Irreal

       It wasn’t an easy walk right from the start, from the first step to that strange, wet land. Silent scrutinising stares of locals, foreign speech that would barely link in the brain with the language learned by textbooks only, unpredictable schedules of ferries... In Keuruu, he found out that Hotakainen had been fired from the army and moved presumably to Saimaa. Which meant Sune had to waste several more days travelling all around the country by stormy Baltic Sea and do more talking to talkative skalds or sullen hunters on his own hunt. The skalds, his main source of information, ever eager to chat with a foreigner, were asking questions, too. Many times he had to break a conversation without any good excuses to hide his poorer Icelandic, lack of deep knowledge about his supposed native land, or his anger and disbelief whenever that talk touched upon the incident. Of course, there was a different version on the run. Locals were convinced that Emil, as a Swedish agent, arranged a provocation to prompt Sweden to invade Finland and was killed by his friend, angered by such treachery. Sune couldn’t make much sense of the story; he didn’t understand Finnish or Icelandic well enough, and he didn’t care to dig into propagandistic lies. And of course, he had to evade Icelanders. Sune hadn’t met so many Icelanders, even in Mora. He did not count weeks or villages searched through before he got on the trail of the elusive Hotakainen to a small island of an abandoned archipelago where ferry lines didn’t reach at all. Sune had to buy a boat; the rental man refused flatly to rent it to that area. Sune had to leave the clean area and travel alone, staying at quarantine facilities for a night. He didn’t land at the target island; the village there was too tiny for a stranger to go or ask questions unnoticed. Instead, he circled around the island, looking for the approaches used by night scouts, for traces of boats dragged out of water, for the faintest paths in the forest margins. Two nights he spent outside of the protecting walls, in the cold, among suspicious rustles, until he glimpsed a familiar thin figure in the clearance near the lake shore. It was like in the army shooting range, where Sune had trained his aim to prepare for this moment. He was the hunter now, but he felt like a fly in a cobweb of iron. He managed one shot, and then... It was like a nightmare where the body wouldn’t move and everything was out of control. Hands grew heavy all of a sudden, his gun’s trigger felt too tight, the gun spat bullets slowly, always amiss of the human silhouette guessed behind the trees. Even Sune’s gaze tangled in the branches and their shadows, in the dim grey of early morning, and could not focus on a grey ghost in a cape. The hearing was lulled by a rhythmical whisper in a strange language, too quiet to discern words or aim at the sound. The thunder of the shots was dissipating in the mist, and night came back and enveloped Sune against all laws of nature. It could not happen for real, what sort of magic it was—but magic didn’t exist! Sune believed in that firmly. It should be the accumulated weariness of sleepless nights in cool autumn air, in non-stop danger, that was closing his eyelids. It was cold, grasping his hands and feet... It’s unfair! he wanted to scream, but the air refused to bear foreign speech, the soil refused to bear a foreigner and dropped him into the smell of mouldy leaves. No, he should wake up, it couldn’t end like that! Wake up, wake... It seemed to him, the chaos pounded in his head for a minute or so, but when Sune managed to open his eyes, he saw a wooden ceiling in sunlight passing through windows in wooden walls. He was still lying on his back, but not on the ground. A bed, most probably of the same type as in a couple of metres behind a transparent screen, and another, all empty. A small, primitive quarantine facility. Before Sune looked the other way, someone quietly passed to the window. Someone short and thin, in clinging black thermals, with straight hair almost white in the shadow of walls. Sune tensed; he was almost sure whom he’d see when the man stopped by the window and turned back. Right, it was him. High cheekbones, lucid eyes devoid of any emotion. L. Hotakainen in person. Sune darted up and fell back. Thin bands of pain bit into his wrists and forearms. He was bound to the metal frame of the bed. The mortal enemy was leaning casually against the wall beside the window, watching him with the slightest interest, and Sune could do nothing. It was an inevitable and useless end, but Sune could not lie still, he had to jerk once again and again. Would his death be such a farce of Emil’s fate? To die of the hands of that person without a fight, a goose for Yule feast, but nobody would write indignant articles in newspapers, nobody would know, nobody would avenge yet another Västerström... So, at least he’d shout out in Swedish and Finnish everything he had been thinking for two years about one ungrateful traitor daring to stab his friend, the kindest, best man in the world! Hotakainen did not as much as twitch. Sune did start and fall silent when someone tapped him on the head from behind. And an impossible, all too familiar voice said in clear Swedish: “Sune, stop, please! I’m so sorry, I had no idea our little amateur show would take you so far.” Sune cranked his head to look back. The picture was overturned and did not match the sound, even when the one talking came forward and sat at the bed edge. The voice was the same, soft and warm, Emil’s voice. But his chin-long golden hair, his pride, was gone. With a really short cut and an attempt at a beard, he looked like a shorter and sturdier version of Torbjörn Västerström. And he was wearing local clothes, a sort of linen tunic. But the voice, eyes, and smile... Sune’s mind reeled. Emil, he wanted to call, but his speech control was slipping. “It’s me, really." Emil understood his confusion and patted him on the shoulder. Sune was wondering if one could die of a heart attack at his tender age. “Hard to recognise, right? It’s good; it means the camouflage works. Just a second, I’ll free you, it was Lalli’s idea in case you’d try to attack him again. He says you were trying to shoot him out there. Don’t do that, please. He didn’t kill me." Emil was talking softly while untangling knots. Sune just breathed in and out since he had neither strength nor wits for anything else. “For real, that is. He did feign murder twice, for Larsson first, and then for Icelandic emissaries, it’s a long story. So, do you want to eat? Or some hot tea, maybe? I’ll arrange it in a minute. The toilet is over there, by the way.” Sune couldn’t tell if he was hungry, or thirsty, or cold. He should be, after the night-long ambush in the woods. But he needed something different. To sit upright as soon as the last rope fell away, grab an armful of Emil, hold him tight to feel his heartbeat, to make sure: the cousin was alive, real, breathing, patting him on the back. Sune inhaled the smell. It was quite different—no chemical notes