“It’s just a word,” said Diljá, sounding agitated about this change for some reason. “It doesn’t mean anything bad.”
Garún shook her head. “Maybe devoid of all social context, of actually having to live carrying that around with you. Maybe in some detached, clinical meaning. But it’s none of those things when it’s used. It’s hateful, divisive.”
“People spit it out like a curse,” said Hraki. “It’s not a nice word.”
“We’re more than just a mix of two species,” said Styrhildur. “It’s a word of conflict and we’re not conflicted – we know who we are. And we deserve an identity that’s more than just focusing on being a mixture of something.”
Huldumanneskja was the word they’d landed on after some discussion: “hulda’ referencing the huldufólk, “manneskja’ meaning human person. A word they felt was free of conflict and ugly implications of tainted purity, that united rather than divided. When they’d found the word it was incredible how much lighter and freer Garún felt. It was a new beginning. And it was exhilarating.
“Whatever,” said Hrólfur, infuriatingly dismissive. “This is all beside the point—”
“No, it’s not,” said Styrhildur coolly.
“Lögrétta are negotiating with Kalmar,” he continued. “They’ve even started discussions about giving us more control of Perlan, which is a huge step in gaining autonomy.”
“Who exactly is “us” here?’ Katrín interjected. “It’s fantastic news for the Hrímlandic government, yes, many of whom are on the board of Innréttingarnar. Do you really believe they’ll use this chance to improve the lives of regular people? It will only result in the Kalmar military paying a premium to Innréttingarnar for use of Perlan, flushing the board members’ pockets. The Crown uses the power plant to fuel Loftkastalinn – a machine of war that they say is to protect us, but is used to keep us in our place! They’ll never let it go.”
“Further drastic action at this point will only make things worse!’ Hrólfur persisted.
“Worse?’ Garún couldn’t believe this. First his cowardice at the protest, now this. “They’re fucking killing us, Hrólfur! They massacre us in public like it’s nothing, and then print news articles about how a wild mob attacked “innocent” people and police officers, who were just doing their honest duty defending Lögrétta! They kill us for demanding basic rights and rewrite history to make us sound like hooligans. Like the people who died deserved it.”
“So we fight back, the right way.” Diljá looked miserable as she saw the fracture forming in the group. “We get a new printing press, we print the true side of—”
“Oh, please,” said Garún. “Spare me. Just how long do you think you can fight a fucking war with only words? Do you really think that some well-worded articles will grant us basic rights?’
Hrólfur threw his arms up in an exaggerated gesture.
“What on earth do you hope to achieve with this? You kidnap the stiftamtmaður, and then what? Hmm? What then? They’ll find you, and they’ll kill you. More innocent people will suffer until they do. That’s the only thing you’ll accomplish. The slaughter at the protest will become a daily event.”
“You’re talking about starting a war, Garún,” said Diljá. “I can’t condone that. I can’t be a part of that.”
“We’re already at war,” Garún responded. “And we’ll lose something much more important than our lives if we don’t fight. I can’t believe you’re against us on this. After all the suffering they’ve made huldufólk endure.”
“Things are changing,” said Diljá. “For the last few years, more and more huldufólk are getting proper citizenship. Blendingar—”
“Huldumanneskjur.”
“I didn’t … I’m sorry … Huldumanneskjur will get more rights as society changes.”
Garún pretended to think this over, nodding to herself.
“Right. We just have to sit and wait for Kalmar to deem us worthy of receiving basic rights. Sit down and shut up. And for what? To have the right to fully belong to their sick, warmongering empire? Fuck that.”
Styrhildur, Katrín and Hraki showed their agreement with Garún, raising their fists in support as if they were at a meeting.
“Nothing really changes without direct action. You know that’s true. But maybe you don’t want things to really change.”
Diljá looked at them in turn, hurt and desperate. She reached out. Her face changed when she made the connection with Garún. Styrhildur and Hraki reached out as well, further twisting Diljá’s face into some form of fear or despair. Garún felt her emotions: her uncertainty of being against doing this; the mortal fear of possibly following through with it; her nascent love for Hrólfur, and how it was pulling her in the opposite direction.
You’re a coward, Garún couldn’t help but think to herself.
She saw from Diljá’s surprise, as if she had been stung, that she’d noticed some form of her emotional response through their connection.
“There is another way,” said Diljá as Garún cut her off. “There always is.”
“No. This time there isn’t.”
Hrólfur turned to Kryik’traak, who had been sitting silently in the small pool that provided the only exit from the cave.
“What do you make of this? I can’t believe that the Coral Spires would be on board with a full-on act of terrorism.”
Kryik’traak took long moments to contemplate his words, his piscine face still unreadable to Garún. She’d already approached him and garnered his support, but she had only a vague idea of how reliable that was.
“There is a divide in the great lakes,” he said, measuring his words precisely. “The general consensus is that Kalmar does ultimately – and inevitably – more harm to all marbendlar off the shores of Hrímland, especially those dwelling in lakes. Reykjavík acts as a noose around our neck, and we would not rely on the kindness of an empire such as Kalmar for the right to breathe.”
“Wait – do the Coral Spires of Þingvallavatn know about this?’ asked Hrólfur.
Kryik’traak shook his head. “There can be no outside communication of this plan. But it is our consensus here, in Elliðavatn, that it
