The Rot

by Siri Pettersen

  He lowered his gaze. “So ask him then,” he said hoarsely. “Next time you talk. Since you’re such good friends. Ask him about his selection criteria. Why my mother? Why not me? If he’d just waited a few years, I’d have been better than her. So why not me? Ask him that. You know, just between friends.”

  The memory of Stefan standing, gun in hand, beside a sleeping Naiell flashed through her mind. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to kill him. Maybe Stefan’s hunt was about something that ran much deeper.

  It was a bitter realization. She couldn’t hide her disgust.

  “You hunt them because they have something you don’t. You’re looking for the same blood. But you’ve never had the courage to ask for it. Never dared take it.”

  “They’re murderers!”

  “There are murderers among them. There are murderers among us all. Don’t hunt them again, Stefan. Never again. I’m going to need them.”

  “For what?”

  “To stop a war.”

  “You’re out of your mind, girl! You think you’re some kind of fucking superwoman! You think you can change everything, but that’s not how the world works, and I can promise you that I understand it better than you.”

  She couldn’t bear to listen to him anymore.

  “Stefan, you’re no use to anyone. Take your things and get out.” She took the three blood stones out of their pouch and threw them on the floor at his feet. “Here. Buy yourself a country or something.”

  One of the stones rolled toward a gap between the floorboards. Stefan reacted instinctively, bringing his foot down on it. Then he looked at her and quickly lifted it again, as if he had been burned. But it was too late. His greed had revealed itself.

  Hirka smiled, and she knew it wasn’t pretty. “Now you’ll never have to hunt the forgotten again, Stefan. And you won’t have to live like this. Wanted by the police, pulling teeth from the mouths of people you’ve killed. Allegra’s slave. Go. Start a new life somewhere. And forget we ever met.”

  Stefan’s eyes darted between her and the stones.

  She walked away, leaving him to realize something about himself that she already knew. This evening, when she returned, he’d be gone.

  THE FORGOTTEN ARMY

  Hirka sat on the floor and flicked through her notebook while she waited for Naiell to wake up. It was strange to see things she’d drawn and written only a few months before. They belonged to a completely different reality. She’d known so little back then, and she’d been so much safer for it.

  A child of Odin, sleeping beneath the bells in a church tower with her raven. Struggling with the language and thinking someone might be spying on her from the churchyard. Now what was she? A half-blindling pitting two deadborn against each other in an attempt to stop the rot and save worlds.

  She closed the notebook. Her gift from Hlosnian. She’d studied her maps and was pretty sure she knew where they needed to go to find the alleyway. The old compass she’d attached to the leather cover was shaking almost as much as she was. It wouldn’t show her the way to anything. She would have to find it herself.

  Naiell woke up. He stretched like a cat before dropping down from the rafters. “Where’s the other one?”

  “Stefan’s gone,” Hirka replied.

  She shoved the notebook in her bag and closed it. “Maybe if you didn’t sleep so much, you’d have a better handle on people.”

  Now wasn’t the time to provoke him. She’d soon be standing before forgotten blood slaves, betraying Naiell for all to hear, in a language he fortunately didn’t understand. It all depended on him trusting her. On him not ripping her head off before she even got started.

  She chucked his clothes at him and opened the door. “Come on. We’ve got lots to do.”

  He got dressed and followed her down from the factory loft. It was early. The streets were almost deserted. It was foggy. Everything seemed gray.

  “How many of them are there?” Naiell asked. He stayed close to her, seeming bigger than usual.

  “Put your glasses on.”

  She led them away from the main road and in between the houses. She felt nauseous. What worried her most? Someone being there, or no one being there? Both possibilities were just as bad.

  “I’m going to tell them they should follow me,” Naiell said. “What do you think? Back to Ym? The rot was useful during the war. Humans are better vessels for the Might.”

