and the vehicle was tossed around and almost tipped over several times, the treads connecting only with air several times before crashing down. Somewhere behind her she heard gasps and retching from the rest of the crew, but she couldn’t turn around to see who was there with her. She could only drive and hope for the best. It was up to her.

The bridge stopped just ahead now, and all she could see was a slope leading into the blank water. She guided the vehicle down and braced herself for the inevitable plunge into certain death, until the hole opened in front of her and the whole vehicle was swallowed into its maw. She started breathing again as they descended into the tunnel, and the headlights picked out a reasonably clean route ahead. Even though there was some standing water in the tunnel, the tank seemed to run just as well through it. She wondered where the air intake was, and what depth of standing water they could ford. She hadn’t thought to ask.

Sigrun was the first to speak as they entered the tunnel. “That was a crap bridge.” Then, turning around to see Lalli leaning out of the window next to Emil, “was that the little guy losing his lunch so loudly?”

Emil nodded, and swallowed his own bile as he patted Lalli’s shoulder sympathetically, prompting the latter to lurch away from the window and Emil, and slump onto the bunk. Emil looked up again, “There’s all...the tunnel is full of water, are we going to be drowning in this hole?”

Kristján turned around and looked sharply at Emil. “They drain the tunnel every year, we’ll be fine.” Then he turned to look out the front window again. “We should probably spend the night next to the gate and go through in the morning.”

Sigrun piped up, “Let’s go right through, plenty of time to find a place to camp on the other side.”

Kristján turned around again, “I said...” But he found his speech leaving him when he saw Sigrun’s bright eyes blazing in the tunnel’s gloom. He hurriedly turned forward again. “We’ll see,” was all he could manage.

Soon, the tank’s headlights picked out the large door and gate that signaled the end of the tunnel. Kristján said again, “We should stay here...” but was interrupted by the side door opening and Sigrun leaping out into the water. With a sigh he followed her, motioning Clara to come out as well. Clara stayed where she was.

The gate had a large spoked wheel as its handle, and Sigrun pushed on it to no avail. Kristján joined her and they both pushed, but it didn’t budge. As Kristján looked around to see if there was another mechanism, Sigrun went back to the tank and yelled inside, “Everybody out! Help push this thing.” Clara watched Emil and Sofie pile out. Lalli was curled up on the bunk with his hands over his ears; he looked to be asleep. With a sigh, she left as well and sploshed over to the gate. She tried to find a handhold on one of the spokes of the gate’s wheel, and the five of them pushed for several minutes, grunting and straining, before the wheel gave and started moving.

Emil stood back, breathing heavily, as the wheel turned and the gate started slowly rising. As late afternoon light started to filter into the gloom, his eyes fell upon names carved into the gate. He went in for a closer look and asked if anybody knew what they were.
Sofie came over and traced them reverently, saying softly, “Those are the names of the fallen in the Battle of Kastrup, ten years ago.” In response to Sigrun’s raised eyebrows looking at her, she let her hand fall. “I read that somewhere.”

“Do you actually read books for fun?,” Sigrun snorted. “I expect that from the likes of him,” gesturing at Emil, “but hey, to each their own.”
“I don’t read books for fun,” Emil retorted, “my specialty was the old gramophone shows, what they called ‘television’.”

The door was nearly entirely open now, and Sofie shrugged as she walked back to the driver’s seat. Well of course she read books for fun, she couldn’t imagine not reading. She’d heard that Norwegians weren’t necessarily very educated, but she’d assumed that came from having to fight trolls all the time, not from choice.

The two still inside the tunnel stared at the vista in front of them, mostly obscured by hanging lianas of dead grossling remains. Sigrun, followed by Kristján, had already moved aside the remains and were through to the Silent World; Clara could hear them arguing about what to do next. Emil huffled back to the safety of the tank, but Clara moved forward as though in a trance. She cleared a path, getting a bit grossed out when a grossling skull dropped down onto her head, but Sigrun removed it for her, laughing. The countryside ahead of her looked so peaceful, with the remains of the road leading her eyes to a cityscape beyond. She shivered, not from the late afternoon chill, but the realisation of what that cityscape meant. Maybe she should have stuck with working in the bakery.

She moved off the road to allow Sofie to pilot the tank past her, and looked back at the tunnel opening. She took in the piles of vehicle and skeletal remains atop and all around the opening, the chunks of concrete torn out of the gateway itself, and the open gate back to the tunnel. She looked at Sigrun and Kristján, who were toe to toe as they “discussed” the plan and Clara thought they looked like they were going to either kiss or break into fisticuffs. “Hej,” Clara called, “shouldn’t we try to close the gate?”

Kristján broke his stare with Sigrun first and called back to Clara, “We don’t have time, we need to set up for the night. Come on,” and jogged off after the tank.

Sigrun called back jovially before jogging off herself, “Let the grosslings try their luck with the water. That crap bridge won’t give them a way back anymore!”

Clara looked back one last time before she broke into a jog after them, thinking grimly, so how are we getting back?

Chapter Text

Reynir blinked and yawned, working out the crick in his neck from his awkward sleeping position. He’d fallen asleep at the large table where the kitchen staff ate, and Renate was asleep next to him, with her head cradled on her arms. He felt a bit muzzy-headed from the beer he’d been drinking, vaguely remembering toasting Jón to wish him safe travels. Then Heike had brought out some lovely cheese, the nicest he’d had since leaving his farm home in Iceland. Heike must have cleared away the dirty dishes and cups, he thought, looking at the empty table shining in the firelight. Reynir gently shook Renate awake, and she looked around groggily as well, before petting the black cat curled on her lap. The cat rubbed its face on Renate’s hand affectionately before raising its back into a stretch and yawn. Then it stepped lightly onto to the bench next to Renate, looking at Reynir with wide golden eyes.

It took Reynir another moment to realise that he’d never seen a cat in the kitchen before. A quick look confirmed that Berthe, the military dog who had adopted Reynir as her pet, was not at her accustomed place on the hearth. Renate suddenly gasped, “What are YOU doing here?” Reynir looked around wildly to see who had come in, but realised Renate was looking at him as she said it. “I-I mean, how did you get here? You... you can....,” she stared at him wide-eyed while she tipped her head to one side and whispered, “Are you a witch too?”

Reynir was momentarily lost for words as they stared at each other for a long moment. She still had the end of his braid clutched in her hand, and she looked down at it, now wrapped with leather thongs and decorated with imprinted brass disks. Her blonde hair was now plaited and wrapped around her head in a manner that reminded him of his sisters, and instead of her usual plain linen dress and apron, she now wore a berry-coloured gown elaborately embroidered with flowers and birds. He could see his own sky-blue peysa on his arms instead of the clothing he’d been given when he arrived. He managed to stammer, “No, aahh... well, I’m a mage, I guess, if that’s what you mean.” He gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. “What do you mean, am I a witch too?”

Renate stammered before finally answering with a quaver in her voice, “No one comes here....almost no one comes here.” She looked at the cat, who regarded her for a moment before proceeding to groom itself. Turning back to Reynir, Renate said more firmly, “Only witches can come here.”

“Oh, like when I go to my haven, which looks like Iceland,” Reynir mused, “but yours looks just like your home, in the castle kitchen.” His eyes flew open, all beer fog gone. “Wait, you can understand me! You’re speaking Icelandic!”

Renate frowned. “Ice-what? No, you’re speaking German?” She got up from the table and moved across to the hearth, the cat following her. Silhouetted against the flames, she placed her palms together as she faced back to Reynir. She gathered herself and took a deep breath before saying, “I wondered how I was going to tell you that I was a witch, without-"

The cat interrupted her, its voice velvety, drawing out the vowels. “That one is not alone.” Its gaze rested on the floor next to Reynir.

Reynir brightened as he followed the cat’s gaze. “Ah, that’s my fylgja, like your cat is! He’s from Iceland too, and-,” his brow creased as he asked the fylgja, “wait, how did you get here?”

The shepherd dog fylgja was sitting alertly with ears high, regarding the cat, but then turned to Reynir and said abruptly, “I’m from wherever you are. Now, it’s time to run. Go home.”

Reynir’s face fell, and he turned back to Renate, who was still standing stiffly with her palms together and a look of consternation on her face. He got up from the table and crossed to her. “I only found out I was a mage this summer, and Jón only just told me about fylgja.” She looked up searchingly at his face as he put his hands around hers. “But it’s okay, mages are awesome, and some of them have superpowers like me, and – Oh that’s right, I can tell you! I have a superpower to run really fast while I’m sleeping, it’s like sleepwalking, only sleep running, and that’s how I got to Norway and there were others with powers there getting trained, like the twins that can move water and earth and Onni, who can turn into an owl and then fly really fast, and they think maybe Ilya might be one too, and oh! Ilya! That’s how I-" He noticed Renate was looking past his shoulder, her face lighting with shock and joy, and Reynir turned to see what she saw.

“Hello,” Ilya said. “You haven’t come running with me for sooo long. Won’t you come out now?” Ilya held out two hands beseechingly and smiled.

Reynir found himself grinning foolishly as he opened his mouth to speak, but Renate spoke before he could, as she withdrew her hands from between Reynir’s and ran to embrace Ilya. “Saba! It’s so good to see you, but you know I can’t. I can’t leave, I can’t!” She broke the embrace to look Ilya in the face. “I told you, I have to stay here.”

Reynir let his hands fall limply to his sides. Ilya had come for Renate, not him. He didn’t know quite where to look, and he swallowed hard against the sudden tightening in his throat. His fylgja had walked over to the far side of the kitchen, which had dissolved into the star-strewn dreamscape, and was making little leaps from stone to convenient stone in the waters that lapped the flagstones of the kitchen. The fylgja sat and looked at Reynir expectantly. Reynir clenched his jaw and started walking across the flagstones.

Ilya said in that musical voice, “Are you too frightened to run with me as well, beautiful one?” With that, Ilya reached out and took Reynir’s near hand. Reynir paused – beautiful one? me? – and allowed himself to be drawn back toward Ilya, but stopped when he saw the expression on Renate’s face.

She was looking from Ilya to Reynir. “Reynir, wh-when you said you ran here, I thought you were... I didn’t know what to think,” Renate started tearing up. “Because- because Saba and I ran here too, a long long time ago.” She balled her hands into fists and impotently pounded them on her thighs. “I let Heike think I was fleeing an outbreak of the Rash. I didn’t want to be a witch anymore.” Her tears were leaving dark red spots on her gown, “And I thought nobody could find me here.” She tried to control her ragged breathing, but Ilya wrapped Renate into a hug, prompting her to break into renewed sobs onto Ilya’s shoulder. "This changes....everything."

The cat rubbed its head on Ilya’s leg. Reynir’s fylgja had trotted back to the hearth, leaving wet paw prints across the kitchen flagstones. It’s time to run, the fylgja had said. “Renate, I need to go.” His own voice sounded to Reynir like it came from far away. “I... You’re right, I’ve heard the nobles talking about me, and they don’t like witches much.” He gulped, trying to ignore Renate’s red and tear-stained face now fully looking at him, her eyes looking bright blue against the red. “Anyway, I need to go home. Tell Heike good-bye for me, and thank her-“ He was interrupted by Renate throwing her arms around him. Reynir held her close, breathing in her scent, and felt the tightness in his throat ease even as he felt her breathing calm.

“He’s right, you know, Renate” Ilya said softly, “he’s like me, sometimes he needs to run.” Reynir could feel Renate’s shoulders tense again. Ilya put a hand on Reynir’s shoulder and Reynir found himself staring into Ilya’s russet eyes, and he could hear the stars calling out to him from beyond the kitchen. From somewhere far away, he could hear Ilya ask Renate, “Please come with us, if he doesn’t think you’re safe here anymore.”

From even further away Reynir heard Renate’s shouted denial like a whisper, felt the slightest pull on his body before he was free and amongst the stars again. He was holding Ilya’s hand and they were running through snowy forests lit by moonlight. He wasn’t cold at all, and his heart sang as the trees whizzed past and they jumped over rivers. He asked Ilya, “Is your name actually Saba?”

Ilya looked at him briefly, long red hair flying across Ilya’s face. “No, that’s her nickname for me from when we were children. I don’t think Ilya is my name either, but there’s no one left to ask anymore. I’ll show you where we’re from another time, promise.”

Reynir was content to just be with Ilya, but thought of Renate with a pang. “Renate....,” he began, but couldn’t bring himself to ask the question ‘Is she your lover?’

Ilya looked over at Reynir solemnly and answered as though the question had been spoken aloud, “Renate is my sister, well, like my sister anyway. Of course I’ll go see her again. I think it’s you she’s crying over.” With that, Ilya turned forward again, looking away from the gobsmacked expression on Reynir’s face. “You want to go home, you said. Is that the place where you went the first time I saw you running on the water with the kind owl?”

Reynir considered this. Ilya must mean Norway. He thought of his sister own Jódís and the dark plaits she wore, and Renate and the blonde plaits she wore in the dreamscape. “I need to see my sister too, I guess. She probably thinks I’m dead.” He couldn’t imagine calm distant Jódís getting as distraught as Renate had, but she was probably sad he was dead, he thought. Probably. He tried to imagine her surprise when he showed up alive. “Do you know the way there?”

In response, Ilya gripped Reynir’s hand more firmly and smiled, “I like it there, Olaf is kind to me like Heike is, and they leave the woodshop open for me.” Reynir tried to square that image with the foul-tempered Olaf he remembered. They ran out over the sea, with the water dark under their feet, moonlight getting patchy behind clouds. “Do you need more shoes?”

Reynir laughed. “I’ll tell you, they took a while to get used to, but now I like them. Those were very handy in Helvetia. I’ve never gotten to thank you properly for them, or for the little dog you made. Wait...,” the penny dropped, “that dog looked just like my fylgja. How did you know what my fylgja looked like?”

Ilya’s chuckle came low and musical, “The dog? The dog is always with you, didn’t you know that?” More of that beguiling laughter rolled over a wonder-struck Reynir. Then more shyly, Ilya said, “Just like me.” Russet eyes met green eyes, and the rain they ran through couldn’t chill the warmth spreading through Reynir as he considered the import of those words.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Martti was a little agitated, and was making little sculptures out of the rocks in the sauna. Onni had fallen asleep where they’d laid him, on the bottom shelf. His colour looked better, though.

Olaf from the kitchen had brought his young son in with him but had already gone out. He’d been flattered that Onni had asked for him specifically, but didn’t know why he would. “He also doesn’t call me Olli or Lolli or anything silly like that,” he’d also said.

Julian was telling Martti ...something. Martti had picked up basic Norwegian in his time at the facility, but it was his twin Riika who could actually speak Swedish with any fluency. Julian was very animated on the topic, though, and it had something to do with Ilya and Reynir. “Julian, you speak Icelandic, right?,” he finally said. Julian apologised and started again, in Icelandic, but Martti still didn’t really understand what he was talking about. The best he could make out was Julian had been making a device (using something wave something) that might slow Ilya down enough to be seen in this ‘frame of reference’ or the kitchen or something, but wasn’t sure if they could communicate with Ilya too once caught in this frame thing. Martti asked him whether it would hurt Ilya or damage his magic at all, but Julian scoffed at the idea.

At that point Onni stirred, and Martti dropped the rocks to concentrate on him. With Martti’s help, Onni managed to sit up and wash himself and dress in the fresh pajamas, and Martti and Julian helped him out to his cabin again, where he promptly fell back to sleep. When they came out they saw Riika with Jódís, Gwenno, Ana and Felise, heading into the sauna.

“You know, Martti, those rock sculptures you were making give me an idea,” Julian said once they were outside, “you might be able to help me align and fine-tune some of the receptors. Can I show you back at my lab?” Martti shrugged and went with Julian to see what he could do.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

In the kitchen, Renate raised her head from her arms. She had a terrible headache and the table was littered with game bird bones and cups stinking of stale beer. Berthe was sitting by the hearth, alert and with head cocked to one side as though listening. Reynir was gone. She opened her hand; clutched in her palm were a few long red hairs and two of the brass disks imprinted with strange designs that had been wound with thongs binding the fabulous braid. She closed her hand around them again and put her head back down. Berthe came over, laid her muzzle on Renate’s thigh and whined softly, disregarding the salty drips that fell upon her muzzle.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Lalli ran into the night. He’d managed to fall asleep for a little while after getting sick on the bridge, until Kristján had woken him up. The driver, she kept saying her name was Sofie, she had a map of sorts of what looked like a town marked up with some red circles, and he got the general idea that she wanted to check safe routes for the tank. She had also given him some bread and meat left over from their meal at the base. The blond Swedish man tried to help him on with his jacket, and the tall red-headed woman that came on at the base pointed at his puukko and said something, but she was smiling. But then she hit him on the shoulder again, maybe she was making fun of the puukko.

Now he was running into a town, in the Silent World somewhere, and it was his job to find a place that was safe. Kuutar was sending some clear moonlight down for him, which comforted him somewhat, but all of his senses were on high alert. There were some spirits about, but none of them seemed very aggressive. It felt good to be running again after so many days of travelling, even if he was in a weird, scary foreign country.

Chapter Text

”It is I, Molecular Man, who will stop you, Miss Creant!” The extremely muscular man in the skin-tight fluorescent yellow suit put his hands around the enormous bell occupying the tower they were in, while lightning flashed around them in the stormy sky. A bluish glow emanated from his hands onto the metal, and soon the whole bell was glowing.

“Pah, I won’t be taken by some overgrown Health & Safety violation in a Hi-Viz jumpsuit!” The woman’s red lips bared her shiny white teeth as she hissed at him from the other side of the tower. Her severe grey business suit could not hide her extremely voluptuous curves, and her long raven tresses were unleashed and tossed in the tempest. “The Council prohibits this use of its facilities!”

She braced her long legs in their high-heeled pumps and swept her perfectly manicured hands in front of her, and from the long red fingernails shot loops of red tape aimed at Molecular Man. But the blue glow now encompassed both Molecular Man and the bell, and the red tape passed through them both without binding. “This is the Bell of Freedom, it belongs to all the people!,” Molecular Man boomed, “The Council cannot shut it away!” He lifted the bell over his head and brought it down onto his opponent. As he released his hold on the bell, it rang, and Miss Creant could be seen vibrating inside, with her hands over her ears.

Sonja’s eyes flew open and she reflexively reached for her dream journal. Grettir was used to this by now, and barely stirred. Loki had jolly well better be kidding me this time, she thought as she wrote. Sonja reckoned they would both get a good laugh out of it when she saw Haiz in the morning, who’d come down from Hitra to try out a special galdrastafir for Reynir.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Lalli stood in the street, dark buildings looming around him. He took another look at the building he’d just scouted, the third red-circled one this run. Taru had told him that one of the things he’d be looking for in his scouting missions was good stores of old books. This building might have some in it, he saw some peering through the grimy windows, but the door was shut tight. He thought he might have heard something at one point, but after standing still and listening for some time, all he could hear was the birds that were stirring in anticipation of the coming dawn. He couldn’t even identify what kinds of birds they were, maybe this kind wasn’t in the forests around Keuruu. Everything about this posting was weird.

He thought to himself, how could Tuuri think of coming to a terrible place like this, she wasn’t even immune? It was probably for the best she hadn’t come, although Taru said she didn’t get a straight answer why Tuuri hadn’t. She was in Mora and excited to go when Taru left, she said, but something happened and she ran away a day or two before they left, but no one would tell her why. Taru said they didn’t even know where she went, probably back to Norway. Lalli could just imagine the lecturing Onni would give her when she went back.
Lalli shrugged internally. He doubted he would see Onni try to track him here, and Lalli wouldn’t try to contact him in faraway Norway. He’d been left behind without Onni’s guidance for a few years now, and even though he had to admit he could have used more instruction in magecraft, he should be able to get by with what he had been taught, and a few spells he'd learnt from the other base mages. Besides, Onni probably wouldn’t know what to do in a city, he was always too scared to leave base, and Taru said he’d flatly refused to come on this mission.

Looking up at the building again, Lalli saw large windows on the higher floors that would have given him a good look at the surrounding streets, perhaps he should have figured out a way to get up there after all. But the sun was just about to rise; he could feel the power even through the thick cloud cover. It was time to run back to the tank. He spent the time trying to figure out how to tell Kristján or Sofie about the blocked bridge and the three buildings he’d looked at without using Finnish.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir also woke with a start. He had said his good-byes to Ilya seemingly a moment before, and he was still fluttering from the promises to meet again in the dreamworld, soon. He was halfway out of bed before he realised he didn’t have to take breakfast up to the Duke’s suite. Buoyed by his good mood, the sounds and smells coming to him now were so different from those of Helvetia that he found himself distracted and wide awake. He looked around the room, the same room he’d occupied this summer. He smiled to see the small sculpture of his fylgja on the nightstand, and held it in his hands as a way to feel more connected with Ilya.

He could hear voices downstairs, voices that weren’t speaking German, and he was delighted to hear some of them even speaking in Icelandic. He started to slide on his clogs but thought the better of it and padded down the corridor and down the stairs in his stockinged feet. It was quite a bit colder than he remembered, but not as cold as the stony castle.

It was still too early for breakfast, but Reynir could hear the clanging of spoons against pots that told him the kitchen was getting it ready. No, I don’t think I will help today, he thought triumphantly, I will let someone serve me for a change. Then he saw the people clustered by the kitchen door, facing away from him.

Tall Julian was gesturing at the door, which had a series of wires tacked around the frame, and speaking rapidly, mostly in Icelandic but lapsing into Swedish at intervals. He was holding a mug of that vile brew he was so fond of, and swigging liberally from it at intervals. Martti stood yawning next to him, rubbing his eyes and holding another of the wires loosely looped around his hand. Reynir could see that there was something glittering on the wires.

Sonja was standing with someone Reynir had never seen before, who had astonishing short rainbow-coloured hair, who was also speaking and waving around what looked like a burnt stick. The person’s gestures echoed lines that Reynir could now see drawn around the doorframe – he realised suddenly that they were in the form of a large galdrastafir. The person seemed to be annoyed that Julian had smudged some of the design when stringing the crystals (Reynir guessed that was the glittering wire) along the frame, and it would need to be redone.

Ana and Riika were there too, but not participating in the argument. Rather, they were standing behind Martti, talking together in Finnish. On second look, Reynir realised they were chanting, practicing one of the runo chants they used for Finnish magic.

Magic! They were all here doing magic and talking about magic, openly, without fear. Reynir had a guilty thought about Renate back in Helvetia, keeping the fact that she was a mage secret. He hadn’t even known himself until just before he left. Was it just last night that they were all gathered in the kitchen, drinking? It didn’t seem real. The realisation hit him that he was still wearing the linen tunic, pants, and apron that he’d been wearing in Helvetia, thank the gods he wasn’t in his nightshirt again. On the other hand, his favourite nightshirt was now left behind in Helvetia. He ran his thumb over the carved dog in his apron pocket and thought happily that being a mage was pretty awesome.

The person with the rainbow hair proceeded to fuss and redraw some of the smudged parts, then stopped, saying in Icelandic, “Sonja, I’m going to need something of Reynir’s in my hand when I’m redrawing this part. Is there still that dog carving upstairs?”

Reynir brightened. “Oh, I’ve got it right here! Here you go,” he said, handing it to the rainbow-haired one’s extended hand.

“Oh thanks, Reynir,” Sonja said, turning her attention back to her friend’s drawing.

Julian was running some more of the crystal-laced wire along the side of the door, stringing it off Martti’s outstretched hands. Martti was still yawning, and looked dead on his feet, but the crystals were subtly moving themselves around to avoid tangling as Julian took them off his hands. Julian said over his shoulder as he reached a high part, “Oh hey, Reynir, come hold this for a moment, will you?” Reynir obliged.

Julian started chattering in Swedish again, answered by the rainbow-haired one. Ana and Riika were still chanting their runo, the sound of the chant smooth and musical to Reynir’s ears. Reynir stood facing the walls with his arms stretched above his head, admiring the pale pink crystals strung along the wire, and realising there was a pleasant thrumming travelling along the wire as he held it in place while Julian tacked it to the wall. “The buzzing in the wire tickles,” he chuckled in Icelandic, “I like it.” Julian just grunted, absorbed in his work.

Olaf popped his head out of the kitchen, porridge-encrusted spoon in hand. “Oi, Reynir! I thought I heard your voice. When did you get back?”

Reynir was suddenly aware of six pairs of wide eyes staring at him, and a soft clatter as Martti dropped the remaining wire. One of Sonja’s ever-present coterie of cats promptly pounced upon it, and immediately bounced sideways in alarm upon encountering the buzzing. “Thank you, Olaf,” he grinned over his shoulder as he struggled to remember his rudimentary Norwegian and not German, “I am here today.”

“Wait, that’s Reynir?” Haiz asked Sonja in Icelandic. “I thought he was missing?” Sonja just shrugged, still staring at Reynir.

Riika, Ana, Julian, and Haiz cried out in unison at each other in their respective native languages, “MY METHOD WORKED!!”

Martti asked sleepily, “I thought we were trying to attract Ilya?”

Chapter Text

“Really? Tell me about the significance of this circle! Doesn’t the sun burn it? Does it stop the sun, or the light of the sun, or is it about the night? Or here where it goes over the autumn quadrant, there an extra line there, why is that there? And then that...”

Haiz held up both hands, “Whoooa, Reynir, please! How can you manage to ask so many questions while still managing to eat?” Sonja let out a small snort which she managed to mostly stifle, covering it up with a loud scraping on her dish, while looking sidelong at Haiz. There weren’t many people in the dining room at this early hour.

Reynir apologised, looking down at his well-cleaned bowl. It was true, he’d gotten accustomed to wolfing down large quantities of food in Heike’s kitchen in Helvetia, although there he didn’t talk as much as he listened, due to the language difference. But here, he could talk freely in his native language, and he had a working mage to talk to. He had let himself rattle on again. He sighed, “S-sorry, sorry, I just wanted to ask you about that awesome stave before it gets cleaned off. I-I didn’t know it bothered you...”

He looked so woebegone that Haiz relented. “It’s okay. I’m going to be here a couple of days, we can talk later. But I need to ask you a question now. If the stave wasn’t activated, how did it manage to summon you?”

“Summon me? What do you mean?”

“This stave was designed specifically for you, to call you to itself,” Haiz explained, “I tried to get a fix on where you might be or who you ran off with, but all the signs kept coming back to you. So, I made the stave to bring you back, and it looks like it worked anyway.”

Reynir opened his mouth to protest that he wasn’t summoned, but a voice behind him called his name. He turned, and there was Jódís crossing the room at a run, her hair not bound in her customary looped plaits but flying loose behind her. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen her without those plaits. He stood up quickly, and she stopped short just before reaching him, gazing up at him with wide hazel eyes. He crossed the last step to her quickly and gathered her up in a hug. She seemed a lot smaller than he remembered.

From somewhere near his collar bone, he heard her say quietly, “It's good to see you back safe. Come to my office after breakfast. I want to hear everything about your time in Deutschland.”

Julian loped in the door behind Jódís and went over to the door where the smudged stave and the unfinished crystal array were still in evidence. As he looped the loose wire around his hand, he was already designing an improved lattice. There was still a light thrumming along the wires; Martti had done a great job with aligning the crystals. When he told Jódís that her brother had returned to base, he didn’t correct her instant assumption that Julian’s method had worked, especially as she took off running to the dining commons. Well, let her think that, he grinned to himself. Maybe a little magic mixed in with the science could bring novel improvements. After all, the core question of communicating with Ilya was still open.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Lalli didn’t know why he was here. He had come back to the tank after his scouting, gone through decontamination, and accepted a bowl of hot porridge from Sofie. He had managed as best as he could showing Sofie and Kristján where the road was blocked and which would be the best way, and that one of the three buildings Sofie had circled for him was not good. He wasn’t sure whether they understood that it was infested with trolls. Kristján than talked at some length with the tall red-haired woman (what did Taru say her name was? Started with S? Sigrun, that was it) who had let him back into the tank. Lalli ate his porridge; it was pretty decent, and it was blissfully hot. He wasn’t sure which bunk was meant to be his, but tried to curl up on the one that hadn’t looked slept in. It was next to the one where Emil was still bundled in with his uniform jacket over his head, trying to ignore the other teammates already up and dressed. Lalli had a little difficulty falling asleep in the moving tank and with the tension of this new foreign place, but had just dropped off when Kristján woke him up and compelled him to get dressed again. They were back at the last place he’d scouted, and they expected him to come with them? It didn’t make sense, but here he was yawning in the cold sunlight outside the building.

Kristján forced the door open with a crowbar and they proceeded inside. There were some timbers down in the entry area, and Sigrun went in first with a lantern, holding out a hand for the rest of them to wait. When she returned, she started talking at them but then to Lalli’s alarm she held her knife in the air like she was going to attack them. What kind of crazy lady was she!?! Thankfully, Kristján intervened and took over talking, holding his hands down for calm before jerking his head toward the stairs to indicate they should follow him. Lalli hesitated; he thought he may have perceived something here on the ground floor, but then Kristján frowned at him directly and called to him specifically. Afraid to be thought without sisu, Lalli followed behind Clara, clambering up the partially blocked stairwell.

The smell of the mouldy house brought back unbidden memories, of a house they’d broken into many years ago when they were on the move in Saimaa, before he went to Keuruu with Onni and Tuuri. Their cat had alerted them to a nest of vermin-beast inside it, and Grandma kept the non-immunes and children outside to wait for her signal. She put her hand on Onni’s shoulder and asked him to use the runo she’d just taught him, to ask for protection, before disappearing into the house with the cat. Lalli had followed behind her, and had dispatched his first vermin-beast there with his brand-new puukko. Grandma looked cross with him for having disobeyed her order to stay outside, but softened when he presented her with the dead beast to add to the ones she and the cat had killed.

That house had had a bookcase in it like the one at the top of the stairwell here in this building. Lalli could see things growing in the books, but Clara jimmied open the glass doors with her knife and clutched one of the books excitedly. It crumbled to dust in her hands, though. Lalli rubbed his nose where the dust irritated it. What did she expect? Sigrun poked several of the other books, but they were all in the same condition. Kristján had proceeded straight into the next room, and they followed after him.

Clara stopped short when she entered the room and Lalli almost bumped into her. It was a large room, but was made into a healing ward, with beds in rows all throughout. In each bed was a dead body. Lalli would have been worried if some of the beds were empty. Just where they were standing were several trolleys strewn with various bottles, bags, and jars like Lalli was used to seeing in the healing wards at the base in Keuruu, but also some machines with tubes sticking out of them and leading to some of the bodies. The machines were as dead as the bodies. Clara looked like she was about to vomit, and Lalli stepped lightly away from her just in case. Sigrun was talking to her and was gesturing around the room as she talked. Why were they stopped? Where was Kristján? Why did they need him there? Then Sigrun and Clara were looking pointedly at Lalli, catching him yawning. What did they want? Why were they talking about him?

Whatever it was they were saying about him, they stopped and went forward up another stairwell, to a set of glass doors. They were blocked with furniture stacked inside of them. Lalli had a bad feeling about that, but Sigrun prised open the door with her knife (Lalli woke up enough to admire the knife, he reminded himself to get a better look at that knife later) and they clambered over the furniture. Lalli had no choice but to follow, wondering how he was going to ask to see Sigrun’s knife without her wanting to use it on him. Just in case, he quietly slid the glass doors shut behind them, although he wondered yet again where Kristján was and whether he should go looking for him. No, best to stay with the group, Kristján was likely doing some scouting.

There were several shelves of books here, and it didn’t smell quite as musty here. Lalli propped his tired bones on the back of the desk chair and wondered again why he was here, but got a bit distracted seeing the single book sitting on the desk. It had some pictures sticking out of it, and Lalli peeked inside the front cover where the photos were stacked. Gruesome, some lady with the Rash. Clara and Sigrun were chattering excitedly and filling their arms with the books, and not even noticing the body under the ....never mind, Clara just stepped on it. KRUNTS! It made a revolting crunching sound. Clara gasped and dropped all her books, making a racket that would surely wake up any grosslings in the building. Mrh, it’s just a body, not a troll, Lalli thought sleepily, get some sisu already. Sigrun went over to comfort Clara, but Clara muttered crossly and started picking up the fallen books.

Then suddenly Clara called back to Lalli, rousing him from half-slumber. She used his name, must be time to move on. Sigrun and Clara had moved the furniture aside and were heading down the stairs with armloads of the books. Lalli grabbed the book in front of him and followed. Outside, Emil had finally gotten himself out of bed and dressed and was waiting outside the building, and Sigrun had loaded her armload of books onto him. He was struggling with carrying them and dropped a few as he and Clara went back to the tank with them. Lalli picked up those books and deposited them along with his book onto Sofie’s skald desk before he and Clara hurried back out after Sigrun, who had gone back inside the building.

Back inside and upstairs again for another load of books, then. Lalli sat on the desk chair; it was still very comfortable after all these years and not very musty. It was worth salvaging more than these books were, but Taru had specified books. Pity, Lalli thought as he leaned back and propped his feet on the desk, it was so comfortable, more comfortable than the skald chair in the tank looked....

