The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  Rime chuckled. “I wouldn’t give any of them that pleasure. If they want me dead, they’ll have to see to it themselves.”

  Jarladin sighed. “Their patience is wearing thin, Rime. You can’t continue being dismissive of them. Not without being brought before the assembly in chains. Darkdaggar crossed the line, but you’re not even trying to unite them. If you don’t set aside your hatred, it’s going to be the downfall of you and me both.”

  Rime was about to say that he didn’t hate anyone, but that would have been a lie. He hated them for ruling under a false seer, hated how they bent reality to their will. The intrigue. The lies. The bitter truth was that everyone around that table had no goal other than to keep their chair.

  Jarladin thumped Rime on the back, as if that would help matters. “Anyway, they have a point. Several augurs have left us, and that will have consequences.”

  “Has no one told you that you can’t force people to stay?” Rime felt exposed by his own words. He tore his gaze away from the stone circle. Pounded his hands against the balustrade. “This is senseless! They saw it with their own eyes! They saw the walls come down and the stones appear. They know the blind were here. They know the truth as well as I do, but they cast doubt because it serves the Council’s interests.”

  Jarladin looked at him. “Is that what motivates you? Being right? Nonsense. You’ve never cared about your own position. Had you done so, you would have secured your family’s future.”

  Rime turned away. Jarladin was an ox of a man, and his only friend around the table, but that certainly didn’t mean he was any easier to deal with.

  “I’ve said what I’m going to say on the matter. Kolkagga are bound to Kolkagga alone.”

  “Since when have you cared about rules, Rime? You could plow your way through the entire library without finding a single rule you haven’t already broken. At least choose a reason I can believe.”

  “Do you think I’m an idiot? You and the Council want me to start a family because it would strengthen you. Not me.”

  Jarladin put his hand on the back of Rime’s neck and held him firmly, like a father might. “Rime … our interests should be the same.”

  Rime closed his eyes, listening to the old ox’s voice in his ear.

  “Listen to me. You cannot let her control everything you do. You’re Kolkagga. You’re Rime An-Elderin. You’re the Ravenbearer, for Seer’s sake! You can’t let yourself be ruled by a tailless embling that no one is ever going to see again. Use your head, lad! If you want to give people hope and mend this council, then take a wife. Have a feast. Show them that the families are strong. And if you absolutely have to defy them, then choose someone outside the twelve. Take the opportunity to unite north and south. That’s what you want. Find a girl from the north. I’m sure Sylja Glimmeråsen wouldn’t complain.”

  Jarladin didn’t wait for an answer. He let go of Rime and walked back toward the Council Chamber. “The stones are dead,” he shouted. “But we’re still alive!” He entered the Council Chamber and shut the door behind him.

  Rime remained there, weighed down by reluctance. The cold seeped in through his fingers. He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out the raven beak that Hlosnian had found at Bromfjell. Before the fire devoured the stones. It was all that was left of Urd. A beak. Not even the stone whisperer knew its purpose.

  There was something sinister about it. Something strange. The color of the bone grew darker toward the tip. Blood was congealed in the scratches.

  Rime tested its weight in his hand. Heavier than its size might suggest. It made his skin crawl. But at the same time, it tempted him. The beak was the only thing that felt real. That reassured him that everything had actually happened. And that this was only the beginning.

  VIKINGS

  “Norway?”

  “No.”

  “Finland?”

  “You guessed that already.”

  “Iceland! It has to be Iceland! You’re really good with the thhh sound … you know, like the Vikings.” Jay touched her tongue to her front teeth and blew. “Thhh.”

  “I don’t know the Vikings,” Hirka said, pressing down on a knot in Jay’s shoulder that made her whole body sag.

  “Ow, ow, ow! No, don’t stop! Vikings? You’ve never heard of Vikings?”

  Hirka continued massaging Jay’s shoulders and didn’t reply.

  “Norsemen who lived a thousand years ago? Longboats? Pillaging? Berserkers?”

