“What’s up, guys? Aren’t you a bit too young to be drinking?’
“You’re only a few years older than me!’ Styrhildur said in a scolding tone.
Garún smirked and playfully pushed her shoulder against her. The girl smiled, but Hraki looked embarrassed. He was a few years younger than his sister. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen. The three of them quickly reached out to one another. Styrhildur felt excited and happy, Hraki a bit nervous, but still, that same kind of happiness. They were living independent lives in the city, at a bar surrounded by friends. This was good. Maybe better than any of them had ever expected. It made her feel pensive. Something so normal shouldn’t feel exceptional.
Diljá returned with a beer and Garún reached for her purse.
“No, no, not this again,” said Diljá, but Garún didn’t let off until she’d successfully pushed the coins into Diljá’s hand. “All right, but this is the last time. One day you’ll have to let me buy you a round.”
“Nobody buys anybody rounds, what even are you talking about?’
They stared at each other, flaring out scans of each other’s emotions. This was a set routine between them by now. Each focused on mock-feelings of stubbornness, trying to outdo the other.
Finally Diljá caved in, as always.
“Okay, maybe nobody really buys rounds. But still. One day I’ll buy you a beer.” She grinned.
Garún shrugged. “I don’t like owing anybody anything.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Diljá took a sip of her beer. “Lilja said you were upstairs.” She lowered her voice and leaned in. “Is everything good?’
“Viður’s out,” Garún said in a low voice, “but he knows a guy who’s selling. I’m not sure if I should trust him on this.”
“Who’s the guy?’
“Nobody I’ve heard of. Apparently he lives in Rökkurvík – permanently.”
The nickname was a bad pun, one that had stuck. The Forgotten Downtown was cast in unending darkness, its decrepit old-style houses reminiscent of faded photographs of the city that Reykjavík once was. So it was nicknamed Rökkurvík, literally meaning “twilight bay’ – as opposed to Reykjavík’s “smoke bay’.
“Come on, Garún. The Forgotten Downtown?’
“I have to try.” She hesitated. “Will you spot me when I enter and exit?’
“Of course,” Diljá replied without hesitating.
“We will help,” Styrhildur said quietly. “With us three, you can cover a lot of ground.”
Garún was more relieved than she expected at hearing that. She wanted to say no, to tell them that they should stay out of it. But they wanted to help, to make themselves useful.
“Thanks,” she mumbled. She handed them the note Viður had handed her. “Look over the points of entry and exit. I’ll go in at a specific time. I’m not sure how long this will take, but it shouldn’t be long.”
They nodded and started perusing the notes, memorising them as quickly as they could.
Then Garún recalled Lilja’s remarks earlier.
“Listen,” she said to Diljá, pulling her in and a bit away from the siblings. “You haven’t told anyone about the tagging, have you?’
“No, of course not.” Diljá suddenly looked extremely worried. “Why?’
Garún glanced around. They sat next to each other, slightly away from the others at the table, who were deep in discussion about the latest theatre review to appear in the Tíminn newspaper. Garún focused on Diljá and instigated a deep reach out for her feelings. She felt her initial hesitation, which quickly gave way as Diljá embraced her with open arms. Garún felt uneasiness, joy, and both fear and worry in sharp, almost hurting pangs. Whether it was because Diljá had let something slip, or because she was worried that Lilja knew something, Garún had no way of knowing. Garún felt Diljá reach out in the same way and also gave in.
They held their connection steady, holding each other by the hand, staring into each other’s eyes.
“I’m worried,” said Garún, still holding the connection, “that we have a snitch.”
“Who?’ asked Diljá. “Katrín?’
They let their connection search and probe their feelings on the matter until they reached a united conclusion.
“I agree,” Diljá continued, “that she’s a risk. But I believe she has the best interests of the cause at heart. She has her reasons.”
Garún felt a sudden upsurge of pain and regret, empathy, anger, injustice. She knew something about Katrín. But there was also trust there. A feeling of a kindred spirit, a sister.
“Hrólfur?’ she ventured. “He would hardly gossip to huldufólk.”
Diljá smiled and Garún smiled with her. Diljá’s joy was her own joy.
“Well, you never know,” said Diljá.
Garún felt something surprising. A hint of warm affection. The feeling invoked a quickening of her own heartbeat. Dangerous.
Diljá sensed Garún’s hesitation at the new feeling she’d inadvertently broadcast and blushed.
“It’s not anything, it’s just—”
“I know,” Garún said. “Don’t worry. I’m sorry I reacted that way.”
“That’s all right, you don’t need to apologise.”
They let their mutual understanding reinforce itself for a while. Then, Garún’s mind turned to Lilja. The dark cloud in her heart passed over Diljá’s face.
“Garún … Oh no,” Diljá said.
“It doesn’t matter who it was. She still knows, when she shouldn’t. I have to do it.”
Diljá couldn’t have possibly known from their connection what Garún was thinking about, but they knew each other well. Diljá knew what Garún had in mind.
“You don’t have to—”
“We can’t trust her. We have to remain safe. No matter the cost. And besides –’ Garún knew she didn’t say this with full conviction, and that Diljá would feel it – “she won’t remember a thing.”
Diljá’s sadness and anxiety washed over Garún in strong waves. She let her own feelings show, feeling them echo in her friend. Fear. Determination. Anger. Hope. A strong, relentless fire.
Diljá nodded. “Okay,” she said.
Garún finished her beer in a long gulp, then got up and walked straight to Lilja. She was chatting with a few people at the other end of the table, who all fell silent as Garún came and leaned in towards her.
“Come
