“Do you remember me?”

       The next day, he sleeps until noon, helps mom with washing dishes, and paddles through fresh snow to the south end of Brúardalur. He does not make it to Lilja’s house. In the centre, Reynir is called by a familiar guy, Bjarni’s childhood friend and accomplice. Reynir is glad to dally some more, he still is not convinced enough to face Lilja. So, they go to a clothes shop to hide between capes and coats. Like in good old times (very fresh in the shortened memory) when Reynir has been trailing after Bjarni and his brother’s friends into exciting adventures, like painting Major’s sheep pink or sending a rooster into a school classroom. But this time the guy just hands over a letter. Bjarni has sent him a letter with this one inside and asked him to give it to Reynir in secret. Reynir walks in confusion through the back lanes, to and fro, looking for a quiet place to read the letter. Quiet places are few, people take snow away from their backdoors, cleave firewood, cut mutton. Maybe Bjarni is just writing that he doesn’t remember anything special. At last, Reynir stops in a light spot of someone’s window and opens the envelope. If there’s nothing new, it will be the extra assurance he needs to settle down. There has been a guy named Onni, Bjarni writes, and the name jolts Reynir’s nerves. A Finnish mage and a brother or cousin of the short skinny guy Lalli, who stayed for a month. But Onni Hotakainen left the next day after their arrival. Bjarni remembered him because Reynir was addressing the guy really a lot in that one day of stay on all sorts of occasions and seemed overenthusiastic about it, just short of tail-wagging. Bjarni even thought Reynir had a crush on the guy. And later, Reynir was telling a lot about how awesome Onni had been, saving the whole crew at least twice while being hundreds of kilometres away. But the thing seemed rather one-sided because the Finn was barely replying, and in such poor Icelandic that Bjarni wondered if he understood even a half of Reynir’s ramblings. Also, Bjarni suspects that Reynir has fled from home for the second time not just to serve somewhere in the military but to find a certain mage. Lines merge in the dim light. Reynir looks at the paper, then at the closest wall, then at the field beyond. Fleeing home for the second time? To join the military? So… He didn’t spend the whole last year at home? And he wasn’t really scared or willing to forget the first adventure? And... a crush? So severe that he went abroad again? But how did he get back for the second time? And did he meet Onni there? Probably not, if his dream self nudges him to go on searching. And he isn’t really into girls, and not just forgetting dating one? So many questions, so much adrenaline to go home. Reynir strides through the town and back until it’s time for family supper. The letter in the inner pocket feels like a hot, beating lump—or is it his heart racing? Like, if he drops the envelope, his heart will drop out too. So he checks every now and then if it’s still in place and watches the around. Villagers seem not to notice, they are busy shopping, milling around, and shovelling snow. It may melt soon, but they need to go on with their business now. What if gods mean it, he thinks at random. By that blizzard, do they mean that people should stay home, or should take shovels and clean their paths? Do all his mishaps mean that he must use his non-mage brain and tread through? He giggles and takes a beeline to home in high spirits. After the supper, listening to every rustle or squeak outside of his room, ready to hide the evidence, Reynir rereads the letter again and again, then writes an answer. Bjarni is so smart with that letter inside another letter. Will he please describe the appearance of Onni Hotakainen in more detail because Reynir still hasn’t got any images. His imagination is swaying between photos of the two other Hotakainens. Oh, why not to write to the expedition company? They may know the mail address of some or other Hotakainen. Just ask them to kindly send a reply to the post office until called for. But that’s for tomorrow, and for tomorrow to come quick, he must sleep fast. Hello, he says to himself as his head hits the pillow, do I like Onni? Give me a sign, pretty please, the previous one is healed already. Next morning he’s still intact until breakfast, when his hand slips, and a butter knife leaves a familiar crooked-broken line on his hand. Yes, then? He hopes it’s a yes. Days go by, sheep mating is starting, sleighing, snow figures, spinning, Yule, then Þorrablót feasts, checking for letters, fending off mom’s hints at marriage. Reynir decides at least to talk in earnest