He was jolted awake by the familiar feeling of WRONG which alerted him to the malignant spirit of a troll nearby. He heard the soft sound of dripping over his left shoulder, coming from a vent in the wall. The unmistakable trail of grossling hurriedly fipped back up inside the vent as Lalli looked at it, and then he could sense it going through the ceiling above them. Sigrun and Clara had stopped what they were doing to look at him, and Sigrun clambered onto the table to peer into the vent. Then she and Clara were discussing something, probably trying to work out what was so obvious to Lalli. He knew that mages were distinguished by their ability to sense spirits around them, but he would never understand how non-mages could not instantly feel the WRONG.

Lalli fingered the hilt of his puukko, but then heard soft footsteps above him. Only two at a time, was that Kristján maybe? Sigrun hurried back down the stairwell to the main floor followed by Clara, and Lalli followed them. He had to find the main stairwell to check out the upper floors, if Kristján was up there. Sigrun proceeded back through the healing ward, and Lalli spotted the stairwell.

He came upstairs to a corridor filled with light from the large windows he’d spotted in the predawn. There was a series of doors leading from the corridor he was in, most of them closed. He spotted a trail of blood from one of the rooms with an open door, and he stealthily padded over, flattened himself against the wall next to the door, and peered inside the doorway, listening with all his senses. Nothing, just the trail of blood. He cast the small spell he needed to give himself vision in dark places and snuck his head inside the door. There were a few small desks toppled over, and in the middle of the room was a troll splayed out on the floor. However, it was quite dead, the trail of blood leading from its head where it had been split open. So, Kristján was here, but where was he now? Lalli could still feel the WRONG so this must not be the only grossling, he needed to find Kristján and get them all out of here, books or no books. The trail of blood had led to the stairwell, maybe Kristján had gone to the floor above.

As he came back out into the corridor, Lalli heard a sound underneath his feet, a scraping sound like furniture being moved again. The ward room was under him, not the office with the books, they must have found another room. He wondered briefly what kind of weird foreign person had made this building in such a crazy design, with all these little rooms in weird places. Too many hiding places for nests. Grandma said they didn’t used to have trolls before the Rash came, and they built lots of places like this all crammed together in the cities. He heard the scraping sound again like the furniture was pushed back.

On the next level, Lalli saw another corridor with doors, much like the floor below, although the musty smell was stronger here. He went over to the window to look out over the city streets. So many buildings, Lalli thought as he gazed out over the city. As expected, the WRONG was less strong on this sunnier side of the building, but still present as a nagging itch at the base of his skull and down his spine. Was there maybe another stairwell?

He heard a pattering sound, and he froze to listen. Two feet, coming from below him and receding. Then, some yelling and scuffling. Either his teammates were careless and making noise, or there was trouble. Based on the dead troll in the classroom below, Lalli figured the latter, and started to run back to the stairwell. Then the blast wave hit, knocking him backward and off his feet. He felt the glass window shatter around him as he hit it, but could not hear it in the peculiar silence that cocooned him. Ukko! he cried out in his mind as he saw the sky above him lit with fire, and he knew no more.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sofie piled a stack of books next to the UV decontamination unit. Emil puffed in with the next pile behind her, chatting happily about their luck in finding such a cache on their very first day. He wasn’t actually looking at the titles, just thinking about the money they’d make. Sofie was itching to have a look through the books, herself. The top one in her stack had some photos half-sticking out of it, which at a quick glance looked like pictures of someone with the Rash. She didn’t want to see those, but at the same time was deeply curious.

She adjusted her mask. Sigrun had teased her when she put it on this morning. As an immune person who’d lived her whole life in a safe area, Sofie had never worn one before, but found herself a little intimidated by the Silent World. I am being silly, she chided herself, but then why else have we packed masks? There weren’t any non-immunes on the mission, nor were they likely to encounter any.

Kristján suddenly leapt into the tank at a run, wild-eyed and splashed with blood. Sofie and Emil gaped at him, but he snapped, “Start the tank! We need to move out, I’ll go back for the others.” He turned back to Sofie, who was still rooted to the spot, and yelled, “NOW!!”

Her ears were ringing. There was a huge explosion in the building next to her and a fireball which rolled out of the front door, closely followed by Sigrun hustling a singed and coughing Clara out the door. Sigrun’s bloody hands left red smears on the cleanser’s jacket, and as she came out Sigrun released her held breath and took in a great gulp of air. She continued hustling Clara toward the tank, and from behind Sofie Emil was asking, “Sigrun! Sigrun! Where’s ...?” But Sigrun was explosion deaf and didn’t understand. Clara fell into the tank, coughing, her glasses askew and her face smeared with blood. She was trying to tell them they had to go back, and Emil joined her in the chorus, as he tried to push his bulky way out past the tall redhead.

Then Sofie’s vision was filled with ice green eyes and Kristján was shouting in her face, in Swedish. “DRIVE! DRIVE!” He turned around and pulled the other two back into the tank, still screaming at her to drive.

A window on the second story of the building burst outward, and hurtling through space amid a shower of glass was Lalli, rolled up into fetal position. He landed on the ground, rolled, and lay still. Emil had gotten out and was running toward the inert form, followed closely by Sigrun.

The door of the tank was slammed shut and the icy green eyes returned. “I said DRIVE, you MORON!” He grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her roughly into the driver’s compartment. She screamed into her mask and she held out her hands to stop her fall. Clara was yelling at Kristján and had opened the door again. Sofie scrambled to her feet and saw Sigrun carrying Lalli into the tank with Emil sprinting red-faced behind her.

Sofie leapt into the driver’s seat and started the tank, thankful that it didn’t stall out on her. Somehow, a sense of calm came down on her like a muffling blanket, and she focussed on the map she and Lalli had marked up earlier. There was a safe route to a probable campsite, and she started following the route on the map; though Kristján was still yelling, she tuned him out.

As Emil came into the tank, Kristján slid the door shut behind him. The sounds of the unnerving screams from the burning nest were cut mercifully short, leaving just the tinnitus from the explosion in everyone’s ears. “He-he needs a healer!,” Emil was gasping and puffing, “we need to get him to a hospital!”

Kristján was stripping off Lalli’s uniform and throwing the items in the general direction of the UV unit, where Clara and Sigrun were half out of their uniforms already. Kristján assessed that Lalli didn’t seem to have been slashed up much from the glass, and none of his limbs was sitting awkwardly, but he was unconscious. He did a quick feel along the limbs, pelvis, and ribs, but couldn’t feel anything obviously amiss. The hood of his uniform had protected his head from gashes, but Kristján cursed to himself that Lalli was likely concussed. He let the silly skald gibber for a minute before snarling, “There are no hospitals in the Silent World, idiot.”

Sigrun put her hand on Kristján’s shoulder. She smelled of disinfectant and was stripped to her briefs, and Kristján was once again awestruck by her beauty, but she ignored his gobsmacked expression as she knelt down to support Lalli, who was stirring out of unconsciousness. “Go decon, debrief later,” she told Kristján curtly, then looking at him more closely and taking in the bloodied uniform, “That blood yours?” When he shook his head, she nodded with a grin, “Well, that nest’s gone now.” Then to no one in particular, Sigrun crowed, “Wasn’t that the AWESOMEST??!!”

Chapter Text

Tuuri settled onto the bench, wincing as the heat from the dry hot wood stung her thighs and bottom. Then she let out an appreciative sigh as she settled. There was nothing like a sauna to while away a cold rainy night. The downside would come later, when she had to walk back to her hostel in the rain, but it wouldn’t entirely take away that sheer feeling of RIGHT that only a sauna could bring.

She had found this public sauna only a few days after her arrival in Mora, when she was still staying with the Västerströms. She tried to persuade Siv to come with her to the women-only sessions, dangling the prospect of a child-free evening in front of her, but Siv just fluttered her hands. She’d been to the mixed sessions with Torbjörn a few times when they were first married, before the children came along, and even admitted that she had enjoyed it then, but couldn’t be persuaded.

In the intervening weeks Tuuri had gotten to know the local denizens, many of them fellow relocated Finns. Some of them enjoyed chatting, but many would just come and sit in silence. Tuuri was careful not to talk about her upcoming mission to the Silent World even though it was the most exciting topic she could possibly think of. That was a decision she was very thankful to have made after she walked out on that mission two weeks ago.

She’d spent that first night in the boatshed with her craft, seething in anger and disappointment. Part of her fantasised about telling Onni what a jerk Kristján was, and watching him take Kristján down quite a few pegs with magic, and maybe his owl claws as well. When she woke up that next morning without that lather of indignation, she was bereft. She couldn’t go back to the mission, that was clear, but she did feel she owed the Västerströms something. She couldn’t go back to Norway and face Onni, at least not yet. There was absolutely no way she’d go back to the little backwoods hole of Keuruu at this stage, there was no place for her there anymore. What could she do?

She heard a snippet of music playing over the radio somewhere in the boatshed, and the answer became clear. Sara Hållander was delighted to see her and a quick look at the radio station’s transmission setup revealed many improvements that could be made very cheaply and easily. Ten minutes’ conversation with the station owner was all the job interview she’d needed and they hired her immediately. By that very evening she had boosted their signal performance to almost double its former radius, and had reduced grossling static interference by about a third.

Her evenings were free to explore Mora, now that she didn’t feel obligated to help Siv look after the house and children. Her meagre experience with shepherding the quiet and independent Lalli had not prepared her for the onslaught of the three boisterous Västerström children, and the boon of quiet she now enjoyed in the hostel she’d moved into was precious. She had attended two concerts of chamber music, read seven books from the library in the Old Town, and enjoyed nine saunas. She had even had dinner with Arvind in a restaurant one night, although they both carefully avoided the topic of Kristján. He said that next time she should come to his house and he would cook dishes from India, albeit without many of the spices that you couldn’t get anymore.

The weather was turning colder, and she wondered what she’d be seeing now, if she had stayed with the mission. She imagined it now, with her eyes closed in the sauna. There was one other person in there with her, a plump young woman with blonde hair gone dark and limp with the heat and sweat. “Would you go to Copenhagen, if offered the chance?,” Tuuri mused out loud.

“Copenhagen? You mean, the Silent World Copenhagen, in Denmark?” The woman snorted. “I’m not even immune. Of course not.”

“Well, maybe if you were protected from trolls. What if it was cleansed, but without burning down the old buildings? Wouldn’t you want to see how it used to be?”

Silence. Then, “Maybe. Ja. There’s supposed to be a statue of a mermaid there, by the water. I love that old story.”

Tuuri smiled, “Me too.” Companiable silence embraced the two of them for some minutes.

The woman snorted again. “My poor brother would just about die from anxiety if I tried something like that. He would fly straight down there and bring me back by the scruff of my neck.”

Tuuri raised her head sharply and looked at the woman... but there was no one there. She was alone in the sauna. Disoriented, Tuuri got down and peered out the door of the sauna, but there was no one in the dressing area, either. She gave herself a cold rinse, went back inside and settled down again.

All right, she scolded herself, so she’d fallen asleep. It didn't change the fact that she had been due back in Norway weeks ago. Surely by now Onni would have contacted Keuruu and realised that she’d never arrived. He might have gotten Lalli upset too, assuming he could even get Lalli to talk on the radio. Maybe he went to Finland. Was he flying around Finland looking for her? Could he trace her to the Västerströms? Was he flying around the Silent World looking for her?

The last question made her gasp and clutch her heart. He would do that, too, that was just like Onni. The vision of Onni’s stricken face swam in front of her. He would fly down, and a giant would see him and fight him, and he wasn’t immune, and he would DIE of the RASH All Alone in Quarantine, and it was ALL HER FAULT! Gasping, she leapt out and rinsed off, got dressed quickly, and splashed off into the rainy night.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Onni opened his eyes only long enough to gaze morosely at Reynir. The young Icelandic mage had spent the last two weeks at Onni’s side chattering incessantly at him. Onni had even driven himself to leave the bed and get dressed just to see if he could get some peace from Reynir, but Reynir had taken that as affirmation that his presence was helpful. While Reynir’s story was indeed remarkable, there were times when Onni just couldn’t hold his concentration enough to keep up with the rapid-fire Icelandic. But it didn’t matter, because Reynir would blithely skip into his dream haven at night and start the narrative again, or worse yet, start quizzing Onni about magecraft.

Onni now knew Helvetia as well as if he’d actually gone there himself, and had decided he would never like to go there in person, pine-scented mountains or not.

He gathered strength to interrupt the latest monologue about the Grade A dogs of Helvetia with, “Reynir. Listen to me. Do you think you can control your sleep-running enough that you could help find Tuuri?” Excellent, that got him to shut up for a second. “The last place I saw her was in Mora, but she was supposed to go to Keuruu. Do you think you can run there and look for her maybe?”

To his dismay, Reynir didn’t answer him directly. Maybe he was still uncertain about his abilities, and didn’t want to say so. Onni closed his eyes again. Maybe if he saw Ilya shooting past in the dream world, maybe coming to see Reynir, he could wave Ilya over and ask....no. Ilya was always too fast, and Onni was too weak without his luonto. He didn’t hear Reynir excuse himself and leave the cottage.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir gulped. Jódís had told him when he first got back that Tuuri had gone on an expedition to the Silent World. She said Mosi was working down at the base on the Øresund Strait and confirmed it. Apparently no one had told Onni that yet. He didn’t know what to say, so after blubbering for a moment, he invented an excuse to see Olaf about some broth for Onni, and left hurriedly.

Once outside, he clomped through the puddles over to the dining hall. Jódís had brought his favourite clothes back from home (smelling like sheep, did he really always smell of sheep?), but found he still liked wearing the clogs he’d brought back from Helvetia to keep him out of the wet. Plus, they reminded him of Ilya. He had not taken up kitchen duty full-time again, but was still on good terms with Olaf. Maybe Olaf really would have some broth for Onni, and then he wouldn’t be a liar.

He would have to ask Ilya more about orienting precisely where they were going when they ran together next. Ilya had come for him a few times now, and Ilya always led while Reynir was always content to follow. Reynir would have to learn to concentrate and not just run out of a sense of euphoria. But – it was hard not to feel euphoria whenever he went running with Ilya. Could Ilya maybe help him find Tuuri in the Silent World? The dangers of the Silent World made him shudder more than the rain getting down inside his peysa. So many monsters – giants, trolls....beasts, not at all like the healthy animals Reynir saw when he ran through with Ilya.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

This was the cutest kitten ever, Clara decided. She held her up in front of her face, watching the small outstretched paws with their tiny white claws flail as she tried to find a way to get down. The kitten started mewing, her pink mouth with tiny white teeth opening endearingly and the small sound warmed Clara’s heart, at least until the mews turned into a heartrending yelling much louder than a body that size had any right to emit. Clara quickly scooped her in close and tucked her back inside the uniform jacket, but the previously cute tiny claws turned into fearsome scimitars as they dug painfully into Clara’s collarbone. The kitten immediately scrambled back out and onto the back of Clara’s shoulders before leaping down onto the bunk. Clara twisted to try to grab the kitten, but she was off and away, bolting for the driver’s area. A moment later she heard Sofie sneeze.

Emil might call it ‘salvaging,’ and Sigrun always said they were ‘checking out’ the buildings, but in her mind Clara called it ‘looting and pillaging.’ Especially, she thought wryly as she rubbed the bloody spots on her collarbone, when they expect me to burn the damn buildings when they’re done with them. She told them she was trying to conserve her incendiaries for when they really needed them.
Sigrun at least supported her, while at the same time hooting about how much she liked a big fire. The truth was, Clara didn’t actually care much for fire. Even worse, she was afraid of it. She’d only enlisted as a cleanser in spite and defiance, and the only fire she’d ever lit (on purpose) before this mission was when she torched the sergeant’s underwear. After she thrown explosives at those trolls in a panic on the very first day (and almost gotten Lalli killed), it became expected.

Emil would actually come out of the tank, one of the few times he would, staring at the flames with glittering eyes, and then ask Clara for details on how she had done it. He would also compare the blazes to those in the gramophones he’d seen in his old job. At first she was flattered by the starry-eyed respect he showed her, but then it started feeling a bit creepy. She was pretty sure he was spending more time documenting the burning of the old buildings than the books they’d ‘salvaged’ from them.

Kristján’s tiresome kvetching was unavoidable in the close quarters of the tank. This time, he was going off on Clara for shooting wildly at that horrid beast-dog that chased her through that school they were pillaging yesterday. Sigrun hadn’t been able to get to her in time, and Kristján had burst in with his knife already bloodied. The beast wheeled around, attracted to the blood, and faster than a rat poops Kristján had skewered it. He had been butchering a deer he’d killed when he heard Clara’s cry for help, and not even the praise the crew heaped on him that evening for the fine venison feast they enjoyed had lightened his mood.

He also seemed to be immune to the charms of the kitten Sigrun had saved. The rest of the litter and the mother cat had been ravaged by the beast, but one last kitten was alive in the very back of the nest. Sofie had pared some fine shavings from the close to the bone for the kitten to eat, and was busy salting some of the other meat for later.

She had also mentioned this morning that she wanted the crew to start saving their urine, to tan the hide of the deer. Sofie had smiled so sweetly at Kristján when she said to him, “We all need to piss on your skin.” It somehow hadn’t helped his foul mood, Clara chuckled wryly to herself. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen Kristján attempt his dazzling-smile approach for at least a week, not since that time Sigrun had laughed in his face when he tried to pull rank on her.

Now Sofie was trying to explain the tanning scheme to Lalli in between sneezes, and it didn’t look like he was understanding what she meant. Not for the first time, Clara wished Tuuri hadn’t left. Quite aside from the fact that Clara had got on well with the cheerful Finn, the communication gap with her cousin Lalli was proving difficult. She wasn’t sure how much of that was due to the fact that Lalli had been badly concussed the very first day. He hadn’t gotten out of bed for a few days, leaving them confined to their first camp, and still clapped his hands over his ears whenever things got noisy. Emil had now joined Sofie’s effort, and was drawing some pictures and miming for Lalli’s benefit. Lalli was looking increasingly alarmed, and Emil’s exaggerated pantomiming of peeing was obviously not helping, judging by the way Lalli stared at Emil’s waggling crotch and cringed away from him.

Chapter Text

“Very nice work, if I do say so myself.” Riika stood back from Martti and tucked her hands into her armpits to ward off the cold. She beamed at him. “Should we fire up the sauna again tonight?”

Martti allowed himself a small smile as well and nodded at his sister. They admired their handiwork, a small stone bridge arching over one of the streams leading down to the fjord. This smaller design was easier to accomplish, just fitting the rocks together in an arch. They’d come up with a way to make a mortar from sand and pebbles mixed with the water from the fjord, and Martti was particularly proud of the way he’d worked out how to remove the salt from the water as Riika transported it. “I think this should be ahhh, just about good enough to satisfy Jódís,” he smiled modestly. Then he shivered. “I would a love a sauna. I certainly want to get out of these wet clothes.” They were both wet and covered with salt crystals, and the wintry twilight was closing in early with the cloudy weather.

As they started walking back, Riika said, “You can’t drive a truck over that bridge, though.”

Martti shrugged. “I read that you have to put some kind of steel inside the mortar to make it strong enough, and we don’t have any of that. This will have to do.”

They both became aware of the unnatural whirring sound simultaneously and turned back to the fjord. Gwenno on harbour patrol was already running down to the pier. There was a small boat speeding in, seemingly way too fast, but then suddenly turning with an impossibly small turning circle, sending a rooster tail in a wide arc before slowing immediately and docking neatly. Riika and Martti looked at each other briefly before they took off running for the pier as well.

The three of them stood gobsmacked at the pier as Tuuri poked her head out of the cabin. “Requesting permission to berth!,” she grinned as she took down her mask.

“Aaa, that depends,” Gwenno shouted back, “did you bring me anything? And get that mask back on, young missy.” She lightly poked the hull of the Aino with her staff.

“Aiiee, don’t touch my boat! Nothing for you then!,” Tuuri laughed. She reached back into the cabin and produced a satchel, which Martti grabbed from her and put onto the pier. “I did bring back something for Onni, though. Is he about?” She craned her neck to look up the slope to the base buildings. Then noting that the grins had vanished on the three on the pier, “Onni...isn’t here?”

The three looked at each other, and Gwenno spoke first, affecting a broad grin again. “Go ahead and put the boat away and go through quarantine, and then we’ll go see him.”

At Tuuri’s worried expression, Riika piped up in Finnish with a broad grin of her own, “Ahhh, come on, he’ll be so relieved to see you. Should I fire up the sauna?”

“Oh, yes please!” Tuuri popped her head back inside the cabin and slowly backed the boat out to take it back to the boathouse. Riika picked up the satchel, and she and Martti headed for Tuuri’s train. Gwenno watched her go, whistling softly to herself in appreciation of Tuuri’s sweet boat, before resuming her patrol post.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sofie was still rattled from driving the tank nose-first into a river, trying to use a truck as a bridge. Something must have gotten lost in translation, there was no way Lalli would have directed her there on purpose. He’d looked fairly calm, though, and just pointed one long finger to direct her to go back up the other side. How had he managed to not go through the windscreen?, she thought as she rubbed her chin, which had gotten a knock from the steering wheel. The crew in the back had gotten tossed around, though, and Sofie could hear Kristján yelling about her and Lalli being morons. As usual, she chose to ignore his ranting. She rubbed her nose and sneezed. Great, the kitten must have ended up somewhere up here.

She was losing visibility in the driving snow, and not entirely due to the itching in her eyes from the proximity of the kitten. Lalli had somehow fallen asleep or was knocked out after all; in either case he wasn’t answering her as she gently called his name. She’d be damned if she was going to start yelling too.

Back in Mora, the local radio station would give weather predictions which mostly consisted of radioing somebody in Norway and asking them what the weather was like there. Even that was unavailable to them now, and this early season storm had brewed up seemingly out of nowhere overnight.

Sigrun clambered up to the driver’s area, and squatted down next to Sofie. She looked down at the sleeping Lalli curled up in the front seat. “So, Sofie, what was the deal with that knock? Is the vehicle all right?,” she drawled. Sofie just nodded; she heard something off down in the engine but reckoned she’d have to have a look when they made it to camp. The two of them stared out the windscreen for a while, as the wipers only made a momentary clearing in their vision through the snow. Sigrun’s voice came low, “Does the twig know what he’s doing? We’re not going to get stuck here, are we?”

Sofie started to answer, but Sigrun gave Lalli a shake and yelled out, “Hoy, twig! Wakey, wakey, are we on the right track?” Sofie winced as Lalli blinked and glared balefully up at Sigrun, who continued shaking him while pointing out the windscreen, “Is this the way? Or is it blocked by snow? SNOW,” she finished loudly and slowly in Lalli’s face.

Emil said crossly from the other room, “He doesn’t understand you. I am trying to teach him some Swedish, though.”

Kristján grizzled, “You’re teaching that idiot words like ‘porridge’ and ‘spoon,’ and he’s not even learning those. You could try failing to teach him something useful, like ‘danger’ or ‘troll.’”

“He is not an idiot. I can’t exactly point to a troll as it’s attacking and say ‘Lalli, can you say ‘troll’? T-R-O-L-L, Lalli, now you try it’, now can I?,” Emil shot back, taking on the inflection of a nursery tutor.

“No, because you’re too busy hiding in the tank,” Kristján snorted.

Clara joined in, “He’s the skald, för i helsike, what do you expect?”

Lalli sinuously managed to simultaneously shrink away from Sigrun and sit up to look out in puzzlement at the snow.

As the bickering rose in the back of the tank, Sofie rolled her eyes. “I hate it when you all start yelling at each other,” she said to no one in particular.

Sigrun grinned and clasped Sofie on the shoulder. “Yelling is good sometimes, gets people off their butts. Listen, stop the tank, let’s take a look at this.” Before Sofie could answer, Sigrun had yanked open the side door and leapt out into the snow. In front of them, snow was drifting onto a large pile of debris, mostly accumulated around a long-abandoned truck, partially blocking the entry to the next street.

Lalli had also leapt out and was right behind her, blinking in bewilderment. He staggered over the impediment, sinking into snow up to his thighs with each step, and then almost pitching forward face first when one step didn’t sink down but contacted something buried below. He didn’t remember this intersection being blocked like this, but last night it had only begun lightly snowing. He hadn’t gotten any feeling of WRONG from this area, but neither had he gotten any feel for the natural spirits. It was long cold dead.

He heard his name shouted from behind him, and as he turned he got a faceful of his coat courtesy of Kristján. His captain was looking out for him! He put on the coat and retrieved the hood from where it had fallen at his feet. Behind him, Sofie was reversing the tank; Lalli knew she would take it back to the alternative route he’d shown her. He’d messed up though, he scolded himself, he hadn’t scouted this route well enough, and Grandma taught him better than that. Well, no, he reasoned, actually she told him cities were bad and he should never go into them, end of instruction. But here he was, and who knew a city could be so big. Sigrun and Kristján were ahead of him now and about to go down a particularly WRONG street, so he ran to catch up.

He pointed them the right way and the three started jogging ahead. Their own footfalls were muffled in the snow, and the drone of the tank echoed strangely off the hard buildings and soft snow, but presently Lalli thought he could hear the tank catching up to them from a side street. They were at an intersection that Lalli had passed earlier but hadn’t scoped all four directions. He held up a hand to stop his companions, closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. All four ways had WRONG down them, including the way they’d just come, but the cold daylight and snow was probably preventing any grosslings from pursuing them. One of the streets was the least WRONG and headed in the right direction, so Lalli scooped the snow to form a giant directional arrow for the tank and motioned Sigrun and Kristján to follow him.

They slowed to a walk as they reached a small side street leading into a partially collapsed building but the road was clearly visible leading out the other side. The beams and girders were festooned with puffy greyish-pink piles of revolting muck connected with hanging tendrils of what looked like grossling guts. Lalli suddenly shot out his fist and punched the nearest lump as hard as he could; it was certainly quite dead. Kristján and Sigrun started doing the same, punching and slashing at the piles of tissue. The snow hadn’t reached inside the building, and their footfalls echoed around them, punctuated with the occasional ring of steel against concrete.

Far off down the end of the street, they could hear the tank catch up to them, and Kristján jogged back to meet it. Sigrun grinned at Lalli and put her hands on her hips in triumph that all these blobs of glup were thoroughly dead, but he was looking upward at the higher floors. Sigrun could see through the partly collapsed portion that he was quite right, there were at least three more storeys of this stuff, maybe more. But those were more exposed than this floor had been, and it would be a waste of time and resources to seek out any possible lurking sheltered grosslings since they were just passing through.

Lalli was standing with his feet apart, his eyes were closed and he thumped himself on the chest with a fist. He opened his mouth as though to say something but Sigrun tapped him on the arm. She got a small electric shock as a blue spark of magic flew off Lalli and up her finger. His eyes flew open and they focused on Sigrun, who motioned him to follow her. Lalli frowned and pointed imperiously up at the upper storeys. Sigrun fixed him with an equally imperious stare and jerked her thumb to show the way out, then strode out toward the exit. With a last glance upward, Lalli obeyed and passed Sigrun by as she waved the tank through, then ran forward to verify the next passage.

The tank proceeded through the building, which echoed eerily with its rumbling. Its top running lights got caught in some of the dead tendrils of guts before pulling them down, along with everything they were connected to. Sigrun skipped out of the way of the falling lumps, grabbed onto a handle on the side of the tank and hoisted herself up. With her feet on the running board just above the treads, she grinned as she clung to the side of the tank. Clara opened the side window a crack and asked her what she thought she was doing. “Best vacation EVER!,” Sigrun crowed into the biting wind, snowflakes collecting on her hair and eyelashes.

Lalli led them in through a very narrow passage, narrow enough that Sigrun had to jump off to allow them to squeeze through. The passage opened out into the courtyard of a very grand building indeed. There was a statue with some bollards around it, and Sofie stopped the tank there. Everyone piled out, and Sigrun jogged over, big grin still in place. They proceeded to set up camp, while Kristján went to take a quick reconnaissance around the buildings and Lalli flopped under the berths to finally get some rest. His ears were ringing again, but there seemed to be less wrong here than anywhere else.

One of the lights on top of the tank was indeed askew, with blobs of glup still hanging from it. Sofie opened the engine compartment with some difficulty as the door was crumpled, but there was miraculously only minor damage, easily fixed. As she rummaged around in the back of the tank for the toolbox, Sofie was increasingly concerned. Where was the toolbox? They hadn’t needed it yet this mission, but she wracked her brain to remember moving it out of the way to get to other supplies. Clara and Emil couldn’t remember it either, but Clara suggested it might be tucked under the driver’s seat. Sofie shrugged, walked around the back of the tank and then

the mouth and all the teeth

were right there as it came for her and before she could scream, the horror was stopped mid-leap by a slender outstretched arm in white. Sofie gasped at the sight of so many teeth, and the blood! Sigrun had gotten it off her and managed to slash it, but while she clutched at her wounded arm, the blood rapidly soaking through the white of the coat, she was calling out to Clara and Kristján to back her up. Clara hurriedly grabbed a gun and tried to shoot where Sigrun was yelling and pointing, but the grossling was burrowing under the snow and Clara couldn’t locate it. The reports of the gun echoed around the buildings of the square, and Kristján bolted out of one of them, knife at the ready. He had to dodge and weave to avoid getting hit by Clara’s increasingly frantic shooting. Sigrun scooped up the puffed-up kitten from where she appeared at the doorway of the tank, and held her out in all directions in hopes she would act as a troll-detector. They managed to sight the grossling again as it fled into the shadows of one of the buildings, and then slipped inside a broken door.

Sofie couldn’t stop Sigrun from running with the chase for the grossling, even though she was dripping blood onto the white snow. As though in a white trance (white coat red blood), she calmly closed the back doors of the tank (horror right there), closed the door to the engine compartment (so much blood), went back inside, got the medical kit (please don’t make me need the saw), and told a pale Emil that he was cooking dinner. She ignored his gibbering as she brought out the supplies (teeth so many teeth) she would need to disinfect and stitch the arm (Sigrun’s arm) (so much blood) except to tell him they had some tins of stew for occasions such as these and he could figure out the cooker on his own.

She made to leave the tank with the supplies, but the four (including the kitten still tucked in Sigrun's pocket) were already coming back from the building, Sigrun still clutching her arm. Kristján somberly informed Sofie that the troll was only a little one, and was dead when they finally found it inside. No one else had taken any hurt, but Sofie and Sigrun were already working on getting her coat and shirt off to look after the arm. Kristján was somber enough to not even give Sofie backtalk when she thrust the bloodied uniform at him and instructed him to please wash them in cold water, but simply took them and got out the tub, next to where Emil was fussing with the cooker and tin opener.

By the time Sofie got Sigrun’s arm stitched up, Emil had worked out how to warm up the stew and was presenting a bowl to Lalli, who was just waking up. Kristján had recovered himself enough to berate Clara for her lack of prowess with a gun, while he pegged up the wet clothes. Clara had plonked herself into the driver’s seat, which was the furthest she could get from Kristján while remaining inside the vehicle, and ate her stew glumly. Sigrun flexed her arm gingerly and said to Sofie, “Your stitches aren’t so great. I’ve had worse, but still.” She then proceeded to display the wounded arm to Emil, who turned a most satisfying shade of green.

Sofie cleaned and put away the equipment, the adrenaline of the crisis passing, leaving her irritable and not a little emotional. She escaped into the toilet, tears already rolling down her face as she closed the door, and stayed there until Clara knocked on the door. “Hey, some of the rest of us need to borrow the toilet too!” As Sofie edged out, Clara looked at her red puffy eyes and said apologetically, “Oh, hey, Sofie, I didn’t mean-“

“Seventeen devils, that cat,” Sofie muttered as she pushed past Clara. “Allergic, you know.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“So if you don’t know where you are, how do you know where you are?,” Reynir cried, “I-I mean, you lead me around to places you want to go, but do you know where we are?”

Ilya looked at Reynir quizzically, “Which where?”

“Any where, whichever where!”

“But, we’re here, which is where I meant to come.” Ilya gestured around them, but it still looked like the dreamscape to Reynir. “Where do you want to be?”

Reynir crossed his arms in front of him as he pondered this. The temptation to say ‘anywhere with you’ was strong, but he had to ignore the impetus to just give in to the sensation of running, and concentrate on what he wanted to know. Where did he want to be? “Well, it’s like... say, Onni asked me if I could look for his sister in Mora. How would I go to Mora?”

“What’s a Mora?”

There must be magic in names, Reynir thought, because he could swear he had just heard sweet accordion music when Ilya said that. That’s love, he shrugged to himself. “It’s...in Sweden. It’s the capital.”

“Oh. I don’t really know your names for the places in the slow world,” Ilya shrugged with an apologetic grin, “I only know my names.” Then with a tug on Reynir’s hand, “Shall we try to find it?”

“How would we do that?”

Ilya picked up the end of Reynir’s braid and toyed with the brass disks threaded through it. “Does it have lots of people in it?”

Reynir considered this, then shrugged and nodded. “And they all speak Swedish,” he added.

“All the slow people sound alike to me,” Ilya sighed, accompanied by an eyeroll, “like they all have potatoes stuck in their mouths.”

“They all speak Danish?!,” Reynir gasped. They just looked at each other with wide eyes for a moment.

“I don’t think we’re even speaking the same language anymore,” Ilya finally said, then stroked Reynir’s hand and smiled. “Let’s go. Let’s try and find a Mora.” With that, they ran.

As they ran, Ilya showed Reynir havens of mages that they passed, and how there were ripples in the dreamscape connected to ‘the slow people,’ some pleasant, some acidic or bitter in feeling, some rather painful to touch, a few indescribably electric and attractive. On encountering one of these last types, Reynir asked, “I want to see where we are. How do I wake up?” Ilya didn’t know, so Reynir tried to feel heavy.

