Ísvængur
ísv?ngur
The hike is long and arduous. Ingólfsh?fei cuts between the ocean and the looming Vatnaj?kull glacier like a black stone knife, battered by the waves from the bottom and the icy wind from above. Marsh and her crew make their way across the grassy top of the cape toward the edge of the sheer black cliffs, where a colony of puffins have burrowed nests into the little rocky nooks.
Even just the sight of the colorful little birds makes Marsh want to stop and stay for hours with her long lens.
But she’s seeking something even more precious.
“Do you think we’ll find the ísv?ngur before the volcano erupts?” Talia asks her as they pick through the tangled green, shouting over the wind.
“We have to,” Marsh replies. “I didn’t come this far just to give up now.”
“Ahead,” Victor says, consulting his GPS device. “We’re at the start of Naddodd’s path from the songs. We should prepare.”
The team stops and makes ready. They move in efficient harmony, as if they’ve been doing this all their lives. Bags unzip, gear passes back and forth, all without a word uttered. The ease of it is even more thrilling to Marsh than if it had been their first shoot together. She’s an expert at this, in this life. She’s done it a million times before, and she can do it now, too.
Marsh slings her camera over her shoulder and takes a deep breath.
“Time to make some history,” Talia says to her.
“Time to leave a mark,” she agrees.
Moms4Marsh: This is it!
Frónverji: Shhh!!! Hafeu hljótt!
They move forward as one, inching across the cape. Each blink feels like a minute, each step like hours. With every crash of waves from below, Marsh’s breath catches. Will this be the moment she discovers the near-mythical creature she’s been pursuing for years in this life? Or will she run out of time before the volcano, and her one precious chance will be lost forever?
Suddenly, Marsh freezes.
“What?” Talia asks excitedly.
But she can’t answer. Her eyes are locked on something in the distance.
Slowly, carefully, she goes to one knee. She raises her camera to her eye.
Far across the grass, there’s a stirring in the wind-battered green. A tremble, then a flurry of motion. A flash of polar navy, and a streak of bright cerulean blue. Then pale ice, deep ocean. The blues swirl together, mesmerizing, as something takes flight.
ísv?ngur .
She found it.
It’s real.
Marsh has only a moment before the chance is gone. The world shrinks to the size of her lens. Everything she’s been seeking, everything she’s wanted. As quickly as she can, she presses the shutter.
For an instant, its faint, fleeting click is the only sound in existence.
“Marsh...” Talia whispers, once the meadow is quiet and still again.
That’s it.
Her mark.
Slowly, as if in a dream, Marsh turns back to her team.
“This is...” Jo stammers, overcome.
“This is it. This is what we’ve been searching for,” Victor finishes.
Marsh looks at Talia with misty eyes. From the millions of hearts exploding in her vision, she knows the Bubble has captured her moment of glory in crystalline high definition. The glint of the high-altitude light against her tears, the pink of her cheeks in the cold, the faint ghost of her breath as she grins.
“We did it,” she says at last. “We found the ísv?ngur .”
SagwaGold: What a shot!!
MrLoki: Fullkomin ljósmynd!
Talia, Jo, and Victor huddle around Marsh as she turns her camera over. Eagerly, they lean over the glass screen to preview the image she just captured.
Every pixel is in crisp focus. It’s the perfect picture.
The Arctic backdrop is somber and breathtaking, a gorgeous balance of sea, land, and sky. And at the center of the frame, the brilliant kaleidoscope of blues. Two arcing slashes of color, and a small body of deep obsidian where they meet in the middle.
The commenters all realize what the ísv?ngur is at the same moment Marsh does.
JesterG: It’s... a butterfly?
TopFan01: “Ice Wing” makes so much sense now!
Frónverji: I’ve never seen anything like it! We don’t have many butterflies in Iceland!
Ragnarocker: Ny tegund! A new species, perhaps?
SharpTruth: C:\ATAM\Bubble\edit
Even as awestruck as she is, that last comment catches Marsh’s eye. The username, the odd string of what looks like code, is familiar. That’s the second time she’s seen something like that, she’s sure. But as soon as it appears, it’s gone again, lost in the endless stream of posts.
Marsh squints as the comments keep rolling, confused.
Is someone trying to do something to her Bubble?
But before she can ask Talia, a deep, prehistoric groan rumbles down from Vatnaj?kull , echoing across Ingólfsh?fei .
Marsh and the crew spin to each other, eyes wide—then toward the ice-capped volcano.
“Talia, grab that rucksack,” Marsh shouts. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
Marsh and the crew scramble through the meadow back toward the jeep as quickly as they can, too breathless to speak. She’s so panicked, time warps—everything happens in fragments, a series of still shots with nothing in between. Marsh hefting her camera bag onto her shoulder as she runs, Marsh rushing across the uneven field. Marsh finally abandoning the heavy equipment and keeping only the all-important film, to save them invaluable minutes. Marsh’s determined, heroic expression.
