“Do you remember me?”

       Onni is a bit rud— straightforward, but not as bad as Lalli, sure. Reynir is not offended when Onni, after parting for more than a day, rolls his eyes and tells him to skip the “Do you remember me?” part. Reynir doesn’t see anything strange in not being sure to be remembered. For example, he isn’t great at memorising people. Reynir is much more surprised at himself to recognise Onni in a dream after just one look at Tuuri’s photo, and decides it means some special bonding. And, um, that Onni’s features are as peculiar as Onni’s Icelandic. Not in the sense of terrible! In the sense of special, of course. Well, it turns out it’s been pure luck. If, with just one glance at the photo, Reynir went to look for Onni here at Saimaa outskirts, where each other person has the same or very similar high cheekbones, wide jaws, limpid eyes, and flaxen hair, he might have mistaken anyone else for Onni. Or maybe he wouldn’t? Because none of those Finnish Finns are nearly that sad. But now Reynir has enough time to look at Onni, engrave him in the memory properly, and recognise him even without that defiant no-I-don’t-cry pout, because Reynir wants to stay and become a military mage, to be useful, and, well, to be useful to one particular Finnish military mage, to make him feel better because it’s illegal to be so depressed. And yay, he is enlisted! Onni looks so baffled when Reynir is assigned to him as an assistant that Reynir does giggle a bit. But to whom else? There aren’t a lot of defence mages who know Icelandic, anyway. Of course, Reynir has to learn Finnish too, and it’s So Hard, really! Is it even possible to remember all those words and the ways they change? Sure, in Icelandic they change too, but... Anyway, Emil makes good progress while he has it even harder because Lalli is a much worse teacher than Onni. Reynir looks forward to speaking one common language with Emil and asking him for some secrets about taming the Hotakainens. There’s no common dreams with the non-mage anymore, so learning Finnish is the last hope. Skalds in the headquarters are better at teaching, and Reynir drops in to them whenever he has free time and Onni hasn’t. They’re such nice girls, and Reynir wishes he could learn their names and faces faster. Really, Onni has such a cute, simple name. And which of the blonde girls is Hellikki, Ainikki, or Mielikki? No, one of those is a goddess of... of what? Okay, one more question to ask Onni. He is irked when asked something for the umpteenth time or engrossed in explanations for a new topic, but anything is better than grieving all alone. So, Reynir asks questions, teases Onni by dropping head on his shoulder, or giving him a hip bump, or smoothing a sticking tuft of light hair. Onni is instantly confused; he tries to look stern and asks to stop joking. Reynir would have explained at once that it’s not a joke, but he’s afraid Onni will be confused even more and will shy away from him, and then who’d help to shake up the poor guy? Reynir feels like he helps but shall try harder. But instead, Onni seems to worry more often. Or maybe it’s just that Reynir is getting used to Onni’s ways and notices his usual level of fretting? The said level is hard to miss whenever Reynir approaches the gates of the outer settlement walls or pier, and Onni starts reciting the field trip protocol and commands Reynir to focus and keep his mask on. But there’s so much to get the brain scattered, really! Trees, so many trees, whole seas of them, so different throughout a year—hey, isn’t it a year since he has left home? Oh, yes, a year since the first blind escape to anywhere. And palisades and wooden houses—that's not outside, that’s just in general among things keeping Reynir brimming with excitement—and sauna instead of regular bathrooms or hot springs, and funny circular bread, his and Lalli’s favorite… Everything is so cool and different, and Reynir’s letters home are plump like lambing ewes. Even sheep-herding is different here, you know. You can’t roam far and wide, you have to stick to just one pasture island, so the main task is to keep grosslings and predators outside, not to keep sheep inside. And to beware of so many bitey things. At home it would be just fleas and maybe ticks on sheep and summer midges, and here they have mosquitoes, midges, ants (who knew that a soft, inviting hillock out of dry pine needles was an anthill?), spiders, wasps, snakes, grosslings, etc. Reynir got bitten by almost everyone except for grosslings and vipers, even by a cat (he thought she didn’t mind a tummy scratch, but she did), and caught a cold a couple of times because it’s sooo cold! Reynir couldn’t believe an old-world thermometer once, twenty-seven below zero. At night, but still... But, well, it wasn’t as unpleasant as the piercing, wet, icy wind at home. And the summer—the part of it they’ve seen when looking for Onni—is so much warmer. Yes, and there’s also no dogs, that’s a pity, dogs never mind some scratching. The farm master (what’s his name again?) winks at Reynir and says they have one now, for mage-herding. Also, Finland is rather flat and