Chapter Fifty-Two Amund
This isn’t over yet! Father had shouted after Nils and me.
Did he know about this too?
“We need to do another séance?” Edith asks, avoiding looking at Nils.
Irina nods grimly. “I think I mentioned it before, but the longer a spirit has been dead, the more difficult it is to contact them.” Irina looks around at each of us—me, Nils, Edith, Val, Tala, Isaac. “This is probably going to require all of us.”
My brother is still slumped against me. He can barely stand on his own two feet. “Nils is in no shape to use seier right now.”
He shakes his head. “I can do it.”
Edith flinches at the sound of his voice.
I can’t blame her. My brother abducted her, chained her up, and nearly killed her.
All because she rejected him, even though she refuses to be in a relationship with anyone.
Even me. And the reason she won’t let herself be in relationships—fearing that someone will hurt her, trapping her like her mother was trapped—ended up happening anyway.
I tighten my hold on my brother. “Are you sure?”
That isn’t the only thing I want to ask him. I want to look him in the eyes, to shake his shoulders, to demand how he could have done this. Killed innocent people and hurt others and terrorized Skallagrim and—
“I have to,” Nils says.
This is my brother. He’s done awful things. I know Nils, and that isn’t him. It was Trygve. Father. Egill’s pelt. Even if Edith can’t see that, I hope she’ll be able to understand why I have to. I can’t give up on him. Not again.
I grip his shoulder. “All right.”
“We still need another witch and hunter,” Irina says.
“A few days ago, Helga tasked me with finding a way to cleanse the school. My aunt came up with this idea, but nine people are required. One person for each of the nine realms. Three hunters, three berserkir, three witches. If we offer Egill our power, with his help, we should be able to return the spirits to their realm and close the door behind them.”
“Allow me to assist,” comes a familiar voice.
Helga. So I guess she spoke with Irina after all.
“We just need another hunter, then,” Irina says. “Ideally, one who is also a seer, so we could have three seers as well. Just to be safe.”
Nils and I exchange a look. “We know just the person.”
While everyone is preparing for the séance outside, I head back into the seer school, alone this time.
I walk through the halls, hearing echoes of the Tragedy as I go.
Frantic screams and snarls, bodies thumping to the ground, wet flesh being devoured.
I clench my hand into a fist at my side.
It only makes me more determined to put an end to this once and for all.
I find Father where we left him.
He’s dragging himself over the floor on his elbows, leaving behind a trail of blood.
Father looks up, groaning. “Amund, I knew you’d be back.”
“Not for you,” I say, standing over him. “For Skallagrim.”
When I left Father, I had no intention of returning.
Looking down at him like this, I finally see him for what he is. Father is the weak one. Not me. Not Nils. For the first time, I’m glad I’m nothing like him.
“We need your help to save Skallagrim,” I say, crouching down. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
“I knew the spirits hadn’t been expelled and the gate hadn’t been closed.” Father grits his teeth. “Let me guess. You’re going to perform a séance to ask Egill for help?”
My brow furrows. “How did you know?”
“He’s the only one who could end this,” Father says with a groan. “But to call upon a spirit that’s been dead for as long as he has, you’d need a lot more than three people. More like… nine.” He narrows his eyes. “I see. That’s why you’re here, I suppose. You need me to be the ninth, don’t you?”
I nod. “Irina said it will require three of each kind of seier practitioner. We need another hunter and a seer, both of which you are.”
“All the branches coming together?” Father shakes his head slowly. “I never thought it possible. Our divisions run too deep.”
“For you, maybe,” I tell him. “Not for everyone.”
Father gives a small, disbelieving laugh. “Very well, I’ll help you, then.”
He tries to rise but quickly collapses. His legs are too badly broken to even stand on.
“You can’t walk,” I point out. “I’m going to have to carry you.”
Now Father is the one who hesitates.
He grimaces. “Fine.”
As I pick him up in my arms, he grunts. I can only imagine how shameful this must feel for him, having to be carried by one of his sons. Father would never ask anyone for help no matter how badly he needed it. But asking for help doesn’t make you weak. Refusing to get the help you need does.
