His voice felt raspy and dry. He was starting to sweat. The committee leafed through his papers, uninterested, barely paying attention to him. Except for Professor Almía. She stared him down with unwavering attention.
“As regarding my supposed disorderly conduct, I argue that it has a direct correlation with the third reason for expulsion. My …” The words caught in his throat like barbed wire. “My misconceptions about galdur in theory and praxis are what led to most of the more heated confrontations in the classroom. I regret my previous behaviour. I was arrogant in my misplaced theories and overreacted to criticism. I sincerely apologise for my behaviour and believe that my new, refined dissertation will show that my mind has changed completely.”
Professor Thorlacius had been leafing through Sæmundur’s dissertation outline while he was talking, and the smirk on her face had now reached insufferable levels of smugness.
“Sæmundur, in all seriousness – your theories on galdur verged on being blatantly heretical. And now you submit before us a mind-numbingly simple thesis about the grammatical nuances of the Seven Opening Incantations. You expect us to take this seriously?”
Doctor Laufey leaned over and glared at Almía.
“Professor Thorlacius, I will thank you to speak to the student in a respectful manner, as he has seen fit to himself, and to allow his new dissertation the benefit of the doubt.”
Almía hand-waved the reprimand, squinting at Sæmundur.
For crying out loud, Sæmundur thought to himself, she really wants to see me grovel.
He nodded, swallowed back a snide remark.
“Well, professor, you are correct. It is a drastic change. But my theories were dangerous and …’ He struggled to finish the sentence. “Unethical. I now fully realise that.”
“And what exactly,” Doctor Vésteinn Alrúnarson suddenly interjected, “were those theories?”
He arched his eyebrows at Sæmundur, who found himself at a loss for words. Part of his inspiration had come from what Vésteinn had done for the modernisation of harnessing seiðmagn and using seiður. Vésteinn was over sixty years old, although he barely looked fifty, and most of his ground-breaking work had been accomplished when he was a university student himself, a few years younger than Sæmundur.
Professor Almía jumped in before Sæmundur could possibly risk defending himself.
“Sæmundur has theorised that by deconstructing a series of magister-level incantations, he could start practical –” she spat out the word to a chorus of gasps around the table – “and experimental research on the very nature of galdur itself. A canonical truth which requires no further scientific testing! By unravelling the very essence of the grammatical and acoustic elements, he thought he would gain some insight into the underlying forces that dictate galdur and achieve some imagined mastery over it.”
“I see.” Vésteinn nodded slowly. “So, in short, a disastrous invitation to transmundane possession.”
“Exactly,” Almía added. “As if a mere postgraduate could conduct this series of experiments, which would elude the highest master of galdur in the modern world. And when faced with valid and – dare I say, sane – critisism of this mad endeavour, he quickly burst into a rage, spouting obscenities!’
Sæmundur winced. She was exaggerating, but she wasn’t that far off. He’d lost his temper several times in class, once resulting in his being dismissed from the lecture. It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself. It’s hard to hold one’s temper in check when people refuse to listen to sound logic.
“Sæmundur here believed that he could revolutionise the way we think about galdur. That he could reach some imaginary heart of its power and return unscathed, bearing bountiful and profound wisdom for the rest of us mere humans.” Almía scoffed. “I’ve spent hours arguing with you, Sæmundur. You are an insurgent and a heretic – you offer nothing but discourse where there is none to be had. Without the canon we lose control. Without control there is nothing but unchecked chaos and ruin. Do you seriously think you are the first young, arrogant galdramaður we’ve had who wants to revolutionise the craft? That other misguided galdramenn before you have not tried to achieve the same lofty results you are hoping for?’ She shook her head and stared him right in the eye. His gaze did not waver. He did not even blink. “This is a charade. A farce. I know your kind. Talented, intelligent, yes – but reckless. Misguided. You will not know when to stop when the forces beyond tempt you with more power. And it will turn your bones blue and bring disastrous ruin upon us all.”
The room turned cramped from the oppressive silence that followed. After a short while, which felt like an eternity of time, Sæmundur spoke.
“Thank you for the critique, Professor Thorlacius. I do empathise with your feelings on the matter, but I reiterate my point – I am completely serious in my change of mind. My current dissertation is something I stand by one hundred per cent. I have abandoned my previous …” Mad theory. He bit his tongue. “Unorthodox theory of the origin and nature of galdur as a thaumaturgical force. I only wish to continue studying the craft and gain a deeper understanding and mastery of it, within the limits of the established and proven canon. It is as you say, Professor Thorlacius – it is what keeps us safe from demonic possession.”
The board considered this for a while.
“Thank you, Sæmundur,” Doctor Laufey said. “We will review your documents and call on you within the next hour. Please wait outside the meeting