Finally, the jeep comes into view, and they all rush even faster, buoyed by hope. Marsh slams into the side of it, then jerks open her door and throws herself into the driver’s seat, her key scrambling for the ignition. “Everyone in?” she asks.
“I’m in!” Talia says as she jumps in beside Marsh, somehow instantly seated in a photograph-worthy pose.
The doors slam in the back. “Us too!” Jo shouts. “Hit it, Marsh!”
Marsh drives the pedal to the floor.
From how amped up the comments are becoming, she knows the Bubble must be cutting between Talia’s faux-nervous gaze— surely, they’re not in real danger, right? —and Marsh’s passionate stare in between teasing clips of ?r?faj?kull’s brewing peak. Every time the dark jutting shape comes on everyone’s screen, Marsh’s view fills with prayers for the mountain to wait just one more minute, just one more, before it explodes. She doesn’t know what’s more dangerous at this point—the volcano, or trying to drive without being able to see the road.
“Almost there!” she says as they round a bend and the road straightens out. She floors it, desperate. “Almost!”
“I see orange!” Talia cries, her eyes glued to the rear windshield. “It’s bubbling!”
“We’ll make it!” Marsh says. “The IMO safety line is two miles away!”
Her eyes jump frantically to the dash. She has no idea what 128 kilometers per hour is, but it feels dangerously fast on this rocky mountain road. They’ve got to be within two, maybe three minutes of safety.
“Something is happening,” Jo yells over the roar of the engine. “Something is happening !”
Stones clatter against the undercarriage and whip up to crack against the windows and windshield, sometimes so loud Marsh is sure the glass is going to shatter, but she keeps going.
“There it is!” Marsh points.
Straight ahead, a burst of color. Several bright yellow emergency services vans, and more white pickups, probably from the Icelandic Meteorological Office, are parked in a wide fan with their back bays open. Satellites and other gigantic pieces of equipment are set up around the clearing, monitoring ?r?faj?kull . And just behind them are all of Marsh’s crew’s vehicles, each one with several people standing on top of them, binoculars glued to their faces.
Even with the racket inside Marsh’s jeep, she can hear the cheers as they catch sight of her whizzing down the path.
“We’re going to make it!” Marsh says—just as the top of ?r?faj?kull blows off.
MrLoki: Andskotinn!!!
Hoskistrong: Fokk!!!!!!!!!!!!
Marsh screams as the world goes white for an instant, and then bright, nuclear orange.
?r?faj?kull has turned into a fountain of bubbling, roiling magma, red and yellow and white and angry black where the lava and glacier meet. It’s the most intense, terrifying sight she’s ever seen.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because just as the eruption finally starts, Marsh’s jeep crashes past the wooden pickets the Icelandic Meteorological Office has placed at the head of the trail to mark the safety line, and skids to a stop as the crowd rushes to her in a flood of celebration.
“Never again, you hear me?” Victor is shouting as they all spill out of the jeep, and pulls Marsh into a crushing hug. “You never get to do that again!”
“She doesn’t have to!” Jo says as she grabs her next, then turns to the crowd. “This goddamn fool nearly died, but she got the shot!”
She snatches Marsh’s hand and holds it up high, like she’s a boxing champion.
“We have a photo! We found ísv?ngur !”
“Marsh! Marsh! Marsh!” Everyone is howling now. There are tears as the crew swarms her, and whistles, and dancing. Someone has started up an ancient skaldic song about some brave Viking warrior, and the others join in, twisting it so that it’s Marsh’s name they sing instead of some historical hero. Harper is holding Súrkrás and jumping up and down beside her, shouting, “You did it, Mom! You did it!” Marsh spins around, taking it all in, trying to remember to breathe.
And then there’s Ren, jumping out of his jeep as it careens in from the opposite direction, sprinting for her through the crowd, his tousled hair shining beautifully against the bright, fiery sky. As he runs, his arms go wide, his knees bend a little as he draws close, and when he reaches her, he sweeps her into a spinning embrace and kisses her passionately.
Even as it’s happening, Marsh almost can’t believe all of this is real, and how far she’s come. She could barely get a sentence out without blushing during her life’s recap, and now, she’s standing below a volcano, laughing and singing along as her friends and colleagues scream her name. She’s full of joy, alive with victory, not a trace of timidity or caution or worry left.
She’s perfect .
“You know what this means, don’t you?” Ren asks her once he’s finally let her go.
“What?” Marsh asks, breathless.
