The tram stopped and everyone departed, aside from the few students of seiður who were heading up towards Perlan. A considerable number of people stood waiting at Svartiskóli’s tram platform, it being Fárday and classes generally over. Sæmundur tried to be inconspicuous but knew it probably just made him look all the more questionable. A thick haze of paranoia was settling over his mind as the mushroom broth in his body dissipated into his blood, his flesh. Everything felt off kilter.
The gigantic birch wood doors of the main entrance were open wide and students flowed outside. The doors had been grown by the head seiðskrattar of the university, rumour had it that they were fused with a potent seiður of protection. Sæmundur felt he could see bloated eyes in every crack of the knotty natural wood. Large and deep pupils, all pointing directly at him. He jumped when the eyes all blinked simultaneously, and he almost lost his composure. A mumbled word of protection subdued the hallucinations somewhat. He moved away from the main entrance and followed the smooth obsidian wall until he came to a side entrance, a short flight of concrete stairs leading down to a heavy iron door. Before he knocked he put on a pair of leather gloves. He only managed to get one knock in before the door opened with a jerk.
“You’re late. Do you have the moss?’
Kári glared at him through the crack in the door.
“It’s not my fault you didn’t assume that I’d be late as usual. Aren’t you going to let me in?’
Sæmundur made a show of looking around nervously, even though he knew there wasn’t another person in sight, to encourage Kári’s neurosis. It actually wasn’t that hard to fake paranoia when the entire sky was boiling and undulating. Whispering.
Kári grimaced. “Sæmundur, come on. You know I can’t.”
“Oh, all right, I’ll just sell you the illegal narcotics infused with seiður right here in the open, for all to see.”
“Quiet!’ Kári hissed at him. “Are you out of your damn mind?’ Sæmundur could hear Kári grinding his teeth from frustration. “All right, get in.”
The door opened enough for Sæmundur to slip in. Gangly and pale, his chin as weak as his handshake, Kári was a stereotypical student of Svartiskóli. But this weakness was only an illusion. Given a few years he could reshape the world. If he had the constitution and ability needed to survive his studies and graduate as a powerful seiðskratti.
Kári was one of the many students that Sæmundur regularly sold highland moss to at a grossly inflated price. Most students at Svartiskóli weren’t exactly able to hold their own in Reykjavík’s underworld and the demand for moss was always high. Many of them came from wealthy families as well, like Kári. Occasionally Sæmundur would offer moss in return for access to manuscripts, essays and scientific articles that were not available to the general public. Moss gave users a hit of seiðmagn beyond what they could summon alone, which could be the difference between a student passing or failing. The risk was considerable, it being an illegal narcotic after all, but there was hardly an exceptional student to be found who didn’t find some method of empowering their seiður.
Sæmundur had got the gram of moss for two hundred krónur straight from Rotsvelgur, and sold it for four hundred or more. Kári’s family was from old money in Reykjavík, or so Sæmundur believed, and he was a very regular customer. Sæmundur always charged him more than others. When he never complained, Sæmundur started raising the price regularly, claiming that the Crown’s security around the city gates was more rigid than before. No objections came from Kári, not a peep. This was why Sæmundur felt terrible having to jeopardise their relationship, potentially sacrificing the golden calf who’d kept him going for months. But it would all pay off in the end.
Kári pulled a fat leather wallet from his back pocket and started counting the money.
“What was it, three grams for fifteen hundred, right?’
“Yeah, adds up.”
Kári looked at him worriedly with the stack of bills in his hands.
“Are you all right? You seem odd. Odder than usual.” He squinted his eyes behind the thick glasses. “Look at the state of you. Your pupils are all—”
Sæmundur punched him in the jaw and followed up with a headbutt. Kári lay dazed on the floor, blood spilling from his mouth and nose. Sæmundur grabbed his head with both hands, muttering words of galdur over him as he flailed around weakly, before finally succumbing to deep, restful sleep. With luck he wouldn’t remember having met Sæmundur at all.
He was standing in a small concrete room, part of the maintenance network in the basement. Hissing pipes covered the ceiling. The walls breathed, slick with sweat – no, moisture. Sæmundur pinched his eyes shut. He had to get his shit under control. He moved into the next room, along a maintenance corridor, stumbling around until he found a metal staircase leading into Svartiskóli proper. He climbed on weak knees, feeling as if the stairs pulsated up and down in sync with the breathing of the walls. Everything moved. Everything was alive. Discordant notes echoed in the distance, a maddening cacophony of flutes. The dizzying mushroom high had sunk its claws deep into Sæmundur, holding him in the palm of its hand.