or gunpowder, and unknown herbs instead of soap—but something beyond words was the same, and at last Sune believed his eyes. “Yes, I am alive, to my own surprise." Emil laughed out and didn’t push him away, and the voice and the timbre of laughter were absolutely the same. A snicker sounded from the window, and Sune remembered they were not alone. The Finn stared at them with the same neutral attention. Reluctantly, Sune let Emil go and looked for his boots. Now it was a good time to eat or drink tea until Hotakainen got bored and went away. He was a night scout, wasn’t he? and should sleep in the daytime. But the Finn followed them to the kitchen area at the other end of the room and perched on a chair near a window, knees up to the chest, staring outside or at the table. Sune decided to ignore him, his head brimming and splashing out chaotic morsels of thoughts. “Why?” “What exactly?” Emil asked him back while settling a kettle and a pot on the top ring of a wood-fired oven. You mean, the whole thing in Uusikaupunki?” Sune nodded but asked the most important thing aloud. For him, at least. “Why didn’t you return home? Why didn’t you send a message that you were alive? A letter via Bornholm, maybe. I’m sure there were some variants! Two years! For two years, I... we were thinking that you’re dead!” “I couldn’t. Sorry." Emil turned away and touched the pot with a fingertip. “I still can’t. No one should know that I’m alive, or... Or there may be more casualties, from me down. In a few words, I am, sort of, a threat to Iceland’s global leadership. It does not make sense like this, so while you’re eating, I’ll explain. Oh, here,” he sprang up and took something small and flat from a shelf above the table. “I’d never search through your belongings, it was Lalli, he wanted to make sure he identified you right.” Irrationally, Sune flinched when both his passports, the photo, and the clip were laid beside him. How did Hotakainen find them? Leering at the piece of newspaper, Emil pouted absolutely like his good old, ever-discontent self. “Those blotters,” he snorted, and Sune couldn’t keep from an adoring smile. “Editorial illustrators, I mean. Where did they get it all from? Since when Major Larsson resembled an eagle when he was always a rat, a genuine rat! And the Cleansers, all neat like just out of a garrison? And who invented the axe? Lalli had a knife, his usual Finnish knife.” Hotakainen snorted positively from the window, and Sune shuddered. He had no desire to discuss the weapon used in his cousin’s murder, whether it was real or fake. “And what happened there?” He switched the topic in haste, though he was not interested in newspaper hoaxes anymore. The key subject was sitting right in front of him, talking to him, looking at him. “Look,” Emil fretted a bit, “the porridge has warmed up. Pease, with some mutton and thyme. Eat as much as you want, I’ve brought it all for you.” Emil stretched his sleeves as potholders and put the whole pot on the wooden table in front of Sune, then fished for a spoon and salt cellar at the same shelf. “And I’ll talk in the meantime. It’s so long since I’ve had a good chat in the mother tongue. Here I can’t speak Swedish when anyone can overhear it. Well, back to the news, the rest of the article is true more or less. Not the whole truth, but I was clueless back then, or I’d suggest something different, without murders. Dunno what got into me, I thought that only a death of a soldier would make Larsson stop the ops. Have you ever worked under him?” “I glimpsed him once or twice and heard a real lot more,” Sune answered eagerly. He missed talking in Swedish too, especially with that very man. And a chance to discuss anything they had in common was warming him inside even better than the porridge (really tasty one, by the way). “A ramrod idiot, the only brain wrinkle is left by the cap.” “Spot-on,” Emil nodded. Morning light glistened in the short buzzcut, and Sune thought he might get used to it. “The Finnish commander asked him nicely to stop the cleansing and replace the incendiary with the previous version, our chemical engineers outdid themselves and cooked stuff that would scorch even the spirits of nature. Guess it was not so bad for our fairies, or even Icelandic newspapers would have reported a wave of unexplained accidents in Sweden. Back then, the spirits of the forest and water were angered and could lash out at all people at large. But Larsson didn’t care a straw about foreign folklore. As an interpreter, I tried to cut the corners and talk some reason into him, but he had a schedule and refused to step an inch away. At first, I wanted to wreck the incendiary stock, but he reinforced the security. Then I lied that Finns were so pissed off that they’d shoot to kill if he didn’t stop. He just waved it off as a bluff and said that they wouldn’t dare. Okay, I thought, let it be a bluff, and I fled at night to the Finnish camp. Me and Lalli and the Finnish commander cooked up a plan: if Larsson still went on with the cleansing, I’d come between him and protesting Finns, and Lalli would sort of take me as a hostage, and if Larsson didn’t believe him—he didn’t, by the way, and was right—then, well, Lalli would pretend to cut my throat. We rehearsed the scene for half a night and played everything out very convincingly, and no, I was not overacting!” he said louder and turned to the Finn, who just puffed in return. “I still hate lingonberry juice! A leather flask with the said juice under the cleanser’s uniform collar does wonders. You know our uniform collars, right? Some experts even manage to bring a bottle or two of Akvavit under those collars to the barracks. Did your unit smuggle alcohol that way too?” With his mouth full, Sune made an agreeing sound. Luckily, he was not expected to say anything while eating. He just could not remember any funny stories of his army life when another image floated before his mind’s eye: skinny fingers of the Finn holding a knife at Emil’s throat. With an effort, Sune got another spoonful of porridge down and asked about something nagging at him right now. “But why did you—" He swallowed such big words as “deserted”, or “betrayed your country”. Certainly Emil had very valid reasons to leave his homeland and career forever, to oppose his fellows, to bring so many woes to his friends and family—to Sune, at least. “What’s the real cause of all those tricks? You couldn’t really mean those superstitions about damaged spirits.” Emil looked weirdly at him, almost as if disappointed. But the kettle was the first one to break the silence. It bubbled, and Emil stood up to pour some tea to Sune and himself. The Finn refused his share. “It was not a superstition." Emil sighed and sat back across the table. “I tried to get a message to you kids that magic, spirits, and gods existed. Seems like I’ve failed.” Magic. Sune felt all the kilometres and years back to the old home in Mora, where he, Håkan, and Anne had listened with bated breath to Emil’s stories of the First Danish Expedition, shivering and shying away from candlelight