with Lilja, it’s not fair to run away from her forever. He gathers all his resolution, cups her face in his hands, and asks if they really, really have been dating. It’s kinda mean to trap her like that, but he needs the truth so badly! Her glance darts aside, she licks her lips before telling she likes him very much and has always liked him, and will love him till the end, and that’s enough. She stares in his eyes so sincerely he can’t but believe her. But that’s not the answer he asks for, right? He says sorry, but how can he live to that end with someone whom he cannot trust? Let’s stay friends, he tries to soothe her, but she runs away before he reaches to stroke her hair. Oh. Poor thing. Was it a stupid thing to say? At least it’s honest, and it will be better for her to meet someone who loves her back. And Reynir is left with his own doubts. What if he hears something of the same kind if he manages to find Onni Hotakainen? And the guy will feel as rotten as Reynir feels now? Sure, the Finn did help him—but he didn’t stay either. What if it was just to repay for some rescue during the expedition? Reynir did expel some nasty ghosts, right? So, Onni just thanked him for saving his relative, the Lalli guy? If the man hitting a reporter was Onni, then he must be sorta protective of his family. And the healer says some high-place strings must be pulled for that, and Onni is an awesome mage, so maybe it’s not a big deal for a high-ranking mage with much authority—too high to be friends with a shepherd boy who isn’t even a mage anymore. Okay, Reynir promises himself that he won’t be pushy, but he’d like to say thanks anyway. After yet another stealthy visit to the post office, Reynir holds an officially looking envelope from Västerström Exp., Sweden. In very official typewriting and decent Icelandic, it says that Onni Hotakainen doesn’t have a mailing address currently as he is participating in an expedition to Silent Germany—where on earth is it?—which is scheduled to end in late February, so Reynir can send his correspondence to Mora but is also welcome to come to Sweden and join one of the minor raids on the former Swedish capital as a mage, or enlist for another long-range expedition next winter because Onni Hotakainen will be there too. Wow. Onni Hotakainen is just busy, that’s it. And—what if he needs help?! What if he’s in trouble over there? But if he is in the Silent World there isn’t anything Reynir can do in the wake world. He draws a deep breath to stop panic, he isn’t going to fret like his mom. An immune mage—the organisers won’t take non-immunes after the incident in the first expedition, right?—an immune, experienced mage has the best chances. To switch to something else, Reynir decides to write back to Västerström Exp. and tell them he’s not a mage, and whatever experience he’s got before is lost along with a chunk of his memory. He is useless now. Should he also write something for delivery to Onni? But… what? Hi, I know about you, and thanks for saving me, and maybe I’ve had a crush on you, but I have no idea if you like the idea? Sounds kinda… stupid? Reynir is stuck with the letter for some days; it just doesn’t come up right. And then, maybe the postman told mom about the letter (and all the times Reynir has asked if he’s got mail), ‘cause one day, Reynir returns from helping Aunt Emilia out in the bakery and finds mom in his room, in tears, with his letters and notebook in hand. She doesn’t really need answers because “Why do you want so badly to break your mother’s heart?” is not really a question. Reynir is unnerved by her tears, but... Was she searching through his room? That’s a bit over the edge. Memory loss or not, he is not a little kid. Unfamiliar defiance rises inside. She must be feeling it because she calls dad to back her up with morale building. Well, dad is his usual self, he stands behind mom and nods to her complaints. Reynir swears he isn’t going to touch magic even with a pinkie and isn’t trying to remember anything, he just wants to know! About himself and about the one who has saved his life. Probably. Mom retorts that the best Reynir can do is not to risk his life and squander the efforts it has taken to save him. Reynir can’t agree, but he can’t find the right words to protest, he tries out talking back, saying that rummaging in his room is low, but mom is adamant everything is fair if it’s for his good. Aargh! Reynir rushes out and walks in the hills around until the wind brings sleet, and he doesn’t want to catch a cold, even as a protest. He sneaks back home and to the kitchen to make tea, and nearly jumps when dad comes in. Reynir expects a quiet but grave reproach, and indeed, dad