He blinked, and tried to adjust to the unaccustomed darkness. He was glad that he had gone to bed wearing a full set of clothes and coat expecting to try to find Mora, because there was snow here, vaguely lighting the landscape. He certainly wasn’t in a town, though, there were no buildings in sight. He turned around, and nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of a figure right in front of him, silhouetted by a banked campfire. It was probably not a troll as there seemed to be only one head, in the right place, and either very large or wearing something large, with an indescribable hat on the head and a billy can in one hand. In the other hand was a knife, pointed at Reynir. The figure spoke, but Reynir couldn’t understand what was said. It didn’t sound very friendly. He put his hands up and his most ingratiating smile on and backed away.

He felt a rush of wind pass his face. “Ilya,” he gulped, “help! We’re not in Mora!” He felt a pressure on his hand as Ilya clasped it, and he held onto that pressure and willed himself to RUN.

As he saw the stars in the dreamworld start to appear again, the figure lunged forward. As the dark forest faded from view, Reynir could have sworn he heard, “Wait, who are you? Come back!,” but Reynir kept running. Now there was a fox trying to catch up to him? Was this a fylgja? Was that a mage? No time to puzzle that out, time only to hold on tight to Ilya and escape.

He found himself running with the sheep on the Icelandic hills of his haven, and he stopped to catch his breath and let his heart rate go down. Ilya ran around him, russet eyes huge with concern, but then petted Reynir’s fylgja as he trotted up to them. The fylgja reached up his head to allow Ilya to rub under his jaw. “I-I didn’t think to wear a mask to bed this time,” Reynir gasped, “I could have been infected!”

“I think the knife would have gotten you first.” Ilya looked at Reynir apologetically. “I’ve seen that mage before. She has a special weapon-thing that shoots little stones almost as fast as I can run.”

“That’s called a gun,” Reynir’s fylgja said matter-of-factly. Reynir gave him an extra-rough scritch behind the ears for his impertinence.

“You could have warned me!,” Reynir replied irritably, rubbing down his legs, “So, where was that? it was out away from a city.”

Ilya shrugged, "That one...moves around a lot?"

Reynir put his forehead on his knees. “I don’t think I want to get to Mora anymore, not tonight. Can you show me how you find the way back to Norway, please?”

“You can do it, I know you can,” Ilya encouraged him gently, “I’ll let you lead this time. You’ll see.” Reynir smiled and clasped Ilya’s outstretched hand.

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Tuuri, it’s great to see you back, but I must say you don’t look so good,” Jódís said in Icelandic as she came up to Tuuri’s table at breakfast. Reynir and Sonja made room for her, and a pointed stare from Jódís made one of Sonja’s coterie of cats jump rather hurriedly off a chair. “I take it you’ve been looking after Onni, then?”

Tuuri nodded glumly. The quarantine procedure for herself and the boat took longer than she expected. She was surprised that Onni hadn’t come down to wait for her outside quarantine, and more surprised that his cottage was mostly dark as though he’d gone to bed already. It was well into the evening, but she thought he’d be excited to see her. She took out the box of small cupcakes from the bakery in Mora that she’d packed so carefully for the trip, and went over to the cottage.

Ana answered the door, which gave Tuuri a further shock. Ana and Onni....? But no, Ana quickly briefed her to the situation. It still did nothing to prepare her for the shock of seeing her brother so gaunt in bed. As tired as she was from the travel, Tuuri gave Ana a cupcake and one to take to Ellina, and took her place at Onni’s side, holding his hand. All thought of sauna was gone. She quietly wept as she apologised over and over. At one point she had fallen asleep in the chair.

She woke up when she felt a hand on her head. Onni was stroking her hair, and his eyes were glittering as she raised her face to look at him. He tried to assure her that he would be okay now that she was back, and brushed away her renewed apologies with a languid hand. He ordered her to go get some breakfast and then come back.

She was joined by Sonja, her cats, and an almost-equally-tired Reynir, who had apparently been out sleep-running most of the night. Tuuri felt somewhat livelier talking to them, spinning her cover story about storms which prevented her from leaving Keuruu and garbled the radio communication. She warmed to her task, inventing new details as she spun her story.

Reynir had listened patiently, but he was itching to tell her all about his exciting time in Helvetia and was just about to do so when Jódís showed up. He didn’t notice when Tuuri went pale at Jódís’ approach, but Sonja did.

“I want you to come to my office right away after breakfast,” Jódís continued, “since we didn’t get a chance to talk last night. I admit I am surprised to see you back so soon, and I want a full debrief.”

Tuuri nodded automatically, but she was puzzled. She knew she’d overstayed her leave and Jódís was within her rights to apply disciplinary action, but here Jódís was talking about ‘back so soon’? She glanced up from her plate, but Jódís was cheerfully peeling and chopping bits of apple into her porridge. Tuuri cast her eyes down again in confusion. What did Jódís mean by debrief? Suddenly she remembered that the station manager in Mora called this base every day to check on the weather for their weather report. Jódís knew! She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach, and looked at her now-unwanted breakfast glumly.

Sonja sensed trouble, excused herself quietly and withdrew, and Reynir got up as well. He said they could talk later, as he was going to check on Onni. As he clomped away, Tuuri got a second gut-punch of renewed guilt of her culpability for Onni’s situation.

Jódís smiled at Tuuri. Softly she said, “I was told you would be gone all winter.” She could see from Tuuri’s nonplussed expression that she’d hit the mark. “Imagine my surprise that you’re back with winter not even really started,” she casually drawled as she took a spoonful of porridge with crunchy apple bits. “Of course, that expedition was doomed with Kristján Rúnarson leading it, you were very foolish to go. I’m glad we did not release a cat to him.” She addressed Tuuri’s wide-eyed gape with a sly, “So did you even get to cross the bridge out of Øresund?”

“I... I didn’t go,” Tuuri whispered, shaking her head.

Jódís pursed her lips. “I already know you went, Tuuri. There is no need to lie. And, I expect a full debrief.”

Tuuri stared at Jódís with consternation. Sotto voce she said, “No, I really didn’t go. I-I stayed in Mora. Did... did they... Did something happen to them?”

Jódís put down her spoon firmly and gave Tuuri an annoyed look, but persisted coolly. “I have it on good authority that you were on that expedition. Your name was on the list.”

“May-maybe they didn’t change it,” Tuuri ventured, “I pulled out just before they left. They must not have changed it.” She was no longer looking at Jódís, instead her eyes were darting back and forth, imagining Torbjörn and Siv’s panic at her defection.

“No, he would have double-checked before they left.” Jódís pictured her brother Mosi, whose rebellious demeanour hid a meticulous cataloguer and born bureaucrat, allowing such an impossible lapse. She shook her head in negation. “He wouldn’t have let Rúnarson go so easily. So if you were in Mora, how did he come to have a Hotakainen on his crew manifest?”

Tuuri was not looking at Jódís anymore, and didn’t respond. Her slightly unfocused grey eyes were fixed somewhere far further away than the tabletop in front of her. She was remembering a time when she overheard Torbjörn tell Siv that Taru was coming back from Finland shortly, with a scout.

“Lalli,” Tuuri breathed.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Emil listlessly adjusted the controls on the radio, but yet again all he could raise was static punctuated by disembodied voices calling out in pain and confusion. He sighed and sat back, and noticed Lalli looking intently at him. “Nothing,” he said, “still nothing. This is all I get, every time. I don’t know why I bother.” He sighed again and cast a baleful stare at the radio unit before turning back to Lalli. “I mean, I’m used to dealing with much more advanced equipment back at the Academy of Historical Artefacts, not this,” he waved a dismissive hand at the unit, “antique rubbish.” He winced as a plaintive voice could clearly be heard crying out for help before dissolving into inchoate static. “I wish you could understand me,” he said quietly, as though to the radio.

It took Emil a second to realise that the singing he was hearing was not coming from the radio. He turned and saw Lalli, eyes closed and face scrunched up in concentration, chanting something in Finnish. Whatever he was saying, it sounded melodious, but looked strenuous. The static pitched louder and more agitated from the radio, and Lalli glared at it a moment before starting to chant again. His voice rose in intensity until he was shouting the verse. Emil sat gobsmacked; he’d never actually heard Lalli speak more than a word and the fact that he possessed a voice was a bit of a shock, never mind that he could shout as he was doing now. Lalli finished with his fists up to his temples, and a shock wave that was felt more than heard slammed through Emil on its way out of the radio. Lalli let his hands fall nervelessly to his sides as he gave a huff of exertion, and without another word turned and stalked into the sleeping area of the tank. A moment later he was curled up under the bunks with his hands over his ears, fast asleep.

“Hålla?” A child’s voice suddenly came out of the radio, snapping Emil out of his shock.

“Håkan! Håkan, is that you? This is Uncle Emil! It’s so good to hear you! Please get your mum or dad for me, please!” Emil grabbed the microphone like the lifeline it in fact was.

“I’M SUNE!,” the child shouted and then Emil could hear the microphone being dropped and scuffling in the background.

He could hear arguing; Anna was scolding, “No, don’t! We’ll get – YOU’LL get in trouble, you know you’re not supposed to play with the radio!” More scuffling ensued, and Emil tried calling out to them a few times.

He heard Siv’s faint voice asking what was going on, and Emil tried calling out to her, but heard Anna say loudly over him, “NOTHING, Mamma!,” and the radio went dead.

Emil stared glumly at the microphone, then slowly turned to contemplate the sleeping Lalli. Could he really chalk up the clear channel to Mora to the fact that Lalli did a song and dance in Denmark? It seemed incredible. Some of his tutors dismissed the Finns as uncivilised; and he pictured the flaring nostrils of Professor Karlsson as he went so far as to call the whole culture ‘superstitious tree-hugging.’ And yet... Emil rubbed his belly where he felt the shockwave go through.

With a sigh he pulled down the books he was transcribing. A quick look around indicated Sigrun was settled in to the next room with her arm in a sling and the coast was clear, so he pulled out the small pamphlet Clara had discarded, from its hiding place in the back of the book he was supposed to transcribe. He read avidly, “...Slowly draw back the pin at area 7 to allow fuel into the primary chamber. See Fig. 5a. When the primary chamber is full, release the pin to close area 7 and position your hand on Guide B. See Fig. 5b. Use the strike trigger at Guide B to ignite the fuel and immediately pull the trigger at Guide A all the way back to start the flow of flame...”

Chapter Text

The sleek marten looked into the sky, but there was only the protective canopy of the trees above, and past that, the remote stars of the dreamworld firmament. Wherefrom then the sense of unease? Glancing back at her soulbody Ellina, the marten corrected herself, the unusual sense of unease. Ellina was not looking out toward the stricken mage’s haven, she was looking down into the waters, the benign still waters inside the protection of her sister’s haven. The marten knew of her turmoil, but could do little to assuage her fear and doubt.

The pale cobby spitz belonging to Ellina’s sister Ana came up to the marten and they touched noses. Their real-world species counterparts might not be so friendly, but these luontos were united through their devotion to the close sisters they were paired with. Then the marten felt it again, the age-old fear her kind had for the sky above. The spitz’ ears pricked high as she felt the presence too. The faintest rustling above them growing louder, with a breeze propelled through the windless lands, and the spitz reared and capered on her hind legs as she recognised its source. It wheeled overhead before continuing to its target in the nearby haven. Spitz and marten both scattered to alert their soulbodies; the Owl had returned.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir woke up confused, dream memories playing around the edges of his mind. Then he realised where he was, and that the dream he’d left was a phantom. Was it a seiðkarl’s dream? He hadn’t gone running, but as to the rest? He had no idea. He was in a box, which was on a boat, and then he was captured by a rogue tribe of people living in the Silent World and they took him to their camp. It didn’t look like Helvetia, it looked all blasted out. Tuuri was there, but he didn’t know any of the others. They were upset with him for something. It was probably just some random regular dream.

Then he remembered to feel for his hair. The prankster was doing tricks with his hair again. It started right after Tuuri had gotten back, so it had to be her somehow. He just had to find out exactly how Tuuri managed to prank his hair, since she had no powers. She was wily, all right, looking all innocent and then offended when he confronted her about it. She must have devised a machine to do it, that wouldn’t be affected by his rune wards.

Oh, for the love of Freyja....as he reached to feel the ends of his hair, he realised that his hands were enclosed in mittens made of the stuff. He definitely needed new rune wards.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Lalli came back to the tank and Sigrun let him in, as usual. She was always the first one awake and alert in the mornings, even though her arm was still healing and keeping her on light duty. Kristján and Sofie were also awake checking on supplies for the day, no surprise there either. What was perhaps surprising was Emil’s bright eyes glittering at him from the crew bunks. He wasn’t dressed yet, but it certainly was unusual to see him awake this early.

Lalli steeled himself. Emil had been teaching him some Swedish, and he intended to make his report this morning in Swedish. Of course, he remembered, that was why Emil was awake – to help him if he failed. He would not fail. It had also been an easy night, with little to report, and they intended to stay in this place a few days if they could. Lalli drew himself up to his full height to address Kristján, and cleared his throat. He looked Kristján right in the eyes, and slowly and carefully he said in Swedish as he was taught, “Good morning, Asshole. There is no danger. Asshole, you can proceed to the next target. That is all.”

There, he thought with satisfaction, that had the right response, Kristján was obviously stunned at his new ability. Lalli allowed himself a look at Emil, who was certainly pleased. But Sigrun was ...laughing at him? Was his pronunciation off? Oh no, he looked with dismay, Clara had appeared from around the corner, eyes boggling as she snorted with laughter. Sofie’s mouth was shut tight, but her eyes were dancing. Lalli looked back at Kristján, who was bright red, the pale green eyes practically glowing in the contrast. Sigrun was now matching Clara snort for snort with each helpless guffaw. The kitten jumped down from the bunk next to Emil and hid.

Obviously he’d pronounced something poorly. He had failed after all, most spectacularly. He looked at Emil for help, and Kristján’s glare followed Lalli’s glance, but Emil was no longer there.

Chapter Text

Onni closed his eyes as the fatigue rolled over him yet again and he was compelled to sit down with his head between his knees. Blue circles scintillated around his vision behind his closed eyelids.

In his mind’s eye he saw his grandmother again, far below him but getting larger as he circled down. Her sharp eyes followed him intently and warily from under the shadow of her uniform hood. At her feet, toddler Tuuri sat in the dirt unheeded, minutely examining a beetle on her tunic. Onni could see every detail of the shiny beetle, even as far away as he was.

He could also clearly see the wet drip under the tiny upturned nose elongate and run down her upper lip. Gross, he thought. Another doctor visit, then, to test if the baby had the Rash, and that meant a visit for Onni as well. He couldn’t sigh in this form, but he could ruffle the feathers at the base of his wings.

His grandmother pointed imperiously at the ground, her meaning clear. Onni swooped lower to comply, but then spotted his friends Ilkka and Hele running along the path nearby, and he couldn’t resist the temptation to play a prank on his friends. As he diverted course to buzz past Hele’s head, he caught a sudden gust of wind on the wrong side of his wing, throwing him into a roll. He lost sight of where he was going and panicked, and started to resume his human form. Onni crashed mightily onto the ground in a mess of feathers and sunburned boyish limbs. He could just see his grandmother’s extended hand guiding the wind she had summoned, and as he tried to get up to face her, the pain hit and Onni gasped, the tears coming unbidden. Ilkka and Hele came running up from the path, but turned tail and fled when they saw the livid Ensi with her hand raised against the crying and cowering Onni, now fully human in appearance again.

His arm was splinted and in a sling to keep his broken collarbone still, but he had to spend the first two weeks in quarantine anyway, going mad with the enforced inactivity and the babbling of Tuuri in the next room. He also had caught Tuuri’s cold (not the Rash), and winced with pain every time he sneezed. His parents and his friends could not come see him, but his grandmother came to tend to both him and Tuuri, since she was immune. Ensi had taken it in stride that her grandson could turn into an owl, but she spent the time tending him in quarantine giving him lectures, tiresome endless lectures about his responsibilities given to him with these new powers. Even after he returned home, Ensi would spend more time impressing upon him the responsibilities he must take up, and only sometimes teaching him any of the magecraft she knew he craved during that convalescence.

It was weeks before he could dare fly again. By that time, the summer was over and the warm thermals more elusive, and he remained apprehensive. He would climb into a tree as high as his spindly boy limbs would take him and then take on his owl form, but would remain where he was, just letting his feathers enclose him and keep him warm while he listened to the forest and its spirits around him.

He was brought back to the present day when Gwenno said softly, “You good? C’mon, try this again.” He’d had to sit down onto the planks of the pier when the fatigue hit him, but she urged him to get up again and when he nodded that he was ready, helped him back onto the post where he’d been attempting to hold his balance. She could keep an eye on him while she carried out her guard duties.

Onni willed himself to balance, straight-backed with head held high. When he was ready, he shifted his weight slightly forward onto the balls of his feet. He held his arms down by his sides, feeling the fresh winter wind coming off the fjord. He slowly counted to twenty, then lifted his arms to shoulder height, adjusted his shoulders to be straight and not hunched, and restarted counting slowly. The burning in his shoulders started around twelve, but at least it was getting later each time. He focused on holding the position, and on the secure feeling of feathers once again keeping him warm inside. One day he would fly again.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sara Hållander’s voice came over the radio, “We have in the studio with us today a very special guest. Please join me in welcoming Eik to the studio to play a few songs. Eik, thank you so much for agreeing to come in this afternoon, and I understand you’ll also be appearing at the Weird Ugly Moose tonight?”

“Thank you, Sara, yes, I’ll be on stage from 9pm tonight.” Strumming could be heard over the radio. “This first song doesn’t have a name yet, but I wrote it on my last tour to Iceland. I hope you all enjoy it.” Melodious cascading strumming filled Tuuri’s workshop.

Tuuri put down the flamethrower canister she was repairing and looked up at Reynir. “When you see Ilya next, can you ask very nicely if I can pretty please have a pair of clogs, too?”

“I…suppose, but why?”

Tuuri picked up the canister again and peered at it closely. “Oh, well, they’re very practical, you know. They, uhmm, would keep me off the cold floor.” And make me taller, she didn’t add out loud.

“Oh, they’re very good for that,” Reynir agreed. “The stone floors in the castle were really cold.”

Tuuri shook her head. “I can’t get over that you were in the Silent World, living in an old castle. That’s so incredible! All those people still living there, not dead.” Her eyes unfocussed as she thought. “It’s like those old storybooks, only real. So,” she smiled slyly, “were you the enchanted prince?”

“No,” he snorted, “I was only the waiter.” Reynir thought of Renate in her velvet dress in her mage haven, looking every inch the enchanted princess, and he blushed at the memory.

“I’m told my great-grandmother was a waitress before the Rash, nothing wrong with that.” Tuuri noticed Reynir’s flushed face. “If it’s hot in here, why don’t you take off your hat?”

Reynir sighed and looked down at her with wide green eyes. “It’s not a hat.”

Tuuri peered more closely at him. What she thought was a long, pointed hat with a large pompom on the end was in fact his bright red hair, painstakingly knotted in a zigzag pattern along with greyish woolly… “Reynir....what is that in there with it?”

Reynir made a face. “I think it’s cat hair.”

“Ewwww.” Tuuri recoiled. “Maybe your prankster works in the cattery?”

“I still think it’s you.” Tuuri shot him a warning look. “We have cat hair everywhere here,” Reynir shook his head ruefully. “I think I preferred Helvetia for that, I miss Berthe.”

“Imagine, all dogs instead of cats,” Tuuri mused as she returned her attention to the jammed valve, “but they would be stronger for some things. Old man Lukkman back in Saimaa had an immune dog, and it was as mean as he was.” She let out a triumphant Ha! as the stuck component came free. She turned back to Reynir, “Have you spoken with Felise about maybe trying breeding some immune dogs?”

Reynir fidgeted with the red and grey hair pompom and shook his head. He knew Jódís already had asked Felise; Felise had set his ears aflame with her opinion of the idea, thinking he was somehow privy to Jódís’ schemes.

When he looked up at Tuuri again, she had stopped working and was looking into the middle distance with teary eyes. She whispered, “I hope Lalli’s okay in the Silent World, I hope he’s in a safe place too.” Reynir had no answer to that.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Outside the tank the snow was falling thickly, keeping the crew in camp for the day. Emil was working at his desk, Sofie was reclining in the driver’s seat reading one of their pillaged books, Lalli was asleep under Emil’s bunk. A faint rasping could be heard outside as Kristján sat outside on the lee side of the tank, sharpening knives. Sigrun was bored out of her skull and came over to Clara, who was sitting on her bunk with her journal.

Sigrun took her arm out of its sling, rolled up her sleeve and flexed her fingers. “Maybe I can get Sofie to stitch ‘Most Best Viking’ into my arm, what do you think?”

Clara performed a mental eyeroll before looking sidelong up at Sigrun. “No, you’d do better to carve that in there yourself, and use some of Emil’s ink to make it into an awesome tattoo.” She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her pen as she looked back down at her work.

Sigrun swiftly grabbed the pen from Clara’s hand, “Ha! I’ll just use yours!” Clara grabbed empty air as she attempted to retrieve her pen. Her journal clumped to the floor as she leapt up, and Sigrun scooped it up. Sigrun had a significant height advantage over Clara and easily held the items up out of her reach, at least until her bad arm twinged. “Sorry, here you go,” she said as she handed the pen back. Sigrun’s glance fell onto the book as she brought it back down to Clara, who snatched it back as soon as it was within reach. “Hey, those were some cool drawings, can I see that?”

Clara held the book tightly to her chest, frowning. “It’s nothing.”

Sigrun cajoled, “Was that Captain Asshole I saw falling through the ice? C’mon, let me see.”

Clara snorted. “Yeah.” That was a good one, she recalled. She flipped open to the page, where she’d drawn Kristján flailing with about twenty-seven arms and legs swinging about to avoid falling into a patch of broken ice. She shyly showed it to Sigrun.

Sigrun guffawed, making Emil look up from his work and Lalli stir in his sleep. “That’s (snort) so awesome! Look at his buggy eyes! (snort) Haaa! (snort) Look at that one, Lalli’s soooo skinny! (snort) Show me more,” she nudged Clara.

Clara couldn’t help grinning along with Sigrun as she showed her other drawings from the book. There were drawings of Sofie cooking, Emil boasting, Lalli peeking out from behind a sapling, trolls, Kristján running away from a troll, a study of the tank next to some trees, more trolls, studies of Sigrun fighting (“Hey, that’s me! Except, my weight should be on my back foot here,” Sigrun pointed out helpfully), horses from Mora, and Clara even started showing Sigrun some of the characters she’d made up herself. (“I like that one with the knife,” Sigrun said, “Fun-looking person.”) As Clara shut the book and hugged it to her chest again, Sigrun said, “You could be a decent cleanser if you wanted to, but I think you’re better at drawing.”

“Whaddya mean, could be a decent cleanser?,” Clara retorted. They both laughed at that one.

Chapter Text

“Do you know there are people not far from here?”

“You mean, people other than our patrol.”

“Funny human.” The wolf sniffed in derision. “Six people, all strange to me. Their scout is a mage, but he hasn’t spoken to me.”

Jón considered this. A Danish reclamation reconnaissance? They wouldn’t have a mage, nor would a Swedish team. At least, not a conscious mage. “Are we likely to intercept them?”

“I cannot tell what their plans are. They are in the large wilding city north of here. They smell like cat and piss-tanned deerhide and mould and Swedish fire.”

Cleansers! So they were Swedes after all, but not a full team, and including a mage. Mould? Interesting. Jón thanked Grim then sat lost in thought. It would be best if these two groups did not become aware of one another, but he was very curious to find out more himself.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The bridge looked stable enough, over what once had been an underpass for cars and was now a murky canal. A tangled web of thick vines blocked their path onto it. Sigrun opened the side hatch with her good arm and said to Clara, "Let's go, plucky duck, grab the hatchets and we'll get us out."

As Clara moved to the cleanser gear lockers to comply, Sofie cautioned Sigrun from the driver's seat, "You're not in any shape to use a hatchet."

Sigrun snorted and said something in rebuttal, but Kristján talked over her, "No, Clara, I will check it out first, but get your pyro gear ready." He pointed at Sigrun. "YOU, stay in the tank."

Sigrun stood over Kristján as he got the hatchet. "It'll take you 'til nightfall to chop through that alone. I can handle a hatchet with one arm."

"NO, final word." Kristján leapt out.

Clara side-eyed Sigrun as she took down the flamethrower. "Bit overkill," Sigrun drawled, then smiled and jerked her head toward the door. Clara gave a slight smile and nod, and followed Kristján out.

Sigrun got a second hatchet from the locker and carefully tucked it into her sling. She stared back a challenge at Emil as his eyes followed her; she went up to the driver's compartment and leaned her good arm over the passenger seat. "Hey, Sofie, you'll be ready to drive on my signal, right?"

Sofie turned around and raised one eyebrow. "And you're going to sit down and buckle in on mine?"

Laughing, Sigrun responded, "Nope," and jumped down out of the tank.

Emil and Sofie looked at each other across the tank. "Norwegians, eh," Emil grinned, but Sofie did not smile back. She turned to look out the windscreen at Sigrun striding up to the vines where Kristján was hacking away. Now she understood Lalli's pantomime this morning must have been an attempt to inform her about this blockage, but it was too late. She studied the map for a possible route out.

Kristján was making slow headway against the biggest vine. Sigrun concentrated on a tangle of smaller vines clustered over the narrow end of that vine, hacking each one apart with one stroke. Kristján growled, "I told you to stay in the tank."

Sigrun did not pause in her hacking. "If I get this tangle down, we can drive right over it here. We don't have to go through the middle, and it's going to take you all day."

Kristján replied through gritted teeth, punctuating each word with a hack from his hatchet, "I. Am. The. Captain. HERE!" With the last hack, the vine twitched as red liquid spurted out. He stepped back, startled.

"Get back!," was all Sigrun got to say before the "vine" recoiled up and over Kristján's head, knocking Sigrun into the water below as it curled away.

Kristján clambered over the last few "vines," some of which were moving slowly, and ran over to the edge of the roadway. Peering into the shadows, he could see Sigrun's sling floating in the water where she'd shrugged it off, and then found Sigrun climbing awkwardly up the wall. She'd managed to find a series of rusty metal handholds. Kristján scanned the moving water to see where the creature had gone, and realised with horror that he was looking at the creature itself, nearly filling the waterway with its bulk. He'd heard about sjødraug, and had been jibing at Emil since they'd come to Denmark that they would find him a sjødraug for a girlfriend, but in truth he had never encountered one personally. His mentor back when he was a raw recruit said they were mostly harmless. Mostly. They were slow, but could make short work of anything that came too close. "Hang on," he called down to Sigrun, "I'll see if I can get something to drop down." She nodded and continued struggling upward, teeth gritted with the effort.

Sofie had seen what had happened out the windscreen and had already rushed toward the scene with a rope. She was in the act of picking up Sigrun's hatchet when Kristján yanked the rope out of her hands and yelled, "What are you doing?! GO! I told you to get ready to drive!" He rushed back to the edge without a backward glance.

Sofie picked up the hatchet carefully, watching another appendage slither over Kristján's hatchet. Nope, that hatchet just has to stay where it is, she decided, and backed up to the tank, keeping an eye on the creature the whole time.

Kristján peered over the edge again, but Sigrun was no longer on the handholds. He could vaguely see that at least one of them had broken off. Wild-eyed he scanned the water again, just as Sigrun's head broke the surface, gasping for breath. He looked around to see what he could secure the rope to, but didn't trust the rusted-out remains of the abandoned cars, which were partially under the remaining vine-appendages anyway. Too risky using those. He looked over the edge again. He thought about jumping in himself, he could get a knife in… no he couldn't, he reminded himself, no telling where the head was on a sjødraug. What he needed was a harpoon. He swore.

In frustration, Kristján picked up a chunk of broken concrete and hurled it at the mass. It heaved over a bit and up, as though swivelling to look at him. He saw a streak of white emerge from underneath part of the sjødraug and break the surface. Distraction! He picked up another chunk and pitched it, then dodged a tendril coming from his flank. He saw his hatchet on the ground close by and he ran over to it, then whacked the tendril with it. He narrowly avoided getting sprayed with the blood. Keeping the hatchet ready and his face to the stray appendages, he hurried back to the edge to check on Sigrun.

The surface of the water was boiling as the sjødraug thrashed. Kristján could see occasional flashes of white and steel as Sigrun was tossed about on the surface, but kept getting knocked or pulled back under. He hoped the spreading red pools of blood were from the sjødraug, but the red sleeve on Sigrun's jacket told a different story. He remembered his mentor's words, "…they will thrash their prey and keep knocking them about in the water until they are tired out." He threw more chunks of concrete and brick, but these had no effect on the giant. Then the boiling stopped.

Kristján climbed onto the edge, and readied the hatchet in one hand and his knife in the other in preparation for jumping in, yelling insults as he tried to distract the sjødraug his way. "HEY YOU, were you the village tramp? Not her, come fight ME, you ugly moron!" He prepared his spring, then saw a flash of white away to his right. Sigrun had broken the surface some meters away and was trying to climb a different set of handholds. Her face was as white as her jacket.

He ran along the edge and chopped an appendage that was on its way over to her, as the sjødraug attempted to turn its bulk. That got its attention! "Yeah, come at me, ugly!," he yelled at it. The sjødraug obliged with a forceful stream of water from within its body ("you don't want to know" he heard his mentor's voice saying) as it whipped spare appendages at Kristján. He dodged and slashed until he saw the white of Sigrun's jacket out of the corner of his eye, heading to safety away from the water. He turned to follow just in time to see her collapse in the face of the advancing fire.

The advancing fire?

It wasn't an illusion, the sunset was lit with spouts of fire. Clara came sprinting around the tank, clutching her flamethrower, and almost fell over Sigrun's prone body. She screamed and managed to turn herself aside from kicking Sigrun, but tripped and fell heavily onto her shoulder. She got up quickly as Kristján ran over, yelling, "There-there's a GIANT! We've gotta get out of here!" She yanked open the side door of the tank and threw the flamethrower inside, then helped Kristján pick up Sigrun's barely conscious body. As they rolled Sigrun onto the floor, Kristján was yelling at Sofie to drive, and Clara was yelling at Emil to help haul Sigrun in.

Sigrun was blue and lying on the floor of the tank, teeth chattering and the sleeve of her jacket red with blood. Emil ripped blankets off the beds to cover her, while Sofie was attempting to get the wet clothes off her. Kristján was shouting at Sofie again, “When I tell you to drive, you drive! What kind of moron are you?!” Sofie didn’t answer, she was busy trying to extract the wounded arm from the clinging sleeve as gently as she could. Sofie gasped when she saw the damage the arm had taken. Not only were her inexpert stitches torn, but there were fresh gashes and the elbow looked askew. Sigrun passed out. Sofie put Sigrun's elbow back into its proper place as gently as she could.

Kristján walked over to Emil's bunk and was peering under it at Lalli, curled up all the way beneath it with his face to the wall. Lalli didn't stir as Kristján reached beneath and poked him, but Sofie could hear him say something grumpily to Kristján in Finnish. Kristján straightened back up and paced around, raving as he stalked around the tank, “Doesn’t anybody in this pile of junk speak Finnish to talk to this imbecile?”

Clara replied dully, “That was Arvind.” Emil had wrapped a blanket around her, and she glowered at the captain through glasses repaired with tape. “Arvind spoke Finnish,” she continued flatly, “And Swedish. And Icelandic.” She got up and crossed the tank to Kristján, her voice rising. “And Arvind was supposed to be the medic. But Arvind wasn’t good enough for you,” the last words coming out as a snarl. Emil clambered over to stand between Clara and the captain, urging her softly to sit down.

“YOU!,” Kristján screamed, “Clara, you IDIOT! Don’t talk to me about not good enough! You’re useless! HE could do a better job as a cleanser than you!” He grabbed Clara's discarded cleanser gear from the floor, then turned Emil around by the shoulder and shoved the flamethrower into the bulky man’s hands. “You’re USELESS with the books, USELESS with a gun, go out there and see if YOU can make that thing OUT THERE calm down!” The skald paled and gaped at Kristján and Clara, chins quivering, and then stared down at the flamethrower. Kristján threw open the door to the tank and pushed Emil outside along with the flamethrower, slamming the door shut behind him. Clara cried out and lunged for the door, but as she yanked it open, all Sofie could see outside were flames.

“EMILLL!!,” Clara screamed. She leapt out after Emil and closed the gap quickly. He was holding the giant at bay with the flamethrower. Exactly how he was managing that feat Clara didn't know, but there he was. She clapped her hand on his shoulder and pulled him back toward the tank, suddenly regretting her decision to be in the giant's vicinity once again. She stepped up into the tank, dragging Emil by the collar, while he continued flaming and shouting defiance. He would have carried on flaming inside the tank had Clara not kicked the gun out of his hands as she dragged him in.

Emil's face was lit with elation and Clara suspected he wasn't even seeing her or hearing Kristján's imprecations. She shook him and he suddenly focused on her, "I got it! I got it!," he kept repeating. The tank gave a lurch as the giant reached it and gave it a push.

Kristján was yelling at Sofie, "DRIVE, NOW! It won't do her any good if we're all dead!"

