The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  She put the church behind her and followed the streetlights east, keeping away from all the alleyways. Trying to look relaxed. She was alone. Nobody was out to get her.

  Hirka had checked the drawing in her notebook. Her map. She was pretty sure she could find Jay’s house. She knew she couldn’t stay there, but she had to say goodbye. Jay wasn’t as tough as she let on, and Hirka didn’t think she had many other friends. She couldn’t just disappear without any explanation. Besides, she hoped Jay could give her some tips on where to go. She’d take any help she could get.

  The air felt heavy. It would snow soon. She came to a fork in the road and headed up toward the old house leaning into the street. She caught movement out of the corner of her eye and looked up. What was that? Had she seen someone on the roof? Hirka had always been able to see well in the dark, but her eyes still played tricks on her sometimes. People here didn’t putter around on rooftops, as far as she knew. She peered up, but the shadow was gone.

  Was it him? The man in the hoodie?

  She stopped. Looked down at Kuro. He was hidden under the towel in the box and no help to her at all. Hirka bit her lip. Tried to quell her growing sense of unease. She looked around. Unfamiliar houses and streets. A strange city in a strange world. What was she going to do? She couldn’t go to Jay’s if someone was following her.

  Why would anyone follow you? You’re nobody!

  Hirka started running down the street. Back the way she’d come. She heard Kuro scrabbling against the cardboard box in distress, but she didn’t dare stop. Running had intensified her fear. She glanced up at the rooftops but couldn’t see anyone. Still, she kept running. The bell tower came back into view. But any relief quickly faded when she spotted a figure on the other side of the street. He melted into the shadows, but now there was no doubt—she was being followed.

  This isn’t the first time someone’s been after you. Use your head!

  What she wouldn’t have given to have the Might here. Been able to pick her fear apart and use it as a source of strength. Seen it for what it was and found a solution.

  She crossed the churchyard, between the stones of the dead, and slipped around the back of the church. If anyone was following her, they’d think she’d gone inside. She hoped.

  She pushed Kuro’s box up onto the church wall. Grabbed hold of the frost-covered vines and pulled herself up. They creaked, threatening to come loose from the stone wall, but luckily they held. She jumped down on the other side and retrieved the box. She needed to find somewhere safe. Now. She tried to keep quiet, but the air huffed in and out of her lungs. Where? Where could she go?

  The garden …

  The place where Father Brody had bought the plants for her. Where they grew herbs. Even in winter. No one lived in those greenhouses. She could go there. She would be safe there—if she could remember where it was.

  Hirka hugged the box and started to run again, following the chill down to the icy river. White, skeletal branches reached into the black sky. Would everything have been different if she’d arrived in the spring? While everything was alive, growing and singing?

  She followed the path along the riverbank until she reached the bottom of the garden. It was blanketed in snow and ice. Small puddles had frozen into mirrors that crunched under her boots as she walked up to the greenhouse. The glass, which had been clear before, was now all steamed up. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen outside. Hopefully there wouldn’t be anyone inside, either. She had no choice. She had to hide.

  Hirka paused to listen. A siren wailed in the distance. There was something else, too. A humming, but that could have been anything. Everything here hummed or whirred. She followed the glass wall, looking for the door. In the box, Kuro’s head was sticking out from under the towel, his beak gaping open. Hopelessness seized her. She couldn’t help him. She was running out of herbs, and she wouldn’t find any more here. None that she knew anything about. None that could help. And there were no raveners here, either.

  “Everything will be okay. I promise,” she whispered.

  She opened the door and slipped into the warmth. A flagstone path passed between rows of strange plants that had been robbed of their color by the dark. Some of them looked like ones from home, but they were never quite the same. How was she supposed to use any of them? She didn’t know whether they’d heal or kill, and figuring out a whole world of new plants would take her the rest of her life.

  The thought was unexpectedly comforting. At least it would give her a sense of purpose.

  She walked past the plants and into another section at the end that was even warmer. Humid, even. The humming she’d heard was coming from a fan over the door. The windows were steamed up, but she could see the stars through the roof.