tells it’s immature to run away without warning, leaving just a note behind, as Reynir has done twice already, and if he is to leave home for the third time, he must pluck the courage and decency to tell that in advance, in the face of the people who care about him. That’s not quite what Reynir expects, and he sure doesn’t expect what follows. Dad says he understands restless youth and the need to go one’s own way, and agrees that Onni Hotakainen deserves to be remembered. Then he asks to keep it secret by all means, and takes a tin box from the lowest shelf of the cupboard and gives it to Reynir. Instead of chamomile tea or willow bark, there is a thick bundle of letters. Mom hasn’t got the heart to burn them along with Reynir’s magic study notes and photos. Reynir sees his own handwriting on envelopes, the return address is in Finland. He hugs Dad and promises not to be a selfish brat anymore. And dad pleads with him for mom, not to hold grudge against her. She’s so mean out of love and fear. Reynir nods. Mom can return from Guðrún at any moment, and he takes just a couple of first letters to read them before going to bed, with the door locked, with all the safety and secrecy measures. It’s not a quick business. He’s extra careful not to get caught. Not every day mom is away with guarantee for enough time to take another letter, put all boxes in place, and wipe away spices and herbs spilled. Letters are plump like ewes, the hand is really his but different in some wee little details, and it feels so strange to read about things he has seen but doesn’t remember at all. That unknown Reynir is describing faraway Finland, its amazing nature, strange customs, his military duties. Wow, he has really been a military mage! But half of those duties deal with farming—no, food security, this way it sounds more no-nonsense. And sure, past-Reynir mentions Onni a lot, as a senior officer, a mentor, a cool mage, a friend, or just as a sad person needing consolation. Right, Reynir remembers the newspaper article. Tuuri Hotakainen, dead. Sure, one will be sad after losing a sister, and the whole family, in fact—it's mentioned once in a letter. He never says directly what he feels for Onni, but the sheer number of mentions or exclamation marks does look like a crush, yeah? In between, Bjarni’s friend brings another reply. Now Reynir has something to imagine, some words to convert into an image. Also, reading all the letters in line over days, he notices slow changes, the hand grows less steady, the sentences are longer and more scrambled, the stuff is mentioned several times. Watching the onset of illness is unsettling. What should it have been for Onni, then? The last two letters are short, in different handwriting, and signed by Onni Hotakainen. His Icelandic is really basic and bad, even eth's are written the wrong way. In the first letter, Onni asks if there were any memory issues in Reynir’s family, and in the second one, he says he takes Reynir home because Icelandic medicine ought to be better than in Finland. Onni is neutral in his wording, and Reynir can only guess his reasons for being that kind and caring. A-and… Despite being cool and all, Onni turns out to be very much mid-ranked and surely not rich or influential enough to pull off the trick with wedging Reynir into the queue to the healer. Reynir wracks his brain over it for one whole evening and steals a minute on the next day to talk to dad, who must remember Onni Hotakainen in person, by the way! Dad checks if mom is nowhere around and says it has probably been some move by one of the expedition organisers, a Finnish woman named… Taru Hollola? Reynir suggests. Even if mom took away all his notes, he had read them over and over so many times that they became engraved in his memory. But, yes, Taru Hollola. Onni Hotakainen has clearly struck some deal with her, but dad can’t know the details, they were speaking Finnish. Then Reynir recollects Aunt Emilia’s words about a chubby Finnish woman trying to recruit locals for expeditions. Her description matches dad’s words. Did she contract Onni Hotakainen as well? In return for helping Reynir? It’s also mentioned some times in the letters that Onni is not immune, and Reynir shivers. If someone is staking his life to save him, then “nothing can be done” is a weak excuse. He can’t just take this gift and go on, the worry is gnawing at him like a swarm of summer midges. Oh, is it what mom felt when her son was away to the dangerous world, or just wishing to go? Reynir is suddenly ashamed of his bitterness towards her. No, his dad is right, he’d never again be angry with her for being a broody hen. But still, he will bring worries to her. Maybe