“Everything,” Ren says. “You’re going to have complete access to any nature preserve in the world. Antarctica, Pu Luong, the Galápagos, Ngorongoro—anywhere! And the awards you’re going to win! With these shots, you’re going to be the star of the annual international wildlife conservation gala tomorrow!”
“Whoa, Mom!” Harper says. “That’s amazing!”
A gala!
Marsh gasps, excited. She can’t wait to see herself there, shining bright as the guest of honor!
“Can we go?” her daughter begs.
“You must!” Victor agrees. “They’ll probably name a conservation grant after you. You’re going down in history.”
“We all are,” Marsh says.
“No, this victory is all yours,” he insists. “An accomplishment worthy of a deputy director of eco photography.”
Marsh blinks, shocked.
Is Victor hinting that he wants to promote her?
This is incredible! It has to be a step up the ladder from when she became a lawyer at his firm in the first half of the season. Now she’s not just a member of the team, but might be its second-in-command soon!
But what does that mean for Jo?
Before she can say more, Ren pulls her away with a wink. “Come on, there’s something I have to tell you.”
Harper waves them off, and Marsh lets him lead her to the periphery of the crowd. Dusk is falling, but even after sunset, there will still be plenty of light from the glow of ?r?faj?kull’s eruption, so the party shows no signs of letting up.
“So, while I was out at the cliffs, I found the perfect spot,” Ren says as soon as they stop.
“The perfect spot?” Marsh repeats. “The perfect spot for what?”
“For the ceremony!” Ren cries giddily.
What ceremony? she wonders—and then it hits her.
Ren means the wedding ceremony!
“It’s gorgeous,” he’s saying. “There’s a green mountainside covered in wildflowers, and a little waterfall, and cliffs in the background... it’s just perfect!”
JesterG: Wow! The show is really moving things along!
The comments seem as surprised as Marsh is.
YanYan242: I thought their wedding would be the finale!
She’d been expecting the same, Marsh has to admit. More time to build up the excitement, more time to set up the fairy-tale happily ever after. Isn’t that how most romance movies end, with the wedding?
“That’s—wow!” Marsh finally says to Ren, trying to smile. “It’s—I—that’s great, Ren.”
Ren is too full of adrenaline to notice. He’s talking a mile a minute, his hands waving, unable to contain himself. “You’re going to love it. I took a picture on my phone to show you. It’s only two hours from here. We could do it tomorrow, even!”
“Tomorrow?” Marsh repeats.
He sweeps her into another Hollywood-esque twirling hug.
“I just feel like, why are we waiting?” he says once he sets her down. “Why not tomorrow?”
“Well, because the conservation gala is tomorrow, where my best shots will be on display,” Marsh replies. “It’s back in Reykjavík.”
“The gala!” Ren smacks his forehead. “Of course. We have to be there to celebrate you.”
He looks down at his muddy boots and hiking pants and frowns.
“Think they’ll let me wear this?” he asks.
Marsh manages to laugh, instead of roll her eyes a bit.
Rugged Ren is handsome—but maybe this is a little too rugged.
“Yeah, I guess not.” He shrugs. “I can’t remember the last time I ironed a shirt. Good thing the wedding will be outdoors!”
Marsh gives him a kiss, and pats his chest. “Go get your phone, so I can see this special spot you found. I’ll be right back,” she says.
As Ren heads back to their tent, Marsh sneaks out of the celebration and weaves her way through the cluster of jeeps in the falling darkness.
Near the back, Talia is sitting in the open bay of a big van full of cameras and monitors, where she’s traded some autographs with an awestruck news crew from Akureyri for a small bottle of Icelandic aquavit. Somehow, her hair is still delicately curled despite her having been hiking for hours and then thrown around a jeep.
“What a day.” She smiles when she spots Marsh. “Can you believe it?”
“Not yet,” Marsh replies. She sits down on the bumper beside Talia and accepts a cup of the stiff liquor. “I’ve barely had a chance for everything to sink in yet, with the excitement of imminent volcanic obliteration and all.”
Talia laughs. “Honestly, and I don’t mean to brag, but I’m not sure how we’re going to top this episode. It was pretty spectacular.”
“Just call it the finale right here,” Marsh jokes, and they tap rims.
“Would you, though? If you could?” Talia asks her after they each take a tentative, burning sip.
Marsh’s eyes drift down to where she’s resting her cup on one thigh. Her engagement ring glints faintly on her finger in the distant glow of the eruption, the diamond turning a soft orange.
“It’s really a lovely ring,” Talia says.
“It is,” Marsh agrees.
“And I heard that Ren might also have found a special place just as lovely, for the ceremony,” she adds, her voice sparkling with excitement. “Your viewers are going to love seeing you in a gorgeous white dress!”
Marsh nods, but she doesn’t look at Talia. Her eyes linger on the ring, slightly out of focus, almost as if she’s looking through it.