Father is heavy in my arms, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
He’s been a burden to me all my life.
Outside, a ring of candles is waiting for us. Edith, Val, Tala, Isaac, Irina, Helga, and Nils are seated in a broken circle. There’s room left for us between Helga and Edith. I set Father down beside Helga and take my place next to Edith, closing the circle.
“Now we need something of Egill’s,” Irina says.
Wincing, Nils removes what’s left of Egill’s shredded pelt and tosses it into the middle of the circle. “Here.”
“Take the hands of the people sitting beside you,” Irina says, taking Nils’s and Isaac’s hands.
Val grips Isaac’s other hand, but I don’t miss that she was already holding Tala’s hand. Edith has Tala’s other one. Nils takes Helga’s, while she reluctantly joins hands with Father, and so do I. Edith holds her hand out to me like an offering. Our eyes lock for a long moment.
I take her hand in mine.
Finally, we are united.
Irina glances over at my brother. “You should lead us, Nils,” she says reluctantly. “You’re way more powerful than I am.”
“Is everyone ready?” Nils asks, looking around.
One by one, everyone nods.
Nils begins to chant in Old Norse. “We call upon the grandson of Kveldulf, the son of Skalla-Grímr, the father of Torgerer, Bera, Boevarr, Gunnar, and Torsteinn. Egill Skallagrímsson, we call upon you!”
Wind blasts us, blowing back our hair, our clothes.
“Don’t let go!” Irina shouts over the howling gusts.
Dark clouds gather overhead as the air crackles.
Slowly, Egill rises from the tatters of his pelt, floating in the air before us. He hovers there, as fearsome to behold as his statue. His eyes are a blinding white, his face hardened and brutal. The sight of him strikes terror into me. This is our ancestor.
Skallagrim’s founder.
Skald. Seer. Berserkr.
Nils continues in Old Norse, having to shout over the whipping wind. “O Mighty Egill, the nine of us offer our seier up to you and ask you to return all the spirits to their realm once more. We beseech you, as your final act, mend this rift between our realms.”
Egill throws his arms out, and lightning spreads throughout the sky.
A great gust of wind slams into us.
Our uncle’s spirit rises out of Nils, suspended in the air. Nils draws in a deep, unsteady breath. Across from him, another spirit emerges from Tala, then Isaac, leaving both of them gasping. A sense of awe and dread fills me. It’s working.
All throughout Skallagrim, more spirits start to rise.
Egill chants, ancient words pouring from his lips like lava.
The spirits soar through the air like shooting stars. In streaks of bright light, they’re sucked back inside the seer school, returning to the site of the Tragedy—and their own realm. A burst of blinding light sears my eyes.
I can’t see, but I can hear as the seer school starts to crumble. Chunks break off the building, crashing down to the ground, the impact jolting us. Edith grips my hand more tightly. A cloud of debris hits us. Rocks pelt my skin as gritty rubble forces me to squeeze my eyes shut.
The school collapses, reverberating through me.
It sounds like an explosion has gone off.
Still, I hold on to Edith and Father.
The earth underneath us shakes violently.
And then… quiet.
When I open my eyes, Egill is gone. The seer school is nothing but a heap of rubble. Edith releases the breath she was holding. I give her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.
“We did it,” Nils says, his voice hoarse. “The spirit realm is sealed.”
This time, it’s really over.
At long last.
A somber mood has settled over Skallagrim.
Two days later, the blood has been scrubbed away, and those who died at the dance are now arranged on pyres to send them off into the afterlife.
Dorian is among them, along with other hunters I didn’t know were killed at the dance.
Idris’s body is also there, preserved by magic.
Six dead in total.
All because of my brother. I’m still struggling with that fact.
Not only did Nils kill Emilía and Idris, but he caused these deaths too.
After the séance, Nils turned himself in to Helga.
I stood by his side as he did. He’s being kept in the old berserkir prison until he can go before Skallagrim’s board and they decide what to do with him.