shadows coming alive in the corners. In that wavering darkness, with winter wind howling behind the windows, at the age of ten, it had been easy to believe in all Emil’s stories about mind-devouring ghosts, or a fire bird scorching a legion of trolls and beasts, or about hypnotic voices of trolls inside your head, or about a Finnish mage who could split a giant in two with a wave of his hand and then drop by into your dream and eat a whole dream-cake at a time. At the age of ten, it felt cool to look down on the boring and sceptical parents. But soon the kids went to school, where their stories were not met kindly. At the age of eleven, it was hard to bear constant mockery from the classmates, and in a week, Sune had stuck his face into Mom’s warm side and asked how he’d make other kids believe that his cousin Emil had seen real magic. Mom kept silent for a long time and then explained carefully that cousin Emil might believe sincerely in all that stuff, but that didn’t mean it had been true. A constant strain of hunger, danger, and cold could break any human mind or make it produce illusions to hide from the harsh reality. Sune had been indignant; he hadn’t wanted to think that Emil was insane. Mom would just sigh. It had been much harder to resist a gang of classmates taunting him that only five-year-olds could believe in magic. Eventually, Sune stopped mentioning ghosts and spirits, then doubted those stories and managed to convince himself that Emil had been inventing all the miracles to entertain his cousins, not imagining it all out of terror. Cousin Emil could not fear anything; he had been retelling his adventures with such flair as if a bowl of soup spilt on the lap had been much worse than a pack of hungry Dusklings. Sure, Emil had been calling Hotakainen a mage all the way, but that had been Emil, the kindest person in the Known World, too gentle to let down the crazy Finn. Emil had always pitied all miserable creatures and would often buy sandwiches to pluck the ham or sausage out either for a watchdog in the Cleansers’ barracks or for Hotakainen, ever skinny as if Finland were permanently struck by hunger and devastation. “Sure, we’ve been brought up that way,” Emil continued, back to his content self. “At first, I refused to believe in all that supernatural crap, too, until I saw it right in front of me. Several times. You had a less spectacular example of it, but still, Lalli has brought you down with a stunning spell. Or why do you think you’ve crashed out last night?” “Well, I must have been too tired and cold,” Sune pondered and reached to feel his own head for any bumps left, say, by a rifle butt. No, there was none, and the head felt clear and light. And, frankly speaking, while he ambushed Hotakainen for two nights, he’d been resting in the daytime in the cleared vicinity of the village island. And he had used army-grade energy shots, but still, his sight had grown hazy that night, his hands hadn’t served him, and the voice echoing in his mind, a whisper that could not have been heard from a distance of... about thirty metres? Sure, Sune had been tired, but not more than in any cleansing operation. Had it been his nerves, maybe, playing tricks on him? Sune realised how long he kept silent only when the Finn spoke up in heavy-accented Swedish. “I can show.” Emil nodded but muttered when Hotakainen lifted off his perch and went to their table. “And in the very beginning, you didn’t want to show anything to me." Instead of replying, the Finn traced the edge of Sune’s cup with a finger and hummed something, maybe about cold, but Sune wouldn’t bet. Something short, lilting, for about four lines, and in the silence after it, a strange creak under his hand was heard very well. Sune looked back at the table and froze, figuratively, while the cup of tea was frozen quite literally. Hoarfrost patterns showed on its sides; the tea, steaming hot a minute ago, was a chunk of ice and crackled. Or maybe it was the cup ready to burst—the ice should expand, right? Or maybe it was Sune’s worldview. Expanding and ready to burst. It was crackling in his empty mind. “Mmh,” he said, just to say something. “Just a moment.” And Sune retreated in the direction where Emil had offered to visit earlier. To the toilet. In the absence of brighter ideas. And for the business, too. No, freezing hot water was not physically impossible. For example, liquid nitrogen did wonders. But where might it come from in the backward Finland where electricity was dispensed maybe on holidays only? The toilet was just a hole in the wooden floor, with a small window near the ceiling instead of an electric bulb and a gravity wash stand instead of faucets. Even in advanced Sweden, liquid nitrogen was obtained in small batches at the most powerful compressors and supplied to Cleansers for rare occasions where explosives and fire were not feasible. And it definitely was not an item to hide in the sleeve. Then, what was it? The concept of magic still couldn’t fit into his head. Probably it was still written across Sune’s face when he returned, as Emil handed him another cup of hot tea and patted on the shoulder with the most sympathising look. Hotakainen was already sitting at the window sill, this time with a cup of his own. “Take it easy. I was also digesting the news about magic for several days.” And Sune decided to take it easy. He even realised that it was really cool! It meant that Emil had never lied to him, and was not crazy, and was the most wonderful and understanding person in the world. Even with the unflattering haircut. And most importantly, he wasn’t a traitor, he had really wanted to prevent some magic stuff. But... “Alright, but still, sacrificing yourself and your normal life for a foreign country..." Emil just waved it off. “I wasn’t going to sacrifice anything! I intended to come back to life in a couple of days after the Finns reached more intelligent Swedish officers by radio, present my person, safe and sound, and ask to replace the incendiary with the previous version. Sure, I’d be fired from the Cleansers, but I was going to resign anyway. HQ officer career turned out to be not quite what I had expected, and... Well, there were some more reasons to leave.” He looked to the window where the Finn sat in the sun and added softly after a long pause: “And this land is not foreign to me anymore.” And then he was back to the usual theatrics. “But no dice. The spirits are not to meddle with. Radio interference was so heavy that we couldn’t reach even a Swedish transport vessel, not to mention Sweden itself. And Larsson commanded the landing ship to go far offshore, devil knew why. The Finnish group called for mage reinforcement from Keuruu, but while they reached us and placated the spirits, an Icelandic corvette popped up, sorta peacemakers and mediators, and more top Finnish officers arrived. Well, I addressed that combined choir and told everything, and didn’t even have the smallest bad feeling when the bosses turned gloomy and ordered me to stay with the Icelanders—they occupied the Swedish