  Kuro gave a choked screech.

  “No! You listen to me!” Hirka put the box down and lifted him out. His head lolled. He writhed as he gasped for breath. She turned him this way and that, checking his warm body for signs of injury, for all the good it did. What did she really know about ravens? Nothing.

  “You just need a better place to rest, that’s all,” she said, her voice thick. She couldn’t push down her despair anymore. The raven seemed to grow heavier and heavier in her arms.

  She spotted a wooden crate under a workbench. Holding Kuro to her chest with one arm, she pulled it out and flipped it onto its side. Garden tools spilled out, clattering against the flagstones. She no longer cared if anyone heard. If they came, they came.

  “Here you go, this is roomier. You can lie here. Until you get better.” She arranged the towel in the bottom and gently set Kuro down on top of it. He looked like a heap of feathers—black feathers on a white towel. His head flopped sideways.

  “No, Kuro! You can’t!” She fell to her knees. Lifted him up again. Shook him. His head was much too limp, like his neck was broken. There had to be something she could do. She had to fix this. That was her job. Fixing things. Healing people. She looked into his eyes and saw every death she’d ever witnessed. Everyone she hadn’t been able to help. The people who’d left the cabin, without her or Father being able to do more than delay the inevitable. It wasn’t right! It wasn’t supposed to be that way!

  Crying was making her nose run, so she wiped it with her sleeve. “I’ll never forgive you. You hear me?!” Kuro’s entire body convulsed. She lost her grip on him and he fell into the crate with a feeble croak of pain. His wings flapped as if he were trying to right himself, his talons scrabbling for purchase. His beak gaped open, revealing a fleshy red interior. His chest expanded, swelling like a water skin. This was all wrong. This was just utterly and horrifically wrong.

  “Kuro …” She tried to reach out to him, but her strength had deserted her.

  Then his chest erupted.

  Hirka shrieked and backed away. She could see blood. Bone.

  Kuro wheezed. Something pale and shrunken pushed its way out of his chest. His tiny body was stretched until it was unrecognizable. Puckered skin became visible between his feathers. Mangled. Torn. Hirka clamped her hand over her mouth but couldn’t stop herself from sobbing.

  Death had never looked like this before. This was a parasite. Some kind of hideous worm that didn’t exist in Ym. Only here. In this heinous world. It had taken her only friend. All she had. Kuro was reduced to nothing more than carrion as the creature flopped out of him. Hirka scrambled even farther back, unable to take her eyes off it, squeezing between the workbenches full of seedlings and pressing herself up against the glass, cold and wet against her back.

  The crate exploded. Splinters of wood flew everywhere. Something smacked into the window right next to her cheek. It looked like a bit of intestine. It slid down the glass, leaving a trail of blood in its wake. She hid her face behind her arm. She didn’t want to look. She remembered Vetle sitting on the tree trunk over the Alldjup. Face behind his arm, as if that would keep him safe. That was her now. She’d lost all sense of reason.

  This is a dream. This isn’t ha
ppening.

  But the pulse thundering in her ears was definitely real. She heard a choking sound. Was that her? Was it Kuro?

  She peeked over her arm to see something horrific lying on the flagstones where the crate had been. A pale monster. With feet. Arms.

  A man.

  A naked man, on the ground. Slick with blood and feathers. His face concealed by black, glistening hair. Gasping for breath.

  There was a man on the ground. Not a raven. A man.

  Hirka couldn’t move. Couldn’t even think about moving. She was leaden. Frozen in place. The man tried to prop himself up on one arm. He slipped in the raven blood and collapsed again. Curled up in pain. He reached out. Pulled himself along the ground a bit. Gave up. Stayed where he was, knees drawn up.

  Never had she seen … or even heard of …

  I have to get out of here!

  This mind-boggling creature before her, it could have been anything. Something so foul that the humans hadn’t even dared mention it. A raven-killing, man-eating monster.