low—literally, barely above the sea and lakes. The air column above is some hundred metres higher than at home in Brúardalur. Maybe that’s what is making Reynir’s head split from time to time, aside from the Finnish language. Or maybe that’s how Icelandic mages react to masses of trolls nearby? Well, not quite masses, and not quite near, but—stop, Reynir has been to a place teeming with trolls before. Bornholm? No, he wanted to go to Bornholm but ended up in... Somewhere in Silent Denmark. And did he feel like that? Miserable he felt, sure, and maybe that included a headache. Reynir tries to use an adjusted stave against sheep itch, but it doesn’t work. Onni’s songs work, and Reynir cuddles up to him to say thanks and admire him for being a cool mage once again and remembering so many spells by heart, and to embarrass and distract him, but Onni looks worried again. Onni frowns whenever they go outside to patch alarm lines or refresh detergent runes at outposts. Sure, Onni is always wary when outside. Even if the two of them are guarded by two immune hunters and one scout (Lalli, of course). But this time he is looking at the stave, not around, and asks why it is different from the previous one when they serve the same purpose. Is it? Reynir wonders. Really different, that is? But then, he has never been the brightest student in the Seiður Academy. How can anyone remember all the hundreds of staves? He barely passed the final tests but passed nevertheless, without cheating. He didn’t remember half of the exact staves from his exam task, he just constructed the ones that would work as needed, out of simple parts and logic. Analytical mind, teachers called it. He is not worried. It’s not an exam or combat, he can use cheat sheets any time. Okay, he checks the stave. No, he doesn’t, he has left his notebook in the barracks. Well, the stave elements seem right, and their position will have the same effect, and if it can be made in several ways, well, that’s the art of magic. Onni shakes his head and notes that Reynir has put on his mask at the border gate only after a reminder, which is unacceptable and should be drilled into muscle memory by now. Reynir is surprised. He doesn’t remember forgetting it or being reminded of it. So he smiles after an annoyed sigh from Onni and apologizes. Usually, an “I’m sorry” and a smile put people in a good mood, but Onni frowns. Reynir tries to smoothen that frown with a finger, but it just won’t go. Onni is such a grump, it’s exasperating, but Reynir will never give up. In the evening and safety, Onni asks if anyone in Reynir’s family has any problems with memory. Why all of a sudden? And how is Reynir supposed to know? His family is really large, dad’s side, mom’s side, flocks of aunts and uncles, herds of cousins, gods help remembering all their names, and some of them have a bunch of diseases. Like aunt… Which was again the one who was a mage too? Aunt Hildur, right. Reynir promises to ask, but forgets, of course. There’s so many things to tell in the next letter, about Finland, people, magic, army service, trees—can they imagine a whole sea of trees? His letters are always plump like lambing ewes. Onni sighs and writes down the address to ask himself. Reynir giggles, isn’t it so... suggestive, to write to the parents of a sweetheart? Onni is ridiculously perplexed when Reynir kisses him on the cheek and calls him a sweetie. It's almost as if Reynir hasn’t told him about his crush. Or has he? Or was it just a dream? That bit of memory is a bit hazy. Okay, fairly hazy. Well, maybe there’s a problem with Reynir’s memory. He wakes up and cannot recognise the ceiling. Ah, no, that’s fine—a turn of the head reveals it’s the medical station, not the barracks, so the ceiling is really unfamiliar. Onni’s panicked face is absolutely familiar. Reynir tries to reassure him but can barely steer words and feels a bit shaky. He must’ve caught a cold again, no wonder, early spring is chilly. So, he stumbles through phrases, maybe instead of fixing water filter staves, they’d stay in the tractor depot to try power-saving staves for snowmobiles? Onni looks away and says that Reynir doesn’t serve in the army anymore. Just so. Because something is wrong with Reynir’s memory, with Reynir’s head, he’s been lucky to black out at a debriefing and not while walking near ice holes on the lake. and he’d better not do any tasks where people’s lives depend on him. It sounds reasonable, but Reynir hates to agree. Maybe if he rests for a while and gets better, they’ll admit him back? Onni shakes his head and says a mere rest is not enough, and they (the two of them!) shall go to Saimaa capital. Reynir agrees; it sounds like a romantic vacation. Saimaa is nice, with lots of steep slopes and stairs. It feels a bit like home—not in Brúardalur itself but in the surrounding hills. But the headache is still there. But not for long, because Onni is there too. Onni walks by and even holds Reynir steady by the elbow now and then. It’s heartwarming, and Reynir wouldn’t mind a kiss but gets none. The hospital building is much larger than in the field camp. Reynir is examined through and through, and