campsite—while they brewed some decision. Okay, I stayed. Then suddenly at night Lalli sneaked in through our tried-and-true loophole in the camp perimeter, worried all over, and sneaked me out and further, to some old-world shackle in the forest to overnight more or less safely, and explained underway that I’d hardly live till morning if I stayed in the camp. But the emissaries did not account for an Icelandic mage in the reinforcement from Keuruu, a friend of mine, and Icelandic mages can see the future sometimes. So, that mage had got a vision on the previous day that I was in danger, freaked out, and asked his friend, a Finnish mage, to take action. And Finnish mages are capable of a whole lot of cool stuff. Like sending out one of their souls out of the body to keep a mind’s eye on one clueless Swede,” Emil bowed in jest, “and to listen to what some strategists will speak about behind his back. And the mage found out that I had spoiled a perfect provocation by returning from the dead, and all their plans would go down the drain if I didn’t die back as soon as possible. And that was all. Lalli left me some crackers not to starve and ran back to the base before his absence was noticed.” “Nonsense,” Sune pondered while scraping the porridge remains out. He didn’t even notice that he ate it up. “What provocation? What plans? What the hell?” “We’ve puzzled it out much later,” Emil continued. “Meanwhile I was as bewildered as you are now, alone in a cold, crumbling warehouse in the middle of nowhere.” Intonations, dramatic gesturing, pathetic descriptions of minor mundane troubles, and condescension to real perils—Emil had been telling his adventures to his small cousins in the same manner. If Sune closed his eyes not to see the remains of glorious hair, he might drift back to the Good Old Times. He even had to fight an urge to pull his knees to his chest. “...and on the next day, Lalli’s cousin, the one spying on the bosses, reached my hideout and explained that he didn’t get the reasons why, but both Icelandic and Finnish top commanders were dead set on killing me. And that I didn’t have any good ways out. I couldn’t leave Finland unnoticed, here’s just two international ports, and they’re easily monitored. Escaping into the Silent World to go to Sweden on foot, or going over the Bay in a boat, or settling in the wild was not an option if I wanted to live long and just to live. So I had to die spectacularly in front of the emissaries so that they believed in it and forgot about me. But they already knew of my previous murder show and might be extra distrustful. A morsel trick wouldn’t be enough, they had to come close and register the fact of death. Oh, it was one hell of a secret operation! I can’t imagine what all my friends have been through. For me, it was easy, I just had to reach a definite point at a definite time, wait for a shot, and pass out for an hour or so. And poor Lalli had to learn fast to lie properly in order to be included in the search group as a scout. The Icelanders might inquire into him and find out that he was my friend. But they eased the task for him by telling the Finnish unit that I had acted under orders of the Swedish government for Sweden to accuse Finland of murder and to start an invasion. Probably, to motivate Finns to find me real soon and to distrust my every word. And that I fled to return to my unit and must be found before I got there. So, Lalli claimed he was angered by my betrayal. He wouldn’t trust anyone else to shoot me. It should look lethal and still miss all vital organs.” Sune shivered. Sure, Emil was sitting in front of him, within an arm’s reach, and relating all those horrors, and it meant everything had gone as planned, but still... Did Hotakainen have the guts to shoot a friend? A scary person he should be. “...and Onni, his cousin, was lurking very close—alone in the Silent World, mind you, while he’s not immune!—to put me into a deep, hibernation-like sleep to pass for dead and to keep the blood inside. Then, after the Icelanders had made sure I was dead and cold, he patched me up and brought me to a safer place. Reynir did his best too, he made dozens of amulets against inflammation, cold, monsters, and the like. And he was covering up Onni’s absence in the unit, though he’s not good at lying.” The name of the Finn’s cousin was slightly familiar from Emil’s stories, but the other name triggered Sune. “Reynir? Is it—" “Right, the same Reynir from the first expedition. The Icelandic mage I’ve mentioned before is him. He worked in Keuruu for a long time. By the way,” Emil nodded at the pack of Sune’s documents still lying at the far end of the table, “your choice of name and citizenship wasn’t the best. Unlike me, Reynir does visit other villages and is well-remembered there. So, when you were asking about Lalli at Tuohisaari, their radio operator warned us on the same day that some Icelander posing as Reynir was nosing around. Oh, what a fright you gave us! We thought our bluff was discovered somehow, and you’re after me! Lalli intercepted you near our island, and you were very lucky you didn’t wear the hood or cap and he recognised you, or I’d hate to think how he was going to 'solve the problem'”. Sune shivered again. And he had imagined himself a pro scout! And in reality, he‘d been watched all along and could be killed at any moment! It would be the dumbest end, to die at the hands of the Finn while Emil was safe and sound. Sune’s throat was suddenly dry. He reached for the kettle and wondered if there was any stronger liquor here. Well, not a good idea; his mind was muddled without alcohol. “I still don’t get why they have to kill you. What the hell did Iceland want?” he muttered between sips. “To pit Sweden against Finland? But shouldn’t all people stick together and cooperate to fight the Silent World? Or were they some terrorists rather than real officials?” Emil snickered mirthlessly. “Well, me too, I wondered about it all the way, I fantasised all sorts of crap while I was dragged in secret through forests and settlements, in craters or under distracting spells, even breaking quarantine protocols sometimes…” Sune listened with care and melted inside at each “me too”. Emil was stressing their similarities, their closeness, like he had been trimming Sune’s fringe long ago. Despite their current differences in appearance, they still shared a soul. And the distance between their bodies was one table worth but could be even less. If only Hotakainen would go away... why did he sit there anyway? He didn’t say anything and was just staring like a cat at nothing. “...and then me and Lalli went on skis to the Saimaa basin amidst winter. We decided that no one would be surprised if the Hotakainens resettled to their home village destroyed many years ago. A small abandoned island far from busy water routes, you’ve seen the efforts it takes to get there, it’s perfect to lie low. People are not keen on asking for your documents here, any legend will do. See, I had to make a cut,” he ran a hand over the short bristle on his