4. Asleep

Greg slammed the door. David shrunk when Greg turned the fiery gaze in his direction. Its heat was as tangible as a bonfire, so strong that David stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling like a child in the corner.

"You turned my grandmother's kitchen into a crime scene!" Greg said.

"I know what it looked like, but it wasn't like that," David said, his voice uneven with wobbly pitches.

"Then what's it like, David?" Greg crossed his arms and flexed his jaw as it bit down in anger.

"It was late, and I was drunk – and maybe I'm even a little home sick," David said. "But you've got to admit, the evidence is pretty clear –"

"Your 'evidence' is wrong," Greg said. "What does the Kastle-Meyer test detect?"

"Blood," David said smugly.

"And traces of potatoes, like the kind that would come up if someone had thrown a glass of vodka against the wall," Greg said.

David fish-mouthed a silent reply, because he had none. He glanced at the half-empty bottle of vodka on the bedside table. Just below the Vikingfjord brand name read a simple line that he'd overlooked: distilled from potatoes. He looked up at Greg and put on his most convincing I'm sorry and I promise to make this up to you grin.

"Greg," he began, but Greg threw his hands up and opened the door. "Where are you going?"

"I need some space right now," Greg said over his shoulder. David followed him out into the hallway and down the stairs, right out the front door.

"Greg, we can talk about this!"

But his words had been swept up in the breeze and Greg didn't look back.

David shook his hands through his hair with a growl and closed the front door behind him as he made his way to the kitchen. He looked at the bright pink blotches on the wall, where a glass could have been shattered – it did match the pattern, after all. And the spots where it could have run down the wall, and could have dripped off of the edge of the counter and onto the floor…

"Ah, hell," David said. He sat down at the table and put his head in his hands. He'd screwed up – royally so. All Greg wanted was a carefree getaway to be with his family and mourn in peace, and David had already accused his grandmother of murder two days into their stay. He let his head drop and bang onto the hard oak table and grunted. "Oww…"

He jumped at the sound of a cabinet door snapping shut. He lifted his groggy hung-over head and turned in his chair to the source of the noise. Nana Olaf had pulled a skillet out of a cabinet and was already grabbing eggs from her ice box.

"You're so squirrelly – always jumping," she said as she lit the pilot on the stove.

"Mrs. Olaf, I just want to reiterate just how sorry I am," he said. "But you did say that you found your husband dead in the kitchen–"

"Which I told you after you had already accused me of killing my husband," she said. David bit his tongue and took a deep breath.

"I just got carried away last night, that's all," he said. "If you'd like I can pay to replace your… lovely yellow wallpaper." He nearly vomited just by thinking of calling that ugly canary yellow anything remotely close to the word lovely. And his sour stomach wasn't helping as he glanced over what was left.

"Don't bother," said Nana Olaf. "I hated that wallpaper. After Papa died, Svana put it up to cheer me up. She's been trying relentlessly to keep me busy and keep my mind off of the facts, but the facts are that my Papa is dead and this house is now empty."

"I'm really sorry – about your husband's death, I mean. I didn't really have a chance to tell you until now," David said. Nana Olaf scraped the scrambled eggs out of the skillet and onto a plate. She sat the plate in front of David and then went back to the stove. "Thank you."

He was surprised. She was being a bit more hospitable than he'd expected her to be.

"Greg never mentioned that you speak English – rather well, too," David said as she handed him a fork. "Does he know?"

"I lived in America at a time, too, you know. Gregory was young when we left him, though. He may not remember whether or not I spoke English," she said. For a while, the only other sounds were the wind blowing against the house, the sweep of downy breeze and snow, the eggs frying in the skillet and of David's fork clanking against the plate.

"Svana tells me that Gregory wouldn't have come if you decided not to," Nana Olaf said. David looked up at her and stopped mid chew. Greg never told him that. He had assumed that he was coming to his grandfather's funeral whether David had come with him or not. "I just wanted to thank you for bringing him home to me."

She sat across from him at the table, sweeping her long straight white-blonde hair over her shoulder. Well, as long as she wasn't giving him that perpetual death-glare he could live with a cold shoulder.

"Mrs. Olaf, do you mind if I ask you why you had such a negative opinion of me when we first met?" David asked cautiously, glancing up from his plate in quick glances to gauge her reaction to the question. "Svana mentioned you saying something about me stealing his light."

Nana Olaf sat her fork down and finally looked up at David.

"There are some things that you can't understand," she said.

"You mean things like painting some witchy skeleton on your face and wandering around in the middle of the night with weird bird-demon people?" David asked. "I saw Jolfund last night wearing that costume. So tell me what it is. Some kinky sex thing? Hey, if that's what it takes to get you off you can tell me, I have a pretty open mind."

"You spit in the face of sacred sights for someone so sanctimonious," she said. She narrowed her eyes into slits and snarled her upper lip. "I knew you once I saw you. I can see you for what you are."

