by Amy B. Nixon
My old friends were right. People indeed had real problems, and after spending almost a month here, I was finally able to admit it. My aunt was wrong to send me to Norway. This hellhole wasn’t safe for me. It wasn’t safe for anyone!
But Adaline Dust, or the Adaline Dust I knew, had never made a rash decision in her life. There wasn’t a single frivolous and reckless bone in her body. She always thought everything through.
If my aunt thought there was something scarier out there, she wasn’t delusional. Which meant only one thing – I had to pull it together and learn how to cope with the threats here, instead of exposing myself to whatever was lurking in the shadows outside.
The way I saw it, Aurora posed the most promising and probably most imminent threat.
I remembered the invisible shield-like wall she had made when I tried to attack her. That seemed like a defensive mechanism I could use if she went homicidal again. But Aurora wasn’t a newbie, so she probably knew some counter-technique to the shield thingy. I needed something more efficient.
A second later, the brilliant idea hit me like an impetuous tidal wave.
My family had put a suppression spell on my powers. It had been so efficient, my magic had remained buried deep within me until the guards lifted the spell. Biting my lips in an attempt to hide the mischievous smile stretching my face, I walked back to my bedroom, carefully planning my next moves.
***
It was almost midnight when I tiptoed to the library.
I decided to be optimistic and bite back the unpleasant notion that the book I was looking for might be hidden in the Warded Sections.
Slowly, quietly and sneakily, I climbed the mezzanine landings on the left. The ones up top were the Warded Sections and below them were some books on non-magical subjects; so I decided to start from the top of Section L3 and work my way down to L1, then move over to the nine levels on the right. I stopped in front of every bookcase, trying to evoke a nameless book or books by whispering various keywords under my nose.
Magic suppression… Magic suppression spell… Suppression spell… Suppress magic… Trap magic… Bottle up magic… Repression spell… Confine magic…
Nothing happened.
With each new passing moment, my optimistic attitude evaporated little by little. Finally, it was replaced by such overwhelming frustration, I went into a full-blown state of Bitch Mode: Activated.
By the time I reached the deepest corners of Section L2, I was overtaken by the need to punch something. Not a single book had answered my calling!
“You fucking piece of Norse shit!”
I snarled at yet another useless bookcase and tried not to kick it. I still had lots of cases to check and not enough toes to spare by starting with the violent acts so soon.
“Excuse me?”
The familiar voice was followed by a familiar blond head popping behind the shelves. Dann. FML! Like I needed something else to be irritated at!
“Not you!” I snapped with caustic tone, wishing he’d get lost.
“Do you have an issue with my library, then?” he asked perceptively.
“No… maybe,” I admitted halfway. “I’m just looking for a book and can’t find it.”
“Did you ask your book club, coven or study group if they have it?”
“I don’t have either of those.”
Well, I had Geira Brekke’s book club, but those people had a hard time being in the same room with me. I sure as hell wasn’t going share plots and schemes with them.
“You should at least join a study group. It will make practicing your magic easier.”
“No, thanks. Even if the entire island stopped seeing me as Sauron, the great Dark Lord of Mordor, I’d still prefer studying magic alone.”
A low, velar, chuckling sound emerged from his throat. Like clockwork, my irritant receptors went insane, as if they were strained and burned to white hot incandescence.
“All right, Sauron, which book are you looking for?”
Shit! Wasn’t there somebody else he could chat with? I didn’t even know the name of the book or books on the subject! And I definitely didn’t want to tell him I was looking for a spell to suppress his own sister’s magic.
“Never mind, it was something for leisure reading. You probably don’t have an English edition here, and I’m sure it wasn’t translated in Norwegian.”
“We can order it.”
Order it? Why was he being so forgiving, helpful and nice to me? If he had to judge by what he’d seen from my bitchy self since I came to this island, I didn’t deserve it. I had never, ever met anyone who endured my short fuse and treated me with kindness, in spite of it.
For some reason, my Eitrhals became heavier again. Was it because I was a disappointment to the famous Dustrikke name? Or because I was standing across someone accomplished, who hadn’t stained his equally famous name, unlike me?
“Learyn?” he asked, yanking me out of my thoughts. “What’s the book’s name?”
Maybe he had heard about his precious sister’s actions and was trying to make up for her murderous deeds. Otherwise why would he press the subject and act so helpful when I wasn’t deserving of it?
“It’s not important, and I can probably find it online.”
“As you wish. Now come with me, please.”
I obeyed silently. He guided me back to the main mezzanine landing of Section L2, then down the curved stairs, and paused in front of a bookcase in L1. His index finger ran over the spine of a tiny book, lost in the grandeur of hundreds of volumes labeled under the sign Poetry.
Dann Nordstrøm, who gave lectures on solid facts and history, read poetry?!
That was unexpected. Even more unexpectedly, he didn’t evoke the book, unlike everyone else around here. He just touched the spine, like human people did when they were browsing through a shelf. To my further surprise, he took out the book and held it in my direction, as if waiting for me to take it.