he should try and return his magic? Oh, no, past-he is complaining that Icelandic magic is not long-range like Finnish spells. He has to go, he realizes. Maybe just to get to Bornholm, Sweden, or Norway—whatever is closer to that mysterious Germany? What if his dream self is able to reach Onni in the dreamworld then? But even if he just meets Onni upon return when no help is needed already, he wants to say thank you in person. But mom will never let him. But… Don’t run away again, dad has told him. For some days, Reynir hesitates, rehearses starting phrases, polishes words. As if it will help. Mom is talking to him again, everyday stuff, while serious matters still hang heavy in the air. There’s no neat way of telling mom he is going overseas to look for a man from dreams, a mage. And time, he can’t think it over forever, calendar winter wanes. He takes a deep breath and makes an announcement at a family dinner. He is going abroad, full stop. Safely, by a regular ship, like all normal people do—and are allowed to! He’s not going to the Silent World, he has some business in a safe, advanced continental settlement. And he’s old enough not to need anyone’s consent. It’s a short trip, he’ll be back in no time (he doesn’t know it for sure, so it’s not exactly a lie). Sure, mom is not happy, and disagrees, and turns to dad for support, but Árni Ragnarsson takes his son’s side, like, it’s not a right thing to keep a fledgling in the nest forever, and prohibitions will only teach their son to lie and keep secrets, and see where it has taken him the previous times! Mom rushes away in tears, but dad pats Reynir on the shoulder and tells him not to worry, he’d talk her into acceptance. Indeed. The next day, she sighs and sniffs all the time but helps Reynir with packing. That is, she loads him with enough warm clothes and snacks to overwinter on a glacier. The sandwiches are as many as her fears, and Reynir has to hug her tight and tell her he will be absolutely alright. At last, he goes. A stagecoach travels by night, but Reynir can’t sleep. Did he feel the same bubbly excitement when he took that road for the first time? Most surely. And for the second time? Maybe. His descriptions of Bornholm in the letters are incredible. To see a whole sea of palm trees must be exciting each time. And now he’d see them for the first time again! Lucky for him, Bornholm, the southernmost inhabited land, is also closest to that Germany place. ...It’s a scam, really. Krabben cruiser stops by a small island, not at Bornholm itself. And even there, it’s just as cold as at home. And anyone must stay for a two-week quarantine to get to Bornholm itself. What if the expedition gets back while he’s stuck there? Reynir is not willing to sacrifice two weeks just to see the palm trees. His dream self will have to reach the expedition from the transit island. Before settling on a bench for a nap, he looks for an information counter where he asks when the expedition to the Silent Germany returns. The clerk doesn’t know anything about any expeditions, meaning it isn’t handled by the transit port. Seeing Reynir wilt, the clerk sends him to a newsstand. There are newspapers from all countries, and the seller is bored enough to discuss international news, he complains that newspapers are rather stale, like, the Svenska Dagbladet is delivered four or five days after the date. Here’s a relatively fresh issue, and here’s the article the young man needs. The article is so small that the seller has to point at it, and then to translate from Swedish that the third expedition has reached an outpost about five days ahead of schedule and is brought to Skutskär, its results are of great interest to researchers and collectors, and an auction will be held in Mora soon, and a next foray will take place next winter, and the survival rate has been as high as in the first expeditions, with just two casualties out of twelve team members. Reynir freezes all over. No names are given, he must not despair too early, he’ll just go to Skutskär—he remembers the map, it’s in Sweden—and wait till quarantine is over and the crew is released. A ship to Sweden departs in fourteen hours. Reynir kills time by loafing around the terminal and chatting with anyone Icelandic-speaking and friendly enough. One dockworker laughs so hard at Reynir’s story about palm trees and takes him to a lighthouse and gives him a binocular. No palm trees. Not a single one. Meh. So, Bornholm: checked. At the port of Skutskär, he asks at an info counter where the expedition crew is quarantined. The clerk smirks, Swedish authorities aren’t as brainlessly scared of the Rash as the Icelanders, the crew has been released after formal