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Stand still; stay silent
Gunnar pulled up Sigrun’s zipper, gave her sweater a tug to make it sit straight, and said, “Now, what’s the first rule?”
“If you come across a Beast, a Troll, or a Giant,” Sigrun recited, “do not run or call for help, but stand still and stay silent. It might go away.”
“What a good memory!” Gunnar smiled and tapped her on the nose. “Now go wait with your friends by the door. Remember, whoever is quietest gets to go outside first. And noisy children get eaten by trolls.”
Gunnar was the teacher, but he sure could be dumb sometimes. “Not going to get eaten by trolls,” Sigrun muttered. Of course she wasn’t. She was Sigrun Eide.
“Shh!” Sofie hissed.
“Anyway,” Sigrun went on, “it’s just the playground. It’s not outside.” Outside meant outside the walls. Everyone knew that.
“I see Mohammad is being quiet!” Gunnar sang out cheerfully. “And Tuva is being quiet!”
The two children whose names had been called ran out the door. Sigrun kicked the wall behind her. It sent a satisfying jolt up her leg, so she did it again, harder.
One by one, Gunnar called the names of the other children. Sigrun had to wait. And wait.
There was a ball on the floor by Sigrun’s foot. Through the door to the classroom, slightly open, she could just see the toy kitchen, piled high with toy crockery.
She kicked the ball. It rolled through the door. The kitchen shook and the crockery spilled out with a loud clatter, Gunnar gave a yelp and whirled around, and Sigrun made for the playground, as fast as her feet could fly.
Stick with your group
The snow crunched underfoot, sparkling in the sunlight, the first time Sigrun went outside--her and all the other ten-year-old immune children in Dalsnes. Hunters swept the area every summer, Sigrun’s dad explained to the group of shuffling, muttering, shivering kids, and any trolls or giants who’d wandered in since the last sweep would be sleeping in their nests now. There might be a few beasts around, but on a sunny day like this, they’d be staying out of sight. It was only going to be a short hike on well-established paths, but nevertheless, he emphasized, his voice echoing off the distant cliffs and sounding at once bigger and smaller than it did inside, once you were out of the safe areas there was no telling what might happen. Staying with the group and listening to instructions was vital.
Sigrun meant to. At first, anyway. It was awesome just to be outside--the wind felt sharper than it did inside, the sunlight brighter, and there was more space than she’d ever thought of there being in the whole world. Once, one of the hunters who was helping herd the group pointed out some marks in the snow that might have been the tracks of beasts. It was so cool.
By the time they broke for lunch, though, Sigrun was starting to get bored. Here they were outside, and they hadn’t gotten to do anything but shuffle slowly along a path. Some of the wimpier kids were starting to whine about how they were cold and tired and wanted to go home. Once she finished her bread and herring the only fun thing she could think of was starting a fight with Mohammad, and she could do that inside just as well.
Better, because inside there weren’t a whole lot of hunters and Sigrun’s dad hanging around to keep them out of trouble. She’d barely gotten a few good punches in, and her side was twinging with a particularly vicious elbow--she’d have to get him to show her that move, slowly, some other time--when they were separated and made to sit on opposite sides of the group with a hissed lecture about being quiet outside.
So Sigrun was quiet when she saw the tracks, just like the ones the hunter had pointed out earlier. Maybe it was a beast! Maybe they’d be attacked and Sigrun would get to see a real fight! She should probably warn one of the hunters, but first she wanted to make sure. She wasn’t going to wander off. Just a little. Not out of sight of everyone else, so it didn’t really count …
A hand caught her by the scruff of her cloak. Her dad’s voice said by her ear, “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Look!” Sigrun whispered back, pointing at the slope below, where three shaggy, horned forms were picking their way along the rock face. “Is it beasts?”
Her dad pressed close to her, peering over the ledge. “No. See their eyes?”
“They look weird.”
“But not sick. That’s how healthy goats’ eyes look. I’ll call Mathilde over and see if we can’t bag one or two.” He straightened up and ruffled Sigrun’s hair. “Good eye. If you can learn to be quiet and follow orders, I’d say you have the makings of a scout.”
Sigrun thought about if for a few seconds before she decided. Scouting was cool, after all. You got to be outside all the time. But-- “No,” she said. “I’m going to be a general.”
Her dad laughed. “And how do you figure that?”
“Then I won’t have to follow orders. Generals give them.”
Stay away from Old-World structures
Sigrun kicked the door. First it groaned, then it gave, and finally it splintered. She wriggled inside and breathed in deeply. Nothing but the smell of stale air and mold.
“This place is marked for cleansing on the maps,” said Dagny behind her. “I’m pretty sure we're not supposed to be here.”
“Right? That's what makes it so great.” Sigrun turned on her lantern and played it over the walls, which were lined with shelves that had mostly fallen in, or else held a weird collection of rusting metal and decaying plastic things. Had this been a kind of shop once? It was really big on the outside, there must be a bunch of other rooms beyond this one. “Nobody’s going to think to look for us here. We can do whatever we want.”
“Hmm.” Dagny feathered her gloved fingers through Sigrun’s hair, like she was going to tuck it behind her ear, then closed her fist suddenly. Sigrun yelped--it hurt like a son of a bitch. “Yeah,” Dagny went on, her breath hot against Sigrun’s ear, “good thinking. You’re so loud that if we did this on the inside half of Dalsnes would hear you.”
“Asshole.” Sigrun shoved Dagny, then kicked her legs out from under her so she fell on her back on the floor, raising seventy-odd years of dust. Before Dagny could retaliate, Sigrun followed her down, straddling her and claiming a bruising kiss.
They were both gasping when they broke apart. “Hey,” said Dagny, “you think they might have beds in this place? Let’s check it out.”
