All shapes of noise and silence

Year 76 “I will not help you, Denmark.” The voice barely rose above the city bustle outside of the window and routine noises of an administrative office. Well, Iceland had always been the quiet one and shied away from any attention. There was nothing shy about him now as he watched the passersby in the street below with an absent-minded air. Dane felt a bit off-balance. He was still towering over the youngest Nordic, but he could not dominate him anymore. And he could not get used to it even in so many decades after the end of their old world. Hands itched for some reassuring weight. If only he could bring his good old pole axe… But Iceland had ordered him to leave it at the entrance of the Nordic Council Hall, and since Denmark came with a plea, he had obeyed. “Well, here we go.” He gritted his teeth and went down on one knee. “Iceland, I apologise for all the wrongs I’ve done to you through our history”. Few humans cruising between the offices seemed not to notice the two nation entities by a window in a corridor of Nordic Council Hall. Denmark wanted to feel lucky that no one witnessed his misery, but it also meant that this moment, when the Danish delegation was discussing financial matters behind closed doors, was of little historical significance. Mortals would usually see them at moments of elation and unity. And surely he wished Icey paid him a little more attention and respect. At last, Iceland did look at him, without surprise, or mirth, or any other expression. “Wrongs? You did?” Now that was perplexing. “Like…” Memories flickered before Denmark’s mind eye. Iceland looking away and squirming, Iceland glaring daggers at him, Iceland protesting and fighting back (quiet cries, feeble strikes) as Dane had had his way with him. “Like Kalmar Union. I… owned you, after all. Well, Norway gave you away to me, so the blame is on him too, but still… I’m sorry. And the trade monopoly I imposed on you for a couple of centuries. And forcing you into Protestant Reformation and having your Catholic bishops killed. And leaving you alone in both world wars. And your great famine in the late eighteenth century—I heard it hit you almost as badly as the Rash now.” Iceland nodded. “It is good to hear you remember so much. I’d only wish you learned lessons from the past.” The floor was too hard on his knee, and Denmark snapped despite his resolve to be nice and polite. “Ain’t it strange to hear about learning lessons from someone who has forgotten that the world exists?” “I renounced it, but I did not forget. Those who don’t know history are doomed to repeat it.” Denmark scanned Icey up from high laced boots (white, mind you!) to the stupid ribbon tie, a couple of centuries too old. But instead of ticking into XXI, time reckoning had started anew, and Iceland looked so very fitting in the background of two-story wooden houses, horse carriages, and fancy signboards of the Reykjavik centre. It seemed the History itself stepped back to match him. And that young fry talks about not repeating the past! Dane was suddenly aware of his worn-out, once-black coat. The end of the world derailed him as if he lost some part of his personality along with the land and people. He used to smile and joke at anything life would dump on him. He could not scrape together any good humour now. Only a rather acrid one. “Nice excuse for sitting in your backwater and mossing.” “No. It is not an excuse. When you live in the middle of the ocean between glaciers and volcanoes, you learn to understand your true place in the universe. A tiny, insignificant place. It’s a humbling experience. You definitely lack it. Gods have sent us the Rash as a punishment for greed and mindless, tumour-like expansion. But you missed that point. Like so many others, you want more and more. As in the past, when you claimed all North in the Kalmar Union. Me, Greenland… we were too far; you could not mind us, rule us, or hold us. I hardly noticed that you owned me. Just at some bitter moments like the Mist Hardship. No, really, it was not your fault, it was a deed of nature—of Gods, that is, and your trade monopoly just aggravated it a little.” “Gods,” Denmark spat. “Fantasies of our childhood. Spill it, you’ve dragged them out of trash can just to have something to cling to in fear and helplessness. But you’ve been lucky. Ain’t it cool to become a global superpower by default? If anyone told me a century ago that you’d be the richest and most influential country in the world, I’d burst with laughter! Damn, even Sweden would roll on the floor laughing!” He laughed out indeed, but the sound died out unsupported. Iceland turned to the window again. Still, Dane smirked. “Congratulations, Mr. Chief Banker. Okay, I need money really badly now to order tanks from Sweden. See me kneeling at your feet and begging, and enjoy yourself. I don’t mind as long as you help me out. Any interest rate as you wish. I will return it once I get my land back. Or, if you want,” Dane suspected the little brat was just overselling himself. “I’ll cede one-third of all reclaimed lands to you. Won’t it be fun to own me for a change, huh? Or one-third of GDP? Or whatever? State your price.” “So, you have not understood anything.” Iceland sighed. Denmark had a hard time suppressing an urge to punch him to get his due attention. “I am not after lands or riches. Don’t judge others by yourself. I am acting as I deem best for all of us. All I can give you is good advice. How many times have you tried to reconquest your land? Five or six? Don’t you see it is impossible? And tanks will not help you. Much greater countries had much more military machinery, and what had become of them? Radio interference, nothing else. They are gone, or worse. You have Bornholm, and that is you now. You must value what you have and not what you have lost.” Denmark sprang up. “Are you kidding me?! You’ve kept all your territory and half of your people, you coward! And I… Even so many years later, there’s just one four-hundredth of my population before the Rash, mind you!” His head boiled every time he grasped those figures. And this shortie dared to stand calm and neutral! Denmark grabbed Icey by the collar and shook him. “You must be out of your sheepwool mind if you really think I’ll give up!” The next moment, cold fingers grabbed his wrists with such force that Dane could hardly suppress a cry. With unsettling ease, Iceland tore him away from his immaculate clothing. “I stay safe and sane because I remember all the lessons of history. Two plagues, many famines, the latest financial crisis… And you behave like you are still the North Sea Empire. You are not.” He twisted Dane’s hand, and Denmark did whine out in pain. “I don’t want revenge, but I have to remind you that today I am much stronger than you. I am not interested in… owning you, but I will not let you touch me ever again.” Perhaps if Icey was furious, Denmark would feel better; a fight was something familiar to him. But the purple eyes remained dispassionate. If there were any volcanic rage beneath, it did not show. “How could you be so cruel to your older brother?” Denmark hissed in an attempt at joking. Well, Iceland didn’t seem to take any jokes today. Had he ever, though? “You are not my brother. And I am certainly not your keeper.” Denmark almost fell with relief when Iceland finally released him. “I repeat,” Iceland said, straightening his tie, “I will not fund your follies. Feel free to make the same mistakes over and over, but without me. The Nordic Council is a union of independent nations, after all.” Denmark scoffed. “Fine then. I’ll take the loan from Sweden. At any interest, on any condition. He will get the money and land you refuse! He will not turn me down. And I’m sure Norway will be more than happy to join me. He kinda likes a good fight.” He turned to go, feeling like the last word was his, when another quiet phrase came to his ears. “And I will not pray to Oðinn and Freyja to grant you luck.” Denmark laughed out loud after the first moment of apprehension. “Oh, come on! I didn’t even ask for that crap! Gods and luck are for weaklings.” He waved a hand without facing the host and walked out in style. Worn-out style, but still. Silence saw him off. *** The winter of Year 80 in the Copenhagen area was far too mild. Monsters of all sorts remained awake and active. The Danish armoured corps was overrun within one night.