  He hadn’t seen her. If she could just squeeze past and slip out …

  Hirka forced her limbs to cooperate. She bent forward and started to crawl on all fours, under the workbench. Her raincoat rustled with every movement. She tried to muffle the sound as best she could. Her arms were shaking, elbows threatening to give out on her. She was afraid to even blink. Quiet. Quiet now. She could hear him breathing. Wheezing. She was much too close to him, but the door wasn’t far away. She had to get to it. She would get to it. She couldn’t die here.

  As she reached for the door, he snatched her wrist. A scream lodged in her throat. She wanted to tear herself free, but everything had failed her. Her instincts. Her body. Her mind.

  His hand was strong. Pale against her skin. And his fingers were all too familiar. Claws she’d hoped she’d never see again.

  He was one of the blind. Nábyrn. Deadborn.

  Here. In the human world.

  She stopped fighting. Stopped thinking. If she moved, reality would shatter like glass. The fear was like a cold stake through her body. Without it she would have collapsed.

  He pushed himself up, barely getting his chest off the ground. He leaned on one arm and stared at her with white, sightless eyes.

  “Kroyo ozá désel?” It sounded like something straight out of Slokna. A rough voice that was never meant to exist.

  “Kroyo ozá désel?!” he repeated, and there was no doubt now that he was looking at her, blind or not.

  She lifted two shaking fingers to her throat without knowing where the reflex had come from.

  He growled like an animal and collapsed back onto the ground.

  MERCY

  What are you still doing here? Get up! Run!

  But Hirka was powerless to act. She stared at the deadborn. He was pure muscle. Like his pale body had been carved from stone. He looked strong and starved at the same time. Every breath caused him obvious pain. His body shook like his muscles were spasming. They extended across his chest to his stomach and down toward … her cheeks flushed. He had no hair down there—but plenty else.

  The creature had closed his eyes, probably trying to gather his strength. He was weak. Maybe even dying. She glanced at the door. He wouldn’t be able to stop her if she ran. She was free to make a break for it. If she was still there when he recovered, it would be too late. He was a blindling. She’d seen what they were capable of. She pictured the man who had been killed near Ravnhov. His hollow eyes. This creature was death incarnate. A brute. Dangerous. Unpredictable.

  Suddenly she realized that the same words had been used about her. Numerous times.

  The memories she had tried so hard to suppress forced their way to the front of her mind. Steel gauntlets against her skin. A sword against her back. She had been powerless. Scared to death. Blind, even, with a cover over her eyes. Kneeling on the hard floor. Monster. Child of Odin. The rot.

  The similarities made her feel nauseous. Robbed her of the power to move. Stopped her from abandoning him. Abandoning Kuro.

  Was this Kuro? No, how could that be possible? There was raven blood smeared all over the flagstones, black in the dark. Kuro had been torn to shreds, having birthed … this. She’d failed him. She, a healer, hadn’t been able to save her own raven.

  Hirka closed her eyes, exhausted by the realization. She was a healer. And the creature on the floor was dying. She had no choice.

  She had a pinch of draggan tea left, the last of her supply from Himlifall. If she gave him that, then she’d only be able to ease people’s pain. Would the last life she saved be that of a deadborn who’d tear her to shreds the second he could lift his arm?

  He hasn’t hurt you yet.

  She tried to look at him through new eyes. If only there weren’t so … so much of him. His strength was so evident—a raw, dangerous strength. Father would have told her to run. Rime wouldn’t have hesitated to kill him. But it was different for them. They’d always been able to choose. To her, life was sacred. Letting him die would be as much the end of her as saving him. She had to help him. It wasn’t up to her to decide who lived or died. It never had been.

  She was a healer. The rest they could figure out in Slokna.

  She found the box in her bag. It was made of bark and fit in the palm of her hand, and contained the most precious thing she owned. She got up and took off her damp raincoat, cramming it into her bag with the box still clenched in her fist.

