She looked up. “What do you mean?’
He didn’t reply to her, turning to his empty glass.
“Ah, so now you’re listening? You thieving bitch. You’re all the same. Forget it, it’s not a place for an aberrant such as yourself.”
“Where do you sell your junk? Is there a market here?’
The vagrant ignored her, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. She grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him to turn to her.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you.” Without taking her eyes from him, she stuck a dagger she kept in the inside pocket of her coat up against his side. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. Where do you sell your stolen loot, you miserable wretch? Where?’
He looked around for help. No one spared him a glance, not even the bartender, who stood calmly at the other end of the bar, pretending not to notice anything. The band kept on playing their melancholic eulogy.
“All right, all right! Control yourself,” he spat out. “If you can, you half-breed bitch!’
She pushed the dagger up against him, puncturing his speckled coat, possibly breaking his skin. He yelped.
All right! Kolaportið!’ he whimpered through a clenched jaw. “Put away the blade and I’ll tell you how you can get there.”
The dagger didn’t move until he’d talked. She downed the rest of her sour beer and headed straight outside.
* * *
After saying goodbye to Leifur at the Baron’s Cowshed, Sæmundur had headed straight back home. He knew of a galdur which could be used to track down Garún, but he couldn’t risk leaving Kölski behind. He’d strongly felt the demon’s absence. The more time that passed away from the demon’s presence, the weaker he felt. When he opened the door to his apartment he was out of breath and trembling, stars flickering at the edge of his vision. Inside, Kölski waited, just as Sæmundur had left him, silent as the grave.
“What … have you done … to me,” Sæmundur groaned.
“Nothing, master,” Kölski said with a sharp smile. “Nothing you didn’t do to yourself.”
Sæmundur collapsed on his mattress. He immediately felt better, now that he was back in the company of the demon.
“What do you mean?’
“When you dragged me into this … world –’ it spat out the last word like a curse – “you did so with two sacrifices.” Kölski held out its black, chitinous claws. “The flesh.” It opened its right claw. “And the spirit,” it added and opened the left.
Sæmundur stared into the demon’s silver eyes for a while before he realised what it meant. The shadow.
“Shadow has no essence, it has no material component, no frequency. You can’t use a shadow, it’s …’
He thought about the ritual, how shadows had danced on the walls like living darkness. How they had been drawn in by the demon. He reached for a tallow candle that was on top of the amplifier and lit it. He held up a hand against the flame, tried to cast a shadow on the wall, floor, something. Nothing happened.
“Impossible.”
“Darkness is everywhere. You just need light to see it. Every man casts a shadow if they stand in front of the light. Like fire burns and suns shine, people are radiant with darkness. That is the essence of life.”
Sæmundur collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Absurd. That doesn’t make a shred of sense.”
Kölski’s laughter was like a cold wind over bleached bone.
“Do not despair, master! Gottskálk considered this to be a good sign, by exorcising a demon he was ridding himself of evil’s influence. “A man without shadow is pure of heart,” he said. You should rejoice!’
Everything has a price. It had been one of his earliest lessons, but he’d never taken it seriously. Galdur meant being powerful, not powerless. All these words, these incantations, they were his weapons. How could they turn on him like that? How could he have unwittingly sacrificed a part of himself ?
No.
He stood up. No, this sort of thinking would not do. He knew what the risks were when he decided he had to read Rauðskinna, no matter what. No price was too dear for him. This was the nature of ascending – transformation. After only a few weeks he’d reached a higher understanding and control than any galdramaður who had ever studied at Svartiskóli. All the taboos and prohibitions that he’d been taught were irrelevant. He had to see them for what they were – falsehoods and hindrances placed either from misunderstanding and fear or as a way for those in power to keep it from the reach of others. He was beyond them now. He had started to gain a true understanding of galdur.
That was when he noticed the corpses, hidden away in the dark corners of the room. Twisted bodies, entwined together, seeping blood from skin as if it was porous. It took him a moment, staring at them frozen in disbelief, to recognise their uniforms as those of the military.
He resisted the urge to stumble backwards and flee from the room. Instead he turned to Kölski, speaking slowly, but clearly.
“What … the … fuck?’
“Ah, yes. The visitors.” Kölski moved to the edge of the circle, tilting its head as it considered the warped bodies. “I thought it would be best to take neat care of them, master. They came in as soon as you left. Snooping around.”
“You did that?’
Kölski performed a neat, flourished bow.
“Yes, master. I will not let lesser beings compromise your domain. Soldiers of Kalmar, their broken spirits told me before I sent them off. They have been hiding for some time now, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.”
Sæmundur threw up on the floor. He was glad he had something to vomit. He felt disgusted. Sick. How had he not spotted the soldiers?
It was some time before he found the strength to speak again.
“Are there others waiting outside now?’
The demon shut its