head. “I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s better to avoid any risk and take all camouflage measures. Lalli’s cousin heard that the Finnish unit involved was relocated far to the north, but still, some care wouldn’t hurt. So... you’d stay alone here in the quarantine for a while, some people will return from the farming island next week, and it’s not just Onni and Reynir, there’s outsiders too, so I must warn you in advance that here I go as Fredrik Svendsen, a Norwegian hunter and cleanser from Dalsnes who has made friends with Lalli in one of the expeditions and moved here to hide from obnoxious relatives. Thanks to our common grandpa for the name. Yeah, by the way, for how long do you want to stay? As I get it, initially you didn’t plan a long trip, right? Sune started. Indeed, what would he do now? Previous plans went to devils on foot, leaving place for new ones, and not just for the next week but for the whole life. There was still life, after all! It was sitting in front of him and asking questions. “For how long... Mm, Emil?" Sune rolled that name on the tongue for the first time in... in ages, it seemed. “Can I stay with you?” Emil looked perplexed. “Yes, but won’t your parents worry about your disappearance? Have you told anyone where you’re going to?” Now it was Sune’s turn to wave off the trifles. “Of course not. I left a note that I go to Norway as a freelance hunter. Anna and Håkan won’t miss me at all, Mom and Dad are busy with yet another expedition and don’t have time to check on me. Maybe later I can get to Bornholm and send them a letter from there so they don’t worry and don’t look for me—yeah, I remember, I won’t mention you, though I still don’t understand why.” “I’ll get to that, too." Emil nodded and poured Sune some more tea. “Eee, we’d need to arrange a legend for you, then. Just our luck to take after Grandma Mia! We still look so much like relatives, but you’ve flashed your Icelandic ID at quarantine posts around while I pretend to be a Norwegian. Don’t mind, we’ll invent something plausible. As for the reasons... I wouldn’t stake my life on that explanation, I haven’t heard it directly from the decision-makers, you know. But we piled together everything we knew about our countries, down to the old-world history books, and asked our Norwegian and Danish and Icelandic friends by mail of what we didn’t know. Reynir’s many siblings worked in many areas and provided their brother with a lot of insider details. Even my service at the Cleansers headquarters came in handy. And if I studied harder at school or with tutors, I could have guessed something, or at least wouldn’t be so surprised. Well, most of the guessing was done by Lalli’s cousin. Then we’ve been checking our theory against newspapers and rumours, and everything fits in yet. Now watch my hands. Sure, everyone says that it’s easier to survive all together, in cooperation. But people have sort of gotten a knack for dealing with the silent world and now can afford competition, politics, and such. For example, Iceland would hardly want to lose its position as the leader of humanity and the gods’ favoured nation.” “They’re just lucky to live in the middle of nowhere!” As any Swede, Sune had a firm opinion on this matter. “And that their ancestors were scared so much that they shot away all refugees and saved more population, land, and resources than anyone else. And now they’re a big shot by default. Even if gods exist, they have nothing to do with that luck.” “Lucky, yes,” Emil leant back in the chair, his fingers drummed on the table. “But the thing is that they’re not as big a shot as they pose themselves. Right, they have more people, but mostly non-immunes who can’t graze abroad—our Reynir is an exception, an oaf with no self-preservation instinct—and all those two hundred thousand need to eat. And Iceland’s resources aren’t as abundant as newspapers picture them. Icelanders did not lose land, and now they don’t have a place to expand. Well, they have, but they’ve resettled to the most fertile and convenient lands in zeroes, not to the safest ones like on the continent. So, all their best spots are already occupied, what’s left is mostly wasteland. And their nature is not good for farming, absolutely, and greenhouses require loads of construction materials, which are scarce too. Say, what mineral resources of Iceland do you know?” Sune was surprised by a sudden examination but could not and would not use his brain when a live miracle was sitting in front of him, and he gave up without trying. “Geothermal energy." Emil didn’t seem upset with Sune’s lack of response and even looked pleased to be able to flaunt his knowledge. Like back in good old times. “Boiling water, that is. Maybe some stone. And that’s all. Iron, copper for electricity, other metals, and cement materials are only found in abandoned structures. But even before the Rash, they didn’t have such large cities as Stockholm or Copenhagen, so now they don’t have much to scrape from their ruins. And with all that population, they don’t have much surplus fish, wool, and all to exchange for timber and other materials from us. Sure, they mint money, they hold most of the banks, but it’s not an awfully reliable industry. Onni didn’t quite get what a “financial bubble” was, so I didn’t get anything at all from his explanations, but it’s a thingie that could go bust at any moment. And who is on Iceland’s heels in terms of prosperity? We the Swedes!” And he thumped his chest, instantly reminding Sune of his father describing yet another wild business project. But Sune agreed in advance with anything Emil would say. And Hotakainen snorted from his place. So he was listening, after all. “We produce our own coal and copper, we cleanse territories by a strategic pattern and not by opportunity like Norwegians and Finns. Mountain roads to Norway, railways from Mora to the ports, to Luleå and Skellefteå in the north and Öresund in the south—we've actually staked out all of our old country for future expansion and now are reaching for other lands. While I mingled in the HQs, I realised that we’re helping Finns out not for free. They pay with money and, what’s it called, trade preferences, and we also appropriate their old lands when we make transit bases on coasts. Like the Åland Islands,” Emil traced a map in the air and pointed somewhere in the lower region, ”they belonged to Finland before the Rash, and now we keep an outpost in Mariehamn for quite a time already, and we’ve chosen Uusikaupunki to cleanse so that we could have pegged another base in the east of Åland. Iceland might want to curb the expansion of the rival. Maybe that’s why they popped out of the blue during the incident; they might be preparing a similar event by themselves and were ready to wedge between the conflicting parties as mediators and peacemakers and thus shove Sweden aside. Sometimes I think that they’ve meddled with our cursed incendiary too, that is, made it, toxic to the spirits, but that’s a mere speculation. And now there's an Icelandic fleet in eastern Åland and in Pori, and