“Turn it off.”
“What? Garún, don’t worry about that now, just listen. I—”
“I said turn it off ! Now!’
She was yelling at him now, holding one headphone speaker up to her ear. Only calm, soothing tones were emitted by the audioskull. Sæmundur sighed and mumbled a single word of power. The air around him twitched, or perhaps it was just her eyes. Immediately the music flared up violently, screaming danger, run, surrounded, fear, run, now.
“Something’s wrong. We have to—”
A hollow, tinny voice interrupted her from the back of the alley.
“Do not make any sudden movements. Turn around – slowly – and raise your hands in the air.”
Sæmundur turned around and Garún saw behind him a line of soldiers blocking off their exit. In front of them was a sharply dressed man holding a megaphone. Her heart sank. It was him. The officer who had almost arrested her the other day.
His face twisted in a victorious grin. He recognised her as well. He looked pleasantly surprised, as if some suspicion had been confirmed. She realised that he had not been expecting her at all. They had been trailing Sæmundur.
“You fucking idiot,” she hissed as she slowly raised her hands. “You’ve led them here.”
“Garún, relax,” he said in a deep, calm voice. There was nothing comforting about his tone. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
“Sæmundur Sigfússon –’ the man cracked a predatory smile – “you are under arrest for double homicide, illegitimate and immoral use of sorcerous materials, breaking and entering, robbery of forbidden texts, summoning a malevolent transmundane entity and conspiracy to commit an act of terrorism against the Commonwealth of Kalmar and its peoples. Raise your hands, hold out your fingers, and don’t move. Co-operate and no one need get hurt, Sæmundur.”
“Homicide?’ She stared at him incredulously. “What the fuck did you do?’
The soldiers advanced carefully down the street, their rifles raised and readied. The officer was in front of them.
“Can you see it, Garún?’ he said to her quietly. “The seiðmagn he’s drawing in? I can almost see it. It’s like a whirlwind of smog, except …’
He trailed off. Garún didn’t know what to say. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she would collapse. Whatever had happened to him, apparently the extent of the transformation was unknown to even him.
“Don’t come any closer,” Sæmundur said to the officer. “I mean it.”
“Should you start muttering an incantation, or do any other activities that might be considered an act of svartigaldur, then we will be forced to shoot to kill. Do you understand me? This is the end of the line. Reach up your hands, Sæmundur, so we can see them. Should you reach for any fetishes or artefacts we will fire. Do you understand?’
Sæmundur raised his hands.
“You don’t have to do this. I don’t want to harm you.”
The officer nodded. “I understand. Whatever you stole worked, didn’t it? That’s of great interest to us, Sæmundur. Listen, we only want to talk. All right? My name is Þráinn Meinholt. Are you co-operating with this terrorist? We can overlook that as well, we only want information. All right? Should you be unco-operative, then, well … Then you will force our hand.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“That’s right.”
A gap opened in the soldiers’ ranks. A small, robed figure stepped through. A galdramaður, highly indoctrinated according to the sigils on their robes. A black veil covered their face. A large femur, faintly azure in colour, was grasped in their skeletal hand, tightly wound around the hand and lower arm with string and barbed wire.
Shit, shit, shit.
Garún took a step back. The soldiers visibly jumped at her movement. She was lucky she wasn’t shot right there and then, she guessed. They were all on edge. The portal to Rökkurvík was just behind her, but it would take time to activate it. She’d have to pull a brick out of the wall and insert it the other way around. She’d be lying on the street, bleeding, before she could find the right brick.
“You chose this,” Sæmundur said to Þráinn. “Remember that.”
The galdramaður looked up at the officer, who gave a curt nod. The galdramaður started muttering an incantation, holding the bone with both hands as if trying to strangle it. Garún felt her body lock up, suddenly and violently, as if rigor mortis was instantly setting in to her living body. Sæmundur became similarly rigid, his back too straight.
“Good, Sæmundur.”
Þráinn gestured to the soldiers, who approached with handcuffs and straps that were intended to go over the head of a rogue galdramaður, blocking off their senses completely.
“Don’t make them suffer,” Sæmundur said.
The soldiers pushed him to his knees and cuffed him. He looked subdued, almost as if he was talking to himself, lapsing into some kind of trance. At that moment he didn’t look human to her.
The winter darkness didn’t yet take up most of the day, but by now it reached deep into the morning. A wind ran through the alleyway and Garún involuntarily shivered. Suddenly everything felt colder, darker, when the opposite should be happening. The sun was supposed to start its short crawl over the horizon shortly. The darkness grew thicker, closer, pressing up against her. It was almost as if it was moving. Whispering, just out of her range of hearing. She looked up as the soldiers pushed her down and pulled her arms behind her back to be cuffed. The stars were vanishing from the night sky.
The soldiers’ movements became lethargic. They stopped moving. The galdramaður ceased their chanting, falling silent, slack-jawed. The darkness pushed up against them. Garún could almost see it. Like liquid smoke. Something out of a dream.
Garún was able to move again. She watched as Þráinn retreated, staring at Sæmundur as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
“What is this? How are you doing this?’
Þráinn looked