Though Nils isn’t with us, I stand beside Mother and Helga. When I told Mother I wanted to live with her again, she welcomed me back with open arms. So did Aunt Helga, to my surprise. Turns out family isn’t as easily broken as I once feared.
As I look over the gathered crowd, I spot Father standing by himself.
My heart lurches. He is the man who shaped me. Good and bad. I think of all the time we spent together over the years, hunting and patrolling and eating. I will never hear his booming laugh again. Never hear him say, Good job, son. I swallow past the painful lump in my throat, overcome by emotion.
For so long, I wanted to be like Father.
Now that I see who he really is, I’m glad I’m not.
If Nils is to blame, so is he. He should have been a better father to Nils.
He never should have told him things like Why can’t you be more like your brother?
and I wish you were never born. If he had only loved Nils instead of hurting him, maybe things would have turned out differently.
Maybe I wouldn’t be standing here among the dead.
Maybe something that started within our family wouldn’t have ended with another tragedy.
And Trygve is to blame as well. Rather than helping Nils, he manipulated him.
Used him for his own purposes. I hope that the Skallagrim board will be able to see that.
Even if Nils is never truly free again, I want him to have a chance to live without our father’s shadow looming over him. A chance to change, to become better.
My vision blurs with tears.
Mother takes my hand. Squeezes it. “I’m proud of you, Amund.”
We exchange a long look.
Maeve clears her throat, standing before the crowd.
“We are gathered here today to say goodbye,” she calls out.
“To our friends, our families, and our loved ones.” Her voice breaks as her gaze lands on Idris, but she makes herself continue, “To everyone who lost their lives in the tragic events that unfolded thirty years ago and this weekend’s Unity Dance.
What was supposed to be a joyous celebration resulted in a tragic loss of life.
“Even one life lost is too many,” Maeve says, the words thick.
“I want to take a moment to honor those we’ve lost. First and foremost, our students Emilía Jónsdóttir, Dorian Kritikos, Michael Lindberg, and Sophia Edwards, as well as esteemed alumnus Henrik Müller.
Last but certainly not least, our beloved faculty, Idris Cadwalader and Ari Magnússon. ”
Torches are handed out and lowered to the pyres.
Smoke rises, thick and dark.
The dead are devoured by flames.
“Many more lives could have been lost,” Maeve continues, “but thankfully this time, we averted a larger massacre because we all came together. I know my husband would be proud of every one of you. Idris dedicated the latter half of his life toward bringing us together, despite our differences. As your new headmistress, it’s my hope that we can move forward from this, united. ”
As long as I can remember, Helga has been our headmistress.
In order to keep Skallagrim from closing permanently, she stepped down from her position.
Rather than turning the school over to another of Egill’s descendants, the board chose to do something different this time.
They chose Maeve to usher us into a new era.
I tear my gaze away from our new headmistress, looking over everyone who survived. Between billowing plumes of smoke, Edith stands with Bea and her foster parents. Her eyes are red, but she holds her chin high.
“Why don’t you go get your girl already?” Val asks, joining me.
I haven’t spoken to Edith since Saturday. After everything that happened, everything that Nils did, I don’t know how I can possibly face her. I settle on: “She’s not my girl. And I doubt she wants to see me.”
Val rolls her eyes. “Oh, please. She’s totally into you.”
“Since when do you support us being together?” I ask slowly.
“I don’t know, Edith isn’t so bad. We might have… bonded a little bit.” Val grins. “Don’t worry, I’ll still hunt her down if she ever hurts you.”
A small laugh escapes me. I can’t help it.
I shake my head. “Even so, after everything that happened…”
Val shrugs. “You’ll never know if you don’t ask.”
Great. Now she’s using my own words against me.
“Maybe you should be telling Tala how you feel,” I say, deflecting.
“Who says I haven’t?” Val asks before sauntering off to join the hunters.
I’m left alone with my thoughts. I look at Edith and the berserkir, Val and the hunters, Irina and the witches. Hopefully this will bring us together rather than drive us apart.
Skallagrim has seen enough tragedy.
We don’t need any more of it.