a nice lady talks to Onni, and Onni isn’t nice at all, he’s grumpy as usual, or maybe more than usual—has he ever raised his voice before? But they speak Finnish, and Reynir doesn’t understand. He should, he has made some progress, but words slip past him. Afterwards, when they both scuttle downhill to the pier, Onni grumbles in Icelandic that why? Why can they say what’s wrong with Reynir only by the autopsy results? Reynir giggles, it’s a funny joke. Onni has no sense of humour; he says that they return to Iceland because it’s more advanced in medicine. And it’s Reynir’s home. If they go together, it’s okay. Sure, he’d like to see what a proper spring is like in Finland, but... To get Onni acquainted with the parents is priceless, and to spend many days on a ship is... …is not so neat. First, it’s quarantine, and non-immunes are placed in separate cubicles. By alphabet. It’s hard to talk to someone a deck apart. Just because Iceland doesn’t consider Finland safe enough. Second, was Reynir so seasick before? He must have travelled by ships, he was going to Bornholm, after all. Maybe it was so bad that he forgot it? It must be nice to forget this neverending roll and pitch. People in funny overalls bring him pills and take analyses, but never tell anything. The pills help for a short time in the waking world but make dreams stuffy, sticky, and hazy, and hard to wake up from. Reynir sleeps as much as he can. Mist comes closer to his Haven every night (or is it a day? It’s hard to say without windows). There should be something behind the mist, he remembers, a whole sea of... Or just a sea? No, he must remember! And he remembers. There must be islands in any decent sea, and on one island, there must be a very sad man named... Oh. No. No, wait a second. Right, Onni! Reynir walks into the mist but somehow comes back to his little valley, and the mist comes too, closer and deeper until it’s all over the place. A cute shepherd dog is whining, and Reynir kneels beside it to hug and pat it, to say the mist is not scary, and the doggy is a good boy, and everything is fine. Then a shadow passes over, wings flap, wind tears at the mist, drives it away by a dozen steps. A big owl with funny feather ears lands on a stone next to Reynir, watches him in round-eyed worry, and asks in a male human voice if Reynir is okay. It’s so mysterious and exciting that Reynir forgets his fears at once. The dog wags its tail like mad, too. Of course, they’re okay! It’s a really wonderful dream. And this turn of plot is familiar, with an owl chasing away something from a hero in distress, maybe it’s been in a fairytale from Reynir’s childhood. The dream breaks when he reaches out to pat the bird. The travel ends at last, Reynir is led outside with other people, and a very sad blonde man steps by Reynir’s side, looks expectantly at him, sending excited shivers, and asks if Reynir is okay. “Do you remember me?” Reynir asks back and bites his tongue, he has meant to say, do you know me? Why has it come out that way? The man winces as if in pain. Reynir flinches too and says sorry, he’d hate to make this man sad. The man looks sort of familiar and sort of cute. Reynir wants so very much to see him smile. “Don’t apologise,” the man says with a heavy accent, and that voice is familiar too. Reynir nearly trips; the man catches and steadies him – of course, Reynir has seen him in dreams, very strange dreams with walking on water, with isles, magic, owls, cakes… “I saw you in a dream!” he exclaims, gripping the stranger’s hand. “Cool to meet you awake! Will you stay, please?” The man seems on the verge of crying but nods and leads Reynir to a small lane away from the port, straight to two other people. Reynir gasps as his mom crushes into him. She must be very angry at him for his escape from home without permission, but instead she just cries without a single reproach. And without a single sign of joy. It’s unnerving. Dad is not angry or glad either. He is worried as he thanks the dream-man for looking after their son. Reynir tries to calm Mom down. He’s alive, safe and sound, and the travel was great, there are so many palm trees in Bornholm—a whole sea of palm trees! Mom still sobs as she walks arm-in-arm with him. Then he turns back to the dream-man who was discussing something quietly with the dad a moment before but now is not quiet but rather scared and angry at the same time, and displeased with some “them” who waste mages’ lives. Reynir is puzzled, he’s just off the quarantine and doesn’t need medical aid, he’s fine. Well, almost fine, seasickness is not over yet, and his head aches. The sad man from dreams listens and then sings in a strange language. It’s beautiful and soothing. Reynir feels better and won’t mind a good meal. They all go to eat out, and in a cafe, a gaudy lady, a tad aged and stout, calls out to the dream-man and says hello to mom and dad, and they greet her back, but Reynir doesn’t know her. The lady and his dream-man talk in the same unknown language, but the word “Onni” sounds like his name. Reynir repeats it in his mind several times to remember. It’s cute and suits the man, unlike