Sofie had gotten the elbow back in as best as she could and had wrapped Sigrun in blankets. She stood up quickly, prompting Kristján to step back to avoid a collision, pointed down at Sigrun and said, "You keep her warm, wrap her around the heater if you have to," before hurrying into the driver's seat. The tank gave another lurch, and Sofie could see the giant trying to break the windscreen with its many blade-like appendages, even though it had flames and smoking burnt patches checkered over its body. She put the tank into gear, thanked her lucky stars that it started right up, and opened the throttle as far as it would go. The tank moved forward slowly but inexorably, right over part of the giant. Sofie found herself yelling, "Die already, you overgrown piece of," and lapsing into inchoate imprecations.

Behind her Emil was yelling, "Let me at it! I'll fry it extra-crispy!" Clara and Kristján were yelling at each other while holding on as the tank lurched over and away from the flailing giant.

Lalli stayed under Emil's bunk, face turned to the wall, the still-puffed kitten curled against his thighs. He was keeping himself asleep despite the chaos in the tank. In the dream realm, Lalli had encountered the spirit inside the giant, succeeded in wrapping her spirit in a glowing net, and was concentrating on holding her while he chanted his runo to send her onward. She was getting weak enough to cease fighting him, and was dissipating even though Lalli didn't know where her version of 'onward' would be.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Just keep holding my hand,” Reynir cajoled Riika, “You’ll be fine.”

“I know," Riika snapped, "I heard you. I can understand you perfectly here."

Martti gave her an admonishing look before chiming in, "Do we all have to run the same speed?"

Reynir turned to him with a shrug, "I guess we'll see? When I do this with Ilya, we're both already running, so maybe?" Reynir had a twin holding each hand, and he lifted each hand up now and looked expectantly across to Onni.

Onni stood in the stone grotto in his haven, which for the night's experiment had been brought close to Martti's. He stood at the edge, looking across to the flowered hillside meadow in Martti's haven where the trio stood. "Remember, don't go too far away, we just want to see if you can do it."

Martti flexed his hand in Reynir's and looked across to Riika. She'd pulled the hood of her cape down low over her eyes, but Martti knew her enough to read her expression clearly. She was gathering her sisu. He called across to her, "Are you ready?" She nodded tersely, eyes flicking only briefly across to Martti before returning to look out across the water.

Reynir smiled. "We can try it anyway. Here we go, count of three."

Reynir gave the countdown and the three of them stepped down through the meadow and started to jog across the still water away from Martti's dream haven. Martti thought he could hear music, swelling music, and as he looked across to Riika, he saw that her expression was also opened. He found that his steps were getting lighter and easier as he ran. A swelling sense of elation filled him and lifted him up.

Ana sat in Martti's room, in the dark. Riika was crowded next to Martti on the bed, facing toward the wall. Both twins were fully dressed including coats and boots, and armed with their puukkos, just in case. The only sound came from their regular breathing as they slept. Ana was starting to nod off herself, wondering what she should be looking for. She willed herself to stay awake, looking out at the setting moon peeking through the patchy cloud cover, making the snow and the fjord gleam.

She was startled awake by Reynir entering the room. His expression was calm and pleasant but his open eyes were unfocused, and he jingled lightly as he walked, from the series of brass disks festooning his hair and clothing. As he crossed to the bed, Riika and Martti stirred and held out their hands to him. Were her eyes playing tricks on her? Was Riika now wearing her long hooded mage's cape that she normally wore in her haven? It was too dark in the room to tell properly, but Ana knew she wasn't wearing her own haven clothing. The three of them stood for a minute hand in hand, before stepping away from Ana's chair toward the wall. Ana knew her instructions; she was just there to witness, she shouldn't say or do anything to wake them, but she was alarmed that they would walk smack into the wall. Then one more step, and they faded and disappeared from the room. Ana gaped at the spot where they had been standing.

"I can feel the waters of the fjords, where they meet the open sea, ahead of us," Riika called across. Her eyes were sparkling as she ran, and her cape flew out behind her.

"We're not supposed to go out to sea," Reynir smiled back, "we're supposed to try and find Dalsnes."

Martti nodded. "I can feel the land, I can really feel it pretty well from here." He knew he was beaming as much as Riika was, but he was feeling so good, he couldn't help himself. He could sense where the rocks below him dipped into the water, enough to get an idea of the shape of the coastline. He'd studied the map minutely in preparation for his part in tonight's exercise, and he guided his companions back along the complicated convolutions of the Norwegian coastline. Miles passed below with each easy stride of their feet, moonlight stippling the waters every time the clouds broke above them. Martti noticed he wasn't cold, even though they were running through the wintry landscape.

After a few steps Reynir chimed in again, "Do you feel that? Those energy flows? We're getting close to some people again?"

Riika was nodding enthusiastically, but Martti wasn't so sure. The stone below him was very strong and in his efforts to navigate he hadn't been paying as much attention to the surface eddies above the stone. Dalsnes should be somewhere around here, he thought, although doubt was starting to erode his ecstatic mood as he cast his senses around for the earth. But Reynir was now tugging, taking the lead.

"We just have to …sort of …come down, I guess… when we want to stop running," Reynir was calling out, "and I sort of find the best energy."

"This one smells like berries!," Riika called out delightedly.

Reynir was nodding along with her. He held his hands up to bring Riika and Martti in closer and slow them down. "Is this it?," he asked Martti.

"I think so? It's a bit hard to tell," Martti grimaced.

"I want to keep running!," Riika beamed. "I want to feel the sea."

"I know, me too," Reynir said, "trust me, I know! That's how I ended up in Helvetia, though, I just kept running along with Ilya." He slowed to a stop and put down his hands. Martti felt a sudden gust of cold wind.

They were standing on a street in the middle of a town. The houses around them were all dark and the moon was hidden behind cloud. "I forgot to ask Onni what we were supposed to do when we got here," Riika whispered.

"We don't know where we are yet," Martti whispered back, "I've never been to Dalsnes, I think I got the shapes of the earth right but I don't really know."

Reynir stared at her, "Sorry, Riika, Martti." Turning to Martti he said, "I can't understand you again. You're going to have to translate, is that okay?" Martti nodded, but Riika looked unimpressed.

They began to walk slowly down the street. Riika took her hand back from Reynir, and Martti realised he was still holding on as well; he retrieved his hand and put it in his pocket. "I don't feel the person with the berries anymore?," Riika asked plaintively.

"What did she say?," Reynir asked Martti.

"She says she can't feel the person with the berries. How do we know who it is?"

Reynir shrugged. "We don't. Jódís calls them anchors. There are two strong ones back at the base, you'll see when we get back. I can tell them apart even, but I still don't know who they are once I wake up."

Martti whispered the translation to Riika as they walked on. Several cats, including Grade A cats on duty, came to sniff them out, but let them pass by. Most towns would have their night watch on the walls facing outward, not inside.

Martti asked Reynir, "Don't we have to be asleep to get back? Where are we going to go to fall back asleep?"

"I can make myself go to the dream space when I'm awake now," Reynir said with a rueful smile. "I forgot about you. Should I try it holding your hands again?" He held out his hands.

"No, not yet," Martti shoved his gloved hands into his pockets. "I want to find out if we are in Dalsnes first."

"Look, there's a light on over there," Riika pointed, "let's check it out." When he followed her finger, Martti could see there was indeed a light coming from the back of a large building in front of them. "And it's right by the water." Martti pointed at the building and motioned for Reynir to follow them.

Martti knocked lightly on the door. It was opened by a stolid woman in an apron, holding the stock pot she'd been scrubbing. Riika asked her, "Sorry, we have gotten a little lost. Are we in Dalsnes?" The woman blinked, then nodded. She opened her mouth to speak, but Riika quickly interjected, "Oh, thank you very much, we need to move quickly to catch the tide," and hustled the other two away before anyone else could answer. The woman called out after them, "The water is the other way!"

As they moved away to the cover of shadows further down the street, Martti quietly asked Riika in Hungarian, "Since when do you know Norwegian?"

Riika cast her twin an exasperated look. "How long have we lived in Norway? Of course I know Norwegian." She gave a small smile. "Just nobody I feel like talking to. Makes it easier if people think I can't."

Martti opened his mouth to speak and closed it again. He noticed Reynir was politely walking along beside them, trying to be inconspicuous about clearly not understanding them. He kept his face bland as he turned back to Riika. "Do you know Icelandic, too?"

Riika snorted. "Some. Enough." She didn't meet his eyes.

Reynir stopped. "I-I think I can leave from here, I don't think there's anyone to see us." He held out his hands.

Martti looked around to check for any witnesses, put his hand in Reynir's, and gave a frown at Riika when she hesitated before complying. "But, if we're not asleep, what do we do?," he asked.

Reynir gave a small huff and shrug, "I just… I just think like, like I'm dropping down into a hole or something, and picture the dream world." At their doubtful expressions, he sighed, "I don't really know. I just want to go there, and I …do." For the sake of form, Martti translated for Riika, who then looked even more unimpressed.

When they turned back to Reynir, he had the pleasant unfocused look on and the sigil-emblazoned clothing he wore in the dream world. Martti held tight onto Reynir's hand and tried to think of the dream world stars, but Reynir faded from his view and touch. "Oh, just great," Riika groused at the empty space where Reynir had been standing.

Reynir came back into view a few meters away and ran toward them. "M-maybe it doesn't work for you unless you're already in the dream world?" He flopped his hands at his sides.

Martti held out his hand again, "No, let's try it again." Then in Finnish to Riika, who was looking rebellious, "Look, do you want to go ask the kitchen if we can sleep there before we disappear?" She frowned. "Neither do I. Let's try it again." Martti closed his eyes and held out his hand, and felt Reynir take it firmly. He pictured the stars above and imagined feeling the rock of Norway below his feet. "Feel the fjord, Riika," he whispered.

Then he couldn't feel anything below his feet, and Martti opened his eyes. He was in the dream world, but his elation was short-lived when he saw it was just him and Reynir there. Reynir had his eyes closed and looked like he was feeling around for Riika's hand. Martti quickly closed his eyes again and reached out where Riika had been a moment ago in Norway, casting about for the feeling of her. He felt a rush of wind in his face, but it wasn't cold.

Then he found her hand and grasped it firmly. "I've got you," he said.

She gave a little huff as she blinked and looked around. "All right," she turned to a beaming Reynir, "that worked." Turning back to Martti she held up their joined hands and said, "Let's go."

Reynir nodded, and they took his hands and began to run. As before, they felt the elation swelling as they ran, and Reynir said, "I can take us home from here, I know that way pretty well now." Then he cried out, "Ilya!!"

Martti was startled when he felt the wind again, as a blur of red and white shot past them and then whirled around back to them. The blur resolved into a person with long red hair and an amazing smile, who had taken up Riika's free hand and helped pull her along. She looked gobsmacked. "Ilya?," Martti asked.

Reynir couldn’t smile any wider as they ran. "Hey, Ilya, look! I can bring people along, too, now! This is Martti, and this is Riika, they're friends from the cat base."

Ilya laughed, a beautiful musical laugh that lifted Martti's heart. "That's great! Where are we going? Can I show them the palm trees?"

Riika had the elated light in her eyes from the running, Martti could see. "Palm trees! Where?," she laughed, "Let's go!"

Martti was about to protest, but Reynir beat him to it. "Not this time, we were only supposed to go a little way and back," he smiled. Turning to Martti and Riika, he said excitedly, "but we really should go another time. It's warm there all the time, and the trees are really tall with only some big leaves at the top. And the sand and the water feels so nice!" He paused and lost some of the smile. "It's just too bad it's all covered in trolls and I can only go for a minute or two before I have to leave."

Ilya chimed in, "Yes, I forgot that you don't run as fast as I do when you're awake." The long red hair flicked across the pale face as Ilya turned sparkling russet eyes to Martti and Riika. "It's so lovely to meet you. I hope you'll come running again soon! Good-bye!," and the blur was gone again.

Reynir motioned for them to feel the energies around them, "This is it, this is the base." They saw Martti's haven resolve in front of them, with Riika's nearby. Onni's haven was dim and covered with mist.

Riika let go of Reynir's hand when they reached the meadow. "Do you mean to say that Ana and I spent all that time on that runo to call out to Ilya, and we just needed to, I don't know, go running around here? That was too easy?"

Reynir shrugged, "Ilya stays around here more when I'm here, maybe?" He blushed. "Because we, because we, …well." He didn’t finish the sentence. "Let's go tell Onni that we did it, okay?" And he faded from view with an abashed smile on his freckled face.

Riika and Martti gave each other a sidelong look. "That was fun," Riika said, "and I do want to go see the palm trees sometime, and feel the warm water."

Martti smiled at her but did not answer, and she faded from view. He had to agree, that was the most fun he'd had since coming to Aurland. He willed himself to wake, and found himself in his bedroom in the dark.

Riika was sitting on the end of the bed next to Ana's chair, holding something in her hands. As he looked up at her and Ana, they grinned at him, and Ana held out her hand to give him something. "These arrived just before you woke up."

Martti sat up and peered at the object Ana had handed him. It was a small wooden fox, freshly carved from fragrant pine. "I have one, too," Riika said softly and held it up, but Martti couldn't see hers in the dark.

"Thank you, Ilya," Martti called out softly, "it's beautiful."

Chapter Text

"Then do you mind terribly if I get out some herring and bread for the trainees?" The words were polite, but her tone was unmistakably icy. Reynir pushed the hair out of his eyes and watched his sister confront Olaf; he knew the words for 'bread' and 'herring' well enough. Although she was reasonably tall, Jódis was dwarfed by the cook.

"Yes, I do mind terribly, Miss Árnasdottir," Olaf was in one of his towering bad moods and not even bothering to be polite. "And it so happens that not only did your trainees miss breakfast, two of them were rostered for set up and clean up. Fortunately, this one," he jerked his thumb at Julian, who was standing at the sink behind him, "took their shifts, but they can jolly well wait for lunch."

"They were on my orders for night exercises, Olaf," Jódis said evenly, "and I insist that they have something to eat. Now, please excuse me." Without waiting for his answer, she walked around the fuming Olaf and proceeded into the kitchen. Olaf scowled at Reynir, and at Martti, Riika and Ana, who were standing with him. Jódis called out from inside the kitchen for Reynir to please come help her.

Reynir pushed his hair out his eyes again, then dipped his head abashedly as he skittered past Olaf. Whoa, I need to trim my fringe, he thought to himself as he had to push the hair out of his eyes once again, it's just not getting long enough to go into the braid fast enough. Jódis was looking in the wrong cupboard for the items she needed, so Reynir held his hair out of his eyes as he crossed the kitchen. He suddenly realised it wasn't his imagination, he could feel the hair twisting around his fingers and pulling down, and when he tried to pull it back up again, found his hand bound up in the hair and moving inexorably to cover his eyes.

"Reynir, what are you doing, stop fooling around," Jódis scolded in Icelandic.

Reynir's left hand was now firmly covering his eyes, bound there in a webbing of his hair. He crashed his hip painfully into one of the tables, knocking over a bottle of oil. One of the kitchen staff called out in alarm as the spilled oil gushed over the side of the table and onto the floor. The blinded Reynir duly stepped in the puddle and his foot slipped, sending the hapless man crashing to the floor, long limbs flailing. The kitchen staff rushed over to help him up. He apologised profusely and thanked the helpers, but flinched as he turned to help Jódis again, pain shooting through his hip and back.

Olaf was yelling at him, which was not an entirely new experience. He certainly had enough experience in this kitchen to know the word 'clumsy' in Norwegian, and some others of the more colourful words that were also liberally sprinkled around Olaf's diatribe. For a man of few words, old Olaf could unleash quite a few when angered. All Reynir could say in response was, "Owwoww oww ow." Then he stared in bewilderment at his left hand, which he was using to prop himself up on the table; at some point it had been released from its hairy binding. The prankster! Here, in the kitchen! He glared around at the kitchen staff, and at Ana, Martti and Riika, who had clustered by the door to see what the commotion was.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sigrun's fever raged, and she had only gained consciousness for fleeting moments. Emil and Sofie had been reading what they could in the book Lalli had taken from the medical centre, but it didn't make much sense to them. Neither one of them had any idea what 'epidemiology' or 'etiology' could be, and all of the notes around the margins were sprinkled with words they also didn't understand.

"It says here that they were looking for a 'transmission vector' through the air," Emil pointed out to Sofie, "were they, somehow, trying to maybe…broadcast a cure with the gramophones?" There was a team in the Academy for Historical Artefacts that was specialising in Rash information right around the Year 0, but he wasn't on that team, and those skalds tended to look down on the skalds from the entertainment team, where Emil had been employed. His puzzled expression changed to one of horror, "or maybe that the Rash went broadcast out with the gramophones?"

Sofie thought about that for a second, then shook her head. "No, they wouldn't let the gramophones stay inside the safe zones of Mora if it was." She pulled out one of the photos stuffed into the book, of an unfortunate woman named Hilde Rasmussen. "It looks like they were looking at the Rash as a sort of cancer." She tucked Hilde's photo back into the book, "a really fast-moving cancer." She sighed. "Sigrun doesn't have the Rash, there's something else going on." She didn't add, 'and I have no stinking idea what to do about it other than stick wet cloths on her forehead.' There were vials of pills and liquids in the medical kit, but she didn't want to mess with those when she had no idea what most of them were.

As she wet another cloth for Sigrun, Sofie glanced across to where Lalli was curled in a corner, rubbing his temples. He obviously wasn't a robust person despite his ability to run all night, but she had no idea what 'healthy' was for him. "Emil, you've been trying to teach him some Swedish," she said nonchalantly without looking at Lalli, "have you taught him any words for body parts yet?"

Emil cocked his head to one side and smiled, "Oh yes, we've gone over hand, foot, arm, leg, stuff like that."

"How about 'pain' or 'hurt' or 'wounded'?"

"Sort of." Emil remembered trying at one point, but Lalli had mistaken Emil's pantomime of pain in his hand for Emil being hurt himself, and went to find Sofie for him. Emil's eyes widened as he looked at Lalli in alarm. "Do you think he's hurt too?" Lalli looked back at Emil blankly, then with increasing alarm as he surmised they were talking about him.

Sofie put the cool cloth on Sigrun's forehead and turned to Lalli. With her calmest voice she asked, "Lalli, your head," she imitated his gesture of fingers on temples, "Head. Does your," she pointed at him,"…head," she pointed at her forehead,"…hurt? Owowow!" She laid her fingers on her temples and pantomimed pain, then pointed at him and shrugged like she was asking a question.

Lalli stared at her a moment, then looked down at his lap. He gave the briefest nod, then looked back up at her, then at Emil, then down at his lap again. He shrugged. "Okay," he said. After a moment, he creased his brow and looked up at Sofie again. "No danger." He looked abstracted for a moment, then pointed at Sigrun. "Danger," he said flatly.

Sofie nodded as she followed his gesture. "Yes, danger." Fair enough, too.

"Tank." Lalli gestured with both arms as though he was sweeping something away.

Sofie was puzzled and looked at Lalli quizzically, until Emil said excitedly, "Oh, I know! I taught him 'tank,' as a word for our base." He rolled his chair across to Lalli's corner. "Lalli," he said, "'tank' is our base." Lalli looked at him blankly. Emil tried again. "Lalli, do you want the …tank… to move?" He imitated Lalli's sweeping gesture.

Lalli looked at the two of them for a moment, before unfolding himself and moving in his stealthy manner to the driver's area, and returning with the map. He pointed at the map, "Tank."

Sofie looked at Lalli's long finger pointing at Øresund base. "Sigrun…to Øresund?" She pointed at the map, then looked at Sigrun.

Lalli looked at Sigrun, then at Emil then back at Sofie. Sofie nodded at him. "I think we agree," she said quietly. She laid out the map on Emil's desk and motioned Lalli over. Emil rolled back over and peered at the map around Lalli's arm, leaning on his desk. Sofie pointed out the red line tracking their route to date, leading to the bridge where they'd run into the sjødraug, "No," she said, pantomiming drawing an X over the red line with her finger. Then she drew a straight line with her finger from the tank back to Øresund. "How?," she looked up at Lalli.

Lalli pursed his lips for a moment as he studied the map, then gave a small nod. He pointed to his accustomed sleeping place under Emil's bunk and pantomimed going to sleep. Sofie nodded; she understood.

"Tonight," Emil chimed in as he beamed up at Lalli, "Legs tonight." Lalli and Sofie looked at him. "You know," Emil said, poking Lalli in the thigh, "legs." He mimed pumping his fists and breathing hard as though he was running.

Lalli looked at Emil with a deadpan expression for a moment, before poking Emil's plump thigh. "Legs, and porridge."

"Oh, hey, Lalli, now that's just plain mean. I'll have you know I've lost some weight since coming on this mission," Emil crossed his arms on his chest and made an exaggerated moue at Lalli. Lalli gave a wry and puzzled smile; of course he hadn't understood the rapid-fire Swedish, but gave them a small wave and left for the bunk room.

Sofie pushed her hair behind her ears and looked down at the map, pulling distractedly on her lower lip as she made some mental calculations. Emil leaned in close and asked in a low voice, "What about Kristján?" Kristján and Clara were out pillaging the day's site. Emil had asked to go along, and held up the mission camera, but Kristján had made a crack at his uselessness yet again and slammed the door in his face.

Sofie grunted, then looked sidelong at Emil. "Oh, he's a reasonable man, I'm sure he will value the safety and welfare of his crew." She slid her eyes back to the map, then back to Emil, before cracking a small smile at his incredulous expression. "No," she said more seriously, "I don't know. Lalli's right, we need to get her real medical attention, and soon. But you remember, the bridge is not going to get us back, so I don't know."

Emil was nodding as he poked his own thigh with his pencil. "Should I notify headquarters on the radio right now?" Emil looked hopefully at Sofie.

Sofie pulled on her lower lip, "I shouldn't have to go around Kristján. But, no matter what he says, we have to get Sigrun back. There's no help for it. I wish I could go right now, but I have to wait for Lalli's report on a safe route." Emil was still looking at her and reaching theatrically for the radio headset. Sigrun was murmuring in her fever. Lalli was trying to settle himself under the bunk.

Now that she thought about it, Lalli had been acting like someone concussed, pretty much this whole trip. She remembered when her father had taken a fall in the barn last year and hit his head; he'd been given bed rest for a few weeks by the doctor. He still had headaches, even though he didn't like to admit it. She remembered the explosion at the community centre, and Lalli landing heavily on the ground after being shot through the upper-storey window. She could smack herself, of course he was injured, she should have been paying more attention!

Sofie made up her mind. "Right. Go ahead and call Øresund base first, let them know we're coming back, so they can send a boat over. Tell them it might take us a few days to get back to Kastrup." The blond skald gave Sofie a crisp salute and reached over for the headset. "Thanks, Emil." Now, how was she going to get Kristján on side?

Chapter Text

Renate's finger traced little circles on the polished wood of the table. The dream haven kitchen was softly-lit and always immaculate, and Renate could relax her guard here as she could nowhere else. "I don't know why they think I have anything to do with Reynir's disappearance," she said glumly, "and it scares me that they keep asking me. The lords and ladies were so snide while he was here, but now that he's gone it's all 'our honoured foreign visitor.' I'm just glad he never understood what they were saying." The sleek black cat gave her hand a head-butt and Renate scritched behind her ear. "And nobody misses him more than I do," she whispered. She raised her eyes to Ilya. "I'm glad to know he's okay, though, even though Norway is so far away." Holding Ilya's eyes, she ran a nervous hand over the crown of blonde plaits adorning her head. "Saba, does he…. does he mention me?"

Ilya lied. "Oh yes, yes he has," then rethinking the message, added, "he wonders how you are." It was hard work just sitting, and Ilya fidgeted.

Renate saw through the lie, but appreciated it anyway. She sighed as she examined her nails, which were always perfect here in the dream realm, "I'm glad you get to see him, anyway."

"Maybe you could come with me," Ilya cajoled, "maybe before your day off, so nobody bothers you if you sleep through the day?"

Renate gave Ilya a doubtful look. Shaking her head, she said, "No. They'll know it's not natural. I can't risk it, even ….just to see Reynir again." She didn't notice Ilya's fidgeting stop for a moment, then renew in its urgency. She stroked the cat and peered into her contented face. "Tell me again. You said Reynir said his spirit dog is a gift from his gods, which live in the north. But what about my cat here? Does my God give the same gift? Or am I also chosen by his gods for some reason?"

Ilya was thankful for the change in subject. As much as the relationship with Reynir made Ilya's heart sing, it was too new, and too hurtful to Renate to share with her, yet. "I don't know," Ilya shrugged, "I don't think much about gods. I certainly don't see any when I'm running."

"But everything around you…you see so much," Renate sputtered and gestured widely with her hands, "how can you not know it was created by someone higher than us?"

"Well, I do see trolls and beasts all the time, is that higher than us? They have such pain, and they shout at me as I run past." Renate's blue eyes were red-rimmed and staring now, and Ilya hesitated, abashed, then concluded lamely, "Maybe it's both. Maybe there's more than one, like in Reynir's world, and some of them give the bad parts. And," a cajoling grin that went flat because Renate didn't raise her eyes, "others get to give gifts to the pretty mortals."

Renate snorted softly, folded her hands on the table again and stared down at them for a long while. Ilya couldn't bear sitting any longer and got up, pacing around the cozy kitchen, picking up the random items on its shelves. Many of these were wooden items, made by Ilya and gifted over the years. A certain stone caught Ilya's attention, and was picked up and stroked. This, this stone came from the lake shore so long ago, when they were children, before they ran away to Helvetia. Ilya had given it to Renate because it 'looked like the Earth's grandmother,' but now it was here in her safe place. Were all these gifts in the real world kitchen somewhere as well? Ilya mused.

Renate's voice came softly, dully, spoken as though to her hands. "…and they accept people like us there." Ilya looked back at her. She was picking distractedly at the elaborate embroidery on the sleeve of her berry-red gown. "Saba, do you…. do you think I should go there? Where Reynir lives?" Ilya was thrown into momentary conflict and said nothing. Renate put her head in her hands. "I would so miss Heike. But, if there truly are other witches like me there, do I really belong there instead of here? It's so far away!," she wailed.

"You know I'll take you anywhere you want to go," Ilya said softly, crossing over to the table and encasing Renate in a hug. She was stiff with tension and kept her hands covering her head. "Anywhere, always," Ilya crooned.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sofie stared out the window stolidly as she drove along the pitted excuse for a road back toward Kastrup. Her eyes were itching maddeningly from the kitten's dander, even though it wasn't up in the driver's area with her. The freezing rain was pelting down outside the tank, and scorching epithets were pelting down on them all within, as Kristján kept up a steady barrage.

Emil sat on his bunk, keeping very still but following Kristján around the room with his eyes. He had squeezed himself into Tuuri's uniform for the first time in weeks to send a message. It still did not come close to fitting, but now he could just zip the bottom of the jacket. It was even more cruelly tight on his arms than before, and his shoulders were always broader than hers. Her pants were still laughably short on him, but there was actually some room around the hips and thighs now. He said nothing in response to Kristján's taunts and insults, but his eyes had new steel in them as he glared in return.

Emil had been the one to stand up to Kristján at breakfast this morning, to tell him that he had radioed back to Øresund base, and they were going to send a medical team to evacuate Sigrun and the crew. Sofie was already driving by that time, and Kristján heard her out while she explained the extent of Sigrun's injuries, but he had been berating the two of them since.

Lalli sat in the corner at the head of Emil's bunk, knees drawn up to his chest. He hadn't taken his decontamination bath when he ran back to the tank that morning, and still had his uniform on as well. He had shown Sofie the best route and then had pointedly put away the bathing tub, pointing down the road imperiously instead. She took his point immediately and they were away while most of the crew was still eating breakfast inside. Lalli was sure she must be at least part Finnish, she had shedloads of sisu. He watched Kristján warily, watched him pace and snarl and roar disgracefully, like a caged beast. Emil was bearing the verbal assault well, Lalli noted with grim pleasure, he was getting some sisu as well. But caged beasts were capable of anything, and Lalli kept a hand surreptitiously on his puukko, and pinched himself every time he was starting to doze off.

Clara sat on the next bunk, chewing on the inside of her cheek. Her nose was irritated from the tape holding her broken glasses together. Emil had taken to spending spare moments like this earnestly pumping Clara for information about cleansing and using the incendiaries. He hadn't been given another opportunity to try out any of the equipment since the harrowing encounter with the sjødraug a few days back, but his half-joking comments about joining the Cleansers himself when they got back to Sweden had become earnest. But now he was just sitting there, not talking, only staring challengingly at Kristján. At least when he was quizzing her, she could tune out Kristján's ranting. Going out on scavenging sorties with Kristján wasn't so bad, as he tended to keep noise to a bare minimum while out. As soon as he was back inside the tank, though, he would let rip with invective as he was now.

Clara kept an eye on Sigrun, now lying on a lower-level bunk. She was sedated but awake, her eyes glittering as they roamed around the room randomly. The kitten was curled on the bunk with her and occasionally Sigrun focused long enough to feebly pet her. She was both extremely pale and feverishly blotchy, with a swollen bruise livid on the side of her face. It was obvious she needed serious medical attention, Clara couldn't figure why Kristján would rail against that for even a heartbeat. Sigrun had been keeping Kristján somewhat in check throughout the mission, adding her ripostes to his ranting. Sometimes she shut him down by telling seemingly random folksy stories from her career as a troll hunter, other times she goaded him by giving detailed forensic breakdowns of the day's mission and its successes. She would even defend successes in the midst of being patched up by Sofie, having taken the brunt of the failure of the day. Kristján would never attack Sigrun as he attacked everybody else, Clara suddenly realised, even when it was Sigrun who had made obvious errors of judgement. The implications of that sudden realisation struck Clara, and she watched Kristján pace. She noticed that even though he was berating Emil at the moment, his eyes kept lighting upon Sigrun. Maybe he was more worried about Sigrun than he was letting on. Clara was not comforted by the thought.

"Bridge out. You should probably sit down, Kristján," Sofie piped up from the driver's seat. As he turned to direct his vitriol at her, she drove the tank down a steep bank and forded a small stream, then drove up the opposite bank before picking up the road again. As a dazed Kristján picked himself off the floor, he could hear her dry drawl, "but it's up to you, I know I can't tell you what to do." He stopped pacing after that.

After that, there was just the grinding of the tank as they drove on. After a few hours, Sofie had long since stopped hearing anything other than the sound of the engine getting worse and her own thoughts chanting, willing the engine to hold on, hold on, get them to Kastrup. In the absence of the tools, she'd been attempting repairs over the last weeks using cooking implements and tools fashioned by bashing spent cleanser ordinance with a rock. Field repairs on the farm tractor had only gained her so much knowledge, and combined with the lack of tools, the tank was falling further into disrepair. Now, the handling of the steering was requiring muscling to keep it from veering to the left, and her shoulders were cramping.

They had just trundled past the ruins of a village as twilight fell. They were still a few kilometres from the spot Lalli had pointed out as a possible place to stop for the night if they couldn't get all the way to Kastrup. Sofie's chants fell on deaf ears as the engine gave an impotent whirr and fell silent. The tank coasted for a meter or two before coming to a halt. Sofie cursed under her breath. After she vaulted out of the tank and raised the engine cover, Kristján cursed much more loudly.

There was no help for it, they would have to stay here. Clara and Kristján rolled out the perimeter tripwire as darkness fell. Emil roused Lalli, who had fallen asleep awkwardly on the bunk. Lalli stumbled up to the driver's area and looked out the windscreen of the tank above the raised engine cover, then rushed to open the side door and looked out at their position. "Ei, ei, ei…," he muttered and looked back at Emil with widened eyes. The kitten rose up from Sigrun's side, puffed out and hissed.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The conversation on the radio was relatively short. Mosi Árnason had taken Emil's call from the expedition that had gone into the Silent World, seeking medical assistance and an emergency evacuation of its personnel. After he logged the call with the base command to set the evacuation in motion, he called the expedition HQ in Mora to inform them of their team's peril. He cut that conversation short, as he really did not want to tabulate the cost of a rescue for Torbjörn, and pretended that the line was getting troll interference when General Andersen took the microphone and demanded to speak with Admiral Olsen.

Then he called his sister. "Jódis, I know you were on the lookout for a real-world test for your team. I think they may be needed here."

Chapter Text

“I have a mission for your team,” Jódis spoke briskly, “I need them to assemble as soon as possible. This will be for superpowered personnel, plus Tuuri.” Onni stood in Jódis’ office.

“Tuuri? She is not even a mage, and has not had any training with us?”

“She is needed as driver and technical support. Her skills are needed, but it will be mostly the other personnel assisting in a rescue operation.”

“A rescue? Yes, go on,” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Briefly, an international expedition team of six crew need to be evacuated from their position. One of them needs urgent medical attention. The Danish authorities have a bridge to reach them, but it is not in good condition, and they would like speed. Martti and Riika are suited to assist with the bridge as can Tuuri, Tuuri and Reynir can provide speed and agility to reach them, Ellina can assist with translation.”

Onni nodded, “And I can fly to look out.”

“No. While your presence would be useful, you don’t have medical clearance for active duty yet. Onni-“ she put up a hand to stop his interruption, “No.”

Onni furrowed his brow as he searched for the Icelandic words. “Ellina? She’s not ready to work with the team. She’s too immature for a mission yet. And I could just fly for lookout, I wouldn’t have to carry anything.”