Iceland picks up severed Finnish trade links with Sweden and runs quite a number of joint ventures, like freeing peat fields or trudging through to the Old-World metal mines in the north and here in the east. Finns will be producing ore, and Icelanders will process it with dirt-cheap electric energy. Profit!” “I noticed.” Sune was eager to share his experience too. “On the capital island here, you can’t swing a cat without hitting an Icelander.” “Yeah. If I returned to my troop unit, the conflict would have dissolved without any peacemakers, and the Icelanders would have to pull back and lose a grip on the situation. And they’d hardly be able to repeat the trick, it would look fake, and Sweden wouldn’t retreat like it did.” "Okay, but what’s the Finns’ interest in it? Why so picky about who’d seize their swamp? Are the old neighbours so much worse than distant strangers? For free or not, we’ve helped them a real lot!” Sune protested without thinking, or, rather, thinking of something different. Yet another shift in the world landscape. Magic faded compared to it. Now a part of Sune’s life, his service with the Cleaners, turned out to be not quite what he believed it to be. On top of fighting the Silent World, were his fellows robbing other people? His inner voice yelled in disbelief that Sweden is a civilised, honourable nation. But he could not doubt Emil’s words. “Finns are much better off dealing with Icelanders,” Emil replied with a sigh. “Iceland is far away and can’t send a large task force for a full-fledged invasion. Then, Icelanders believe in magic too, and such incidents just can’t happen. Then, Iceland is in acute need of resources and will be more cooperative. Then, the history must be added here too, I guess. I loafed through lessons at school and missed a lot. Like, that the history has a habit to repeat itself. Did you know that ancient Swedes conquered Finland for some centuries and imposed their language and gods — can you imagine, our ancestors believed in gods once, or rather one god… I‘ll tell you later, there are so many cool things I learned while hiding in Onni’s basement and reading Tuuri’s books. Oh!” He slapped himself on the forehead and snickered. “That’s what that stupid newspaper picture reminded me of! There was a very similar picture in an ancient Finnish textbook of Old World history. Many centuries ago, when our ancestors had just started an invasion, there was a similar case. One Finnish commoner, by the name of Lalli too, killed a Swedish priest, piispa Henrik, no idea how to translate it, and an axe was involved. Maybe the newspaper artist had a similar textbook and adapted it. I wonder what really happened those thousand years ago. And what people will tell of me and Lalli in, say, two hundred years if it’s so muddled even now?" He stopped smiling, and Sune froze too, reminded of the nightmarish news two years ago, his own despair, anger, crying into a pillow. It was all over now, but a shard of hard feelings or misery was still catching at his throat. Why didn’t you return afterwards, when everyone believed you to be dead and stopped looking for you? Why did I have to mourn you? “But now you can return, right?” he asked instead. Most probably, Emil had his reasons. “The Icelanders won’t reach you in Sweden, they’d be banished from the country if you return now and tell everything to our officials—” “That’s out of the question!” Emil broke in. He seemed scared when he grabbed Sune’s hand and shook it to emphasise his words. “I’ve told you, no one should know that I am alive. No one! Swear you’ll keep silent! A lean peace is still better than a fat war, and if the truth comes out, the Nordic Council might fall apart, up to real confrontations and real casualties, not the fakes like me!” Sune squeezed his hand in return. No, Emil was not a fake; he was real, warm, and alive. The only real person in the fake, unfamiliar, and obscure world. “And then, I’d be seen as a traitor of state interests at home and sent to prison at best. Or I’d have to escape and hide in the mountains till the end of my life. Why should I want that?” Emil drifted back to his trademark complaining. “Sure, I promise,” Sune hurried to assure him. All his ideas about smuggling Emil over the board stopped being bright. “So, are you just stuck here?” “Why not?" Emil replied without grumbling or posing. “I like it here. Seriously, ten years ago, I’d never believe that I could find pleasure in quiet rural life, but here I am. And for fun, I cleanse nearby islands. Besides, I’m not alone.” And he took his hand out of Sune’s fingers without hesitation. “But what about me?” Sune asked against better judgement. Emil shrugged in his special manner. “I’m sorry. I hoped that you kids and your parents would not grieve too long over me.” He was explaining something else, but Sune was too busy digesting yet another hole in his universe. Did Emil really believe that Sune would be comforted that easily? That he’d be able to forget him at all? Well, Anna, Håkan, Mom and Dad had really recovered soon. For them, Emil was just a rare and dear guest, a nice cousin or nephew, and not a light in their lives. Yes, Father had been sour about the Finns for quite some time, but only due to the management problems; now he had to avoid putting Swedes and Finns in the same exploring teams lest they end up fighting. Also, recruiting Finnish scouts and communication with one of the shareholders, Taru Hollola, were complicated now. But why did Emil not know that his favourite cousin loved him above all? Sune had told him long ago... Oh sure. Idiot. Why would a guy in his twenties take the fanboy squeaks of an enthusiastic pre-teen for serious? Later on, they had been meeting less often, and Sune had tried to behave like an adult, reserved fellow Cleanser. No wonder Emil had no idea... Nothing critical; he should be told it once again, right now! A movement in sight brought Sune aware of the world around: Emil was standing up. Was he leaving? Why so early? “Do you mind some lone boredom?” Emil answered before the question was asked. “I have a lot to do. Rural life, all sorts of toil. I can’t take you to the main island, there are more non-immunes. The usual drill. But I’ll come for lunch to cook something. My own experience tells me that Cleansers are good at burning, not at cooking.” “Yes, of course, quarantine, I get it,” Sune replied. His imagination failed to picture a cooking Emil, he was eager to see it, and dining together would be the cherry on the cake. Images of various degrees of intimacy flipped in his mind’s eye. He could have waited with the confession till lunch, but his joy bounced inside and demanded an emergency exit. “But there’s one thing I wanted to tell you right now. In private.” He gave Hotakainen a sidelong glance. The Finn slid off the window sill but headed for the table instead of the exit. Emil met him halfway and listened to a long speech whispered into his ear. From his seat, Sune didn’t see his cousin’s face, but then Emil looked back at him, eyebrows raised, and expressed some doubts