  Berserker had a familiar ring to it, but Hirka said nothing. Words often sounded familiar for no reason at all. She’d stopped looking for similarities. She almost always ended up at a dead end, which just left her feeling depressed.

  She’d also learned never to be honest. Never to say that she’d come through the stones. And never to try selling tea from another world to people in a café. It turned out that if you did that, the owner called the police and the only escape route was through the toilet window.

  “Can you take these out?” Hirka prodded one of Jay’s earbuds. She always had them in. Everywhere she went, she looked like she had milk trickling out of her ears. Jay took them out, letting them hang from a clip on her chest.

  “You need to stop … what’s the word? Hanging? Hanging your back,” Hirka said.

  “I know. Slouching. I get it from Mum. She says you soon get used to keeping your head down where we’re from. You have to, if you want to survive.”

  “Survive?”

  “Survive. Exist. Get by. You know, not die?”

  Hirka nodded. She’d heard the word before but had forgotten it.

  Jay stretched like a cat. Then she pulled her phone out of a pouch hanging from a glittery cord around her neck. “What are we looking for?”

  “Some other time,” Hirka said, glancing at the pile of dirty dishes. “We need to tidy up and close.”

  “No, no, a deal’s a deal. You help me, I help you. What am I searching for?”

  “See if you can find one with yellow bells. And not many leaves,” Hirka said. She rinsed cake crumbs off a plate and put it in the dishwasher.

  “Okay. Yellow bells. Coming right up.” Jay tapped her phone. Her dark hair fell down into her face. It always did at the end of the day, when her hair clips were losing their grip. Particularly when the café had been busy. Like today.

  There were cheers outside. Hirka looked out the window. The couple was standing on the church steps, eyes shining and cheeks aglow. Surrounded by friends and family taking pictures. Pictures that would stay on their phones. Moments, frozen in time.

  What Hirka wouldn’t give to have pictures from Ym.

  Sorrow gripped her heart. She turned to finish loading the dishwasher. There was no point thinking about things or people she was never going to see again.

  There was just enough room for the last plate. She closed the door and pressed the button a couple of times. Seeing the little light switch on and off usually cheered her up.

  “Here,” Jay said, showing Hirka her phone. “Plants with yellow bells. Any of these the one you’re looking for?”

  Hirka looked at the small pictures. A couple of them were similar, but none of them were yellowbell. She was surprised to feel a stab of disappointment. She thought she’d given up hope.

  “It has to be one of them,” Jay said. “I’ve googled all plants with yellow bells, and I’m quite good at searching for things. You should learn, Hirka. You’re the only person I know who’s never used a phone.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever need one,” Hirka replied, painfully aware she had no one to call.

  “Blimey, you done already?” Jay got up and brushed off her apron. “All that’s left to do is lock up then. You’re well efficient.”

  Hirka smiled. That tended to be the safest option when she didn’t quite follow. “We need to wait until they’ve left, Jay. We’re not with them.”

  She looked at the crowd outside. Men and women with watery eyes and shiny shoes. They filled the square between the café
and the church.

  The café was a strange annex to the church itself, built in a completely different style. A new wing with space for those who needed it most. Like her. It was somewhere the homeless could get a decent night’s sleep. Where the poor could get a bite to eat. It also had a room where they helped the sick, though Hirka had been in there several times and there wasn’t a plant in sight.

  “We can sort through these while we wait,” Hirka said, emptying a bag of clothes on a table. They smelled of dust and sweat, but they looked all right. At first she’d been overwhelmed by what people were willing to give away, but Jay had said it was rubbish that no one wanted. She found that hard to believe.

  Hirka put a jumper in a pile of things in need of mending.

  “I wouldn’t bother,” Jay laughed. “You’re good, but not even you could fix that.”

  “The one you’re wearing has more holes.”

  Jay looked down at her own jumper. “Eh, hello, this is different! It’s supposed to have holes in it. It’s cool.”