“She’s certainly old enough, and this mission is not too challenging. And- No. Please gather your team; have them dress for wet outside work. Riika or Martti can be team leader in your absence.”

Onni’s face set in grim lines. He turned to go then paused. He asked, “Danish authorities? Is this an island off Bornholm?”

Jódis paused a moment before answering, “They will rendezvous at Kastrup.”

“Kastrup?” Onni’s eyes widened. “Like... the Battle of Kastrup? That’s in…in Denmark.”

“Correct.” Jódis braced herself. Onni wasn’t in owl form, but still gave the impression of ruffling the feathers on his shoulders.

He closed the gap to Jódis’ desk in two strides. “But – all are non-immune. Only non-immune have powers. You run... you go to the Silent World, you can’t go not immune to the Silent World.” Onni lost some of his grip on Icelandic and gestured wildly in his agitation.

“I am aware of your immune status, Onni,” Jódis said calmly, “and that of your team. It is not meant to be a combat situation, but I am aware of the risks. I will be assigning an immune guard to accompany them.”

“Two. Three. My sister is there,” Onni glared defiantly at Jódis. She returned his gaze steadily.

“Please assemble the team, Onni. I will organise the supplies they will need, and a security guard. Time is crucial, they should leave within the next hour.” With that, she strode purposefully from the office, pausing only to open the door to usher Onni out.

Onni crossed the compound to obey Jódis’ command and get the people together. As he stomped through the snow, he was trying to stifle his panic at the thought of sending his friends to the Silent World, and he especially didn’t like the idea of Tuuri being sent off the base again. He hadn’t quite gotten over the shock of her escapade in Mora. What if she took off again? On the other hand, she was technically the best-suited for the mission; maybe if she just piloted her vessel, that would be all right. They’d be in and out before Tuuri could be in any danger. It was just a rescue. Onni chanted that to himself until he almost believed it, and knocked on Martti’s door.

Jódis went through the kitchen on her way out to get some provisions organised, then headed to the trollhunters’ office. She was also mulling over Tuuri's sojourn in Mora, but wondered how Tuuri would react to rescuing the expedition she was supposed to have joined. Onni didn’t seem to connect the dots, had Tuuri never told him? Interesting.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The team was assembled in the dining hall. Only Gwenno looked comfortable and eager to ship out, outside in the snow twirling her battle-staff as an agility exercise. The rest were shifting restlessly in their storm jackets.

Riika was double-checking the armaments and ammunition supply, anxious to get underway. The longer they stayed here, the later it would be when they got there, probably even nighttime, going by Tuuri's recollection of how long it had taken her to get to Mora. Riika and Martti had lived on Bornholm for a while, maybe they might see some people they knew at the base. There were certainly some people she wouldn't mind seeing again, but also some she'd much rather not. She stopped fidgeting as she suddenly became transfixed by the memory of one person in particular. No, no, this was a rescue mission, not a social mission, there was zero chance of seeing any of those people. She put them out of her mind as she formulated an action plan in her head instead.

Reynir had no idea what he was supposed to do on this mission. All he knew how to do was herd sheep. Also, peel potatoes and wash dishes. Also, run in his sleep. He was here solely because he could run very fast in his sleep. They weren't likely to need to do any of those things on this mission. Was he maybe supposed to try running some of these people out of there? He looked down at his feet, clad for the mission in thick oiled boots instead of his favourite wooden clogs. No running in these, but they were better for protection in wet conditions. They'd only just established that it was possible for him to run bodily through the dreamworld with other mages, but hadn't tried it with non-mages. Would he know where to take them? Could he do it at all if they were awake? What if- he gulped- what if they were attacked by trolls in the Silent World? Nobody would be sleeping. Oh, maybe the injured person they were supposed to rescue, but he doubted they would be up for a run. Suddenly he wished he knew more about galdrastafir, and how useful they might be in healing the person.

Ellina was hovering in the vicinity of the provisions box, which was to be her responsibility during the journey in Tuuri's vessel. She pushed her light brown hair repeatedly behind her ears in her agitation, and tried to muster her sisu and a nonchalant pose. It was true she didn't want to be treated like a child, but being sent to the Silent World on a mission was not what she had in mind. Ana had already lost the argument of whether Ellina should not be included, and she was now arguing with Onni about not being allowed to accompany Ellina herself.

Martti looked over the maps as they waited. He traced the slim line of the Øresund Bridge with his finger; they were hoping that he and Riika could repair that? He knew Bornholm well, and had studied maps of the Danish mainland while there, but they were two-dimensional paper, just a concept. Those places on the map didn't really exist anymore after 90 years, and what was there now? The memory of the Kastrup invasion was still too raw while they were there, and all he had was a rumour of an unnamed horror. All of those soldiers killed and wounded – and they were all immune. They had the winter and the snowfall on their side for this mission, which was some comfort. He supposed he could throw stones or maybe open chasms under any trolls, but hoped they didn't have to deal with any. What if he let a rock scratch him, or one of the others, with a troll around?

Tuuri came back inside, stomping snow off her boots in the entryway. "The boat's all ready, are we ready to go yet?" Onni rushed over to her, fussing over her and reminding her again to be careful and to stay in the boat. She was as anxious as Riika to get underway, and Onni's fussing was making it worse. She had intended to explain to Onni about Lalli, she really had, but there never seemed to be a good time, and she was still guilty about causing him to stress out enough to lose his luonto. It was bad enough that Lalli had gone on this expedition expecting her to be there, now she had to go rescue him from Kristján. Yes Onni, yes Onni, her mouth was saying, but her mind was far away, showing Kristján how competent she could be. She might even impress Lalli for once!

Jódis greeted Julian, who elbowed his way through the group and laid a box on the table. “I’ve been working on a new design of mask. My tests show superior filtering of pathogens and other airborne impurities, combined with better comfort and breathability in strenuous conditions.” He looked expectantly around the group, but was met with blank stares. "Ah, some of you don't understand Swedish." Ellina glared at him as she raised her hand. Julian inclined his head in acknowledgement. “They work better than the old ones,” he said condescendingly as he started passing them out.

Reynir looked closely at his mask. Instead of a solid plate covering the nose and mouth, there was just some soft lightweight strapping with a tightly-woven mesh of fine filaments. He wasn’t the only one looking askance; everybody else was holding theirs quite gingerly. Riika was the one to ask the question out loud, “Isn’t this too flimsy? This can’t block out the Rash, can it?”

“Absolutely. It’s all in the construction. I’ve developed a special weave of formulated superfine filaments with a disinfectant materials and coating, it's my own design.”

“EEEeeee, that is soooo awesome!,” Tuuri enthused as she held hers up to the light. “It’s like spider webbing, or really fine hair!”

A special weave. Of superfine ...like hair. Reynir looked back down at his mask, then back up at Julian, who was looking inordinately pleased with himself. His face coloured as the realisation hit him. “I hope you made one for yourself, since you’re coming with us,” he said angrily. Everyone stared at Reynir in puzzlement, but he continued, “all superpowered personnel are coming on this mission. That includes you.” Julian’s mouth moved wordlessly as he stared at Reynir. Everyone else was looking from Reynir to Julian and back again. “You’ve been pranking me, weaving my hair for a joke all these months. Months,” Reynir fairly spat the word, “I’ve been trying to figure this out. It had to be a mage with a power, to get past locked doors and all.”

“Interesting,” Jódis said from the back of the group. “Reynir’s correct, that would make you a mage, Julian.”

Julian finally found his voice. “No. No! I’m Swedish. I can’t be a mage. That’s nonsense!” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he glared back at Reynir, “Listen Reynir, I’m sorry, I meant it as a joke, and-and it’s a talent, true, but it’s not a superpower. It’s just manipulating the electrical charge around the strands, like static cling. It’s science, not magic.” He looked around at the others before muttering, “It was just a joke.”

“It was a matter of time before you were found out, Julian,” Jódis said smoothly. “Fine, now that it's out there, it would make sense to send you as well. Suit up, Julian.” She turned on her heel and left before Julian could formulate a reply.

“He could take my place,” Ellina grumbled sullenly.

“Are you kidding me?,” Riika laughed, “We would never have heard that exchange if you weren’t here.” She turned to Julian. “You heard the Boss Lady,” she smiled, “great to have you aboard.”

“I heard that, Riika,” Jódis’ voice came from the doorway.

Martti asked gently, “Julian, are you sure these masks will be effective?”

Julian’s mouth shut with an audible snap, and he pushed his glasses up his nose as he nodded. “Yes, of course they will be effective.” He looked distractedly at the mask in his hand, then looked up again. “But I don’t know why I have to go. I’m not a mage.”

“Whatever,” Reynir growled, and pointed defiantly at Julian’s ever-present coffee mug. “Never, never touch my hair again, or I’ll replace that disgusting coffee with ... with cat droppings!”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Clara came up to the front of the tank as the darkness took hold. She touched Sofie gently on the shoulder as she bent over the engine, but Sofie was startled and glared, before seeing Clara's contrite face and the outstretched flat bread in her hand. Clara ignored Sofie's frustrated tears as she held out the bread, saying, "I found some of this left over from the other day. It's a little stale, but now I'm glad you made heaps." Sofie grimaced and took the bread, and grimaced some more as she took a bite and started chewing. Clara put her hands in her pockets. "Sofie," she said softly, "I just want to say thank you."

Sofie looked back at her, cheek still full of dry bread and eyes red with strain and tears, but could see Clara wasn't making fun of her. She choked down the bread and straightened up to stare morosely into the engine compartment, even though it was too dark to see. "What for?," she muttered, "it's a mess, isn't it?"

"Yeah." The two of them stared into the engine. "Lalli is inside praying, out loud. I think he's pretty freaked out," Clara finally said. "I don't blame him."

"Kristján isn't yelling at him?," Sofie raised one eyebrow.

"Kristján's gone out with Emil to torch the village."

The two of them stared into the engine for a while longer. Sofie ate another piece of the bread. She finally shook her head and sighed, "No shit."

"Yeah," Clara agreed.

Chapter Text

Tuuri relaxed a little as she piloted the vessel into open water, no longer needing to navigate the pathway along and between the fjords. The boat could operate over land, but it was far faster and more efficient on water. Julian had been sitting in the chair beside Tuuri, watching the controls and puzzling out what he could of the boat's operation. The normally chatty Tuuri had been monosyllabic while she was occupied with piloting, and it only took one close brush beside a rocky cliff face for Julian to realise his questions could wait.

As Tuuri stretched now, loosening the tension in her shoulders, Julian opened his mouth to speak before being interrupted by a timorous voice from the floor of the cabin. "Aren't we vulnerable to sea-beasts here?" Ellina sounded much younger without her veneer of haughty sarcasm, and her brown eyes loomed large from over her mask. Gwenno snorted, but Tuuri nodded before answering.

"I haven't come across any that could outrun me," she assured Ellina, "but I did come across one that was big enough to make me go around it. That was a few months ago, when I went to Mora."

"Right," Riika piped up, "Jódis mentioned that you might know something about this expedition, from Mora, but she didn't say what." Tuuri looked nonplussed, opened her mouth and closed it again, before turning back to the instrument panel.

Reynir looked puzzled. "Mora? I thought you were in Keuruu, in the storms?"

Tuuri winced, but Ellina said, "No, she brought us back the most beautiful cupcake I've ever seen, from Mora. It was so yummy."

"What?" Gwenno laughed. "You had cupcakes and didn't give me any!"

Tuuri sighed, "The cupcakes were a surprise for Onni. I didn't know then about his luonto." She held up her hands and turned to face the crew arrayed on the seats and floor of the pilot's cabin. "I need to tell you," she bit her lip, "I was supposed to be on the expedition we're going to rescue. I… I pulled out at the last minute."

"You wanted to go to the Silent World?," Ellina's sneer was back in full force, "Are you crazy? Or, did you suddenly regain your senses."

"I…," Tuuri looked searchingly at Ellina before clasping her hands in front of her chest. "Well, yes, I did want to go." She looked at Julian. "I wanted to see their machines and the cities." She looked at Martti. "I wanted to see the libraries and the books." She looked at Reynir. "I-I wanted to go explore, without Onni telling me No all the time."

Riika drawled, "But you didn't go, and now we're all going." She stood up. "So, what do you know about them?"

Tuuri checked her readouts and set her navigation system to automatic while gathering her thoughts. "The organisers were a couple from Mora, Torbjörn and Siv Västerström. They also had General Trond Andersen from Norway helping them, and …my cousin Taru Hollola. She used to work in the military. I guess, I never saw her much growing up, and she looked kind of surprised to see me in Norway."

"They have a cleanser along, Clara Bergström. She seemed pretty good, but Siv mentioned that she got kind of a raw deal in the Cleanser Corps or something, her file was kind of vague." She remembered now – just some unit listings, and dates. Clara's thin file showed her as still assigned to the Southern Mora railroad unit, as a matter of fact.

"The captain of the expedition is Kristján Rúnarson, from Iceland." Kristján. Tuuri felt her shame afresh, being duped by his smile and flattery. She continued, "He-he was in the military, and had been assigned to units in Iceland, Norway, and Sweden." She remembered his reasonably thick file. In fact, it was the thickest file, with information from several units, but Tuuri recalled that she'd spent an inordinate amount of time looking at the photograph of Kristján, and not so much time looking through all the official paperwork. Come to think of it, there were an awful lot of the short letters that curtly recorded his discharge from various units. She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity.

"I don't know the woman who was hurt, she was coming on at Øresund, but I read her file. She is an experienced troll hunter from Dalsnes – Captain Sigrun Eide."

"Sigrun Eide!" Gwenno looked shocked. "THE Sigrun Eide? Something managed to hurt her badly enough to warrant rescue? Wow." She shook her head in wonder. "They say she killed a troll with her teeth once."

"They were going to have a doctor as a skald on the expedition, but he didn't go either. The uhhh... the uhh… captain insulted him and he quit. I don't know who they got as the skald after he left, because… because I left too." Tuuri gulped. "I was supposed to be the driver and mechanic." She fell silent, remembering the pounding in her ears as she folded her uniform onto the bed before leaving.

"So why did you leave?," Martti asked quietly. "After all that?"

Tuuri opened her mouth and closed it again. She told herself, you can't just say 'because the captain was being mean and he didn't think I was special after all.' "I-… I got a better job offer," she stammered, "I went to work at a radio station instead."

Martti and Riika were both looking at her searchingly, but mercifully, neither said anything. Riika finally said, "that makes five, and there are supposed to be six of them to rescue."

Tuuri sighed. Lalli. "There were supposed to be seven, but they decided not to take the Danish scout. Taru was bringing a scout from Finland." She wrung her hands. "I-I think, but I don't know for sure, I think she brought over my cousin Lalli. He-he is a scout from Keuruu, and a mage too, like Onni." Did he only go because he thought I would be there?

"Is he, superpowered too?," Reynir asked.

"No, he's immune," Tuuri said, "they were all immune, except for me. Well, I think so anyway, I don't know who they got in the end for a skald or a driver. It was right at the end."

"And maybe no healer," Riika nodded. She exchanged a long look with Martti.

"I hope we can get to her on time. Reynir, do you think you can go ahead of us, and tell Lalli that's we're on our way?," Tuuri asked.

Reynir looked up at Tuuri doubtfully. "How would I find him?" Without Ilya or even Martti to guide him to someplace he'd never been?

Tuuri shrugged. "If you don't find him right away, you can still come back and find us, anyway. Right, Riika?"

Riika was remembering the wild sensation of running with Reynir. They had gone to another part of Norway in an eyeblink. "Martti, can you please go over the map with him, so he knows where he's headed."

"He's going to be the only mage in that part of Denmark," Tuuri continued glibly as Martti brought the map over to a wide-eyed Reynir. "Any of you can see spirits, even if I can't."

Julian muttered, "I'm not even supposed to be here today."

÷÷÷÷÷÷

It never ceased to amaze Lalli that not everyone could detect spirits. The Swedish cleanser, Clara, just sat there while the weird ghost spirits clamoured all around the area. The useless cat was even all puffed, surely everybody knew what that meant? Sigrun was looking at the cat and looking worried, but stayed sitting on the bunk with Clara, even sometimes vaguely looking at the drawings Clara was making. Drawing, of all things, and chatting away like she couldn't hear the spirits howling for her blood just meters away.

When night fell, those spirits would close the gap. Three crew were out there – Sofie was trying to fix the engine, and Kristján and Emil had only just left, taking along the cleanser gear but leaving Clara behind. Lalli had been bemused at how happy Emil looked as he strapped on Clara's gear before trudging off toward the village, but he fully expected to hear the chubby skald's screams any moment now.

Sofie, with her head and both hands inside the bonnet, was reminding him of Tuuri just now. Tuuri was no mage, but she could make the cold metal do her bidding, which Lalli supposed was a kind of magic. They could certainly use some of that kind of magic right now. He was still unhappy that Onni had left for that foreign base and taken Tuuri with him, but maybe he could try to contact Onni? No. Not only was Onni…Onni, but Lalli would also have to be asleep, and he didn't think there was any way he could sleep with the crew outside at night, and all that spirit racket going on besides. He just had to deter the spirits, keep them away from the tank, he could do that himself.

Clara stowed her drawing pad, and rummaged around for some of the bread Sofie had made the other day. It was quite stale, but still better as food than as tank fuel. She put a piece of it in Sigrun's good hand and tried to get her to eat, but the captain was still somewhat drugged and just looked at it rather stupidly. Clara went to see if she could get Sofie to come inside for the night.

Lalli covered his ears in a vain attempt to shut out the cries from the shadows, but the headache was there anyway. Ever since he'd been blown out of that building, the headache had never really gone away. He was going to ask the gods who would hear him to aid them, but the headache made it hard to find the words. He cleared his mind as best he could and started remembering the first runo he'd learnt from Grandma as a very small boy, back before the other night of screaming….No. Not now. His head throbbed. Now was not the time to remember that. He shoved that memory back in its box, then closed his eyes and pictured Kuutar in all her beauty, and began the supplication runo, to see if at least she could help with some light for Emil and Sofie.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Emil couldn't run, he couldn't kick, he couldn't climb, but he could throw. How many pine cones had he thrown, growing up in Östersund? Too many to count. He'd been left to his own devices for much of his childhood, occasionally pretending to have lessons with his senile tutor, and then shunned by most of the other children of the town, who were all supposed to be beneath him anyway. He'd spent countless hours in the pine copse behind the manor, lobbing pine cones at various targets. Now, at last he could put that talent to good use with the incendiaries. THAT one was for Pår, and THAT one was for Snir, and THAT one was for *huff* Astrid, and THAT one was for Pår again because he was a jerk, and THAT one was-

"EMIL! Enough! You IDIOT! Save some," Kristján's voice cut through Emil's reverie, as it tended to do.

He grumbled at Kristján's insults, but at least he'd been brought along on this mission, surely that had to count for something? Then he stopped to admire his handiwork. The building Kristján had pointed out as a likely nest had burst into flame in a most alarming and yet satisfying manner, with the rays of the setting sun just hitting the trees alongside it. He could hear glass breaking somewhere inside, just before the fire spread to the adjoining house in the row. "Heeee!," his eyes sparkling with glee, the colour in his cheeks rising.

How was it he'd never considered being a cleanser before? Oh right, it was beneath him. Right now, though, everything was beneath him, just looking at those beautiful beautiful flames. Silhouetted in those flames was a troll, moving very quickly right toward him. Hah!, Emil thought, you are no match for me! He took the flamethrower from over his shoulder, engaged it and let loose, just in time. The troll shriveled, but its momentum carried it forward almost onto Emil's feet. Emil jumped back, and saw three more trolls emerge from the burning building, maddened with flames on them. HAH! Emil exulted. BURN!

The next building in the row went up in flames, pieces of its slate roof cascading down. Emil saw Kristján dodge the slate pieces, as well as a deer that leapt out of the house. At least it might be a deer, Emil thought briefly, there was something off about its neck. Kristján stabbed upwards as it passed and it fell flailing to the ground beyond Kristján. He was yelling something, but Emil couldn't hear him through the roaring and breaking. He was pointing at something, maybe the next house in the row. Yes! I'll burn that too! Emil jogged over, getting an incendiary ready from his bandoleer as he did.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The adrenaline was flowing inside Kristján. The stupid skald was more keen for setting things on fire than the stupid cleanser, anyway, but he was going for overkill. They just wanted to keep any trolls busy and away from the tank in its undefended spot, not burn down the whole village, stupid idiot. Looking at the flaming trolls pouring out of the houses, he reconsidered, maybe burning down the village wasn't such a bad idea. He saw Emil flame one of the trolls, and very briefly shared Emil's satisfaction. But then the deer…no, Beast…leapt out of the nest and Kristján automatically brought his blade upward to slash across its belly. Definitely a Beast, no guts left to speak of, he watched it trip over itself and fall flailing to the ground. "Flame that thing!," he yelled across to Emil. There were other trolls pouring out of the buildings and into the woods between the village and the tank, some of them maddened by flames. "Emil! Get those! EMIL!!" He pointed as he ran at some smallish trolls that were skittering across the ground, too far for him to intercept but easy prey for Emil. But no, the moron was just nodding and jogging right past them! He yelled some expletives in his frustration. The fire was spreading to the other buildings in the row, who knew how many trolls could nest in there?

This mission might bring him some cash, IF they could get the damn books back. It wasn't his choice to cut the mission short. Sigrun's wounds should not have incapacitated her. He could certainly use another proper troll hunter beside him right now, emphasis on the last word as he skewered a troll that swerved in its tracks and doubled back toward him. The setting sun caught him in the eyes, reminding him that they needed to get back to the tank before dark. Damn that idiot skald! They'd taken too damned long getting the gear changed over from Clara to Emil. Now all they'd succeeded in doing was flushing all those trolls into the woods between them and the collection point, or into the handiest row of buildings.

He jogged toward Emil's position flaming the next house. "Flame the next row," he yelled, but the moron was still wasting provenance on this row. He caught up to Emil and whirled him around by the shoulder. "NEXT ROW, NOW!" He pointed the way. Emil's eyes took a moment to focus on him. Great, just great, he was lost in the flame. "You MORON, focus! Burn THAT!," he pointed at the target, "MOVE IT!" Emil shoved off at a shamble, encumbered by his gear.

Instinct made Kristján look over his shoulder, just in time to see a troll launching itself at them, from the direction of the trees. He did not get his knife arm up in time, but managed to turn enough to present a leg to trip the troll in its lunge past, then kick upward to further roll the momentum of the lengthened spine into the dirt. He checked over his shoulder again before moving in to engage this one, and just caught the movements of more behind him! He only managed to slash off the flailing limb of the one he'd tripped as he whirled to see the others. Why in Hel's name were they coming out of the forest back toward the flames? He let loose his best berserker yell in an attempt to intimidate them, but it didn't slow them much. It made Emil look back, though, and now he was yelling too as well as flaming the ones closest to him.

Then suddenly as though signalled, the trolls whirled as one and headed back toward the road – which Kristján realised with horror would send them right to the tank. He yelled across to Emil to pursue. Emil lobbed the incendiary he'd been holding, and tried to follow. Kristján noticed he was pale, his adrenaline might be ebbing. Damn it, he needed that boy to stay on edge. A not-quite-dead troll struggled to rise from the ground, and Emil screamed and flamed it. That would do.

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir was starting to believe that he might be lost. He had tried to remember the layout of the Danish coastline but somehow couldn't find the Øresund strait between Sweden and Denmark. He thought he'd found it, but Tuuri had said there was a huge bridge across the strait, and had added that she noticed it being a bit twisted on her way back from Mora. He'd passed by one bridge that simply fell into the sea part of the way across, with no visible abutments. So Reynir doubled back and found another strait, but the bridge across that was still whole, albeit rather small. As he moved about, he found more and more straits, and bridges, but no energies of people to focus upon. There were also plenty of trolls about, forcing him to keep moving.

Suddenly he noticed a small building surrounded by trees and well-pruned bushes rising out of the dreamland waters, and his heart leapt with hope. Was there a mage haven here? That must be Tuuri's cousin, she said he was a mage. At last! Reynir went inside the building, but it looked fairly deserted. One wall featured a large stained-glass window which allowed some murky light into the large hall and its rows of benches. Reynir called out tentatively for Tuuri's cousin, "Lúlli?" That was his name, wasn't it? But his voice did not echo properly, and Reynir looked about nervously. He found himself staring at the window, which depicted a shepherd and two sheep. A shepherd…like me, he thought dejectedly. Reynir looked down and his fylgja was suddenly there with him. Reynir sighed. This must be part of his own haven, even though it didn't really look like anywhere he'd ever been. It looked more like one of the abandoned churches you occasionally saw out in the countryside, or that one on the edge of the base, way out on a point in the fjord. He sat down on one of the long seats, wondering what to do next.

"Is anybody there?" Reynir almost jumped out of his skin. Who said that? The fylgja dog was curled next to him, unconcerned. There was a guttering candle sending up a tendril of smoke, but Reynir didn't remember having seen the candle lit.

Then he smelled that awful brew Julian was always drinking, and wrinkled his nose. Oh no, he wasn't going to fall for any of Julian's tricks ever again, he thought as he brought his hands up to his hair protectively, making the stave discs that were woven into his plait jingle. He left the building hurriedly and started running again.

The fylgja lifted his nose into the air and sniffed. Reynir had not noticed the eyes that followed them from the shadows. The dog knew about them and was not alarmed by the presence of one of his own order, and he disappeared to follow Reynir. The wolf chuckled softly to himself.

The old woman with tightly curled hair watched Reynir run away, and sighed. She looked down at the coffee and cake on the tray she was carrying, and wondered if that was truly a whole spirit she had seen. It had been so long. Then she saw the wolf, and smiled as she laid down the piece of cake on a dish onto the bricks of the courtyard. "Nice doggie," she said, brushing crumbs off her cassock. The wolf was too busy licking the delicious berry filling off his muzzle to correct her mistake.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

"Close it up. We may as well go in for the night," Clara said, squinting into the gloom.

Sofie nodded and started gathering her makeshift tools, handing some of them over to Clara to carry. She had to admit there was nothing more she could do about the engine tonight. Maybe some wild inspiration might hit her in the morning. At the very least, she should scrounge some kind of meal together for the crew, something better than the old bread Clara had brought around. She shut the bonnet, wincing at the overly loud bang it made as it fell. Two bangs? She must be hearing things.

Sofie almost bumped into the back of Clara as she came around the side of the tank. Clara was holding both sides of her glasses together, trying to get a better focus on the activity down the road. Sofie could see that that weird light in the west was not the sunset at all. "So Kristján took Emil to the village, you say?" Clara nodded. "And he took your cleanser gear with him," Sofie continued. Two more bangs could be heard in the distance.

Clara turned a baleful eye to Sofie. "Let's get inside now." Sofie nodded.

The side door of the tank slid open, and Lalli leapt out, landing silently, puukko at the ready. He held up his other hand to silence the two, as the fully puffed-up kitten leapt out from behind him and dove beneath the tank. Clara and Sofie plastered themselves to the side of the tank, transfixed as Lalli silently pivoted toward the rear of the tank. The kitten suddenly yowled loudly, and a blur shot out from underneath with the kitten in hot pursuit. Lalli let them go, instead leaping to the rear of the tank where the long neck of a troll was just coming around the corner, and plunged his blade into the head at the end of the long neck.

Unfortunately, there was another head at the base of the neck, and two more arms grabbed Lalli by the shoulder as his hand was busy with the first head. In later years, Clara could never recall how she managed to get to Lalli's side as quickly as she did, all she could recall was seeing the bent soup tin she was holding covered in blood as the other head fell in slow motion to the ground, still gnashing its teeth.

The head landed next to Sofie, who screamed and stomped on it repeatedly. She looked up in time to see Lalli dispatch another grossling with his puukko. He turned and barked some words in Finnish, but Sofie got the gist of his command. He wanted them inside.

They all froze in their tracks when they heard the far-off yelling. In the next moment Lalli was sprinting down the road to come to Kristján and Emil's aid. Clara and Sofie whirled to get back into the tank, but between them and the door loomed a rather elongated troll with long knobbly legs, which was busy trying to rip the open door off its hinges with its jaws. The kitten came bolting from behind them, launching her puffed fury at the legs of the troll. Clara yelled, "Where are all these &$##@!&!! things coming from?," lunging at the troll as it craned its neck down to snap at the kitten. Clara missed her strike, but the head missed the kitten anyway, and kept falling oddly. The kitten leapt off to avoid the fountain of blood that followed the head groundward.

Sofie looked up to see a pale Sigrun standing a bit unsteadily in the doorway, bloody dagger in hand. "I don't think much of your dinner guests," she grinned crookedly at Sofie. "What's a girl got to do to get a meal around here?"

Clara hoisted herself past Sofie into the doorway, pushing past Sigrun. "You told me you killed a troll with your teeth once," she snorted, "there you go, plenty to choose from."

Sofie followed Clara, while Sigrun peered into the darkness before Sofie shut the door. "I see that," she said as a smallish deer Beast fled past the tank, "what's going on?"

Clara had stripped off her bloody gloves and jacket. "I'd say Emil burnt down a nest."

Sigrun furrowed her brow, then shrugged, "That almost made sense. For a second I had a crazy thought that Emil was supposed to be the cleanser. Must be the drugs, giving me funny ideas, huh?" Clara was too busy vomiting into the toilet to reply.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Onni had gone to bed early, wishing he could have gone with his sister on this mission. Jódis was right, he wasn't quite well enough to fly that long distance, but he could have rested in Tuuri's boat unless he was needed. It was only supposed to be a rescue, he should have been okay for that. Jódis had sent Gwenno with them, which comforted him a little, and Riika and Martti knew good protective runo, which comforted him more. He couldn't shake the feeling he should have gone with them, even if it meant going into the Silent World. His thoughts were still swirling when he finally slept.

He walked in the forest in his haven, dappled light coming through the trees. He let a birch leaf fall into the waters coming off the rocks, watched it swirl in the eddies down to where the stream of his haven merged into the boundary waters of the dream realm, and then watched as it faded from view. He'd left a beautiful forest very like this one to come to Norway, to explore his own powers and to help train other mages with powers. Now they were all off on a mission, and he wasn't going with them. Had he helped them? Were they ready to act as a team?

His thoughts were interrupted by a glimmer of something out in the waters beyond his haven. A moment later he could see the red hair on the figure running toward him. He was confused – was Reynir coming back? Were they in trouble already? Tuuri! He shifted into owl form, ready to fly to their aid. But the figure was running directly at him, very fast, and Onni could see it actually wasn't Reynir, it was Ilya. Ilya, coming here! He changed back to human form and ran down the bank to the slopes at the edge of his haven, and waved madly at Ilya.

Onni stared in wonder as Ilya came up to the edge of the waters and looked up at him with enormous eyes. Onni had never been this close to Ilya before, and he smiled at Ilya tentatively. Ilya spoke first, "May I please enter?"

Onni gasped and released the wards on the border of his haven enough to allow Ilya to come in. Onni could only just see that Ilya wasn't alone, there was somebody else there cowering behind Ilya, but before he could see who it was, Ilya asked, "I'm so sorry to interrupt your rest, but do you know where Reynir has gone?"

Onni replied, "No, you are welcome, but Reynir is on a mission with the others. He is on his way to Denmark."

Ilya was agitated, "I'm sorry, I don't know your names for places. Where is that he's going?"

Onni was beguiled by Ilya's musical voice, but responded, "It is …south of here, in the Silent World." He was anxious again, thinking of his teammates in possible danger. "He's not running, he went with Tuuri in the fast boat." Ilya was conferring with the other person again.

Ilya turned around, "it's not Helvetia, then? All right."

Onni shook his head, but then in another eyeblink Ilya was a spot running away on the horizon. Onni stared dumbfounded as the other person raised her hands to her mouth in horror at Ilya's retreating figure and yelled out futilely, "Saba! SABA! Don't leave me here!"

Onni was still frozen to the spot as she raised panic-stricken blue eyes to meet his. As he took in the plaited blonde hair and the elaborately embroidered gown, he realised with awe that he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life. But, malevolent spirits were known to take deceptive forms. He tried to sound commanding as he crossed his arms over his chest and called out, "Show me your true form, and I will send you to your rest easily."

The woman squeaked, "S-Saba was supposed to bring me to a safe place, the-the place where people could be mag-mages op-openly?" Her eyes darted around, taking in the tranquil quasi-Finnish forest. "Is Reynir h-here? You-you said Reynir was on a m-mission?" She was visibly shaking.

Onni uncrossed his arms. "Yes! Yes, that is here," then suddenly forgetting what to do with his suddenly sweaty hands, "well, not here, this is my haven, but, when I wake up, …"

"Ah," she nodded, "yes, like my kitchen. I see," she gave a tentative smile which quickly disappeared, "My name is Renate. I… I thought Saba would bring me to Reynir, and I guess he tried, but…" She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands either, because she gestured around her briefly before wrapping her arms around herself again. "Is this forest safe? Is there a-a castle or-or a house?"

"Ah, no," Onni was surprised. "My body is sleeping in my cabin, at the base. I…I don't know where your body is?" At her look of alarm, Onni stepped down the slope toward her, "but I'm sure your body is very nice… I-I mean your body is all right," He stopped, flustered beyond speech. Her expression had changed from terror and panic to skepticism, which Onni took as confirmation that yes, it did sound that bad. Oh yes, she'd put one hand on her hip, he'd done it again. His arms flopped at his side and he said resignedly, "Sorry. Welcome. I…I am Onni."