Ren is a true romantic, in every sense of the word. Can she imagine Dylan ever being out at a physics conference and noticing something sweet for her? He was so focused on his work, too settled in his marriage with her, too comfortable and complacent and bored.
Well, probably there aren’t very many romantic things at a physics conference compared to the Icelandic countryside, she allows. Ren did have an advantage there. But as romantic as Ren is, sometimes it’s almost a little too much. Although, after decades of not enough, wouldn’t she rather have a little too much?
Talia looks concerned. “Are you not happy with this life?”
“Oh, I am,” Marsh says quickly, which pleases Talia. “It’s beyond anything I could have ever dreamed.”
“What?” Talia asks. “What are you thinking?”
Marsh holds up her hand, to indicate the ring. “Actually, I was thinking about Ren.”
Talia nods. “So devoted to you and Harper. And in this episode, I have to say, he’s quite the hunk. Very sexy.”
Marsh blushes slightly. “He is.” But her smile fades again. “But it just feels kind of rushed. Or maybe not quite right. I don’t know exactly.”
Talia cocks her head, looking a little alarmed.
Marsh shrugs helplessly. “Could we...” She hesitates. “Could we put the wedding off?”
Talia gasps.
“But, Marsh! I thought you were happy with Ren. And especially after that romantic midseason special, and the vacation in Tahiti... Plus, can you imagine the ratings boost we’d get, with you in all white?”
She fights to keep her voice light rather than shrill.
“You really want to scrap this path, too, and leave your Iceland life so early?”
“No!” Marsh cries. “It’s the complete opposite! I’m thrilled with this new path.”
Talia looks relieved, but still confused. “Then what is it?” she asks.
Marsh is suddenly shy. “This life is so great, there’s just so much more I want to do first. I want to get my photos developed, and see what I created today. I want to curate a gallery.”
She lowers her voice a little, embarrassed.
“I... I want to go to the gala.”
Talia takes a breath, and is careful to keep her face trained in a patient, benevolent expression. But Marsh can’t help but think that underneath the polished veneer, she looks almost a little... disappointed?
“I’m sorry,” Marsh says. “I just—”
“Don’t be sorry, Marsh!” Talia cuts her off. She’s smiling again, looking as diplomatic as ever once more. “Believe me, I know better than anyone how difficult this process is. I want you to finish this season with everything you ever wanted. I want you to be as happy as I am. For your life to be as perfect as I managed to make mine.”
She gives Marsh’s hand an affectionate squeeze.
“This season is about you, Marsh. What you want. Right?”
“Right,” Marsh agrees.
“Now. Let’s go to the gala, then!” Talia chirps. “It might not be a wedding dress, but I bet our viewers will still love you in a glamorous gown! And I can’t wait to see your beautiful photographs on display, either.”
A heavy thunk rattles the news van as she pulls out the Show Bible from one of the cargo trunks.
It’s positively gargantuan.
It looks more like a guest book for visitors to sign at an event than a reference text. There are thousands of pages—so many that Marsh isn’t sure how it’s even humanly possible for Talia to have read through them all, let alone written them, between each episode.
“I’ve been keeping track of all the good stuff, but is there anything else about this life you want to change before the next scene?”
Marsh hesitates.
“I mean, Ren is really exciting in this episode,” she finally says—and means it. She can still see the ropey lines of muscle rippling in his tanned forearms as he played with Súrkrás, or picked up his heavy hiking backpack. “But do I really want dirt and rocks all over the house all the time, or a guy who doesn’t own a pair of trousers that aren’t made of waterproof outdoor endurance material, for the rest of my life?”
Talia nods knowingly. “I think I see what you mean.”
“I just... maybe it would be nice if he were also a little more...”
“Sophisticated?”
Embarrassed, Marsh winces.
“I don’t mean he isn’t now!” Talia laughs. “But if the goal is your happiness, why not let the Bubble make a few tweaks to him?”
Marsh hesitates. She’s already gained so much, it feels selfish to ask for more.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Talia tells her. “And yes. You deserve it. That’s what this show is about!”
“I’m just worried that—”
“We’re not talking anything major, silly!” Talia laughs again. “Just a little softening around the edges. A few more showers, a few nicer shirts, maybe a job done indoors instead of hanging off the side of a mountain.”
Marsh finds herself nodding as she listens, unable to help it.
Ren is already so wonderful, a few touches like that would make him a literal dream come true. And maybe, if she’s really honest, even a bit of suave sprinkled on top. Maybe the smallest nudge like that would truly take him from amazing to perfect.
And Ren did tell her that she should have perfection, after all.
Talia grins. “I love this newfound determination, Marsh! Look at you blossoming.”
She pats the cover of the Show Bible.
“Let’s go see more of this fabulous new life of yours, shall we?”