  Where was she going to find hot water? The tea needed heat or it wouldn’t help him. There was no hearth, and she could hardly start a fire in a greenhouse. The blindling groaned, convulsing as another spasm ripped through him. He coughed up some blood. He was going to die.

  The fan. Fans get hot.

  She’d learned something, at least.

  She filled the cup from her waterskin. Her fingers had stopped shaking. A new sense of purpose had calmed her nerves. She climbed up onto a stool and put the cup on top of the fan, the hum lowering as she did so. She opened the small box of tea while she waited. The leaves were perfectly dried. Not completely black, but a nice dark brown. They would help him. Just like they’d helped countless others.

  She sniffed the leaves. The smell of Ym tore at her heart, making her long for home. The feeling she had fought so hard to suppress finally came to the surface. Regret. Foul and unclean. Like a body in a river. So much regret that it hurt. Why had she left? What did she care if the blind killed every last ymling in Mannfalla? She didn’t owe them a thing! She’d have given anything to be back in the stone circle with Rime. To feel his arms around her, to tell him she’d never leave. That she’d stay there with him. Forever.

  Until you made him yours and he rotted?

  The blindling let out a groan. Hirka took the cup down from the fan. Not as hot as she would have liked, but it would have to do. The leaves unfurled as she dropped them into the water. A promise of life. She carried the cup in both hands, afraid she might drop it. She kneeled down next to the deadborn, setting the cup on the ground in case she started trembling again. She slipped her hands under his head. He was cold. His long hair was matted with raven blood.

  Kuro …

  He opened his eyes. Hirka shuddered. She searched his milky gaze, trying to find something to focus on, but found nothing. He lifted himself up on his elbows. His jaw tensed, as if he were trying to conceal the effort it took. Like Rime would have done.

  He made it halfway up before he fell back into the crook of her arm. She put one hand under his chin and picked up the cup. He craned his neck toward it. He understood. She was afraid to let him hold the cup himself, so she brought it to his blue lips.

  “I’ve only got half a cup,” she said, forcing a laugh. He didn’t react. She turned the cup around to show him. “Half a cup. Get it?”

  No. Actually, it wasn’t that funny.

  He drank. Hirka kept a firm hold on the cup. He gurgled and spluttered, but quickly recovered and drank until the cup was empty. Then h
e slumped back, his head in her lap. “More,” he mumbled.

  Hirka stared at him. It was just one word, but it was a word she knew. He shut his eyes.

  “You speak ymish! Hey, Mr. Blindling!” She shook him. He opened his eyes again and she gave a start. Something black had stirred in them. Like ink in milk. But it was gone now.

  “Wári,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Vari? Vari what? I don’t understand—”

  “Wári! Might. Give me the Might!” he hissed. But the effort was too much for him. His head slumped to one side and his body went limp.

  The Might …

  The most beautiful thing she’d heard in months. And it had come from a nábyrn. A deadborn. The lump in her throat grew as she realized she had doubted at times. Doubted that Ym still existed. Doubted that she even existed, for that matter. But here he lay, speaking her language, using words she hadn’t heard since she’d left. Asking for something she couldn’t give him. Not even if the Might existed here would she have been able to help him. She was Hirka. A child of Odin. She couldn’t bind.

  “You wouldn’t believe the things they’ve got here,” she whispered. “You could have asked me for sorcery that lets you talk to people on the other side of the world. Lights that never burn out. And carriages that move on their own, faster than any horse. You could have asked me for hot water that flows indoors. Chocolate. Sound captured in boxes. Any of these things I could have given you. But never the Might, nábyrn.”

  Her final word made his top lip curl. A sharp canine glistened in the darkness.

  FEAR OF DEATH

  Graal rested his forehead on the piano and gave his fingers free rein. Chopin’s “Ballade No. 4,” sullied by his claws on the keys. He tried to play with the tips of his fingers lifted, and he had gotten better at it, but some scratching was inevitable. On good days, a reminder of who he was. On bad days … well, more or less the same. It depended on how comfortable he was feeling in his own skin.