“The kenning might seem confusing if you’re not used to Old Norse texts,” he said quietly, then switched directly to English. “She bade me travel to a place where travel one cannot, to meet with fair Mengloth. I believe that’s how it went. Hmm, no, it doesn’t have the same ring to it in English. It’s better if you stick to the original.”
Did he recite from the book? And why did he do it in my language?
His voice was quiet, lower than usual. I detected something strangely familiar in his accent and tone; not a déjà vu, but… different. It sounded more like I had heard these English words spoken in the very same tone and timbre, but not here in this library.
But it was impossible. Poetry was something I had never read before. Besides, I hadn’t met Dann until this November, so why was I experiencing such a weird sensation?
Maybe hearing English for the first time in a while subconsciously made me nostalgic and clingy for the chance to experience something familiar from my old human life.
“I don’t understand.”
“The Spell of Gróa. It’s a short seventeenth century Norse poem, or rather, the seventeenth century revision of an old twelfth century poem. I want you to read it.”
My good old cynicism returned with a scoff. “What, you give poetry to all of your lecture attendees when they need to expand their vocabulary beyond swear words?”
“When I refer reading material to someone, be it poetry or not, I don’t do it because of their vocabulary.”
I smiled wryly. “Aww, and here I thought I was a special case because I’m… What did you call me? A marvel of acrimonious vulgarity?”
“You are, yet unfortunately, nothing in this book will correct your language.”
My smile evaporated just like my optimism had vanished earlier. His gaze swayed towards the frayed corners of the blue binding, and he pressed the booklet to his torso, completely contradicting the concept of handing it to me. Now I was even more confused.
“I haven’t referred the Svipdagsmál poems to anyone before you.”
His voi
ce lacked the usual calming friendliness and occasionally condescending tone. He looked almost… was it mournful? I couldn’t understand his emotion, but it made me feel awkward. Like I had just invaded the privacy of his thoughts.
“Since they’re obviously precious to you, why are you giving them to me?”
He remained silent for a while, then finally lifted his gaze. Those bright blue eyes weren’t mournful. They were piercing, especially when paired with the words that followed.
“I believe you’ll relate to the hero. Svipdag is a confused, yet strong-willed necromancer, who’s on the brink of an uneasy journey. He’s lost his trusted parental figure and is about to make a transition from the life he’s grown to know to a perilous one others have chosen for him. He doesn’t really trust anyone he meets, and relies on his wits instead of betting everything solely on magic.”
I simply stood there, breathless and immobilized by the boundless depths of his penetrating, know-it-all stare. Was Dann talking about Svipdag or me? He reached out and pulled my arm before I could recover with some biting remark about how he didn’t know me.
“Just read the poem, along with the one called The Lay of Fjölsvid,” he added, putting the booklet in my hand.
“Okay.”
It was all I could mutter, still shocked by his words. He spun around and took a step, but then turned back to me.
“Do you remember what happened after my first lecture at the beginning of November? The vision you had of us being among ruins? Has it happened again?”
A gasp escaped me. I had forgotten about the vision in view of every other sinister thing taking its toll on me. That, on top of spending half a day in the library in fruitless search of explanations for that hallucination.
“No, it hasn’t happened again, because I’m not a freak who’s hallucinating things.”
He leaned sideways against the bookcase. “Learyn, a hallucination does not make you a freak. Though, I understand why you’d see it this way, having in mind you were raised like a human.”
“Yeah? Then how do you explain it?”
“I can’t form a theory unless I know more details.”
Facing his calm features, I crossed my arms over my chest, careful not to damage the small booklet. “Are you interrogating me on behalf of the Council right now?”
“The Council doesn’t know because I haven’t told them, therefore I’m not interrogating you. I’m simply asking you to tell me what happened.”
“Why now? You refused to acknowledge it the day it happened.”
He shrugged. “You’re less hostile than you were before.”
FML! Why was he so freaking perceptive?
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Would it help if I promise not to call the nearest loony bin?”
“Ha-ha. Nothing happened. My mind played some trick on me because I was deprived of sleep and reading creepy stuff before bed. That’s it.”
His eyes narrowed in an intimidating stare. My heart skipped a beat. I didn’t like him this close in my personal space, looking at me like that. He was doing a damn good job of analyzing me. I didn’t like it at all!
Keeping my mouth shut, I tried to remain mindful of my short fuse. The last thing I needed was to explode again thanks to my most trustworthy defensive mechanism of all – anger.
“Should you change your mind, please know you can come and talk to me about it whenever you want to.”
Before I could recover from his unexpected response, he was already walking away. I thought he’d keep pressing the subject, but instead, he gave me space and an open invitation. Wow. His Excellency was full of surprises tonight.
“Dann, wait!” I ran up to him, trying to appear as composed as possible with atrocious words burning on my tongue. “Do you really keep a book with a binding made of human flesh in the library’s Warded Sections? Maksim joked about it once.”
His chest contracted with a loud sigh.
“More than one book. Human skin was used for all pages, held together by threads of Dökkálfar hair. The contents are written in Linnorm blood. May I ask why you’re interested in books crafted from human, elven and draconic blood and body parts?”