under voice in Finnish. Hotakainen nearly stuck his nose in Emil’s ear again, and this time Sune sort of discerned a forced “please”. Emil agreed to that something. Then he took the Finn by the narrow shoulders, drew closer, kissed him on the lips with ease and zeal, and didn’t let him go for what seemed like an eternity. Sune wanted to be mistaken very much, but even from his sideways perspective, there was no chance for misinterpretation. Emil and that sliver of a man were lovers. Why? How come..? It was not fair! Why were the thin gloved fingers of the Finn sliding over Emil’s close-cropped nape or digging into Emil’s shoulder? It was Sune who should’ve been going through the same drill! He intended to, at least. Without breaking away, Hotakainen squinted at Sune and flipped him off. Just as abruptly, he moved away and strode out, quick and light-footed. With a silly smile, Emil watched him go. Then, slightly flushed, he turned back to Sune. “Er… How long did you... are together?” was all Sune could utter while inside he was screaming something unintelligible. “But I thought you knew..." Emil watched him in confusion. “Well, since the side adventure between the first two expeditions. But deep inside, I fell in love with him in the first hours of knowing him. That’s even before the first expedition. Oh, was it—Aunt Siv demanded I didn't cuddle with him too much in the presence of you kids, not to set a bad example. I didn’t see anything bad about that but respected her wish, and look where it got you.” Sune had no idea what to do with the answer, so he sat still and blinked. Crying now would be… too messy. “So, Lalli guessed right that you—" Emil broke the silence but stopped at the inconvenient word. Sune nodded. All the words he had prepared for this long-awaited moment seemed silly now but still pushed their way through: “Yes, I loved you. I still love you. Stupid me, right? Little sick idiot. Fooling myself like that. What do I do now?” “No, nothing of the kind! You are alright,” Emil assured him at once. In two steps, he came close and shook him by the shoulders. Ten minutes ago, Sune would tremble in anticipation, and now he was afraid as much as to breathe, or he’d be scorched by a mix of shame and hurt. “That may be my fault as well, for giving hope. But I adored all three of you as full-blood siblings, which I have never had. I could not imagine that you’d see it differently. It is not your fault. What should you do? Nothing, for now. Breathe in, then out. It happens to anyone. Not everyone is lucky to find one true love at first attempt. You wouldn’t believe how bad my first school romance went, I still cringe remembering it. But then I met Lalli. You are young and good-looking, you’ll have plenty of chances. And you’ll always be my favourite cousin.” Emil let him go. Sune did not have the strength to raise his head and watch his cousin say one more “sorry” and go. The steps followed away, flood boards and doors creaking, and the silence fell. Sune sat still at the table and traced wooden textures with fingers, scratched the surface, listened to the sensations. Was he awake? Was it for real? Anything could turn into a lie at any moment, and the biggest lie he had made himself. Stupid fool risking his life to chase a stupid dream. Sune hid his face in his hands and did a little weeping. *** There was still a couple of hours before sunset when Hotakainen told Sune to row to a forested, rocky islet. When asked if it was too early, he replied in broken Swedish that they wouldn’t find any safer or more convenient place before darkness and would still reach Saimaa capital before dark on the next day. Alright. The Finn knew better; he was a local, he was a professional scout, that’s why he was taking Sune back to civilization. Emil could not accompany them, of course. After one day at Emil’s new home, Sune realised he could not take any more of it and announced that he was going home. Well, first he should return to the capital island to get through a proper quarantine and have a clean sanitary record to depart for Bornholm and then back to Sweden. He claimed he did not want to cause problems for Emil with legalising his inconvenient self. Emil didn’t ask him to stay. With a sad smile, he repeated that he was sorry, and it was not anyone’s fault, shame, or mistake. Mere bad luck, and bad luck would end sooner or later. Sune nodded and swallowed a lump in the throat. His dear, kind, keen cousin saw through him, but it didn’t make things better. Sune’s heart was still cringing every time Emil cast a glance at his Lalli, with now-clear love and tenderness, or pushed an ashen lock out of the face, or smoothed out his collar. There was something else, for which Sune could not find the right words. The feeling of everything he held for truth turning false. He looked around and did not know if he might trust his eyes and mind, or if the floor and walls of the quarantine house, the lake in the window, and the yellow birches at the nearest islets were also fake and would disappear at any moment, leaving him in void. Emil was seeing the boat off from the quarantine pier. Sune rowed the boat and watched the now-unfamiliar figure grow smaller and disappear behind yet another headland. Luckily, Silent Saimaa didn’t encourage chatting, and Hotakainen was not talkative. Sune did not know how to feel about him. There was nothing to hate him for; quite to the contrary, he was to be thanked for looking after Emil, but the feeling that strong and bitter could not evaporate without a trace, and hatred was displaced by jealousy of the same intensity, though it stood to reason that there were no grounds to be jealous. Sune had never held more of Emil’s heart than a standard younger cousin’s share. But still he’d ball hands into fists to the point of pain and swallow bile each time he remembered those narrow hands on Emil’s shoulder and nape. Reason would kick in immediately and flush him with boiling hot shame for his own mistakes, his wild dreams, unjustified hatred and jealousy, for... for arrogantly believing just a couple of days ago that he’d stand a chance against a real Finnish mage scout, should they fight for real. Sune watched Hotakainen jump between boulders up the islet slope with ease, without sound, while Sune was huffing, slipping now and then, brushing against briar branches. All stones and roots, the islet didn’t match a definition of convenient. Hotakainen stopped almost at the top, in a hollow screened by pines and too small to provide space for a fire and sleeping humans. He scanned the surroundings and even the treetops. For a moment, his eyes seemed to gleam bluish white. Then the Finn turned to Sune. “Good place”, he repeated, still in Swedish, then frowned and added out of line, “Bad. You are like Emil too much.” “Yeah, sure, I remember about that.” Sune reached reluctantly into his pocket to take a hair tie and make a ponytail. Yesterday, they decided to change at least his hairstyle to avoid reminding anyone of Emil. The risk of running into any participant of the Uusikaupunki