“As long as they’re empty,” said Sigrun. “I don’t know what sort of freaky stuff you’re into, but I like my beds without dead people in them.”
“You’re so gross.” Dagny nudged Sigrun with a knee. “C’mon.”
When they came into the next room, though, Sigrun forgot all about beds. She almost forgot to breathe. It wasn’t nearly as run-down as the outside room, and the shelves here held things like pots and bowls and flat metal sheets--but that wasn’t what had caught Sigrun’s attention. Along one wall was a glass display case, and in it, rows and rows of gleaming metal knives.
Sigrun was in love.
Petition the gods respectfully; even if you’re not a mage, they may help you
“Hey, Thor!” Sigrun shouted. At least she meant it for a shout. It came out hoarse. There was something wrong with her throat. But she was still breathing, so she wasn’t going to worry about it now.
Lightning flashed. Close on its heels, thunder rumbled. Damn close, and getting closer. Couldn’t see a thing for the lashing rain, but by this point both squads--hers and Dagny’s--had likely reached the camp, safe behind the palisades where they could look after their hurts and wait for the weather to clear.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you, goat-licker,” Sigrun said. “Devilish show-off. Oh, look at me, I can thunder the heavens! What’s the problem, all those pansies you got in Valhalla are too boring to fight so you got to come and get us, too?”
By her ear, Dagny moaned. Or was it a laugh? Hard to tell. She was a dragging weight on Sigrun’s left arm, stumbling through the mud, feet slipping on the rocks. Nothing wrong with Dagny’s feet. But she’d lost so much blood that if Sigrun didn’t get her to the medics soon it wouldn’t matter to her whether the troll chasing them caught up or not.
It was catching up, though. Couldn’t see a thing, couldn’t spare a second to look behind her even if she could. But she could hear its rattling breath above the rain and thunder, hear the slithering way it pulled itself along.
“Point is,” Sigrun went on, “I know thundering is kind of your thing, but if you could just let up for half a minute--maybe let a little bit of sunlight through these gods-damned clouds?--I’d be ever so eternally grateful.”
The next thunderclap rattled all of Sigrun’s bones, and she almost staggered under Dagny’s weight. The lightning struck at the same time, about a meter behind them, hitting the tallest thing around. The troll bellowed in pain and confusion, and one long, flailing limb swept towards Sigrun, who pivoted and swept it off in one fluid motion, only dropping Dagny a little.
As Sigrun hauled Dagny to her feet again and the troll writhed in shock, the clouds up ahead started to clear, and by the faint light Sigrun saw the camp’s palisade.
A few minutes later, with medics swarming around them both, Sigrun grinned and raised a fist to the sky. “Appreciate the help,” she said. “I’ll make sure to get you something nice soon as I can. Blood, right? You love that stuff.”
Don’t go looking for trouble
It was always exciting when Uncle Trond came back to Dalsnes. When Sigrun was little, it had been the treats from Iceland that she’d loved--exotic fruit, and once he’d brought enough chocolate for every kid in kindergarten to have a square. Later, she’d sat listening with rapt attention (and only a little fidgeting) when he’d told stories of exciting battles in strange, faraway places. A few years ago, he’d been the one to pin her new captain’s chain to her cloak, while her parents looked on proudly, his ferocious scowl daring her to mention the way his hands shook.
He’d retired a little while after that. But Sigrun figured that was just paperwork for the paper-pushers. Shaking hands or no shaking hands, you couldn’t keep Uncle Trond down. It’d be like trying to put a leash on a thundercloud. And sure enough soon the word came down that he was traveling again, to Sweden and Iceland and Denmark.
When he came back to Dalsnes, just when the fall boredom was starting to set in, it was all she could do not to bound up to him and ask, what did you bring me?
Instead, she sat as quietly as she could manage, trying to catch the conversation at the generals’ table. Nordic Council, he said, and official mission, and Silent World.
Dagny whispered something to Sigrun under her breath. Mohammad stole a couple of meatballs off Sigrun’s plate. She ignored both of them. Sure, Sigrun had gone poking around where she wasn’t officially supposed to poke before--who hadn’t? But this was different. This was further than anyone had ever been.
So when Sigrun’s dad said something about volunteers, and Mohammad started to say that actually, he would, Sigrun elbowed the lousy meatball-stealer in the face and stuck her hand high up in the air.
If someone in your group becomes infected, for the sake of the community and their own, give them a quick death
“The tests are conclusive. Tuuri is infected,” said Mikkel. “I've prepared a dose of barbiturates, and I’m ready to administer it on your orders.”
It wouldn’t be the first time Sigrun had given that damned order, and it wouldn’t be the last. Wouldn’t be the first medic who’d balked at following it, either. But the big guy didn’t strike her as the squeamish type. There was something else going on behind his mouthfuls of words and the way he was just looking at her, waiting. “But?” said Sigrun.
“However, we have found evidence of an alternative treatment--”
“No,” Sigrun snapped. “You’re not turning one of my warriors into a drooling lump. She’s been a brave little fuzz-head, she deserves to go on to Valhalla or wherever it is her people go.”
“I wasn’t about to suggest it. I was only going to observe that there were significant discrepancies between the vials we found in Kastellet and the documentation from the hospital in Odense. I suspect we have not uncovered the full story, and if I might have--if Tuuri and I might have a little time to pursue further inquiries. It will be at least a week, perhaps two, before she starts showing symptoms. In the meantime she poses no danger to herself or the rest of us, with the exception, of course, of our unfortunate stowaway. But a little sensible caution there should be enough to prevent any transmission.”
“Now that’s sure as Hel not protocol,” said Sigrun.
“I’m well aware.”
“Ask her. If she’s willing to take the risk--” Sigrun nodded once, decisively. “So am I. On my orders.”