I Promise

       A moment ago it was a bright noon, but now the sun sinks into the palisade of far forest, and dusk settles under a shed in the shadow of bushes and a rock. The light of a small fire dapples pebbles on the ground, the shed boards, and two children. A little girl is curled up on her brother’s lap and sleeps under her and his capes while he stares into the gap between branches where another, larger island must be seen. And he shudders now and then, either from what he sees and hears through his mage senses or just under gusts of cold wind. An autumn evening must be chilly, and the air must be damp near a lake. Reynir does not feel any cold, even as he sits outside the shed with Lalli and Emil. But it’s a dream, another person’s dream, so it must be normal to have no sense of temperature, smell, or touch. Almost. Reynir is barely aware that the ground he sits on is solid. But he doesn’t care about the laws of dreams. He’d hardly notice an actual storm. A pang in the chest is too real for a dream. In his mind, he understands that Onni is not really here. It’s Lalli’s dream, an apparition, and nothing more. But the vision is all too clear. As a scout, Lalli must have a good memory for details. The world around is in sharp focus: charred twigs in the fire, trembling leaves of undergrowth, fire glimpses in Onni’s eyes, his fingers clutching the rifle… Earlier, after Lalli said it was his memory, Reynir got excited. He’d see young Onni! How old is Lalli’s cousin here, fifteen or sixteen? And so, he sees Onni—in the last seconds when the blonde boy (face so much softer, and oh, the same mess of hair!) snores on a sofa, in his stable habitual world, where unloading a boat or dealing with the mean cousin is the greatest affliction. No, Reynir corrects himself, there are also trolls’ voices. It is not as safe as in Iceland, the Silent World is never far away. It looms beyond fences and lake mirrors. But it must be a habitual, everyday threat. Still, the memory shall go on, and with a couple of words, Lalli breaks that world and that Onni. Code 0. It is an end, it is a beginning. Panic, uncertainty, despair, and fear—everything that still lingers in the adult Onni as constant alertness and hidden pain. Not quite well hidden, though. Reynir felt it every time they met, and even in Tuuri’s photo of her family. And then dream-Onni squints and takes a hand gingerly off Tuuri’s back to prop himself on the shed boards, maybe not to wake his sister as his hand clenches in a fist and his shoulders quiver once or twice. Ruffled head leans onto the chest, and Reynir does not see his face; he just hears one shaky inhale on the verge of a whimper and not another sound, not a rustle, but that’s more than Reynir can take. Lalli wrinkles his nose and looks aside, and Reynir catches him by the sleeve in haste. “Please don’t blink!” He whispers, though it’s not a reality, and he may well shout. And he’s so lucky that Lalli understands him in the dream! “Just for a minute, please?” Without checking that Lalli obeys, he rushes to the fire, to kneel and hug, to stroke ashen hair, to say something, anything at all. It does not matter that Onni is not real, it does not matter that he would not see, hear, or feel anything. Reynir needs it for himself, or he’d overflow and burst with the desire to help and to console, as frantic as back there amidst the Silent World, imploring all gods to save the team from ghosts. Against all odds, it feels so very real to touch—tickling hair and warm skin on Onni’s temple where Reynir presses his forehead, rough shirt fabric under his fingers, the tiny wetness of a tear he wipes off Onni’s cheek. Even though it is useless to whisper in his ear, “Please don’t be scared, Onni, I’ll find you, I promise! I’ll bring you back no matter what…” Reynir can’t tell himself what he means. Back to the Known World? Back to the boy sleeping peacefully at home? Suddenly, his hands are empty, and it’s broad daylight again. Lalli must have counted the requested minute and blinked the next scene on. He is talking about quarantine ships. He looks so sad, and Emil listens silently, and they both don’t seem to mind that silly escapade. Reynir draws a breath and wipes his eyes with the long woollen sleeve of his coat. And still, who knows all the laws of dreams? What is possible for a mage in a mundane dream of another mage? What if a tiny whiff of compassion reaches the real Onni? Reynir would be content, then. The rest he will say and do in the waking world.