He felt like a child being let behind the scenes after a play. He saw the ropes and switches, trapdoors and mirrors, and slowly he was realising this was all a trick. An illusion. But at the same time he better understood the greater context, the obfuscated meaning. How the illusion worked. How you could make a new trick out of an old one. How you could mix two together to make up something new. And just as a child would, he had to try pulling the strings. See the puppets dance. He wanted to share this perspective on reality with others. He had to know if he could somehow impart this gnosis. The concert was the perfect opportunity.
Backstage he greeted the other members of the band. They hadn’t seen each other for a very long time. They looked at him as if he was a wreck living on the streets. Which, he supposed, he kind of was. He couldn’t go back to his apartment, that much was certain. They didn’t have much to talk about. They had nothing in common outside of the music, which Sæmundur had ignored since being kicked out of Svartiskóli. He was waiting for them to kick him out of the band, since he didn’t show up for rehearsals. But these were his old friends from the Learned School and it seemed that they didn’t have it in them to kick him out of the band, just as he hadn’t had it in himself to leave. It had been dangerous for them to get in and out of the Forgotten Downtown, especially when carrying instruments and other equipment. But it was exciting. A band that had the guts to play in the Forgotten Downtown was worth something. It was unheard of on this scale.
The room buzzed with excitement as Sæmundur and his band set up the stage. He was worried about his shaking hands. He felt light-headed, as if he could pass out. He mumbled an incantation and felt himself stabilise – his shadow solidify. Sæmundur had sometimes experimented with mixing some galdur into the music, before. That’s why he had joined the band. He had wanted to better understand how the two were connected, but he’d never managed it well enough without risking absolutely losing control. At best he’d managed to make the audience feel slightly intoxicated. His experiments had helped him develop the musically infused galdur ritual of raising the cloth-golem. But before Kölski, Sæmundur hadn’t realised how to properly summon the galdur that was inherently a part of music. The untamed, raw and elusive power hidden behind the notes, making up the foundation of a traditional ritual of galdur. Galdur demanded a disciplined control, a clearly designated space, a purposeful ceremony. There was no room for improvisation, unlike in music.
But that was before his eyes had been opened. He saw things for what they were now. Or close enough, at least. Sæmundur had seen the smoke machines and false floors. A small gap had opened in his mind and through it something leaked that transformed everything it touched.
Guitar feedback cut its way through the crowd. The others finished setting up and looked at Sæmundur. He nodded. With a heavy tone he let go and started to play.
* * *
Garún had never particularly liked the music they played, but she understood why they had their regular crowd. You could forget yourself in their music. She took a sip of her beer, started to rock from side to side. Everything seemed clearer than before. Simpler. More distant.
The crowd cheered as they started playing. It looked as if they were familiar with it. It was their most well-known song. A slow, murky riff that started out calm, but became steadily heavier until the song completely lost it at the very end. She liked it. Not something she’d listen to by herself, but a good song nonetheless.
The intro was slow and heavy, the drums like the heartbeat of a dying old man. But something was off. Something was missing. Sound reverberated through her, vibrated to the bone, set off an ecstatic feeling that spread through her body.
The melody became stronger, louder. The song rose like a wave, broke and prepared to come crashing down with all its accumulated power. It was then that she finally noticed what was missing.
Sæmundur was about to start singing. He was bathed in red light. She couldn’t see his shadow cast behind him.
The crashing sound wave hit her.
* * *
Everything vanished except her and the stage. The lights shimmered up into the empty firmament. From their tendrils stars were created, brightly shining suns powered by the heavy, cataclysmic metal. She felt her skeleton vibrate with each change in chords so her vision shook, like a large church bell being struck with a great iron hammer.
The sound broke upon her like waves in a storm. Her body was set alight with sound. In the flickering, celestial lights she saw the shapes of other figures, rigid and grey statues that moved lethargically. Numbing waves of ecstasy came crashing down on her again and again, first manifesting as goose bumps over her hypersensitive skin, then becoming more intimate, deeper, digging down into the bone marrow and spreading through her body. She felt herself getting warm, her heart beating faster and faster, the crashing sound filling her head and flowing down into her chest, her stomach, between her legs. She was beating in rhythm to the song.
The dance floor was a crystal-strewn wasteland. She realised that she was stroking herself. Every touch was like a droplet into still waters, a mountain crashing into the ocean. In the distance she saw vague forms, writhing in a bizarre dance. Sæmundur sang, but his voice was carried to her before the sound itself and echoed in her
