There was not a soldier in sight. They were presumably all in defensive positions in the garrison on Seltjarnarnes or the Viðey fortress. Defending against the attack on them, not on Reykjavík. A storm of conflicting emotions raged inside Garún. Their not being there worked to their advantage, but Hrímland was supposed to be under Kalmar’s protection. Their city had faced demonic invasion and the denizens were left to fend for themselves. A demonic invasion caused by her. Garún’s anger was transformed into a deep self-loathing that welled up in her like black, sour bile, and no matter how hard she tried she could not swallow it back down.
They heard a volley of gunfire as they crossed an intersection. In all the chaos they had not noticed a police squadron down the road. The officers all had their backs turned to them, facing a monstrosity from another world. It was the size of a small building, its flesh a molten horror of iron and broken bodies. It gave a blood-curdling roar, sounding like a cross between a furnace and a dying man, and the officers let loose a volley from the skorrifles. It hissed and spat as the wounds transformed into new orifices on its flesh, spewing out greenish smoke at the riflemen, who filled the air with their screams as the gas made contact with their bodies. Náskárar dived out of nowhere, attacking the horror from all sides at once, using their massive wingspan to blow the lethal gas away. Garún sprinted as the demon grew new, sharp limbs and impaled several of the blóðgögl at once on spikes of bone fused with iron. The others followed her, running as fast as they could, not stopping anything or anyone.
Kryik’traak was waiting on the beach, just like he had promised. He was visibly agitated. It was almost impossible for Garún to read his piscine face, but she thought she saw a mixture of horror and profound betrayal.
They waded into the ocean to the marbendill. The prisoner started to wail and squirm, but Katrín hit him and spat at him that they did not intend to drown him. Without speaking a word Kryik’traak handed them a watertight skin, into which they tossed their weapons along with Garún’s backpack and the remaining ammunition. Kryik’traak had also brought the whale blubber, which they spread on themselves as quickly as they could.
Garún tore the black hood off the prisoner. Hraki had started to tie a rope to his bound hands. The man saw the marbendill and the jellyfish, swimming lazily in a nearby net. Now was the first time that a true sense of fear showed in his eyes.
“This is going to be very simple,” said Garún. “You’re going to get one of those things on your face and our friend here –’ she nodded towards the marbendill – “is going to tow you through the deep. If you resist or somehow remove the jellyfish, you will drown. And we will not try to save you. Do you understand what I’m saying?’
He nodded. She removed his gag and, before he could get a word in, she pushed a jellyfish on to his face and submerged him.
Kryik’traak took the leash from Garún and coiled it tightly around his hand.
“This is not the stiftamtmaður,” he said when he handed her the rope.
“I know,” she said. “Things went wrong.”
“Wrong. You could say that.”
The marbendill looked towards Reykjavík. In the distant glow of the city lights, columns of smoke could be seen rising into the twilight sky, all over the city.
“You’ve committed an atrocity. There was nothing said of demons.”
“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. We never intended for the people to suffer.”
“But still you did. With nothing to show for it but a grásleppa instead of a rauðmagi.”
Garún’s temper flared. She didn’t need this, not now, not from this fish-faced son of a bitch.
“Loftkastalinn disappeared, do you understand that? It vanished and it’s never coming back! The only one in the world! Do you think that the Crown won’t feel that?’
The marbendill grunted. “They will build another. Better. Their warships will be here in great numbers.” He turned away from her, walking into the open sea. “It’s over. Our collaboration is terminated. Do not look to us again for help.”
He dived into the deep.
The deep was freezing and dark, but after the chaos and the horrors on the surface it was a welcome change. All sounds were muted and distant, the light from the surface quiet and calming. Kryik’traak swam ahead of them with the prisoner under one arm. Hraki and Garún pulled Styrhildur together, while Katrín braved through the pain. They had tied the glowing anemones to their waists, giving them some small light in the rapidly darkening ocean. The marbendill’s tail, so useless and cumbersome on the surface, sent him flying through the water with effortless elegance. The small feet that lay along its side acted as fins, providing better and quicker manoeuvring.
The city walls went right over Fossvogur, sealing the bay off. A tall iron grate shut off a massive tunnel that let ship traffic through, similar to the one in Kópavogur.
The wall appeared from the deep, a murky, dark form that slowly came into view. The weight was supported by great black pillars, between them a gigantic iron grating. Between the bars was a net of reinforced barbed wire, made so the sea could glow through, but little else. Seaweed and a green film of algae covered the net, as if the ocean was trying to dull the sharp