  “Yes, so I’ve heard,” she replied, realizing how little of him had been aware while he was Kuro. Otherwise he’d have remembered, known more. As things stood, she could probably have asked him about any moment in the history of Ym from the past thousand years and he wouldn’t remember any of them. Not the border dispute between Einneyr and Blossa, not when the ice cracked in Brinnlanda, not when Norrvarje was annexed by Mannfalla in 773. What had he been doing all that time? Building nests? It was a strange thought to grapple with.

  She’d asked Graal whether all blindlings could take the form of a raven, but apparently it wasn’t that simple. It was a gift reserved for very few Dreyri, a complicated matter she might never understand.

  “There,” she said, pointing between two tall blocks of flats. They went into the alleyway.

  She knew they were there before she saw them. The fog couldn’t mask the anticipation in the air. Their presence.

  The forgotten came into view between fire escapes and dumpsters. The brick walls were covered in words and symbols she didn’t understand. A world unfathomable to most people. A secret language. Wet newspaper clung to the asphalt.

  Isac was leaning against the wall by a drainpipe, tossing a coin. He looked at her, straightened up, and smoothed his fair fringe down with one hand. It was strange to see him again, to think that he had been there when Jay died. Still, he hadn’t been the one to fire the gun. That had been the mousy man. The one she’d killed. Right here in this alleyway, next to the green dumpster.

  She walked into their midst. They were all taller than her, but otherwise all very different. Some of them looked out of place in the alleyway. Others looked like they’d been sleeping there for years.

  She recognized some of them, like the woman who had licked Naiell’s blood off the ground. She was just as finely dressed as before, in a tight skirt and a pastel blouse. She looked just like anyone else you might see on the street, like the people who would soon be driving and walking around, on their way to work.

  Hirka counted fifteen, including Isac. It wasn’t a lot, but it would have to be enough to convince Naiell.

  “Is this it? Is this what you call an army?” He gave her a reproachful look. It was as if he had read her mind. She was glad none of the others understood ymish.

  “These are the people who are going to build you an army. These are the people who are going to help us stop Graal. But if you want to start by insulting them, be my guest. Or you can trust me.”

  Naiell grumbled. Hirka closed the lid of the dumpster. The alleyway now smelled less of garbage, but all the more of the forgotten. It was a cloying scent that seemed to get stronger the longer they’d been forgotten.

  She climbed up onto the dumpster and sat down on the edge. Naiell jumped up after her. The lid gave a metallic clang. He stood behind her with his hands on his hips.

  The forgotten gathered around them. They looked exhausted. Some of them had probably lived with the thirst for ages. How would she get through to them?

  “Tell them who I am,” Naiell said, jutting his chin out.

  “I’ll tell them what they need to know, and if you interrupt me, you can tell them yourself.”

  He bared his teeth at her. She was flirting with death, and it would only get worse. But right now, he needed her.

  “I’m Hirka,” she said. Her voice wavered. She was too nervous. She wiped her clammy hands on her trousers. “I’m Hirka,” she said again. “I’m Graal’s daughter. Half-Dreyri and half-human. Have you heard that word before? Dreyri?”

  Isac raised his hand. The others looked a
t him. He blushed and lowered it again. Hirka suppressed a smile and continued. “It means blood of the first, and it’s the name of our people. You’ve only met one of us. You know who he is. You might have lived with him. Maybe for a few days, maybe for many years—I don’t know. But you’ve been friends with him. And he’s forgotten you.”

  No one said anything. Men and women stood quietly and listened. To her. She’d always run away from crowds of people. Feared being seen, for obvious reasons. But the time for running was over. She had to talk to them. She had no choice. Even though they were all different and had all found different ways of coping with the loss of Graal’s blood. Anger. Grief. Ruin.

  They didn’t want to hear what Graal had made them. She realized that she would have to appeal to whatever remained of their humanity.

  “You’ve hurt each other. Some of you have hurt innocent people. It’s awful. But what was done to you is also awful. Dreyri blood is poison to you. But still you took it. How are your lives now? The long lives you yearned for? How are they, without him? Without Graal? Without his blood?”