two hours and dismissed long ago, and Reynir should go to Mora to inquire from the organizers. Reynir wants to run to the railway station, but something nuzzles in the back of his mind. Something inconsistent. What about non-immunes, he asks at last. Were they released too? Ain’t it kind of risky, huh? The clerk shrugs, he has no idea if there have been non-immunes. But if yes, then sure, they’d stay the required two weeks in a facility outside the town walls. The business hours of its office are over for today, and Reynir goes to look for lodging. He’s getting used to unfamiliar beds, like a real traveller, but falling asleep is a tad hard. There’s no switch-off button in the brain. What if now, when Onni Hotakainen is within a couple of kilometres, dream-Reynir is able to reach him like he has been bugging mages in Iceland? Is Onni alive? Reynir asks and tries to fall back asleep, but the nerves keep him up for gods know how many hours. Next, he wakes up in the morning to horse neighing in the street and springs up for a new day of getting in others’ hair. To be extra sure, he calls Mora office of Västerström Exp. (Skutskär phone station has a business directory with its number), but the phone is picked up by some small kid not knowing Icelandic, three pixie voices, actually, they chat in Swedish, and Reynir has to hang up before the call costs him as a sea cruise. Really, he might have sooner travelled to Mora himself, but he’s afraid to move away from the only place known to him, where Onni might be. So he sends a letter instead. The Swedish army officers in charge of the quarantine facilities are not eager to share information with a civilian foreigner. Fine, they must relax somewhere with beer and can be charmed with a touching story of friendship and uncertainty. That’s a lot of asking, and there are a lot of transit passengers who don’t know anyone or anything, and some people don’t know Icelandic. On the third day, Reynir comes across a nice janitor lady working in the quarantine building, who agrees to check if there’s a specific name on the list of quarantine patients. He gives her a paper with Onni’s full name, just to be on the safe side, he remembers how another old lady has misspelt it. But the janitor lady will have her next shift in one day. What a long day it is! The town is not big, and you can’t take a stroll in the countryside. Well, you can, but then you’ll spend two weeks in quarantine, and it seems to be a brilliant idea, but first, Reynir has promised his parents to stay safe, and second, what if he misses Onni, who’ll be released earlier (sure, he is over there, the gods can’t be that cruel). And yesss, there is such a name on the list! Reynir hugs the janitor lady tight for the best news and maybe even squeaks in joy, and they have more beer, and the lady gets all sappy that no pretty guys chased her so single-mindedly in her youth. ‘kay, it’s less than a week to wait, then. He has enough time to get a job to kill time and pay for lodging because he runs out of money and mom’s stock of sandwiches and biscuits. He’s lucky, the innkeeper needs a spare pair of hands in the kitchen. But washing dishes doesn’t save Reynir from wondering. Does Onni really need his help or company, or is it just a whim of dream-Reynir? What if Onni Hotakainen doesn’t even remember him and has been employed by Västerström Exp. without any relation to Reynir? He has to wait till the real meeting with Onni and hope the guy won’t lie for a change, as so many people do. Closer to Day X, another gruesome idea hits him. Hey, quarantine is not a guarantee of safety yet, it’s a place to find out if someone is infected, so... No, he whispers to himself, Onni is a pro mage, he won’t let anything happen to him, and he’ll be glad to see Reynir. It’s an endless week, but it ends, and Reynir, alone, save for the officer on duty, kicks heels around the checkpoint and recollects Bjarni’s second letter, and pictures Onni from words for the umptieth time. Of medium height, shorter than Reynir, maybe as tall as Guðrún, and maybe closer in age to her or Ólafur. Quite stocky, looking sullen and tired, poorly dressed, miserably (un)cut, oh yes, the hair is so fair that it seems grey, and bright eyes, and high cheekbones, quite peculiar (but Bjarni wishes Reynir has better taste in men). A matching man appears from the doors and looks around disoriented. “Hi, Onni!” Reynir says out loud, just short of yelling, and strides closer. His heart runs ahead of him, it seems. The man starts and turns to him, and looks kinda… hurt? Scared? Worried? Reynir can’t tell, so he wants to start with the basics, just to make sure he is not mistaken. “Do you remember me?”