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Emil was struggling. He hadn't done this much walking since…never, let alone running. The cleansing gear was crushingly heavy, and Kristján was far ahead of him, running back along the road to the tank. He had started out at a jog as well, but the adrenaline had worn off and he was now puffing heavily and trudging. He had only just made it to the wooded section, and the forest was looming and dark around him. It had looked far more welcoming and picturesque this afternoon, as he walked toward the village on his first official cleansing assignment. He kept the flamethrower on standby, but it was even heavier carried in his hands than strapped on his back. The random noises coming from behind him and in the forest kept him looking over his shoulder and all around, and he missed seeing a muddy pothole which sent him sprawling.

As he heaved himself up, he allowed himself a muttered curse at Kristján for leaving him behind like this. The reinforced knees of his uniform had taken some damage, but he was more concerned about the flamethrower. He had landed heavily onto it and it looked a bit bent, but he couldn't really see properly in the gloom. Something ran in front of him across the road, prompting him to redouble his efforts at getting back to the tank. He set off at a slow jog, trying to look out for more of those potholes. He thought he heard a humming sound coming from behind him, but his ears were also still ringing from the blasts. How did Clara mange that? Did she have earplugs? He couldn't remember.

He hadn't gotten very far when he was forced to walk again, trying to control his wheezing breathing. This extra physical effort is going to kill me before the grosslings do, he thought, I see spots before my eyes. Then he realised the spots were hovering over a vague light-coloured shape, which resembled a human? A few moments later, he could see that there was indeed someone in a uniform running back toward him. Kristján came back for him after all! He could put with a bit of yelling if Kristján could help him carry some of this stuff. A moment later, and he realised it wasn't Kristján at all, it was Lalli! Lalli with…oddly glowing eyes. He stopped, puffing, and smiled weakly. Lalli, his friend Lalli, had come to save him!

Lalli ran right past him without a word.

Abashed, Emil turned around, a curse upon all Finns dying on his lips as he did so. Lalli had stopped a few meters behind him and was waving his arms wildly, his form silhouetted by a headlight. A headlight. A headlight? The humming wasn't just his tinnitus from the blast, there was a vehicle coming down the road, and Lalli was waving it to a halt. As Emil stared slack-jawed, a sleek boat pulled alongside. Emil vaguely realised he was hallucinating, shortly before grey spots grew huge in his vision and he fell in a dead faint.

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

"I don't know how you came to be here and this river is weird but it's good that you're here because our tank is broken and you're the best one to fix it and the whole place is filled with really weird spirits and some trolls and beasts and we need to get away from this village and get to-"

"LAAAALLLIIIII," Tuuri had wrapped him in a hug, "I was so worried about you! I didn't know Taru was bringing you and then I found out that you were here and then they said you needed rescuing and you weren't at the rendezvous point and I saw the fire and-"

Lalli wriggled out of the hug but continued with his own flow, "-someplace we can get Sigrun to safety and LOOK OUT there's a spirit right there! and the camp is back that way and this river is really weird and we have so many books but I don't know why we have so many and we need to go that way to get back to the tank and can you make this river go back there and… "

Gwenno, wet from the waist down, had deposited the senseless Emil on the floor of the cabin, fording the small river Riika had created to aid the boat. Meanwhile Martti retrieved the cleanser gear Emil had dropped when he fainted, by moving the earth it had been sitting upon to the door of the boat.

Now Emil's eyes fluttered open. He was in what looked like a boat, with Lalli talking a mile a minute about trolls and fixing the tank and getting Sigrun to safety and-

Emil realised Lalli was talking. Not only was Lalli talking, Emil could understand every word he was saying. Emil decided he was still hallucinating and sat up to study the spectacle. He halfway expected to see his mother, but there were strange people all around him all wearing relatively tiny masks, except for the woman with the bright red hair kneeling next to him. "Hej, take it easy," she said to him, laying a gloved hand on his shoulder, "we're here to help. Can you understand me?"

"He should, Gwenno," Riika said as she knelt next to Emil and addressed him, "Look at me a moment please. Did you get hurt in the fire or explosions?" She peered into his eyes to check his pupils, then released him, satisfied with what she saw. Then she returned to her seat next to Martti, held his hand, looked to the front of the boat in concentration, and the boat refloated.

Emil felt the boat rocking and the boat started forward again. In the background, Emil could hear Lalli talking to the driver of the boat, guiding her to their tank. He seemed to know the driver somehow. But after so many weeks in the slow slow tank, the speed dazed Emil a bit. Then he remembered, "Kristján. Wait, Kristján! Our captain is still out there," hallucinating or not, fake river or not, even though he got left behind, he couldn't do the same to his captain.

Lalli interrupted his talking to the driver to turn to Emil and say, "I saw him, he wasn't too far from the tank, we'll see him there." Then he seemed to finally realise that he'd understood what Emil was saying and looked nonplussed for a moment before turning back to Tuuri and asking, "Is Onni flying with you?"

"Ah, no, Onni didn't come with us," Tuuri said, "he.. ahhh… he's back at the base."

"Does your boat do magic now? Does it make everybody speak Finnish in it?," Lalli looked around at the other occupants of the boat for the first time, and at the dazed Emil.

"No, it's her," a lanky man with red hair pointed at another of their number, a teenaged girl who shot back a rebellious scowl at him, "that's her power."

Emil started giggling. "Her power? Oh, this hallucination is like those gramophones about superheroes back at the Academy! How funny! What's your power?," he asked the lanky man.

"I'm not even supposed to be here today," was the acerbic reply.

"Hold up, we're here," Tuuri said. In the headlights they could see troll remains sprawled around the blood-spattered tank, getting splashed by the river Riika had created for the boat. "NOOO we're too late!," she gasped, along with everybody else in the boat. But Lalli had already leapt out over the already-receding river, followed by Gwenno, and was banging his fist on the tank's door.

As Sofie as opened the door, Lalli asked her breathlessly, "What happened here? Is Kristján back, did he kill those trolls?"

Sofie stared at Lalli gasping something urgently in Finnish, and gestured that she didn't understand him. Clara gasped behind her, having seen the headlights lighting the trees from behind them. "Hej, we have company! Somebody found us!" Sigrun peered into the good side mirror, and clouted Clara on the shoulder with her good arm.

Listening to Clara's incomprehensible babble, Lalli set his mouth in a determined line, grabbed Sofie by the wrist, and pulled her half-stumbling out to the boat, passing Gwenno, who was stalking around the tank examining the corpses. He pulled Sofie inside the boat's cabin and said loudly to the ceiling, "Magic Boat! Please let Sofie tell Tuuri what's wrong with the tank!" He didn't notice the occupants of the boat shrinking and holding onto their masks at the sight of Sofie, disheveled and still smeared with grease and blood.

"Oh!," Tuuri secured the boat and shrugged on her parka, "Yes! Eeee! Hi, I'm Tuuri!" She smiled brightly at Sofie from behind her mask. Sofie only had time to open her mouth to speak before Tuuri cried out, "We're here to rescue you! EEeeee! Let's go!" She grabbed her tool kit and held it up to Sofie, whose knees half-buckled in shock and relief.

Riika was also pulling on the tie closures on her parka. "I'll come with you. I am Riika, I have some medical training. I understand we need to evacuate an injured person?"

Sofie nodded, slightly dazed, before she spotted Emil struggling to his feet in the cabin, "EMIL! Are you all right?"

"Uhhh," he reeled, "what happened to you? Are you all right? I- " A thought occurred to him. "Wait, this isn't real…"

He stared out the door at the blood-smeared tank for a moment, before Martti put his hand on Emil's shoulder and said softly, "Easy. My name is Martti, and Tuuri is right, we're here to help, it's okay, just sit down here, okay?" Emil had gone as white as a sheet, and he gently guided Emil down to one of the benches on the wall of the boat's cabin. "Just…wait here a moment."

Emil stood up again and turned panicked blue eyes to Martti. "No, those trolls… they came from the fire I set, I've got to go help them!" He stumbled to the door, before Lalli blocked his way. "Lalli! The trolls, they came from the village," he yelled, and then remembered that he couldn't talk to Lalli, or could he, or maybe…he fell silent.

"No, it's all right, they're dead," Lalli replied, before turning to follow Tuuri, Riika and Sofie out the door. "Magic Boat!," he yelled at the ceiling again, "Tell Emil not to set fire to anything else, not yet!" Then he leapt down and ran behind the tank again, close on the heels of Gwenno.

"Magic boat?," Emil muttered, "There's no such thing as a… as a magic…bo-" then the blackness engulfed him as he passed out again.

"I'm not going out there," Ellina grumped. Martti shot her a warning look, and she wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. "Magic Boat, please take me home now," she whined, burying her face in her knees.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

"I never thought about it. It's just that cats are immune to the Rash, and help kill the small Beasts. It just makes sense that we train them," Onni was saying, "but of course there are some who cannot be trained."

"That's why we bred the dogs, they are so much more trainable," Renate had tucked her legs up and laid her chin on her knees. "My familiar takes the form of a cat, I wonder if she knows about this."

"I do now," the sleek black cat with golden eyes said suddenly from next to Renate. Her delighted smile of greeting was interrupted by a sudden fluttering noise that made them both look up, in time to see an owl flying overhead to the nearest branches. Panicked, Renate looked around for Onni, who had disappeared.

Onni's voice came from the owl, now perched on the lowest branch over where Renate and the cat sat, "Now whooo?"

The cat looked up at Onni without concern. Renate looked up at the owl with considerably more concern. "You are…a changeling? I've heard about… but those are stories… swans? Oh, I don't know." Defeated, she looked back to the cat. "You are here. Do you know where we are? He says we're in Norway, in the north?"

"It's safe," the cat replied, then proceeded to groom her shoulders.

Onni flew back down to Renate and resumed his human form. "That's interesting," he said softly, "I've never taken the owl form for an intruder before."

Renate opened her mouth to retort, but the cat responded first, "We are not an intruder. She is welcome here, so I come." The cat gracefully spun into grooming of her hindquarters, before looking up sharply at Onni. "Do you happen to have a pea-green boat around here anywhere?"

Onni looked confused as he mentally scanned the base's boats. No green ones; he shook his head. Renate also looked confused. She asked the cat, "We don't need a ship, do we?"

The fylgja lay down on her side to groom her flanks. "You might." She licked her front paw for a moment before continuing, "you should rest here until morning. Don't forget to tell her where the cat food is." The last was addressed to Onni. Renate and Onni stared at each other. Onni resisted a sudden urge to groom his own feathers.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sofie and Tuuri were hunched over the open bonnet of the tank, while Clara held up a light for them. "You see, you just," Tuuri said as she snaked her arm into a small gap, "just there, and then it," she rolled her eyes back and bit her tongue between her teeth, "like that, and then it should…just…no." She withdrew her arm and retrieved a spanner from her tool belt, bending the handle into a curious shape. "You see?," she showed it to Sofie, who nodded doubtfully. "And now," she snaked the spanner into the gap and put it into place, "you just…there." Sofie tried to crane her neck to see where Tuuri was working. Tuuri withdrew her arm and the tool, and gave the tank's engine a small pat with a smile at Sofie. "That should do it. Start it up."

Sigrun followed Riika and Lalli out of the tank. "Wooo, that was great!," Sigrun crowed, "let's go! Is this thing ready to go now?," she clouted the tank with her good arm as she came up to the front. "We've got a boat to catch, you know." Then catching sight of Tuuri's boat, her expression slackened before exploding into a delighted grin. "Sweet Gefjon, would you look at that! The boat came to us!" She rushed over to it, squealing girlishly as she ran her hand around the sleek sides.

Riika said to Lalli, "I only gave her some glucose tablets and antibiotics so far, we still want to get her to the base hospital in Øresund. I think it's just adrenaline with her at the moment." At Lalli's startled expression, she chuckled, "Yes, I speak Finnish. Tuuri said her cousin might be here, and you do look much like her, and Onni." Lalli opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it again. "Most of us on the team are Finnish," Riika gave a small smile.

"So it isn't a magic boat, you do all speak Finnish?," Lalli replied, before creasing his forehead again. "No, wait, Emil was speaking Finnish too."

Riika was working out how to respond but was interrupted by the tank roaring back to life. Sigrun was doubling back from Tuuri's boat. Sigrun grinned broadly and said, "Seriously, why aren't we gone yet? What are we waiting for?"

As though on cue, they were startled by a commotion in the woods beside the road, Kristján burst out of the woods with a grinning Gwenno in pursuit. "You IDIOT," he was shouting at Gwenno, "I was tracking a troll, when you scared it off with your stomping through the trees like that! Is that what they're teaching you MORON so-called troll hunters in Norway now, 'OOOO let's stomp through the forest until the trolls slink away in embarrassment'?!"

"It's wasn't a troll," grinned Gwenno, "it was just a wolf, and maybe its mate. Or do the mop-wielders in Iceland teach you to make friends with wolves now? If I wasn't kinda sorta busy, I'd'a taken a piss in the woods too, show 'em there's humans here, mean ones! But maybe," she poked Kristján lightly with her staff, "we'll just call them 'idiots' and 'morons' until they run away crying, eh? Eh?"

Kristján snarled and grabbed the bottom of Gwenno's staff, but Gwenno jerked it out of his hands, readying her stance for his attack. "Gwenno?" came a voice behind them. "Gwenno Vedbackken. Well, I never." Sigrun was standing there, eyes wide in her oddly flushed face. Her face broke into a smile. "Look at that, they sent me the Gwenno Vedbackken! And there's your staff! I've heard about you!"

Gwenno was thrown into confusion. "Sigrun Eide… I…I'm happy to meet you at last, too." Recovering herself, she grinned. "Up my way, they talk about the Sigrun Eide! Hey, did you really kill a troll with your teeth once?"

Sigrun broke into a hearty laugh, causing any lurking ghosts to flee the vicinity with alacrity. "Nah, it was actually my nose I stabbed it with, but ehhh, close enough." She came up and threw her good arm around Gwenno's shoulders, and steered them away from a fuming Kristján. "Right, let's get this rescue going, shall we?"

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Over Gwenno and Sigrun’s convivial guffaws, the tank purred as it never had before. Tuuri could hear Kristján raving on the other side of the tank. At the sound of the tank’s engine roaring to life, Emil groggily stepped to the hatchway of Tuuri’s boat. Tuuri wiped her greasy hands on a cloth she produced from her uniform, and peered at him in the dim light. “You know,” she said to Emil, “I don’t believe we’ve actually met, you came on to the expedition after I left. I’m Tuu-“ she stopped when she spied the oil lamp and cog logo on his collar badge. My collar badge, she thought, and ran her eyes up and down the ill-fitting uniform with the obviously too-short legs. That was her uniform on that poor guy. She’d been so excited to find Lalli and the crew and get stuck into fixing the engine, that she’d momentarily forgotten about her role in it.

Tuuri turned back to Sofie, and saw the medic’s red cross patch on her collar. She must have Arvind’s uniform, then. She looked over at Lalli, who was grimly staring into the middle distance. In the light from the newly ignited headlights, Lalli looked even more pale than she remembered. The muscles in his cheeks were working as he clenched his teeth. “Lalli,” Tuuri began, “Reynir would have told you we weren’t far away. Where is he?”

“Who?”

“Reynir, from our team. Hard to miss - tall guy, long red plait, freckles, runs really fast? We sent him ahead to warn you we were coming.” Lalli frowned and shook his head. Tuuri called over to Riika, “Riika! Reynir never got here.”

“Herran jumala, that’s not good,” Riika slapped her gloved hand onto her forehead. “How are we going to get him back?” She and Martti looked at each other in chagrin, but then Riika reached out for her brother’s hand. “I almost forgot, we need to be ready to engage if necessary.” Martti raised his eyebrows and nodded, while taking Riika’s hand.

As their hands clasped, Lalli suddenly peered at the siblings. “Mages. Twins,” he said softly, “like Isä and Uncle Juha. So, you have powers, like Onni, then.” He nodded to himself as though satisfied.

Tuuri started to say, “Lalli, about Kristján, he-“

“You were right to leave,” Lalli interrupted her. He turned luminous grey eyes to her. “But there are grosslings around here, and,” he paused, “some other weird spirits too.” He shrugged. “It’s time to go. Can we go now?”

“Let’s get this rescue done, then we can all go home, okay?,” Riika smiled. Lalli did not reply, but the muscles in his jaw were still clenching as he looked at her again.

Sofie was standing awkwardly next to the tank, not comprehending the Finnish exchange around her. Suddenly frowning at Tuuri, she said, “Wait, do I know-“

“YOU!” Kristján had come around to the front of the tank. Tuuri couldn’t help smiling smugly when she saw the expression on Kristján’s face.

“Hello, Kristján,” she said calmly in Icelandic, as Riika and Martti closed ranks next to her. “This is Riika Kovacs, mission commander, and Martti Kovacs, 2IC.” She’d rehearsed this in her head during the trip down from Norway, “and we’re here to rescue you. And by the way, Jódis Árnasdóttir sends you her best.”

Kristján frowned at the mention of Jódis’ name and grunted, “That one took you back, did she? She should have sent the best cats.”

Martti grinned behind his mask as he extended his free hand to Kristján and said in Icelandic, “Lovely to meet you, too. It looks like we arrived just in time.”

Kristján coloured, but swallowed hard and grunted, “Thank you. But it’s only one that gets evacuated, the rest of us will carry on with the mission.” His jaw worked for a moment before he asked, “How did you get that boat in here?”

Riika’s smile dimmed as she ignored his second question and said, “There was a clear instruction to evacuate the whole team along with the injured officer. From what I understand, the team wished to abort the mission.”

“We still need to get our cargo back to base, and then we can end the mission,” Kristján replied through clenched teeth. He turned to Tuuri, “You know which cargo I mean.” He attempted a silky smile, “Now that you so cleverly managed to repair our vehicle, I mean.”

Tuuri rolled her eyes. Riika looked at Tuuri thoughtfully as she said to Kristján, “There were indications that the Danish side were attempting to get a truck across as well to meet you, but we were mobilised because we would be faster to evacuate the officer.”

As if on cue, Sigrun could be heard from the other side of the tank, “Let’s go, Gwenno, I hear Emil sent a bunch of trolls into the woods, there’s plenty!” Gwenno could then be heard shushing her and guiding her around. “Yeah, you’re right, I want to ride in the boat anyway.”

Emil had walked up, still pale. He was looking from Lalli to Tuuri, but said to Kristján in Swedish, “They’ve brought us a magic boat. There are more of them inside, but I think they’re asleep. Can I ride home on the magic boat?”

Kristján sneered at Emil, “Emil, you IDIOT, there’s no such thing as a magic boat.” Then he looked at the boat, aground in the middle of a forest clearing in inland Denmark, and his sneer faltered. “How are you getting that boat out of here?”

“It’ll be fine,” Riika said calmly, “we’ve got this in hand. The wounded officer will ride with us, but we’ll escort you back to the Øresund Bridge to rendezvous with the Danish team. We should get there fairly shortly, but we don’t want to leave it much later in the night.” She let go of Martti’s hand to help Gwenno half-carry Sigrun, while Martti and Tuuri turned their back on Kristján without waiting for the rebuttal that was fuming on his lips, and walked back to the boat.

Kristján turned on his heel and gestured at Sofie. “Fine. Drive this hunk of junk already.” He gave Emil a shove, “Get in the tank already, get your uniform in the UV unit. I’m willing to bet your so-called ‘magic boat’ wouldn’t stand a chance against even a little troll.” He stepped up into the tank after Emil. “Wait, where’s that moron scout gotten off to now?” He moved to the door again, but Sofie was blocking his way, sneezing heartily as she always did upon entering the tank.

“I think he’s related to their driver or something,” Emil said as he handed off the muddied and bloodied cleanser gear to Clara, “they look kind of alike, and they were talking like they hadn’t seen each other in a while.” He shook his head and looked at Lalli, who had silently slid inside the door to the tank behind Sofie. “Who knew Lalli could even talk? Did you know, I could understand them while I was in the magic boat?”

Before Clara could respond to Emil, Kristján roared, ”There’s no such thing as a magic boat!” He carried on raving at Emil, while Sofie chased the kitten off the driver’s seat and revved up the engine. Lalli started at the sound of his name, but continued up to the front passenger seat to take up the map. Sofie got the tank into gear and pulled away to continue their journey to the coast, minus one of their number.

None of them heard the screams coming from the boat behind them.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Heike ran a critical eye over young Heinrich, recently apprenticed to her kitchen. “What do you mean, you’re afraid The Reynir will get you? What are you talking about?” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

The boy shuffled from foot to foot. “On the back stairway, frau. They say The Reynir fell to his death back there and his ghost still haunts the place,” he wrung his hands. “And, and he became a waldgeist too, and ran away with the other waldgeister.”

“The Reynir?” Heike laughed heartily. “Heinrich, listen to me. Reynir didn’t die on the back steps and then run away. He-,“ she hesitated, mindful of Renate’s confided concerns, “Reynir was a boy who worked here just this last summer, and then moved on. That’s all. Now go, they’re waiting for that beer upstairs.”

“But the waldgeist, the waldgeist was here before, and took Renate away,” the boy wailed. “The waldgeist with the long red hair, it was The Reynir!”

Heike opened her mouth to rebuke Heinrich but paused as she glanced at Renate’s mat in the sleeping area by the back hearth. Renate had said she was going to bed early tonight, but her mat was empty now. Long red hair? In all of the waldgeist’s visits, Heike had never seen its hair, only the wooden spoons left behind.

Berthe had been lying on the hearth, but had perked up her ears as soon as Heinrich mentioned Reynir. Now she leapt to her feet and barked, the security dog signal for an intruder. Heinrich screamed and pointed. Heike whirled to follow his finger and gaped in amazement. The dog who ran down the steps to support Berthe’s signal stopped short and gave the intruder bark as well, then whined.

Reynir was standing next to the stove. He was looking around, and his mouth formed into a perfect O as he recognised his surroundings. Heinrich fainted. Berthe ran over to Reynir and sniffed his crotch, tail wagging furiously. As Reynir’s eyes became accustomed to the dim light in the kitchen, his face lit up when he saw Heike.

“Oh, Heike, hello! I, umm, I’m not meant to be here, but, ahhh, it’s great to see you!” Reynir rubbed Berthe behind the ears in greeting, and to guide her muzzle away from sensitive areas. The other dog sat down, ears perked at attention, but made no further sound.

“Reynir! Wha... how...,” Heike struggled to reconcile the apparition. Then she noticed him looking inside the stew pot still on the stove and regained herself. Apparition or not, he was still much too skinny for her liking. “Would you like some stew? It has pumpkin in it, just like you like it.”

Reynir blinked. He’d forgotten the language so quickly, but he could make out Heike’s intentions. “Oh, I am hungry,” he looked ruefully at the stew, “but I really can’t stay. I-I’m supposed to warn, I mean, oh-“ He took the bowl Heike pushed into his hands. “Thank you! I am so …” he couldn’t figure out the word for ‘lost.’ “I...,” he looked woefully at Heike, who was still staring at him with round eyes. “I did not say good-bye when I leave. Did Renate tell you? Is she in the kitchen?” He blew on the spoonful of stew to cool it.

Heike looked around, and then whispered, “Yes, she told me. Is she with you now?”

”No?” Reynir stopped shovelling the stew into his mouth for a moment, and looked around the kitchen, and over to the sleeping area. A sudden pang of nostalgia hit him. He groped for the words in his mind. “I like you.” Not what he wanted to say at all. “I am warm. Thank you.” He handed the empty bowl back to Heike, and as she turned to ladle more stew, he willed himself into the dream space. The stew revived him mightily, but he had to get going. As he took off running again through the dark, in what he hoped was the direction of Denmark, he puzzled over what Heike meant about Renate.

Heike stood in her kitchen, holding the bowl of stew and looking at the vacant space where Reynir had been standing. Berthe whined softly. Heinrich had revived and whined a bit less softly, “I saw The Reynir, I’m going to be the next to diiiieee.”

Heike wondered briefly if that was true. It certainly seemed like the boy who had worked for them, not a spirit, but how? Dazed, she handed the bowl of stew to Heinrich and took the tray of beer upstairs herself, hoping to find Renate elsewhere in the castle. She puzzled over what to do if she couldn’t find her.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Try this one.” Renate brought the saucepan over to the large wooden table, stirring the contents with a wooden spoon. She hadn’t bothered rolling up the sleeves on her elaborate gown, knowing from long experience that no amount of spilled food would be in evidence the next time she came to her dream world kitchen. She was glad she’d been able to manifest it here, a short hop over the water from Onni’s haven. While this Onni’s haven was very pretty with its rocks and forests, she felt uneasy without stout stone walls surrounding her, and food to keep her busy.

“I never knew you could eat inside your haven,” Onni shook his head, eyes fixed on the steaming pot. “Never.”

Renate shook her head in turn. “I never knew anyone else who even had a haven. I’ve never known another witch, sorry, mage.” She took out a small china cup and spooned some of the hot fragrant mixture into it. “When did you find out about yours?”

Onni was transfixed by the scented syrup and the delicate cup. “I was very young, when my grandmother started training me in magecraft. She taught me everything I know. This smells …I don’t know…so good. Better than cloudberries.”

“Your grandmother?,” Renate snorted as she ran a finger along the outside of the saucepan and licked off the sweet syrup, “Who ever heard of a grandmother that didn’t try to feed you every chance she got? Was she really thin or something?” She instantly regretted her impetuous choice of wording as Onni’s face clouded over with sorrow. “I’m sorry, I lost my grandmother when I was very young, too.” Onni frowned and opened his mouth to speak, but Renate rushed ahead, “Ummm, try some now, it doesn’t need to cool very much. If you let it get cold you can put it on bread, like jam, but I like it better hot like this.”

Onni’s face was an unreadable grey blank as his eyes almost fixed somewhere just off Renate’s left shoulder. To her relief, a moment later he shrugged and dipped a spoon into the cup. He took a tiny bit off the tip of the spoon, before his face lit up and he licked the rest of the spoon, and in very short order was scraping the sides of the cup for every last molecule.

Renate was glad to steer the conversation onto safer ground. “Saba brings me these sometimes from somewhere south. I don’t know what they’re called. We just call them orange fruit.”

“Yes!” Onni cried out and pointed at Renate with the spoon, “You just call them oranges!”

Renate looked hurt, “I said I don’t know what they’re really called, you don’t have to be rude.”

Onni’s eyes grew wider as he rushed to reassure Renate. “We call those oranges.” She frowned and looked askance at Onni. He went on, “No, really. Jódis – you’ll meet her, she runs the facility – had one from the greenhouses in Iceland once. I had a little piece of it.” He set his hands under his thighs like a child, as he looked up at Renate. “They’re very expensive.”

“Iceland is a real place?”

“Yes? It’s the center of the Known World.”

Renate considered this. “Iceland is the place where The Rash didn’t come, but I was taught it wasn’t real, it was just a place from children’s stories.” She paused, and absent-mindedly licked the stirring spoon. “Reynir said he was from there, but I thought he was just hiding where he was really from, especially once I knew he was a witch. But he was telling the truth. Hmmm. But why do they only have green houses?”

Onni shrugged and held up his empty cup. “The soil and weather is too poor to grow much without them.”

Renate gave up trying to resolve the conundrum of the houses in Iceland. Maybe they were all witches there after all, and they needed their houses to be green to work the spells. Onni’s empty cup was something she could understand, and she spooned some more orange marmalade syrup into it.

Onni appreciatively ate it. “You say Saba – that’s Ilya, right? – brings these to you. That’s amazing. I never knew Ilya could run that far. So you have these oranges all the time in Helvetia? Soooo lucky.”

“I can’t bring real ones out of here, only Saba can do that. I don’t let him, though, because-“ she admonished herself to be careful, she didn’t know this Onni all that well, even if he was a witch, correction, mage. Then she reminded herself that she came here precisely because Reynir told her that witches could live in the open here. “Because then they would know I was a witch, and probably kill me.”

Onni looked pained. He would be very sad indeed if he lived in a place where someone could be killed for being a mage (especially such a beautiful one). He reassured her that mages were valued here, and eyeing up Renate’s fylgja, added that cats were highly valued, too, in the fight against the Rash. The cat threw a haughty glance his way and continued grooming herself, as she knew her value was self-evident.

Onni continued as he ate, “Ilya’s been training Reynir, you know, to able to run into and out of the spirit space. Maybe we can send Reynir south with a bag, too, and he can bring us more of these whenever we like.” He took off his glove so he could stick his finger into the bottom of the cup to get the last dregs of the syrup out. “They make a cute couple, Reynir and Ilya,” he said offhand as he tried to get stray bits of sticky stuff off the rest of his hand.

He didn’t notice Renate’s face shift into a mask of shock. "C-couple?," she asked with a quaver in her voice.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Ellina shivered as she looked around her at the waters of the spirit realm, stretching in all directions under the dark sky. Her light linen summer clothes were blowing in a breeze, but she wasn’t shivering from cold. She’d never been here by herself before, she always shared Ana’s haven. She was lost, so lost; while she knew her body was asleep in Tuuri’s boat, she couldn’t escape the feeling she was alone in the Silent World. She fought the panic rising in her, and tried to focus.

Ana’s right, I am old enough to stand on my own. She tried to remember Ana’s instruction about making a safe place for herself. I need a runo, I need my runo, with my name and my family and where I am from. She’d never written her runo. The panic was rising again. I am Ellina Nimetön, she began, then realised she needed something more poetic. The only thing she could remember in her increasingly panicked state was the children’s runo praising the clever spiders. I can’t stand spiders, she thought, with my luck I’d end up with a haven like a spider web.

Then she realised she could hear voices. Somebody was calling for help. More voices joined, they were all calling for help, wanting to go home, crying for mamma, they were cold, they were lost. She could see their twisted bodies now, moving under the surface – toward her. waRm, sAfE, WArM saFE, mUst HIde, so LoSt….they were trolls, and they were coming for her, and she had nowhere to hide.

Ellina screamed, and the scream echoed around the cabin of Tuuri’s boat.

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The sound of her own scream was still reverberating around the cabin as Ellina awoke. There was more screaming, a man’s and an older lady’s voices. Ellina could hear the older lady the troll once had been, panicking at her predicament and screaming for help, even though she had torn the door off its hinges and was halfway into the cabin. Ellina was cowering, covering her ears and yelling, “Please stop, please stop! You’re dead, go away!”

Julian had dozed off on the floor along with Ellina, and his scream now echoed with the other two. The troll was stopped in her advance, however, caught like a fly in a spider’s web of safety rope and strapping. Julian’s scream tailed off as he realised he had done that, that the webbing was his own doing. It hadn’t been conscious this time. He forgot to be terrified of imminent death by troll as he analysed the design of the web, and consciously adjusted the web’s design to enhance both its symmetry and protective value.

Repelled, the troll retreated from the cabin, and encountered Riika and Tuuri, along with Gwenno, who was carrying Sigrun on her back. Riika and Tuuri blanched and tried to run as the troll rounded on them, while both troll-hunters’ teeth bared as they recognised their prey.

However, Gwenno’s arms were busy supporting Sigrun, and Sigrun was in no position to reach her knife belt. She tried to reach Gwenno’s knife instead, but succeeded only in overbalancing the both of them, and they toppled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs. They simultaneously rolled and came up in a crouch, each with her knife in her hand, but their adversary’s head was no longer on its shoulders.

The two women looked at each other, appreciated the lack of gore on their respective blades, and in silent unison pivoted to face outward from each other toward the surrounding forest. Ellina had stopped screaming but was still crying, and Gwenno called in to her to see if she was hurt, mentally cursing herself for allowing herself as the only immune fighter on the team to have her ability to defend her team compromised. Julian answered for the blotchy-faced Ellina, affirming they were unharmed.

Tuuri and Riika had gone around the boat and in by the other side, pulling Martti in after them as they did so, slamming the door shut behind them. Riika could be heard talking with the others in Finnish, and Tuuri translating for Julian, “Are you sure everyone’s okay? She wants to know if the troll managed to touch you or spit on you at all.”

The troll lay still, its head having come to a stop a short way from the rest of its body. There was less gore than Gwenno expected from a troll of that size; the troll was likely already in fairly poor condition before its attack. The voices inside the boat dimmed to murmurs as the two fighters scanned the area. Gwenno whispered, “Sigrun, get in the boat. Let’s get out of here.” She slowly paced to where she had dropped her staff and carefully picked it up and held it ready, sheathing her knife while continuing her scan.

Sigrun backed up a step to get inside, then saw the stealthy black figure first. She gave a short Hssst over to Gwenno, who nodded and then flowing Sigrun’s gaze, leapt toward the figure. She thrust the staff at the figure, but it was repelled with a dull thunk, and Gwenno had to quickly duck out of the way of its parry. Sigrun ignored her injuries to rush to Gwenno’s side, but the figure called out, “HOLD!” Both fighters paused, and the figure called out again, in a thickly accented male voice, “Hold! Friend, not troll.”

Gwenno and Sigrun watched warily as the figure in black armour stepped out of the shadows into the starlight and held up his hand. The other hand held a sword of considerable heft, covered in considerable gore. As he stepped forward, Gwenno defensively set the staff again, but he continued, “That’s a nice staff, I’d hate to have to chop it.” He wiped the sword with a black cloth from under his belt before sheathing it. “Don’t thank me, happy to be of service,” he rumbled.