the frown, but the man clearly isn’t happy to see the woman and snaps back, not too politely. And so she asks Reynir’s parents what’s wrong and if she can help. Onni scowls that she may go to... what is “Hiisi’s pot”? But dad says that Reynir is ill, something hard to determine by common means, and the one healer who can do diagnostics has a queue for a couple of months ahead. Reynir protests that he’s alright. The lady’s eyes light up, she says she might have some connections, and then says something to Onne, and he does not snap back but looks even more miserable. Reynir decides she is not as nice as she smiles. The dream-man nods at last and shakes her hand, and she looks way too glad for a good person. Reynir wants so much to go home, to tell his friends about Bornholm, and to show Olli his favourite heights and waterfalls, but the whole family stays in an inn, and on the next day (or in two days?) they go to a hospital, and a very sad and worried blonde man comes by. The healer is an old woman with kind eyes, in a knitted motley dress with lots of metal sorta coins, and the room is all covered by quirky staves, Reynir doesn’t recognise them—should he, though? He’s only seen sheep herding staves at home. And these are... The motley lady says they are to see what’s wrong with Reynir. Staves cover his skin, the lady’s hands, the table, and a strange short tube-like thing closing over it, Reynir lies on the table and watches the patterns, they shine, it’s really neat and a bit ticklish, and very long. He is very sleepy after it ends, and he has yet to listen to the results. Mom gasps at the word "tumor." Hey, didn’t Aunt... what’s her name, the mage aunt have it too, beside the other dozens of sores? The healer lady supposes it has been in Reynir’s head all along, dormant, but the wake of magic might have triggered it to grow. Reynir yawns, it’s hard to keep focused on all the special terms. When suddenly asked to make a decision, he apologises; he has missed the point. Okay, in two words, does he agree to hybrid magic surgery, four out of five chances for success—or, without it, he’ll have one month or so left, forgetting more and more each day? It doesn’t sound cool, and it all doesn’t sound real to Reynir, especially one fifth chance to die. He agrees, mom grips his hand, and dad hugs them both. The sad man talks quietly to the healer lady, and Reynir is to rest. Reynir tries to. Sleep doesn’t come for a long, long… doesn’t come at all, his head is killing him, and an empty stomach doesn’t make things better, but no, they say, no breakfast next morning. Parents come for a moment to hold him tight in an embrace, and mom looks like she was crying a lot before, and dad says it will be alright. Reynir is led to a room filled with quirky staves, with a table and a tray of vile metal tools, a lady in motley dress with lots of coin thingies and two men in blue gowns are all calm, and also, there’s a very worried and very peculiar man, greeting Reynir like they’re acquainted (Reynir wouldn’t mind to be, really). His Icelandic is peculiar, too. Bad, but cute. The motley lady has Reynir lie down on the table, draws a stave on his forehead, and tells him to fix his gaze at one special marked point and count to infinity or recite a favourite poem in his mind, so he counts sheep, very diligently, ignoring the voices around and spreading numbness. Then it gets completely strange; he is still in the room, with the point before his eyes, and at the same time he sees a lush green ravine in the mountains, sheep bleating and scuttling in panic downhill because the ground shakes. Maybe it was a dream of home? A shepherd dog is barking at the mountain and casting Reynir guilty looks. Reynir wants to hug it but can’t step out of a circle in the middle of a giant shining stave on the ground. And he’s been told to stay put, so he does. The dog comes to him, a good boy. Reynir grabs it, holds on to its tense and warm body. He must count sheep, right? But the dog is scared and needs comforting, and so he whispers that everything will be fine. Another jolt, and the mountain cracks not far, steam gushes from the crack, orange lava gleams in its dark depth, like in pictures of volcanoes. The large stave shoots more tendrils, sticking to the crack to hold it in place, but slowly the lines turn red instead of bluish white and recoil. It’s unreal, of sorts. So maybe, like in fairy-tale books, there will be a miraculous escape? Reynir tells the laws of fairytales to the dog as he watches the cracks grow. He’s watching, and so he notices a shadow sliding on earth, and then a bird—a large bird—an owl, it’s circling around, and a male voice is chanting something melodic in an unknown language, Reynir can’t tell if in the dream or in the real world, and the stave lines in the bird’s shadow are turning back to white for a while, and the ground is shaking less, it seems. Reynir isn’t sure, there’s so much vapour coming from the cracks. He must watch some point, but the sky shines ever brighter, too bright to look at, and he hides his face in the dog’s thick neck and closes his eyes tight. Everything goes white.