I shuddered at the thought of what those books contained. “Draconic blood? As in dragons? They exist?”
“They do. Linnorms are amphibian wingless dragons, dwelling in Midgardian swamps and rivers. Although their population is declining, they are more widespread than land dragons.”
“Why would someone kill a Linnorm to make ink from its blood?”
Dann’s head dropped to the side. “Why would someone kill a rhino to make display items from its horn? Or a tiger for its skin? A pangolin for its scales? Or a leatherback sea turtle for its carapace?”
“Because people are shit,” I replied without even thinking on the answer.
“Not all people.”
The soft way his eyes scanned mine was eloquent. I kept my mouth shut, knowing it was only a matter of time before he was disappointed in me, like everyone else who got too close.
“Will you tell me why you’re asking about those books in particular?”
“Honestly, I have no idea. Call it unhealthy curiosity.”
“Oh? Not trying to live up to your Sauron image, then?”
The corners of my mouth stretched into a smile. “Don’t worry, I’m not shooting for world domination yet.”
“Pity. I was looking forward to embarking on a search for two Hobbits who’d help me stop you.”
The visual of Dann waving a stick, dressed as Gandalf, sprang to my mind, and I barely bit back my laughter.
“Thanks. Good to know I’ll have someone ready to fight me if I go into Dark Witch Mode: Activated. And thanks for not blabbing to the Council about my... moment of craziness.”
He nodded and stepped away. “Read the poems.”
Watching him disappear behind the bookcases, I wondered if he would have put shackles on my hands instead of a book if he knew what I was planning on doing.
Thanks to nearly being caught red-handed, I chickened out and decided to leave my spell hunt for another day.
Monika had returned to our bedroom at some point during my midnight crusade, and was now sleeping in her bed. As someone who’d been raised like a necromancer and the daughter of a Council member, she probably knew about suppression spells. I had to ask her tomorrow, though. She was chatty, but she was always tired, so I didn’t want to ruin her sleep.
Then again, if she knew I was looking for such a powerful and dangerous spell, maybe she would tell her mother? Would she do that? She was nice and compassionate, but we’d known each other for less than a month. I wasn’t sure if I could trust her with something so important. Friends and boyfriends had betrayed me in the past for a lot less.
I took a deep breath and kneeled next to her bed.
“Monika?” I pushed her shoulder. Silence. “Hey, Monika, I have to ask you something.”
She produced an inarticulate sound, turning the other way. “Five more… minutes.”
“Just tell me where I can find one book.”
“Books… study… tomorrow…”
I bit my lips and exhaled. This was it. Now or never.
“Where can I find a spell to suppress magic?”
“Suppress magic,” she repeated, then went silent.
If she asked about it tomorrow, I could always tell her she’d been dreaming and this entire conversation had never happened. Pretending was something I had become moderately good at over the past year.
“Where in the library can I find a spell that suppresses magic?”
“No… not library,” she mumbled. “Spell too powerful…”
“What?”
“Spell… too powerful… for necromancers.”
No. Fucking. Way.
“So, necromancers can’t cast magic suppression spells?”
“No… can’t… five minutes.”
That meant my family had used someone
else to cast the spell on me. It also meant I had just lost my perfect solution to coping with Aurora.
I crawled back to my bed as quietly as possible while numerous F bombs exploded with a sensational uproar in every inch of my brain.
***
Fortunately, I didn’t eat breakfast, so I didn’t have to worry about seeing Aurora in the morning. Unfortunately, I couldn’t avoid her forever in her own freaking castle. There was going to come a point when she’d see me. As I headed for my one-on-one session with Brühl, I reassured myself she wasn’t going to kill me in a crowded place. She’d said it herself – it would be in a place where no one would see me, and most importantly, where they wouldn’t find my corpse for weeks.
If I stayed in this room, I would be safe for now. Someone had already replaced the windows, desks, chairs and the whiteboard after I had lashed out last time, so hiding in here was at least cozy.
“Brühl!” I darted towards him as soon as he walked in. “I want you to teach me something.”
His brows furrowed in a scolding manner.
“That’s why I’ve been appointed as your mentor, Dustrikke.”
“I want you to teach me how to cast a shield and how to make one that can withstand any counter-shield magic.”
“That’s advanced defense magic. You’re not ready for it. Go sit.”
“But what if something happens to me? I want to learn how to defend myself.”
“Open your eyes, Dustrikke! You’re on an island full of verdammte Kinder who can’t control the death magic they were born with. Something will happen to you, sooner or later.”
“What does that even mean? Verdammte Kinder. You’re always repeating it.”
“Fucking children.”
“Well, one of those fucking children is trying to murder me. I want to know how to defend myself.”
He shrugged. “You already died once. If it happens again, someone will bring you back.”
“How can you be so freaking cool about it?”
“Need I remind you that you were born with death magic, Dustrikke, and not fairy wings? Go sit! We have work to do on your elements, not on your silly social problems.”
Did he just call the death threat on my life a silly social problem?