Sigrun spoke from behind Gwenno, “Is he part of your team?”

Gwenno shook her head, not letting her eyes leave the man. “So he isn’t yours, either.” Then to the man she spoke slowly, “Who are you? How did you come here?”

In answer the man removed his helmet. “I can ask you the same.” He shook out a shock of unruly black hair and paused as if listening; neither woman could see or hear the wolf fylgja in the forest giving him a report. “That was the last of the trolls that squad released from the village,” he said slowly. “Else they’d meet them again with that loud vehicle of theirs.” Looking down at Sigrun and Gwenno, he smirked. “I’m known as Jón, by the way.”

Both fighters were having to look up, as the man in black armour was half a head taller even than Sigrun. Gwenno glanced at Sigrun and noted that she was extremely pale and starting to fade again. “Well, Jón, thank you very much. We owe you a debt. Much as I would like to stay and chat,” she crossed to Sigrun and held out her arm for Sigrun to lean on, “I do need to get this rescue going. I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but thank you again for the help.”

Jón grinned at Gwenno and Sigrun, and then grinned wider as he looked at the boat, with four sets of round eyes (one set with eyeglasses) above their masks peering silently at the three fighters from the open hatchway. “And I don’t know what alchemy you wield to bring this boat inland this far, but she’s a beauty.”

The lowest set of round eyes inside the boat emitted a small Meep! Sigrun started walking toward the boat, with Gwenno in support. “Thass was a fine sword,” she slurred, “and it made a fine cut. The enem-enemy of my nemenmy ‘s my friend.... ‘scusus now, pleasen thank you.”

Gwenno said to Sigrun, “Yeah, you don’t look so good. I think you do need rescuing after all.” They proceeded to the boat. Jón stood lost in thought, a faint smile forgotten on his face as his eyes raked the boat from bow to stern, his brows knitting together.

Riika stuck her head out again and motioned Jón closer, and stopped him just outside the boat’s hatch. “How did you come to be here?,” she kept her voice pitched low and level, “are you on horseback, or a have a vehicle?” When Jón shook his head, she pressed, “You’re just walking around the Silent World in armour, by yourself? I don’t think so. I appreciate your assistance, but let me ask you, can we avoid you mentioning our presence to your unit?”

Jón snorted with laughter, and saw his wolf fylgja sidle between the trees to avoid detection. He then chuckled as he gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, “My unit has not been aware of the unit in the tank. I give no guarantees about whether any of our scouts have also seen your …boat.”

Martti said something softly into Riika’s ear, and she nodded. “We must go. We are not far from the coast, may I please ask you more while we allow you to ride with us to the bridge?”

Jón ran his eyes appreciatively over the boat, ”I thought you’d never ask.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“I knew you’d come through,” Jódis smiled at the radio, “you’ve got the co-ordinates now. My team should be proceeding directly to Øresund base, and Mosi will meet them there.” She yawned and scrubbed her face with her hands to wake herself up as the other spoke. “Yeah, this ought to be good, all right. You know I want a full report!” They both signed off and Jódis hung up the headphones, shaking her head with a wry smile. Sometimes, crazy luck was on her side.

She leaned back in her chair and looked at the stars through her office window. They certainly are bright tonight, she thought. Her sister had gone through a phase as a teenager after reading old texts, believing that studying the movements of the stars could foretell the future. Birgitta had shown her stars through her telescopes, and they were supposed to be like the sun, fiery balls of gas.

Jódis believed that she determined her own future, not random balls of gas. After gazing at the stars again for a long moment, she took the headphones down again in preparation for another call.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The tank rumbled to a stop outside the gates of the Øresund Bridge, with the eastern horizon lightening with the coming dawn. The headlights shone on the gates, the shadows making an illusion like they were opening. Sofie sneezed yet again, and the tank’s engine let out a similar sneeze and fell silent. She realised that it was no mistake, the gates were slowly opening, as a lone figure mightily pushed them open. The person stood in the gateway, a tall and very solid man with massive sideburns flaring out from the sides of his face, squinting against the headlights before striding toward the tank. He was wet from the waist down and carrying a small pack.

Kristján burst out the side door and confronted the man. “Wait, one of you? ONE?” He looked into the open maw of the tunnel. “Where is your vehicle, and your crew?” He then recognised the man, who had stopped advancing and was stolidly scowling down at him. “You’re Michael Madsen, aren’t you?”

“Mikkel Madsen. I’m not here to exchange pleasantries of the morning with you,” Mikkel rumbled, “I’m here to deliver medical aid to your crewmember.” Following Kristján’s gaze, he added, “the bridge is impassable to our vehicle.” He started to stride past Kristján to the tank, ignoring the imprecations Kristján started spewing out.

“The advance team took her,” Sofie told Mikkel as he reached the tank. “Did they not pass you?”

“Hey, you!” Emil jumped out of the tank next to Sofie, “there’s no such thing as face cancer.”

Mikkel ignored Emil’s comment and addressed Sofie. “Advance team? Indeed they did not if they were in a vehicle. Admittedly I was busy strolling across what’s left of the bridge and so may have missed them if they were in a boat.”

“So how are we supposed to get our cargo across the bridge?” Kristján pushed in front of Emil to confront Mikkel again.

Mikkel raised an eyebrow. “The bridge is mostly passable on foot. So your research was fruitful?”

Kristján turned on his heel and stalked back to the tank. Emil asked Sofie sotto voce, “I can’t really understand him. Did he just ask us if we found fruit? It’s the middle of winter, what fruit does he mean?”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Reynir was almost beside himself with panic, just running blindly. He’d managed to run to Helvetia, and to a boat in the middle of sea, and the base in Norway. Olaf did not know he was supposed to be on a mission in Denmark, and must have been in a good mood because he only swore at Reynir a little when he took some food out of the larder. He considered staying, but couldn’t bear to let the team down and set off again. He had managed to run through some mage’s unoccupied swampy haven, was chased from another mage’s townscape, and another mage’s beech forest haven, and then back through the swamp again. But he was so disoriented, that he had abandoned hope of ever finding Tuuri’s cousin and now simply wanted to find Martti or Riika again.

He was following a piece of coastline that he hoped belonged to Denmark, when he saw the large wolf loping toward him in the distance. Remembering this wolf as Jón’s fylgja, Reynir’s heart leapt with joy and relief. He and the wolf came together and greeted one another gladly. “Can you point me to Denmark?” Reynir asked the wolf.

“I don’t know your names for these places,” the wolf grinned, “but He is now with other mages. They seem to be friends and not foes, else they would be slain by now. Do you wish to perhaps avoid mages?” He cocked his head to one side, yellow eyes regarding Reynir with amusement.

“NO!,” Reynir cried out. “They might be my team, I’m looking for them, where are they? Can you take me to them?” In answer, the wolf loped off, and Reynir followed. His own fylgja dog suddenly was running alongside them as well, tongue lolling. “Where have YOU been all this time?,” Reynir admonished him testily. With a small bark, the dog sprinted ahead to lope alongside the wolf.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Whatever did Renate mean by her comments about being with Reynir? Ilya thought as the miles flew past. Renate belonged in the slow world, she didn’t even like to come out running anymore. She can get anyone she wants in the slow world, but Reynir, Reynir is the only one who can keep up with me, he belongs with me.

How? Ilya thought, How is he keeping ahead of me? Everywhere Ilya went, following Reynir’s trail, Reynir had already been and gone. The realisation that Reynir could run faster than Ilya could, hit like a wave. Ilya couldn’t decide quite how to feel about that revelation, but settled on love and admiration for Reynir’s abilities. One of the stops was the home base, and Ilya picked up the clogs in Reynir’s room with affection. There was no time to stop and work on them tonight, but maybe Ilya could exercise that idea for the clogs while running? Now, if only I had some idea where he was supposed to be going, I could just go there, Ilya reasoned, where would the rest of them be going? Denmark, the owly mage had said. Where was that supposed to be again? That line of reasoning was not providing answers. I need to get Reynir to teach me more about his world. Ilya peered at the clogs appraisingly without missing a step.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri brought the boat alongside the stopped tank. Jón watched with interest as Riika and Martti let go of their hands with a sigh, and the boat sank gently onto the mud. They obviously had some sort of magic power to power the boat. Tuuri, the driver of the boat was likely magical as well, although he couldn’t read what her power might be, other than the piloting of the boat. The security officer, who had introduced herself as Gwenno, had grabbed her staff and leapt out of the boat at the first opportunity and was now talking to the group standing outside the tank. She had been keeping an eye on Sigrun, her counterpart from the tank, who was now asleep on the bench. This team’s mission was apparently simply to rescue her, but it didn’t answer what the tank was doing out here in the Silent World in the first place.

The other occupants of the boat, the yawning bespectacled young man who had been mumbling about needing a cup of “coffee” (perhaps some kind of potion he used for magic) and the sullen teenage girl, now sat silently on the floor in front of the bench where Sigrun lay. Jón didn’t even know their names; they were an unknown quantity. Did he need to worry about their magic? Riika, the leader, had been asking Jón questions during their short trip and never introduced them. Riika had been uncomfortably direct with some of her questions, and Jón was not, for some reason, able to deploy his usual tactic of pretending to not understand the language. Jón wished Grim was available for insight, but he hadn’t seen the wolf since he boarded the boat. Maybe there were wards, but Jón’s discreet examination could detect no runes.

Tuuri leaned out of the pilot’s window and yelled out, “Lalli! What’s going on?” Jón could hear the response from someone, a man by the sound of it, outside the boat, but couldn’t understand it. He could understand Tuuri’s side of the conversation, but not the other side.

Then the owner of the voice was right up next to the Tuuri’s window, and suddenly Jón could make out the words, “...walked over the bridge but it’s all broken.”

“Broken? What did he mean by that?,” Tuuri asked. Jón couldn’t hear a reply, but Tuuri turned around and asked Riika, “The medic from the base is here, alone. There’s something wrong with the bridge stopping the rescue truck from getting across. Can we check it out?”

Riika came up to the front to stand with Tuuri. “Bring the medic here, then,” she called from over Tuuri’s shoulder to the unseen man. Then quietly to Tuuri, “Can you scan ahead from here?”

Tuuri shook her head, but Martti said from the co-pilot’s chair, “I can sort of see the bridge ahead, and there are wires and supports down, and part of the bridge is submerged in the water, but the base is stable and strong on the rock.”

Jón could only just hear Riika’s response to Martti, “There’s water in the tunnel, but it’s only a little, it’s not flooded.”

Tuuri interjected, “Oh, no, this bridge is supposed to be an underwater tunnel for part of its length, it was designed that way.” Riika and Martti didn’t say anything, but Jón imagined they were thinking what he was thinking – a bridge that dove under the water on purpose? It sounded preposterous. Tuuri must have read their expressions, because she warmed to her subject, “No, truly, I’ve read all about it. It’s quite a clever design, an engineering marvel even before the Rash, it has-“

She was cut off by the slender man from the tank leading the medic into the boat. “There, now you can speak Finnish,” this one told the medic, but then hesitated as he looked toward Sigrun, “but she isn’t Finnish.” Jón recognised his as the voice speaking to Tuuri a moment ago, and got the distinct impression that this was also the mage Grim had sensed during their reconnaissance of the tank.

The medic looked for a mat to wipe his boots upon before entering the boat. To Jón’s amazement, a tangle of strapping in one corner quietly resolved itself into a mat before the mud-crusted boot could touch the floor, and moved subtly to form a woven runner covering the walkway from the hatch to the bench. “I don’t need to speak Finnish, it’s a Swedish expedition,” the man grumbled as his eyes accustomed to the running lights in the boat. He frowned as he looked around. “You’re wearing masks? Are you not immune?” Riika and Martti exchanged a look, and the teenaged girl stared at the floor as she scooted her bottom along to give the medic access to Sigrun. “Those are very tiny masks to be gallivanting in the Silent World in,” the medic commented as he knelt next to Sigrun.

Jón commanded his face to fall back to a blank expression, but surreptitiously scanned the two unknown occupants. He ticked off the list of powers in his head – earth, water, piloting, and now one of those two unknowns had a magic power to move things about with their mind. That left the other one to be ...the penny dropped. They must be providing some kind of translation power, which would explain the accent-free speech they were all using. Even the slender scout had seamlessly switched to the accent-free speech when he came right up the boat. Very interesting, he thought to himself. No alchemy, but natural powers. He took the opportunity to leave the boat, grimacing as his boots squelched up to their ankles in mud when he jumped down, a by-product of the water Riika had summoned to bring the boat over land not draining very well. He’d have to clean that off before returning to his unit. He mulled over how much he was going to divulge about these groups and their activities.

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Renate stroked her black cat fylgja and smiled at Onni. The conversation was at a lull and he was fidgeting with the binding of his cloak and looking awkward. He saw her smiling at him and looked away, but his blush as he did so spoke volumes. He was saying something, something about his sister and his cousin and their life on the shores of a lake, but Renate was not really taking his words in. She remembered her own childhood with her family and Saba’s family on a different lake shore, but for once just the happy memories came to the surface, not her desperate running away with Saba. Somehow she thought that the dark water that lapped the stones outside her kitchen was supposed to be a vestige of her old home, but according to Onni it was part of the overall landscape of this dream realm. Listening to Onni’s even voice, she realised she felt more relaxed than she could remember it was possible to do. He was very knowledgeable about this world and yet had never bothered to try eating? It was quite charming how much he appreciated the food.

Onni looked startled as he suddenly looked past her, and as she turned to follow his gaze everything faded to darkness and confusion.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sofie felt the wind off the water of the strait stinging her eyes as she looked at the coming sunrise colouring the horizon. She should be relieved that the end of this journey was so close, but she couldn’t help but look into the darkness of the Øresund tunnel through the half-opened door. Of course the bridge was still broken, she was driving over it as it came apart. Why did she think it would be fixed in the intervening weeks? She answered herself: because Sweden is orderly, and safe, at least in the immediately vicinity of Mora.

She’d been carried away by the romance of her spontaneous trip to the Silent World in search of books. She had barely left the vicinity of the tank, and was still doing washing and cooking and trying to get the old equipment to work, just like at home. Worse, she corrected herself as she looked inside the engine compartment again, this old equipment is pie. Sofie had tried and failed to repeat the fix Tuuri had made earlier in the night.

Her attention turned to Kristján abusing the poor medic who had bravely clambered over the wreckage of the bridge and slogged through the tunnel to reach them. She was tempted to call Kristján an idiot, but that choice of word made her think she was being unduly influenced by him, stooping to his level. Kristján is severely misguided in his leadership style. Not much better, she sighed. Kristján turned his back to the unimpressed medic and stalked back to the tank, breaking Sofie out of her reverie. She closed the bonnet of the unresponsive tank and went back inside to fix some breakfast.

She sneezed as soon as she entered the tank. The cat’s dander permeated everything now and as much as the morning wind had cut through her, she had had some relief from the allergies while outside. The culprit languidly strode out from the sleeping compartment and mewed endearingly at her. Kristján pushed past Sofie on his way to the compartment, and the kitten leapt nimbly out of the way of his wet boots. A moment later Kristján was yelling roughly at Emil and Clara to wake up. At least they’d had gotten some sleep, Sofie yawned. Emil skipped out of the compartment and out of the tank, and Sofie changed her mind about breakfast and followed him out.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Mikkel debriefed Riika and Martti about the state of the bridge as he worked on the infected parts of Sigrun’s arm.

“It wouldn’t take much to repair?” Tuuri asked, “should we try it?” Martti stared back at her, mouthing a soundless What? “How hard can it be? You and Riika have been building bridges for training, right?” She got up from the driver’s seat.

“But, but,” Martti looked at Riika; she looked sceptical. “Little bridges, in fact just one little bridge, just made of stones,” he stammered, “and this one…” He shook his head at the enormity of the task.

Tuuri threw her hands into the air, “You could try making concrete, sand, and small stones, and water, right?” They continued staring at her, so she went on, “Concrete. You need steel support, a lattice,” she whirled and pointed at Julian, “YOU can weave a steel lattice from what’s still there, right?” Julian’s mouth started opening and closing, but nothing was coming out, so Tuuri continued, “and you can string up the suspension wires again, easy.”

Julian’s mind managed to re-engage, and he said, “I’m not sure what condition they’ll be in, but I could try. Do you know the shape required?”

Tuuri grinned, “Sure. I told you I studied the bridge, I can guide you.” She clapped her gloved hands, “EEEEE, this is going to be great!” Then she turned back to Mikkel, “Oh, wait, do we have to get her back right away? How bad is she?”

Mikkel shrugged and looked at Sigrun, sedated and glassy-eyed. “I do not believe she is in a life-threatening situation. Could the remainder of the crew easily stay with the tank until we can evacuate them?”

“Can we leave just Kristján here?” The question came from the heretofore silent Lalli. All eyes whirled to Lalli, who shifted about nervously.

Sigrun started giggling in her drug-tinted stupor. “I wish I had a magic boat earlier, Lalli, you’re funny.” He glared at her.

Riika started rummaging through one of the supply bags they’d brought along, then thrust it at the dozing Ellina. “Here, dig out some of our food, I think we’re going to need it before we try this.” Ellina blinked awake and reluctantly ventured a hand out of the ball she’d been trying to fold herself into, to comply. Riika took her mask off to eat, but the others mostly stretched them aside to fit in bites of meat-filled rolls as they put their gear on.

As they finished chewing and put their masks back on, Julian asked Tuuri, “Wouldn’t the concrete need time to cure before they can drive on it?”

Tuuri shrugged, “Probably, but let’s just try making it first.” They discussed the design as they went out. The four of them trudged past the tank on their way to the bridge, with Gwenno running over to take the point next to Riika.

They chose a spot between the outlet of the tunnel and the sea. Riika and Martti put their arms around each other’s waists and nodded. Julian gazed distractedly out to sea as he felt for the iron and steel filaments. “It’s very far out to sea, are you sure you can reach that far?,” Julian asked Martti and Riika.

“Maybe, I guess?” Martti ventured. Riika shrugged.

“Would it be better if we went out there in the boat, to get closer,” Tuuri ventured, “and you wouldn’t have to work so hard?”

“I would prefer to stand on the earth,” Martti replied, “and Riika can provide the support across the water.” He looked at Julian’s glazed expression, and realised he’d responded in Finnish. He repeated it slowly in Swedish.

Tuuri was describing the angles required for the lattice to Julian, who started nodding in agreement. As Julian started manipulating the steel, he asked Martti to loosen the concrete around the rods to give him play. Grunting with effort, he relayed the chemical composition he wanted for the new concrete to Martti and Riika. Instead of nodding, they stared at him uncomprehendingly. “What? I don’t speak enough Swedish to understand that,” Riika complained.

“To be honest, I’m not sure even knowing the Swedish would help me,” Martti said ruefully, “but we should get Ellina to stand down here with us.”

Gwenno agreed to get her. “You,” pointing at Jón, “can you please watch out for them while I’m up there. We’re out in the open, and daylight is coming, but watch just in case.”

Gwenno had forgotten to speak slowly and Jón caught only about half of it, but he understood the gist of what she wanted. “I always do,” he grinned.

Julian and Tuuri conferred about the tensile strength of the aged steel rods. Julian offered, “They are not really very flexible, and they are anchored in old concrete. We might do better to see if we can create new rods?”

“We don’t exactly have...what’s the word I’m looking for in Swedish?...” Tuuri frowned and switched to Finnish, “smelting and metalworking capability. Martti, can you separate out iron from the rocks?”

Martti blinked, and felt around the bridge and the earth around them, and shook his head. “There’s a little to work with, but I’d be here for a week trying to crush it out. And then what?”

Tuuri hummed for a moment, and commented to Julian in Swedish, “We’ll just have to work with what we have.” She then looked back to the spectacle of a grinning Gwenno stomping back towards her, with a squirming Ellina held firmly over her shoulder. Lalli was following behind, as was the driver and the plump blond cleanser they’d picked up in the forest. Following them was Kristján, who by the look of him was yelling and pointing back at the boat, and Jón loping down in the rear. They were all bathed in the vague pinkish light of the sunrise.

Gwenno set Ellina down on her feet, and the girl yelled, “Don’t touch me! Leave me alone, don’t you ever touch me again!” She then let out a stream of expletives that gave them all pause. Tuuri flushed deep red and looked fixedly at Kristján, everyone else stared before looking anywhere but at Ellina. Even Jón, accustomed to the company of hardened mercenaries, raised his eyebrows.

"That's disgraceful," Gwenno scolded, "Where did you learn language like that?"

"Olaf," Ellina replied in a small voice.

Gwenno put her hands on her hips and glared up at the taller girl. “Excuse me, you’ll have some manners, please and thank you. The spoilt brat act will not be acceptable on a mission.” Ellina stared at Gwenno and flushed deep red, but did not reply. “Or anywhere, really,” Gwenno gave her staff a twirl as she returned it to the two-handed ready position, her eyes never leaving Ellina’s.

----

Sofie stole a sidelong glance at Kristján and made a valiant but unsuccessful attempt to stifle her laughter.

Kristján obviously did not take the hint. “What are you morons doing down here?” He poked Emil in the chest, “YOU need to go pack the books for transport. You’re completely useless as a skald, but it’s still your job.” To Sofie he directed, “This isn’t some sightseeing cruise, get back up to the tank.” To no one in particular, he shouted, “What are these people doing down here, anyway? Are we going to have some,” he simpered mockingly, “little ritual for the sunrise or something, is that how you backward-ass Finns do these things?”

“These backward-ass Finns are here to save your ass,” Lalli shot back with an affronted look, and pointedly turned his shoulder to Kristján. He raised his chin slightly as Emil and Sofie gave a low whistle.

Kristján retrieved his jaw and stormed back to the tank. He was halfway back to the tank before it occurred to him that Lalli had understood and spoken to him, and he turned around to look again at the group gathered on the waterfront. What had just happened there?

----

“You don’t say much, but you made it count,” Emil chuckled to Lalli. “Thanks for that.”

Sofie shook her head, “I don’t know how it is that you’re suddenly speaking Swedish, Lalli, but I can’t say I mind it.” She turned back to the group, who were discussing something about concrete and metal rods. “And I can understand them, too, now. Are they going to …make a new bridge or something?”

Emil shrugged, “Maybe? I don’t know. I thought the boat was magic, but maybe it’s them.” He pointed at the mages, now forming a circle around the tall blotchy-faced girl who’d been swearing a moment ago.

“Yes, they’re all mages,” Lalli said, “except Tuuri, she’s my cousin but she’s not a mage. At least, not as far as I know, maybe she got her powers late, after she left Finland. It happens sometimes. Her brother is a powerful mage, too.” Sofie and Emil were staring openly at him, but he continued, “I think the young girl has made a language spell of some kind. I need to ask her later what runo she uses. I really want one for when all of you are jabbering away in Swedish and I can’t understand you.”

“Swedish isn’t jabbering,” Emil looked affronted, “I liked you better when you didn’t talk.” He quailed under Lalli’s glare. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” his face brightened, “but does that mean you’ll continue the mission with us?”

“No.” Lalli looked surprised at the question.

“There really isn’t a mission anymore,” Sofie sighed, “once we get back to the base and get these books in, that’s it. I can’t say I’ll be sad.” Emil looked at her doubtfully, but Lalli nodded his head in agreement. “I hate to say it, but Kristján had a point. I can’t get the tank to start again, but at least we can package up the books and see if we can get them onto Tuuri’s boat or something.” A long moment passed, and Sofie yawned hugely. Neither she nor Emil moved. “Or something,” she muttered.

----

Martti and Julian were discussing how to get the steel for the lattice Tuuri wanted, and seemed to be at a sticking point with extracting the steel from the rods embedded in the bridge, especially across the distance. Jón gave a short laugh. “Why not use this steel?” He gestured around him. There were piles of junked vehicles and provenance from the Kastrup reclamation effort scattered around the foreshore.

Tuuri gasped and her eyebrows raised up nearly to her hairline. “Why didn’t I….Martti?” Martti shrugged and looked at Julian. Julian stared at the piles of junk as though they had just appeared, and hoisted one or two pieces with his powers, before looking at Riika. Riika was staring at Jón.

Julian put down the pieces and asked Tuuri, “the tensile strength isn’t that great, but they’re not as difficult to work as the rods in the bridge. Will they work?”

Tuuri’s brow was furrowed considering the same question, and she nodded slightly in reply. “I’m not sure, they would work if,” and she and Julian discussed the properties necessary. Jón posited an alchemical method of enhancing the steel’s properties. They were all yawning conspicuously by this time, and finally Tuuri said, “It’s been a long night, and I’m about to fall over. Let’s just do this before we all fall asleep.”

“How do you people live without coffee?,” Julian moaned.

“I don’t know what ‘coffee’ is,” Jón sighed, “but I can guess.” He called over at Lalli, who was the only one still wide awake. “Are you a super-powered mage too?” Lalli looked offended. “No, no, I mean… what I mean is that I could use some extra heat, is that something you can provide?” Lalli considered this, then shrugged his assent and walked over to the group.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“No thank you, you’re very kind, but I’m quite full,” Reynir lied. He had never eaten a cake like the one this woman gave him, and its intense sweetness took Reynir aback. The wolf seemed to be enjoying it though; there was pink icing flecked all over his muzzle, and he was unabashedly licking the small plate clean, pushing it along the flagstones with each tongue stroke.

The old woman tilted her head to one side and smiled beatifically at Reynir. “What a nice dog.” She leaned forward and whispered, “I do like the huskier breeds better than the yappy small dogs, don’t you?”

Reynir looked at his own small yappy fylgja standing impatiently at the entrance to the church hall, and frowned. “I am very sorry, but I think I really do need to go. Where did you say your church is?”

“Oh, I’m afraid I don’t remember.” She frowned and rubbed her temples and for a moment Reynir saw the pleasant church with its sun-dappled windows converted into a makeshift hospital. Mattresses with ill people lined the flagstone floor, and masked orderlies were carrying in more with stretchers. Reynir shrank from the obviously Rashed people around him and pulled up the neckline of his sweater to cover his nose and mouth. The half-eaten cake and cup of the vile coffee Julian liked so much were gone from the table in front of him, replaced with vials, bandages, needles, and some sort of glass rectangle with Danish words magically appearing on its face. A second version of the old lady was standing next to the table, talking to an unseen man, “I can try it, if you think it will help these poor souls.” Reynir craned his neck around to see who she was talking to, but the makeshift hospital disappeared around him. The cake and coffee on dainty dishes appeared on the tidy table as before. The old woman at the table continued, “it was all so long ago, and it’s been so very long since anyone needed my help.”

She looked so woebegone that Reynir felt awkward about leaving her, but he was also conscious of needing to get back to his team. “I must be going. Thank you very much for the lovely cake. If I see anyone dying, I will check if they can use your help.” He bit his lip, but the old lady appeared to cheer up.

“Oh, that would be lovely if you could.” She smiled and waved from the doorway as Reynir ran away.

“Are you sure that was a necessary stop?,” Reynir asked Grim as they ran.

Grim licked his chops. “Oh, yes. Sustenance is important.”

“Fylgjas need to eat?”

“Oh, no, not as such. I meant sustenance for her,” Grim chuckled. “She doesn’t seem to have a fylgja of her own, nor any of the familiars the other ones** keep close. You find that with some of the ones who followed God or Yahweh or Allah, or whatever name they gave.” (**Ed: he means the Finns) He said no more, and they ran on into the dawn.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

A murmuring arose from the foreshore. Tuuri spoke to the team, giving instructions to Julian on the shape of the lattice she wanted, and to Riika and Martti she repeated the composition of the concrete required. They closed their eyes and concentrated. Jón had out some of his talismans and was also speaking the words to his spell. Lalli had his eyes closed and his lips moved slightly as he chanted a runo, and his face glowed with the heat that was being projected into the steel. Sweat poured down Tuuri’s face as she continued giving directions.

Above the sound of the murmuring came a whining as a multitude of iron flotsam first floated up and then began to creak as they glowed with spells and heat, reforming into rods, bending in the grip of Julian’s power to the desired shape and forming the deceptively fragile-looking lattice. Joining the sound was a roar as innumerable small stones from the harbour were drawn up into a growing column of seawater, swirling and churning.

Sofie looked up into the column of swirling rocks and water with awe; there were boulders, gravel, glittering sand, dark and light rocks, all caught in the vortex. Spraying out from the column was a shower of white crystals spattering them all. One had hit her in the mouth; it tasted of salt. As she looked out to the sea, Sofie saw a fragile-looking web stretching across the sky, and where it encountered the web, the column hissed and steamed.

She tried desperately to consider how this was coming to pass, as she knew there was no machinery moving these items. Was this…magic? She whispered the word. She had read in the textbooks that Finland and Iceland believed that some of their people were mages and could wield power over the elements, or could see into the future, but she’d chalked it up to a naïve and simplistic belief system, not at all like the Swedes’ belief in science. However, having such a thing happening right in front of her was straining her credibility. She looked to Emil for his reaction; maybe as a trained skald he wasn’t being taken in by a clever illusion?

Emil looked into the column and cheered. “That is just like the superhero gramophones I used to have to process back at the Academy! But, it needs music!” He capered in his excitement, “Sweeping music, like da-da da-da da-DAAA! Daa-da-DAA-ÄÄ!” He held one hand on his heart and flung the other outward. “And capes! You people need capes!”

The column moved slowly out to sea, toward the breech in the bridge, taking the lattice and the concrete forming the new portion of the bridge with it. The cries of the people at the bottom of the column distracted Sofie from the wondrous sight, and as she looked with alarm at their anguished faces she saw Lalli fall to his knees, clutching his head.

She blinked, and there was Gwenno kneeling next to Lalli, helping him up. No, that isn’t Gwenno, she blinked again, as the real Gwenno ran over with her staff, that’s…who is that? It seemed to be a tall young woman with a long red plait, longer than Gwenno’s, and wearing a light blue sweater. The woman looked up from Lalli at the circle of mages and started to run towards them, but Gwenno stopped her. Getting a better look, Sofie considered that maybe this was a young man and not a woman; and Gwenno seemed to know the person. Where had he…she…whatever, where had they come from?

The people in the circle were sweating profusely and those not actively talking were grunting with the effort, as the steaming column moved further away and its roar dimmed with distance. Sofie ran to Lalli. He was probably still concussed from being blown out the building some weeks back; she cursed herself for not looking after him better.

----

Gwenno pointed the newly-arrived Reynir up to Tuuri’s boat. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she told him soothingly, “it’s just good you found us again. Go on up and rest.” Reynir’s mouth opened and closed as he tried to think of a way he could help the team, but flushed as he realised Gwenno was right. He trudged up the slope, his fleet feet suddenly heavier than bricks. He paused and looked back at the column glittering far out to sea, before noticing the tall figure in black for the first time.

Jón was here, too? How had that happened? He shook his head to clear out his mental cobwebs. Grim was Jón’s fylgja, of course they’d arrived where Jón was. It was just dumb luck that Jón happened to be where his team was. He paused. Wasn’t it dumb luck? He resumed trudging back up to the boat, reminiscing about Heike’s lovely stew.

As he came around the bow of Tuuri’s boat, Reynir was confronted by a snarling figure with piercing icy green eyes below a dishevelled shock of curly blond hair. He knew this person, but as he struggled to remember who it was, the man was spitting, “WHERE are those useless morons, I told them to get back here and-“ He noticed Reynir, and his snarl faltered momentarily as he panned up and up to Reynir’s face before renewing in its fury. “YOU!,” he spat, “You!” He flushed deep red.

Reynir, for his part, had also figured out where he knew this person from, and backed away from Kristján’s wrath. “It wasn’t me!,” he managed to squeak, “I swear!”

“Of all the idiots, and morons, and thundering imbeciles I’ve ever had to deal with,” Kristján snarled as his hands clenched into fists and he advanced on Reynir, “you, YOU…”

A resounding thwack! rang out and Kristján sprawled unconscious in the mud. As Reynir gaped, he suddenly made out a freshly-made wooden clog in the mud next to Kristján’s head. He picked it up and ran his hand over the surface, picking out an intricately carved rune on the instep of the clog. “Awww, thanks, Ilya, it’s beautiful,” Reynir said to the air around him. The wind riffled through his hair, and the clog’s mate appeared on the ground next to him.

A rumbling could be heard in the distance, and Reynir watched the grey-faced team trudge up the hill from the foreshore. Riika and Martti were supporting each other, and Riika had her other hand on Tuuri’s shoulder. Tuuri was squealing with excitement and the sound carried up to Reynir; she was walking beside the young man who had collapsed from the headache before, when Reynir first dropped out of the dreamspace. Based on his features and hair colour, Reynir assumed this must be the cousin he was sent to find, to give advance warning. He sighed at his failure to accomplish that. Reynir watched Julian warily and grabbed his plait defensively, but then felt slightly ashamed of himself when he saw how ashen-faced and shaken Julian was looking as he shuffled up the small slope.

Behind them came Ellina and some people Reynir didn’t know, a tired-looking young woman with brown plaited hair and a plump blond man who was chattering excitedly at Ellina. Ellina had her arms wrapped around herself defensively, but seemed to be listening intently to what the man was telling her.