incident in the capital district was low but still not zero. But Sune was not used to having his hair tied, and got tired soon, and took the string off for the time of travel. Who cared for appearances in the middle of lakeland with no one in sight? Still, he did as bidden. The guide knew better. The guide should have reasons to say or do anything he did. Like, now he was planing a pine with a knife at eye level and carving something. Tying one’s own hair was too unhandy, so Hotakainen was the first to finish his mysterious task at the pine tree and went to stand uncomfortably close to Sune. “Good like that,” he said, still frowning, and hid his hands behind his back. He still did not look Sune in the face, though. “This way easier.” Sune failed to grasp the meaning, but probably Hotakainen did not know Swedish well enough. Meanwhile, the Finn switched to another weird topic. “I want you know. Not be afraid for Emil. I protect him always.” Sune nodded. The movement made him lose the tie end again. What was that about, out of the blue? Shouldn’t farewell speeches be saved for the parting? Or, maybe, there wouldn’t be a chance to talk properly in the capital, with people around. In the meantime, Hotakainen stared at him way too closely while avoiding eye contact. A disgusting thought crept in: what if Sune reminded him of Emil too much, to the point of hitting on the copy of the then-Emil? “I watch that you not get lost,” the Finn told another puzzle, then swayed forward and hit Sune literally and sharply in the chest. Metal glimpsed for a split second. Sune held to the hurt spot. That really hurt! And Hotakainen sprang already back, holding the knife forward in defence. Why? Sune wanted to ask but could not breathe in through the searing pain, something did not work inside, breathing did not work and burned, the hand at the chest felt hot and wet before the body went numb. He looked down—so much red—and his vision went dark. Just as he had feared in the last days, the world fell out from underneath his feet and faded. *** Darkness swayed. Sune sat up abruptly and gripped the boatside. Then he touched his chest, but the pain was gone; nothing kept him from breathing. Something felt wrong under the touch. Instead of the grey tarpaulin of the jacket, there was thick black woollen fabric. Sune shuddered at a glimpse of something red, but it was flowers. Embroidered stylized flowers like the ones usually painted on horse figures at home. But... where did it come from? Then Sune looked around and nearly fell out of the boat again (the boat was different too, without oars, with a high nose figure like on Viking drakkars). Water was all around, too smooth and still for a sea, but the shores or horizon were hidden in a whitish opalescent fog, and an unfamiliar night sky with thousands of unfamiliar stars loomed above. Sune turned to the other side and recoiled. Hotakainen stood on a boulder barely visible from the water. Rocks and trees—not the pines, though—loomed behind him. He looked differently, too, in an unbleached tunic with decorative borders and collar, with a short fur cape he had definitely not had with him upon departure. And his rifle was gone. He stared intensely at Sune but did not attack. “What does it mean?” Sune made a sweeping gesture. “Magic again?” “No. Not quite. You’re dead. What you see is just your soul in the world of dreams and spirits in between,” Hotakainen answered, suspiciously correct and accent-free. But no matter how hard Sune concentrated, he could not understand what language that was. Sounds slipped past his conscience, leaving bare ideas to seep in. Like in a dream. In the dream world? Sune pinched himself, and didn’t feel anything, didn’t wake up. So, was he really dead? He held his breath. No urge to inhale again followed. “You… you killed me”, he uttered in disbelief. He was not even scared, just bitter of that giant injustice. “But why?” “I will always protect Emil,” Hotakainen repeated. “From anyone. Even from myself.” “From… What?” Sune lost track again. “It’s a curse, kind of,” all of a sudden Hotakainen replied. The Finn looked aside, his white eyebrows knitted. Sune didn’t expect an actual answer. “You may still not believe in magic and stuff. I don’t know how it works, either. But it works. The legend Emil told you, about an old-time Finn named Lalli. Maybe it was name and place, I went through the area where it had happened on our way from Pori to Uusikaupunki. And it stuck to me. I was forced to kill Emil again and again. There were other near-misses after the two Emil told you about. He does not know it. The fate is fulfilled now. I was bound by my name, but it was different for Emil, it had not to be him, just anyone from Sweden. But before I realised it, there were no Swedes left in the country but him. And then you came. I could not miss such a chance. If I spared you, one day I might kill Emil for real.” That was longer than a total of all the words Sune had heard from Hotakainen in all years. Maybe too long; he struggled to grasp it. A curse? Dying instead of Emil? Meanwhile, the pause grew too long even for Hotakainen, who snickered bitterly and added, “If you want revenge, don’t worry, the curse will fire back at me too. A thousand years ago, Lalli died very soon.” Before Sune could say that he didn’t want any revenge (because it would make Emil sad, Emil would definitely miss that sneaky bastard), Hotakainen looked straight at him and didn’t seem guilty at all as he waded over underwater boulders to the boat. “Also, you could be a threat, too,” he added and did not Leave Sune a space to object. “I feel that you tell the truth, that you’ll keep Emil’s secret. For now. But humans and their truths can change. You could change your mind. Or spill the secret by accident. I could not leave it to chance”. And he pushed the boat away. “You must go ahead. Dead ones should not linger in the middle”. “Where to?” Sune asked, by habit rather than out of interest. The shore was drifting away, but the Finn’s voice was still clear. “I don’t know. I belong to other gods. Reynir has said that when people of your gods die not in a battle facing their enemy, they go to Hel. He could not explain what it was. But I will see you off as far as I can to make sure you don’t get lost”. Barely visible through a mist, Hotakainen knelt right in the water, and his shadow detached itself from him, if shadows could be large, shining, bluish-white cats. Or a mid-sized lynx. The ghost lynx ran right on the water next to the boat and moved its ears. When Sune looked back, he didn’t see anything in the thick fog. He could not tell how long the boat was gliding on still water, or if it was moving at all, or when the lynx lagged behind and faded. A noise emerged not at once, too. A strange rumble rose slowly in the sparkling fog ahead, reminding of a summer fountain in Mora or— A waterfall? Sune thought without real interest. He was tired of puzzling it all out and just tired. So he lay down at the boat bottom and crossed arms on his chest. He did not wait for anything anymore.