  “So let’s cut some more holes in this one and it’ll be cool, too.”

  Jay looked at her with one eyebrow raised. Her eyes were rimmed with black make-up. She shook her head. “I swear it’s like you’re from another world. Urgh, what is this?”

  Hirka grabbed Jay’s hand. “Stop!”

  She took the shirt from Jay. It had a bloody tear in the sleeve. She folded it and put it in the reject pile. “It might not be safe,” she told Jay. “You shouldn’t touch blood.”

  “Christ, you have no idea how much I hate this job!”

  Hirka smiled. “You’re here almost every day.”

  “Only because Mum forces me! And it gives her an excuse to be here. So she can make eyes at Father Brody. It’s so embarrassing. I mean, a priest? He’s not even allowed to get married, and if he ignores her for so much as two minutes, she freaks out. Why do you think she’s so cold with you? Because you’re here all the time, that’s why.” Jay leaned closer to Hirka. “She says you shouldn’t be living here. That he should report you to child services or something.”

  Hirka shrugged. It wasn’t really any wonder that Jay’s mother was fond of Father Brody. Dilipa had lived in the church herself, many years ago. In a room in the basement, just after Jay had been born. Back when they’d been terrified of being sent home. Hirka didn’t know where home was, or what they’d run from, but what she did know was that everything was okay now. Jay was the same age as Hirka and had a five-year-old sister.

  Where would they send me if they worked out who I was? Where is home?

  “It won’t last,” Jay said with a grimace, watching the couple on the steps.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “Nah. Look at him. He’s at least twenty years older than her. She probably just wanted the dress. And the money. As soon as he hits fifty, she’ll wake up and realize he’s an old man.” Jay chucked her apron on a chair. “They’re leaving. That’s me, then. See you tomorrow, Hirka.”

  She headed for the door, putting her earbuds back in and nodding along to music that Hirka knew only she could hear. Stored sounds. Just like the pictures.

  Hirka wiped the tables and hung both their aprons on a hook. She locked the door and took the back entrance into the church. It wasn’t unlike a Seer’s hall. A stone building, built to impress.

  Father Brody had already left. Hirka walked down the aisle, surrounded by high windows with colorful motifs. Images from stories she didn’t know. Gods and humans. No ymlings in any of them. No tails. And no deadborn.

  One hundred and fifty-four days. Since Ym. Since Mannfalla.

  Since Rime.

  She walked around the altar and opened the door to the bell tower, climbing the stairs until she reached the top. She’d been allowed to stay there even though it wasn’t a place people usually lived. The priest had said it was like a building site, with no heating or lights. Not that Hirka missed either. He’d wanted to give her a room in the basement. The one Jay and her mother had stayed in. But basements reminded her of the pits in Eisvaldr. She needed to be higher up. As high up as possible. To climb until no one could reach her. So she’d come up here every night until Father Brody had given in. She’d gotten rid of the worst of the dust. And the bat droppings. It was fine now. She just had to make sure she wasn’t there when the bells rang.

  Hirka looked around at her home in this new world. Most of the space was taken up by the stairs. She could see the bells on the next level when she looked up. It was the same level, really, but someone had put in an extra wooden floor. It was probably supposed to have been temporary, or something to stand on during restoration work, but it had been left in place.

  She had a mattress wedged between the stairs and the wall, and a pillow with a deformed swan on it, embroidered by someone she doubted had ever seen a real swan. A narrow dresser with three drawers. The bottom one wouldn’t close, so that was where Kuro roosted. A cup that was actually only a half cup, with “You did say half a cup” on the side. Once someone had explained the joke to her, it had made her laugh. She also had a heater that Father Brody had carried up. The heat came through small holes in the wall below and through a long cable all the way up into the tower. Hirka had switched it on and off so many times that it didn’t work anymore. But that didn’t matter. It wasn’t that cold. And besides, she had plenty of candles.