Bringing up the rear were Jón and Gwenno, chatting. Gwenno seemed to be showing Jón some of her moves with the staff. Jón was nodding slowly, but not looking like he was taking it all in. Reynir tried to remember whether that white streak in Jón’s hair was there before, but couldn’t recall ever seeing Jón in daylight before.

----

A transport vehicle came roaring out of the tunnel and up the road to where the tank and boat were parked. The side door opened and a tall figure with dark hair got out. She strode over to where Kristján was sprawled in the mud, and prodded him with a shiny leather boot. “Wake up, Kristján,” she said mockingly in Icelandic, a small smile playing about her lips.

Kristján slowly came to, laid his hand on the sore spot on his forehead where Ilya’s clog had impacted, and focussed groggily on the tall woman standing over him. Then Kristján screamed.

“You still scream like a girl,” she drawled.

“Hildur! I can explain!,” Kristján struggled to get to his feet, “I was getting the money to come back, I was just-“ She cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“I had our marriage annulled years ago, Kristján,” Hildur Árnadóttir said calmly. “Spare me your excuses.” By this time Reynir had launched himself at the imperious figure and had his arms wrapped around her. “Hey, puppy,” she chuckled, “good to see you, Jódis said you’d be here! You are so tall! C’mere,” she ran a finger around Reynir’s mask, “are you going to be okay out here like this? Mamma is going to have Jódis’ head on a platter if she finds out.” She returned his hug amid his reassurances and they strode arm-in-arm to Tuuri’s boat.

“I am Riika Kovacs, I am commanding this rescue mission,” Riika greeted Hildur when she came within reach of Ellina’s power. “I trust you found your ride across the bridge smooth?”

“Very smooth, my thanks,” Hildur grinned as she extended her hand to Riika and Martti. “Hildur Árnadóttir. A field medic should already be here,” a greeting from Mikkel inside the boat confirmed this, “and I understand there is the matter of a vehicle and some cargo that needs to be assessed.” She gestured to personnel issuing from the transport vehicle. “I’ll bring you to the base’s mission commander, though, for a proper debrief.”

“Ah, that is all right,” Riika rushed to say, “you’re not the commander? Our mission is just a medical rescue. We need to be on our way back to the base now.”

Hildur ran an appraising eye up and down the bedraggled team, and nodded. “Very well.” She looked back at the team carrying parcels back to the transport unit. “It looks like we’re mostly done here.” Kristján started to sputter, and she stopped him short with a look, before smiling back at Riika, “Nice doing business with you.”

“Wait, I thought the base was bringing their own transport to rescue the crew?” Riika looked at Sofie, Emil, Clara and Lalli as they came out of the tank, watching with dismay as the transport team loaded all of the parcels they’d taken from the tank into their truck. Sofie came over to Kristján and they were talking urgently to one another just out of earshot.

“Hmm, yes, they will come with us, too, I suppose,” Hildur gave a tight smile, “as much as I’d prefer to leave Kristján Rúnarson here. But, I’m the Nordic Council’s insurance adjuster. My concern is the cargo and provenance.” Turning back to Reynir, she smiled again, “gods, look at you, so tall. And Jódis tells me you actually are a seiðr after all? We always wondered. Are you going to stay at the base a bit and visit?”

Reynir shrugged, “I don’t really know, I guess we are going back to Norway pretty soon?”

----

Kristján, Sofie, and Clara had gone back into the tank, came out with their rucksacks and trudged into the back of the transport vehicle. Emil came back to the boat, pulling Lalli by the arm. “He needs medical help too, can we get him back quickly too? Can we go now? Let’s go now,” Emil implored.

Tuuri nodded at Emil, "Of course! Lalli, why didn't you say you were hurt?" Lalli simply winced and shrugged. Tuuri looked at the very full cabin. Gwenno, Ellina and Julian went back into the cargo area, intending to sleep. Riika and Martti were preparing to join them, until Tuuri asked, “wait, Riika, sorry, can I please get your help to float to the strait? We’re a bit overloaded, else I could just use the regular overland thrusters.” Riika nodded tiredly and she and Martti came up front again.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Onni opened his eyes with a start. Ana had come in to his cottage, saying, “Onni! Oh, you are awake, I was pounding on the door and you weren’t answering, I was worried ab…” She stopped short as her eyes took in the scene before her. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she fumbled awkwardly, “I didn’t know, I… ah…“ She looked away. “We have an update from the team in Denmark, I thought you wanted to know. Nevermind, gottagobye.” She slipped out the door.

“Ana! Wait!” Onni started to vault out of the bed, but realised there was something in his way. He looked down into the terrified eyes of Renate, shrinking away from him to the very edge of the single bed, pulling up the blankets off of Onni and up to her eyes. Her blond plaits were no longer wound around her head, but were lying loosely on the pillow around her face. “Sorry! Sorry, Renate, of course you’re here, I…” She said something unintelligible. Onni opened his mouth and closed it again. He tried a greeting in Icelandic, and then again in Norwegian, but she obviously couldn’t understand those, either. “I’m sorry, I guess we’ll have to wait for Reynir to get back from the mission,” he said resignedly, “or Ellina.” Renate blinked, and started looking slowly around the room.

Onni felt very self-conscious in his woollen union suit as he awkwardly clambered over Renate, but stoked up the banked fire in the small hearth to dispel the morning chill. One of the buttons fastening the back flap of the suit had fallen off during Onni’s coma, and feeling the cool air hitting that portion of his bare bottom, he was now regretting his neglect of sewing it back on. With as much dignity as he could muster, he gathered some clothes to go change in the tiny toilet closet. Renate’s eyes followed him, glittering inscrutably in the early morning gloom.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The Danish transport vehicle churned away. The sleek boat slowly arose from the mud and picked up speed as it went downhill, finally sending out rooster tails of mud and water as it hit the waters of the strait and sped away. Jón removed the glamour spell that rendered him unnoticeable to the Danish authorities and sighed as the morning wind brought the sounds of the vehicles receding. Silence prevailed over the Silent World again.

He sensed Grim nearby. “So, now what,” he queried, “how am I getting back to my unit? Should I have asked them for a ride?” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at the bridge.

Grim chuckled. Jón suddenly felt the wind pick up, bearing a distinct smell of freshly-cut pine, just before he blacked out. When he came to, he was flat on his back under a low-hanging pine bough. He heard voices nearby, and peered out from the makeshift shelter. There, in a clearing just meters away, was his unit’s camp.

“Grim?,” he said softly, “thanks, buddy.”

The reply came from the unseen fylgja, “not my doing, the red-haired runner brought you here.”

“Reynir?”

“No, the other one.” Jón did not know who Grim was referring to, but shook his head and crawled out of the shelter to rejoin his unit.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri almost lost control of the boat when Emil suddenly shrieked, “Kitty! We left the cat behind!”

“It’s just a cat, she will be fine,” Lalli murmured.

“Naw, he’s right,” Sigrun said from the bench, “she’s our lucky kitty.”

“I-I don’t think we should turn around for a cat,” Tuuri started to protest, and Mikkel grumbled his agreement, but Reynir interrupted her and volunteered to go get her.

“It won’t take me a moment,” he reassured her.

“Don’t get lost again!” Tuuri admonished. He grimaced, but he had no intention of doing that again.

Reynir pulled himself back into the dreamspace and ran lightly back to the tank on the foreshore. The girl looked startled to see him, but he thanked her, scooped up the cat and ran back to the boat.

Madeline blinked as the young man ran out of sight. He’d frightened her half to death, appearing so suddenly, but it was a good reminder to her that she would need to be more vigilant in the Silent World, if she intended to live here full-time. She'd thought the game was up when the medic who had plucked her off the truck last time came out of the truck while they were parked on the bridge, but he must have missed seeing her, and she followed his path to the other side. It would have been nice to have had a cat, but she would just have to find another. The tank would do for a base for now, but she would have to leave it eventually to strike out on her own. She smiled; she could finally live her dream. She was in the Silent World at last.

Reynir stepped into the boat lightly with a glazed expression on his face, but returned to himself in a moment as he set the cat down. The six of them watched Øresund Base grow larger on the horizon: Tuuri, Lalli, Emil, Mikkel, Sigrun, and Reynir, and of course, the cat.

Chapter Text

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri put on her brightest smile as she reassured the bride, taking care to speak slowly, “He will be fine to go. Of course he won’t be late, there’s no way he would miss your wedding!” Not on purpose, at least I hope so, she added to herself. She strapped on her mask, the lovely lightweight one that Julian had made for their single superhero mission. “I’ve got some more people to pick up, I should be back tomorrow. Just try to relax, okay?” The bride was gazing out the window and did not answer. “Everything’s going to be just fiiiiine,” Tuuri said as she closed the door.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“You think it should have more drool? Huh. Tell me again, which one of us went to the Silent World and was this close to this troll to notice these details, as it tried to stab me through the gizzard and suck me dry?” Clara tapped an ink-stained finger on the tabletop. “Time’s up, that would have been me.” Clara was gratified to see the client blanch, but then she gave him what she privately thought of as her ‘most best Kristján grin’ and said smoothly, “so now, whose name shall I dedicate this to?” She poised the pen over the drawing of the troll.

The man relaxed and gave a tentative smile, “Umm, could you please make it out ‘to Sven, with undying love from Anders’?” He blushed.

Clara kept her face neutral with practiced effort, and complied with an extra flourish on the last letter. “There you go,” she said cheerfully as she fanned her hand over the inscription to dry it more quickly.

The man excitedly handed over his money and bit his lip as he held out the drawing in front of him. He thanked her profusely and practically skipped down the footpath from Clara’s new house in Mora, paid for from the commissions she’d been busy completing since her return form the Silent World.

Clara smiled after him as she tucked the kronor into her money box. She began to put away the pen, then looked at the other commissions she had awaiting pickup. Within the safe confines of Mora, there was an emerging vogue for troll imagery, the more macabre the better, and in addition to her gifts as an artist, Clara had the added cachet of having actually encountered real trolls in the Silent World. She dipped her pen and added some swift lines to the nearest drawing. “Whaddya know, it does need more drool,” she pursed her lips appraisingly and said quietly to the drawing.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“It is I, Molecular Man, who will stop you, Miss Creant!” The extremely muscular man in the skin-tight fluorescent yellow suit put his hands around the enormous bell occupying the tower they were in, while lightning flashed around them in the stormy sky. A bluish glow emanated from his hands onto the metal, and soon the whole bell was glowing.

“Pah, I won’t be taken by some overgrown Health & Safety violation in a Hi-Viz jumpsuit!” The woman’s red lips bared her shiny white teeth as she hissed at him from the other side of the tower. Her severe grey business suit could not hide her extremely voluptuous curves, and her long raven tresses were unleashed and tossed in the tempest. “The Council prohibits this use of its facilities!”

She braced her long legs in their high-heeled pumps and swept her perfectly manicured hands in front of her, and from the long red fingernails shot loops of red tape aimed at Molecular Man. But the blue glow now encompassed both Molecular Man and the bell, and the red tape passed through them both without binding. “This is the Bell of Freedom, it belongs to all the people!,” Molecular Man boomed, “The Council cannot shut it away!” He lifted the bell over his head and brought it down onto his opponent. As he released his hold on the bell, it rang, and Miss Creant could be seen vibrating inside, with her hands over her ears.

Who wrote such garbage, Ellina thought. She shook her head as she stopped the gramophone to write down the dialogue translated into Swedish. She was getting better at writing in Swedish regardless of the language of the recording. Since coming to the Academy, she’d translated and transcribed several dozen old recordings of television shows and songs.

She discovered that just because she understood it, didn’t mean she understood it.

Today’s odd cartoon was a prime example. Why were they fighting over a cracked bell? Those were supposed to be superheroes? Why did they wear such weird clothes? She sniffed. She was a superhero, a real one. At least now she knew why Emil had been enthusiastic about her team wearing capes; it did seem to be usual among the superheroes back before the Rash.

Emil had not stopped talking all through the post-mission quarantine about how much they needed someone like her at the Academy for Historical Artefacts, even though he had no intention of returning there. He blabbed all about her superpower to his former bosses, and Ellina had been summoned from Norway to take up his old job. Much to Ellina’s surprise, Ana was very encouraging about Ellina moving to Mora. Ana was excited about a job offer of her own, and did not accompany Ellina to Mora.

The head researchers at the Academy quickly moved her from the old Swedish television programmes that Emil had been (very) slowly working his way through, to historical recordings in languages such as English and Punjabi. They were so much louder and more flashy than even a cosmopolitan city like Mora was used to seeing.

As she reached to restart the recording, Ellina noticed the time. She switched the machine off and cleaned off her pen. She had a train to catch.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Mosi Árnason clapped his brother on the shoulder. “Hey, Mountain, time to get our stuff and go.”

Reinald Árnason looked down at the box in his massive hands. “What should I do with this one?,” he asked Mosi.

“You can finish putting the rest of this load away, Reinald,” Mosi bit back a sharper answer, “just make this one the last load, okay?” Reinald nodded happily and put the box on the shelf.

Mosi sighed inwardly. “Hold it, you forgot to put the labels on those boxes!” Mosi came over and showed Reinald once again how the boxes needed to be properly labelled on the shelves, showing him some of the older boxes as an example. Those were done in Mikkel Madsen’s hand; as much as Mosi was glad to see the back of the man when he left to take up a new position, he had to admit that Mikkel had been very tidy and organised with his labels.

I am a good man for getting my brother this job, he told himself, I am a good man for getting my brother this job… He turned back to Reinald as a sudden thought occurred to him, “are you all packed?”

Reinald smiled, “Yes. I know what I need there, better than you!” He placed more boxes on the shelf. He did not label them.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Lalli draped himself miserably over the duffel bag and its precious cargo. Why couldn’t Tuuri have brought her boat and picked up the wedding gifts herself? She could pick up Lalli at Keuruu on the way out, and then Lalli would have been spared the ordeal of having to negotiate with Helle-Mai, the lady who made the honey and birch beer liquor. He did get a good price, though, and all he had to do was take another package to a man waiting at the docks in Pori.

Lalli had made the crossing to Sweden once before and told himself he never would again, but Onni had flown to Keuruu himself and insisted that Lalli come to this wedding. Lalli’s protestations that he didn’t even know the woman made no difference to Onni. So here he was on a miserable boat surrounded by people, heading away from Finland once again. He wondered if a runo to Vellamo would work to still the waters. He wondered if a runo to Riika Kovacs would work just as well. He then wondered if the rolling of the sea was sloshing his mind right out of his ears. He curled up in a ball and covered his ears.

One of the boat’s Grade A felines came and sat beside him, before settling in for some grooming. Lalli watched the rhythmic grooming from nearly-closed eyes. The stray kitten in the tank used to do much the same thing, he remembered, and sighed. At least there were no weird spirits around this boat. He decided that if he’d had enough sisu to endure months in the Silent World with people jabbering away in impossible languages, he could endure a few days away from Finland with people who spoke a proper language, mostly. All he had to do was wait out this unending boat ride. He hoped that no one expected him to indulge in the weird foreign greeting of tidying their hair.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Arvind ushered out the patient before coming back inside the examination room. “That was much better, Sofie. Those stitches will heal much more quickly, and the scar will be much less noticeable. Very nicely done.” Sofie inclined her head in acknowledgement of the compliment as she washed her hands and the implements. “Do you know, the medical academy radioed me today for a reference.”

Sofie kept her voice neutral and did not turn around. “That’s good. What did you tell them?”

Arvind smiled at Sofie’s back. She wasn’t fooling him. “I told them about your unfortunate allergies to cats, of course. They were sorry to hear about that.” Sofie whirled about, her horrified expression turning to annoyance when she saw Arvind laughing. “Hahaha, no, I told them how much I’d miss my apprentice when she went away to learn proper medicine. They were very sympathetic, but they’re accepting you anyway.”

Sofie leapt into the air, her brown plait bobbing. ”Really? I’m going to the academy?”

“Of course, was there really any doubt? Hahaha, good, good. I’ll show you how to make one of my curries before you go. Guaranteed to cure any imbalance of the body.”

Sofie held up her hands. “The recipe won’t do me any good without a greenhouse like yours, to grow all those things you put in.”

“Nonsense. Once you know how, you could even gather some of it wild in the Silent World.” Arvind leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest, “when you go back, I mean.” Sofie shook her head, but Arvind just smiled.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Torbjörn poured his visitor a cup of chamomile tea. “We are honoured that you’ve come all the way to Mora to deliver your report,” he said ingratiatingly in Icelandic. Hildur Árnadóttir inclined her head.

“You will have appreciated the rarity of the books and the added value of the cachet of their procurement from the Silent World,” Trond looked down his pince-nez at her.

“We will see when they go to auction,” she replied smoothly.

“Do you mean to say that none of them have been auctioned yet?,” Trond glared at Hildur.

“Oh, no, they were being decontaminated and assessed.” Hildur picked up the report and leafed through it to a page before spreading it out before the quartet. “Now, this is the assessment of the expedition’s expenses against the grant from the Nordic Council.” She read down the list, as the faces of the four expedition organisers fell further and further.

“Those values don’t tie up with what we paid for them,” Siv quavered, “we introduced, ahhh, cost-cutting measures.”

“But those are the replacement values of the items on the list you submitted to the Council.” Hildur smiled as she drew a sheet from her bag and pushed it across to Trond, “This is the inventory of books and their assessed values.” She looked at Siv. “The medical notes will be reserved for purchase by your laboratory. I understand there is a separate grant covering that?” Siv nodded glumly.

Taru and Torbjörn craned forward to see the figures on Hildur’s sheet, but Trond just glanced at it before commenting, “That’s ludicrous, those books are far more valuable than that. My contacts in Rønne have said that’s about what they’ll pay for one book.”

Trond’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Hildur. Drat her and her inscrutable smile, he’d never heard of her, and as far as he knew had nothing incriminating to hold against her. There was that other Árnadóttir that ran the cat facility back in Norway who had a hand in all sorts of dealings (and refused them a cat thanks to that imbecile Rúnarson), but this one? Nothing. He suddenly realised he’d lost the thread of the conversation.

“And this is the amount left over,” she was showing them. “Congratulations, you made a profit.” She sat back in her chair and beamed at the four of them. She took four coins from her purse and laid them on the table. “You may apply to the Nordic Council for another expedition, if you wish, in the next round.” She stood up. “But you’ll please excuse me, I have a train to catch.” The four were looking at her, and Hildur stifled the urge to tell them that they’d catch flies if they left their mouths gaping like that. “I’ll see myself out, please and thank you.”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sigrun stepped across the meadow, shook Captain Fimbulvarg’s hand, and chortled, “Captain Fimbulvarg, I presume! Glad you could make it.”

Fimbulvarg gave a short laugh and replied, “Took you long enough, Captain Eide.” Gesturing behind them, Fimbulvarg said, “We have tracks laid to about 500 meters back from this position. We keep trying to get the trolls to help dig the right of way, but they must have been your relatives once, they’re just interested in tearing us up.”

“Well, we’ve got the electric fence up most of the way from our end, but the tracks aren’t laid as far yet. It must be your relatives helping us doing the grading for the track,” Sigrun chided. Her face softened. “Seriously, how has your summer gone?”

Fimbulvarg shrugged and looked at the ground. “Not bad, none dead, but five sent back to be patched up. Cleared a village, but it’s the same village we clear every year or two. The cleanser unit finally got here to burn it. You?”

Sigrun squinted into the sun. “No dead, only four sent back, but one will be retired from the field. No villages, just clearing the right-of-way.” She flexed her left arm. “Arm’s coming right.” At Fimbulvarg’s puzzled look, she elaborated, “Took a bite in Denmark. Got pretty infected.” She grinned and gestured behind her, “We finally got a cleanser unit, too.” She called back, “Hej Emil!”

A young man raised his head from the group and ran uphill to Sigrun and Fimbulvarg. His impossibly shiny blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and he was trim and muscular, tackling the uphill run without puffing. “Would you believe that when I met this guy, he was a fat skald?,” Sigrun laughed.

“I wasn’t fat, I was stocky,” riposted Emil, “but I’m still smart enough to be a skald.”

Fimbulvarg’s eyebrows raised. “Anyway, we’ll get this right-of-way cleared this summer, and then maybe next year Tuuri can run her train set.”

“Yeah, that will be awesome. I saw that boat of hers, she can do anything,” Sigrun nodded.

“I still say that was a magic boat,” Emil laughed.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Sonja divvied the fish scraps into separate bowls for the cats, willing herself not to breathe too much. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the white cat with ginger patches calmly walk to the front of the assembled throng to sit beside Grettir, with other cats moving subtly out of her way. The Silent World refugee had quickly established herself as a Grade A+ cat, as well as charming all who encountered her. You, Kissekatt, are a special one, Sonja thought to herself. No one at the facility had changed the name bestowed on her by the Swedish expedition that rescued her. Once Sonja hoisted the first two bowls, the trainee and lower-grade cats moved to mob her, but the Grade A cats kept them in check.

Sonja wished she had Renate with her all the same. The pretty young Helvetian had started working in the communal kitchen when she arrived, but very quickly discovered the cat facility. Sonja couldn’t initially understand a word the woman said, but the cats didn’t mind, and she certainly had an uncanny way with the cats. As she learnt more Norwegian and Icelandic, Renate told Sonja that her own fylgja was a cat, and although Reynir said something about cats in his world, she’d never seen so many cats in one place before. Sonja may have misunderstood, but Renate gave the impression that there were more dogs than cats in her home, and the dogs were trained to guard against trolls. Weird.

At first, Renate had had Ellina or Reynir with her at all times to help with the language barrier, and then after Ellina left Ana spent more time with Renate. They seemed to be helping each other learn each other’s languages. Always, always, Onni was around, and he and Renate were spending more time together alone. Renate and Onni were a very cute couple and very well-suited to one another, Sonja had to admit, the owl and the pussycat. They had decamped along with Jódís and half the base’s personnel for the wedding.

Hmmm, stuck in a big awkward gathering of too many people in a confined space, or distributing a bucket of fish slop? Tough choice, Sonja thought as she laid down the bowls among the cats, but I’m pretty sure I made the right one. Besides, I already saw the wedding, in a dream. It was lovely.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Hallå everyone, this is Sara Hållander taking you through the afternoon. My guest here in the studio is Julian Adamsson, in Mora this week working on a very exciting project. Julian, what can you tell us about this?”

“Hallå, Sara. Actually, there isn’t much I am allowed to divulge just now-“

“We’re all very excited here at the studio.”

“Haha. Niii. I can tell your listeners that we’re testing a technology that’s been absent since Year 0. Tuuri and I have been-“

“Tuuri? Do you mean Tuuri Hotakainen?”

“Ahhh, yes? As I was saying, we have found a way to boost a signal, and we’ll be doing a live test in the next day or two.“

“Niii, our listeners may remember Tuuri, who gave our station’s signal such a boost last year. So this is her new project! Will this signal reach even further, then?”

“Um, yes, our project brings together old technology and magic, to bring the far-flung parts of the Known World closer together.”

“Did you say magic, Julian?”

“...”

“Niiii. Well, thank you Julian Adamsson. We will have more information for our viewers, haha I mean listeners, soon enough! Coming up next, Cooking Swedish with Bork. Stay tuned.” She turned off the microphones. “Julian, tell me again how that thing works?”

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Tuuri laughed out loud when Sara Hållander was interviewing Julian. “She’s getting back at me because I didn’t get a chance to say hello to her when I dropped Julian and the equipment off,” then she called out in the air around her, “I'm so sorry, Sara, I promise to have a proper visit next time!” She glanced behind her. Lalli had gone in the back, Jódís’ two brothers were in the back as well, looking after the cargo they’d brought with them from Øresund. Ellina was lying down across the bench, and Hildur was now busily writing in a notebook, with pieces of paper arrayed around her. Riika was staring out the windscreen in the co-pilot’s chair. Tuuri said softly to Riika, “Are you okay?”

Riika seemed to come back to the present. “Yes, I’m fine. Just thinking,” she reassured Tuuri, “Planning. Imagining. Getting ready for the next trip. We'll be so close to old Hungary, I couldn't pass up the opportunity.”

“That’s good. I can certainly understand that. For a moment there, I thought there might be a problem in the sea.” Riika shook her head. Tuuri adjusted the controls and guided the boat out of Danish waters before accelerating northward.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

The bride was staring out the window again when she saw Tuuri pull up in that amazing boat. So they had arrived on time after all! She sighed as she watched the passengers disembark, and the crew mobilised to unload the packages from the hold. Oh, who was that poor young man who looked rather seasick? Other than that peculiar green tinge of illness, he resembled Tuuri and Onni.

This was all so different than she had envisioned her wedding day to be, when she was a girl. And yet, she smiled, it was exactly as it should be. She rose from her chair and smoothed the dress laid out on the bed. She couldn’t get dressed quite yet, though, she still had some arrangements to finalise.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

“Trolls don’t respect diplomats any more than they respect anyone else,” Mikkel muttered as he peered at the manifest list, “and you say that we’ll have non-immune individuals on this expedition? Even that Swedish team that went out last winter had better sense than to bring non-immunes.” He squinted at the list and held it at arm’s length. “I’m not mistaken. There are no masks on this manifest.”

“We’ll be bringing our own masks. It’s true that some are not immune,” Ana said to him in Danish, “but they have other defences.”

Mikkel snorted. “Hrmm, yes, I remember. That team wore very light-duty masks. Those won’t last in daily use in field conditions, but it’s all fine of course, as they will have ‘magic’ to protect them.” His face remained deadpan, but Ana could still detect his condescension.

She hoisted the pile of woollen blankets into her crate. “Yes, we do, and some have superpowers as well. Scoff if you want, you will find them very useful indeed. It wouldn’t be hard to be better prepared than that expedition our team rescued, though.”

Mikkel looked at Ana levelly for a long moment. “How credible is your intelligence about the existence of other so-called nations that have survived the Rash?”

“You’re wondering if we’re just going to go into a wasteland of trolls,” Ana returned his gaze. He nodded. “Quite credible. One of the team lived among them last year for a time, and another is a refugee from there.”

He looked unconvinced. “But neither of them are coming on this expedition.” She shook her head. “I am also assuming your people are bringing the cat as well, because it’s not on the list either.”

Ana looked at Mikkel blankly. “Cat?”

“Yes, the cat. Missekatt. Blessed feline. Your team is based at a cat training facility, is it not?”

Ana said, “Yes,” but shook her head. No one thought to bring a cat.

÷÷÷÷÷÷

Jódís smiled with satisfaction as she looked around the chapel. Onni was looking fine in his dress uniform with fur cape, but he was pensive and she could see his jaw working under the lightweight mask from Julian’s supply. He had jammed his gloved hands into his armpits. Tuuri had arrived with the last guests for the wedding, including Hildur, who was now standing on her other side, immaculate and composed as ever. Most of the guests had come in out of the blustery wind and were sitting in the chapel. Ellina was shown to a seat almost in the centre of the room. Jódís noticed her father Árni Ragnarsson had been issued one of Julian’s lightweight masks, as he stood nervously beside her mother at her seat in the front row.

Martti and Riika stood by, helping Tuuri with setting up the special camera and radio equipment Tuuri had been working on as a project with Julian and Martti. As a test, they would be transmitting this wedding live to Mora, to a receiver Julian was setting up in Mora’s radio station. Tuuri said this used to be called ‘television’ back in the pre-Rash days. Jódís was impressed by the very idea of this resurrected form of communication. It had once been used mostly for entertainment, but she could see its potential. This test had relied heavily upon Martti’s manipulation of the salvaged materials and Julian’s manipulation of the wires and cords. Crucially, her own Birgitta had guided the team to a satellite orbiting in space that was still capable of transmitting the signal. Jódís prided herself on her ability to absorb enough information to be able to plan strategically, but she was no scientist. As much as she disciplined herself to stay in the planning sessions and absorb what she could, much of the detail was lost on her. She’d never seen Birgitta look so alive, however; it was inspiring.

“Jódís, when was the last time we were all together?” Hildur broke Jódís’ reverie. “We’ll have to get a photo. Shouldn’t Funnybunny be out here now?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Reynir still hadn’t arrived, but Jódís told herself there wasn’t any need to worry on that score quite yet. “He’s around here somewhere,” Jódís lied. Her hand nervously strayed to her dark plaits, checking their anchoring. He has a few minutes, she thought, he’s not lost. He’ll be here. He would always be her baby brother, but even she had to admit he had grown into his abilities markedly, and into his relationship with Ilya.

A wind blew through the chapel, and overflowing vases of bright flowers appeared in the specially-fastened holders on the wall. “There’s Ilya now,” Jódís grinned out loud. She was gratified to see Hildur looking as astonished as everyone else, but then it was her turn to be astonished as she noticed her burly brother Reinald brush back a tear.

Tuuri squealed with delight and plucked an impressively large pink flower from the nearest holder, tucking it into the decorative embroidered headband she was wearing. Onni followed her lead and solemnly chose flowers from the holders to give to Riika, Martti, Hildur, and Jódís, before tucking a red flower into his own cape’s clasp.

Captain Bára Ólafdóttir strode into the chapel, followed by several of her crew members in their dress uniforms. “Good, good,” she said as she took in the scene, “are we all here then?” She clapped her hands crisply, “Right, let’s get-“

“Not quite yet!,” Tuuri squealed. “We are still getting the signal established!” Martti had his eyes closed as he chanted a runo under his breath, and Riika joined him.

Captain Bára rolled her eyes impatiently. Onni leaned over and said softly, “We are still awaiting one, but we, ah, cannot start without him.”

“Your voice sounds familiar,” Captain Bára peered up at Onni. “Where do I know you from?”

Onni hesitated, as the last time he had spoken to the captain, he had been in his owl form, come to take the newly-emergent Reynir with him back to Norway. He muttered something in he hoped was inaudible, before squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath to steady himself, as a large wave rolled through. Riika slowly opened her eyes and then closed them again, and the sea calmed again around the quarantine ship.

All heads turned at the sound of clattering at the back of the ship’s chapel. Barely visible behind a large basket piled high with fruit of every description, was Reynir. As he advanced into the chapel, his sky blue peysa was replaced with a suit in navy blue, but on his feet clopped a pair of wooden clogs with runes carved into them. The most precarious fruit on top was whisked away in a wind and landed gently and artfully into a bowl in the back of the chapel, and Reynir put his basket down next to the bowl before adjusting his mask. He called out a thank-you to the air around him. Captain Bára leaned over and asked Onni and Jódís in a stage whisper, “Is this the one we’re waiting for?” At their nod, she leaned over and again and asked, “Where did all that fruit come from?”

Jódís whispered back, “He and his partner have a business now, bringing in fruit from abandoned orchards.” The Captain looked impressed, but Jódís reckoned she would be more even impressed if she knew how far-flung the orchards actually were.

Reynir joined Onni and Jódís and the Captain at the front of the chapel. Onni stuck a large purple flower into his plait, making Reynir blush to the roots of his hair. Tuuri crowed, “We have the signal! We’re transmitting.”

Everyone stood up and faced the rear of the chapel. A rain of white petals appeared in a light breeze down the aisle, courtesy of Ilya, raining over a delighted Renate as she entered. Her blonde plaits were wound around her head like a crown, and she wore a linen dress dyed a deep red to approximate the gown she wore in her dream haven. Onni beamed as he watched her walk slowly to the front, white petals clinging to her head and dress.

Everyone turned again to honour the bride. Birgitta Guðmundurdóttir walked in slowly, her head held high, carrying a trailing bouquet of honeysuckle flowers, with more honeysuckle wound into a wreath around her tousled brown curls. She was wearing a lightweight wool gown in the palest green, made by Jódís’ mother. White petals settled among the curls and on her shoulders like a cloak as she strode to the front to stand beside Jódís for her vows. Reinald blew his nose loudly; he was unabashedly weeping by this time.

Tuuri sighed, “Isn’t it beautiful?” A studio full of onlookers in Mora all nodded in agreement, even though without the benefit of Ellina’s presence only those who understood Icelandic could follow the service.

The service finished and they adjourned for cake in the canteen area of the quarantine ship. The captain called for a toast to send Birgitta and Jódís on their way with the new phase in their lives, and all were very merry gorging themselves on the exotic fruits. Onni and Lalli played some traditional music on their kanteles, joined in song by Tuuri, Riika and Martti. By way of answer, Árni Ragnarsson stood up and sang a song from his youth, with several of the ship’s crew joining in on the chorus. As the song went on, the verses got successively more smutty, until most of the assembled guests were as red in the face as Árni himself. Jódís’ scandalisation was complete when Birgitta joined in the singing, her eyes dancing at Jódís’ discomfiture. Sigríður Jónsdóttir finally made her husband sit down, fanning herself melodramatically in mock embarrassment.

Reynir confided to Renate, “I got the recipe for this cake from a mage I met in Denmark. I think it was Denmark, anyway. Ilya and I had a difficult time tracking down the ingredients.”

“But it was worth it!” Renate licked her fingers. “I have to have that recipe, please.” She kissed Reynir on the cheek, making him blush. “I’m so glad for you and Saba, I really am.”

"And I 'm glad you seem to have settled in as well," Reynir grinned, "Onni has been looking almost happy lately!" Renate blushed but smiled prettily as she looked across to Onni, who dutifully came over to take her arm.

Captain Bára called in to the new orderly sweeping up the flower petals in the chapel, “Make sure you get the canteen cleaned up as well when the party is finished, please and thank you. Make sure you make it shine there, Rúnarson.” The orderly saved his icy green glare for her retreating back.