  “Are you here to tell us how miserable we are?” The speaker was a shapely woman with a glowing complexion. But she had bags under her eyes. Hirka smiled at her.

  “I can see why he liked you. You used to be beautiful, before the thirst. I’m guessing you defied him.”

  The woman’s mouth twisted bitterly. Hirka felt a pang in her chest. Her heart ached for them.

  “You were all something to him, at some time or other in the last thousand years. But I can help you. I know Isac’s told his story. I’m like you. I’m more human than blindling. Just look at me. But all the same, I have blood of the blind in my veins. His blood. Graal’s blood. Something in me can tolerate it. I’ve given it to Isac, and I can give it to you. He no longer thirsts. Isn’t that right, Isac?”

  Isac shrugged and smiled. “Here, have a feel!” He raised his arms, palms up. The shapely woman rested her fingers against his wrist. Her eyes grew shiny. Isac nodded and reached out toward the others, urging them to get in on the action. “It’s beating! I can’t remember the last time it beat so much that it could actually be called a pulse. And I no longer thirst. It’s like I never met him.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to die?” asked the woman who had challenged Hirka.

  “I bloody well hope so,” Isac replied. He leaped into the air with an ecstatic howl, grabbing hold of the fire escape above him. He swung back and forth a couple of times before dropping back down onto the asphalt. “I’m alive!” He flung his arms out demonstratively. Hirka didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d never imagined anyone being so happy about their own mortality.

  “What’s he doing?” Naiell asked. “Will he fight for me?”

  “Yes, he’ll fight for you,” she whispered. It made her feel terrible, but it had to be done.

  She continued. “Now that you know the truth, you have a choice. You can kill me here and now. Fall on my blood like wolves. But I’ve asked you here because I know you won’t do that. You’re done taking. Done suffering. You’re here for a fresh start. And you’ll have the pleasure of telling Graal that to his face, of showing him that you’re not his slaves anymore.”

  She glanced back at Naiell. “This is Naiell. He’s Graal’s brother. He’s full-blood Dreyri. He doesn’t understand a word of what we’re saying now. All he understands is his own name.”

  Naiell smiled and bared his canines.

  “He thinks you’re here to kneel before him. He thinks you’ll fawn over him like you fawned over Graal. And I’m going to let him believe that. You knew and loved Graal. This is Graal’s enemy. My enemy. Soon they’ll be pitted against each other, brother against brother, and Naiell thinks you’ll fight for him. He needs to believe that before he’ll dare face Graal. That’s how much of a coward he is.”

  Naiell spread his arms wide and grinned like she’d just told them he was a god. Hirka closed her eyes for a moment before finding the strength to continue. “He’s asked me to tell you to fight for him, to help him kill Graal. That’s what he thinks I’m doing now. But I’m saying what I know is true. He’ll destroy you.”

  She could see the confusion on all their faces, and that was the last thing she wanted Naiell to see. She quickly explained. “Listen. You’re not stupid. You know you have a choice. You can fight for him. But I think you’ve all experienced more than enough of eternal life, and all it’s given you is loneliness. Loneliness and … what’s the word?” She rapped her knuckles against her forehead.

  I can’t forget words. Not now!

  The woman in the skirt came to her rescue. “Despair?” Hirka looked up.

  “Emptiness,” another said.

  “Hunger,” Isac said.

  Darkness. Meaninglessness. Death. The words kept coming. She didn’t understand them all, but she knew she’d won. “Yes!” she said. “I think there’s something that you long for more than Graal. And that’s an escape from what you have now. Will you help me?”

  It was suddenly much too quiet. All she could hear was the sound of a city waking up.

  A man stepped forward. He’d been standing behind the others, but now she recognized him. It was the beggar from London, the one with the nice eyes and hollow cheeks, wearing the same clothes and the same gloves that left his dirty fingers bare.

  “What do you want us to do?”

  Hirka suppressed the urge to jump down from the dumpster and hug him. She contented herself with a smile.