  Jay had also given her a book to help with her English. Hirka could just about manage the title. Books were common property here. The sheer volume of things was unbelievable. Yet still there were people without homes. And even worse, people like her. People without numbers. Everyone was supposed to have one. Without a number, you didn’t exist. Hirka might as well have been a ghost.

  She sat on the windowsill and leaned against the frame. Ghost or not, at least she had her own window, with real glass. It curved into a point at the top and had a vent that she almost always left open.

  Hirka ran her hands over the cool glass. Glass was good. Stone was good. They were materials she understood. Unlike so many other things here.

  She looked out across York, as the city was called. The church was named St Thomas and located close to the city center. The houses were closely packed, like in Mannfalla. The only open space she could see was right outside, in the awful garden where the stones stuck up out of the snow like crooked teeth. There was a body under every stone. They didn’t burn people here. They just buried them in the earth and left them to rot. It wasn’t right. Only murderers did that sort of thing. But it didn’t seem to bother anyone here.

  She’d asked whether they ever fed anyone to the ravens, but that was one of many things she wouldn’t be asking about again.

  Imagine what she could have done with that space if it hadn’t been used for their perverse rituals. She could have grown root vegetables, and maybe yellowbell, soldrop, and …

  Things they don’t have here. Things no one’s heard of.

  People didn’t grow things here. Not even the food they ate.

  Hirka poked at one of the plants on the windowsill. Father Brody had driven her to the greenhouse near the school and bought three seedlings for her. They grew slowly, each in their own cardboard cup. She had no idea what kind of plants they were, or what properties they had. She had to learn everything from scratch. Absolutely everything.

  She let her eyes wander in search of something comforting to settle on.

  There was a man on a bench far below. He’d swept the snow off the part he was sitting on, but not the rest. He looked up, but then straight back down again. Pretending he hadn’t seen her. He was wearing a gray hoodie and a leather jacket. She’d seen him before. He’d walked past yesterday. She was sure of it. And she’d noticed him near the shop. What did he want? Why was he here? Was he from the police? Someone who had come to take her away because she was numberless?

  The fear came creeping. A chill in her belly.

  He got up suddenly. Crossed the churchyard and went out through t
he wrought iron gate. She watched him until he was out of sight and all she could see were the cars zipping past.

  There was no stillness in this world. No matter where you went, you were surrounded by noise. The constant hum of machinery. So much strangeness. So many things to know. So much she could do wrong.

  Hirka pressed her palms against her ears until all she could hear was the sound of her own blood being pumped around her body. Faster and faster.

  She couldn’t get any air into her lungs. She felt like she was suffocating. A sense of unreality washed over her. Her hands started to shake. She tore off her clothes, fumbling with the zip in her trousers. She couldn’t get them off fast enough. She emptied her bag, her things spilling across the stone floor. Old things. Familiar things. Her things. Her herbs—or what was left of them. Her green woollen tunic, still just as worn at the seams. She put it on. Her trousers, too. Found her pocketknife. No one carried knives here. It was against the law.

  She sank down onto the mattress and hugged her knees. She brought her hand to her chest and felt the pendants. A shell and a wolf’s tooth, both with small scratches in them. Each scratch represented something real. Something that had happened. Victories in the endless competition between her and Rime.

  Rime …

  She’d gotten used to the sudden bouts of anxiety. Gotten used to being overwhelmed. But she would never get used to the longing. The hole in her chest that had been gnawing away at her for the last hundred and fifty-four days.

  Ym was safe. That was her only consolation. Safe from the blind, now that she was gone. Now that the rot wasn’t there anymore.

  But she still had her memories, and the gifts she’d received.

  Her heart stopped racing. It got easier to breathe. She was Hirka. She was real. Her things were real. They just didn’t belong here.

  So where do we belong?

  She shoved her hand in her pocket. Pulled out three blood stones. A gift from Jarladin. The councillor had hidden them in her cloak before she left. In Mannfalla, the stones could have set her up for life, but here there was no way to know. She hadn’t seen anywhere that bought and sold stones. No shops wanted them, either.