  “I need as many of you as possible. Send word to everyone who’s drunk Graal’s poison. All the forgotten. All the Vardar, those who are still his friends, if you can get hold of them. Ask them to come here. Tell them what I can do. In three days, the brothers will meet in that burned-out church. Graal and Naiell. I’ll be there, too.”

  Hirka hesitated. Graal would never set foot in the church if it was full of people. He’d think she’d betrayed him. She’d need time first.

  “Come at eight o’clock in the evening. Three evenings from now. With everyone you can find. Unarmed. Please don’t spill any blood. If anything, I need you to stop a bloodbath. If you can keep me alive until it’s over, I promise to heal you.”

  They looked at each other. “You’ll give us your blood?” the woman in the skirt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What if lots of people come?”

  “Then we’ll have to hope I’ve got lots of blood.” Hirka smiled, for all the good it did. “So, if you want to help me, kneel. Let him think he’s got his slaves.”

  One by one they kneeled, fifteen men and women in a narrow alleyway. Surrounded by soggy cardboard boxes and beer cans. Hirka looked up at Naiell.

  “You’ve got your army.”

  ANGEL

  Hirka and Naiell kept to the main streets, trying to blend in. She wasn’t sure they were doing a particularly good job of it, but even so, it was their safest bet. The police could still be looking for her after the church murders. Or was that just Stefan’s paranoia rubbing off on her?

  She pointed at the blackened bell tower and explained to Naiell how the meeting with Graal would play out. She assured him that the forgotten would find more people and hide in the surrounding streets. Graal would think that she and Naiell had come alone.

  Naiell was skeptical, but he accepted the plan. He didn’t have any other choice. Graal was his only way through the raven rings. His only way to the Might. He was disconcertingly cavalier about the advantage of having the forgotten behind him, about leaving them to kill Graal after he had made the journey home. His new army could deal with his bothersome brother while he sat securely on the throne in Eisvaldr.

  The problem was that Naiell would sacrifice Hirka if necessary. She was the leverage he would use to buy his freedom. She knew that. But he didn’t know she knew.

  So she was walking on eggshells, through streets that had shaken off the last of winter. Always with Naiell by her side, or right behind her. He never l
et her out of his sight.

  The bright spring light had drawn merchants out of their shops. They stood in rows selling books, bags, and jewelry. Hirka politely declined everything that was held out to her. They didn’t have much money left, and they needed food for at least another couple of days. She didn’t know what would come afterward. Perhaps nothing.

  A beggar stood out from the crowd. She had skin like a dried apple and wore a red kerchief. She was holding out postcards that no one wanted, saying the same words over and over. “Take a postcard. A postcard for you? A postcard for the lady?” Or gentleman, depending on who was walking past.

  She approached Hirka. “Take a postcard. A postcard for you, miss?” Hirka knew their money wouldn’t stretch that far. She shook her head. The woman thrust the postcard at her. “Free. Just for you, miss.”

  Hirka glanced down at it. A picture of a mountain erupting. Fire. Destruction. She took it. It was the same picture that had been hanging on Graal’s wall. Her instincts told her to hide it from Naiell, but he was distracted by the pigeons on the window ledges above. Food, she supposed.

  She turned back to the woman, but she’d already disappeared into the crowd. Hirka stared down at the postcard, hands tingling. There was something stuck to the back. A note. Hirka shoved the postcard into one of the big pockets in her trousers. Naiell didn’t seem to notice.

  “What do you want?” she asked outside a grocery store.

  “Meat,” he replied.

  “I’m not sure we have enough money for that. If not, I’ll get some bananas,” she said, hoping he’d wait outside. He did.

  Hirka turned down one of the aisles. The light dazzled her. She stopped next to a humming freezer and took out the postcard for a closer look. There were words and numbers on the note. She would have to ask for help. She picked up the only loaf of bread she could find that wasn’t wrapped in plastic, a couple of bananas, and a block of cheese. Put it on the counter. Naiell was still standing outside, waiting for her.