"What, am I a demon, too?" David asked with an arrogant snigger.

"No, you're just pathetic," she said. "You are a weak, sad little man. Your fear of judgment and opinion keeps you weighed down by a dark cloud that rests on your shoulders. It's been there a long time. And if Greg waits around for you to finally give him the honesty he needs and deserves that shadow will weigh him down as well until it smothers him. And then all of the good he has to give to those who deserve it will be trapped in your shadow for the rest of his life."

"Well don't hold back, Mrs. Olaf – tell me what you really think of me," David said sarcastically.

"I have nothing else to say," she said.

David pushed his plate away and rose from the table.

"Thank you for breakfast," he said. He walked out of the kitchen cursing the bitter old hag under his breath. He walked upstairs and closed the door behind him curling back up under the covers and berating the entire country of Norway for being so damned cold. He watched white flurry flakes fall against the darkened velvet sky and hit the window, sticking like little white fuzzy spiders.

He missed Greg. He felt completely guilty for upsetting him like he had, but more than that he was worried about him. He left without a jacket, and it was already freezing outside. David knew exactly how quickly hypothermia set in and its following stages. Add snow to that and it was a disastrous formula.

A light knock on the door woke David out of his nap. He hadn't even realized that he'd dozed off, he couldn't remember exactly when it'd happened. The sky was lighter, glowing soft green and pale yellow just over the treetops.

"Yeah," David said as he sat up and stretched, which quickly turned into a shiver. "Come on."

The door opened. He had been hoping to see Greg, but knew that he wouldn't knock so didn't keep his hopes up. When he saw Svana, he smiled halfheartedly and stood up to greet her.

"I was heading into Vågsøy and thought that you might like to come with me, in case you needed supplies and such," she said.

"Thanks, I'd like that," David said.

"I'll meet you downstairs. Say, fifteen minutes?"

"Make it five," David said. He couldn't get out of this house fast enough. He walked into the bathroom, flossed and brushed as quickly as he could, and then ran back into the room to change. Svana had already been standing by the door when David descended.

"Nana told me about your fight with Greg," she said.

"Yeah, it was my fault," David said. He blushed a bit as he recalled his antics.

"She told me that, too," she said. He sent a few more curses Nana Olaf's way in the back of his mind and followed Svana out the front door.

The country drive wasn't as relaxing to David as it might have been to other tourists who wanted to get away from the city. David happened to like the busy city. All he saw as Svana drove through the countryside was the tundra of snow, firs, and cows. Boredom and conformity incarnate as they passed farmers and roadside workers. But Vågsøy wasn't so barren.

The bustling port town was right on the coast. David glanced over the splendor of the water crashing upon the rock and stone, and the many houses and businesses running up the hills. The town had four lighthouses; David hadn't even heard of any place having more than one. The main street was line with all kinds of places – including bakeries for David to put his studying to good use. Despite finally getting to see something worth making the trip, David still felt miserable.

When Svana looked over, she saw him sulking with his head against the window.

"Is something wrong?" She asked.

"I was hoping to check out the town and explore, have a good time and all," he said.

"So what's the problem?"

"I was hoping that Greg would be here to enjoy it with me," he said. Her pouty pink lips fell into a frown, matching his thin miserable lips.

"We don't have to stay if you don't want to," she said.

David rode around with Svana as she ran her errands. She would ask if he wanted to go somewhere – to check out a landmark, or a museum, or a market place – but he said no to everything she threw his way. He insisted that he would be fine if they just stopped at a mini market just so he could pick up some toiletries. The whole fight with Greg just wouldn't stop haunting him no matter what he did or where they went.

Svana parked on the curb just outside of a fish market.

"I'll be right back," she said. She looked him over again and meshed her lips together with worry. "Are you sure that you're all right?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.

"Listen David, I like you. I wasn't sure what to expect when I first met you, but I can see what Greg sees in you. You're a good man, and I'd like to call you a good friend some day," she said. "And I hope that you can call me the same. So if there's anything that I can do to let this mood pass over you then it's all right to tell me."

She unbuckled her seatbelt and left him in the car alone.

He figured he'd apologize for bringing down her mood on her trip into town when she got back. She didn't deserve to feel as miserable as he did, not after she'd been so nice to him since he'd arrived. He noticed a gift shop next to the fish market and figured it wouldn't hurt to go and take a look around at least one store to make Svana feel a little less worried. He'll smile and say 'yeah, it was great – really cheered me up!' And voila; she'll feel accomplished.

He stepped into the shop and the bell above the door tolled, ringing his arrival for all of the other customers to hear. He walked around, looking at all of the rocks and stones and homemade shell jewelry displayed on glass shelves, wondering what souvenir said 'I'm sorry for being an ass'.

And just like that, David locked eyes on a miniature figurine, only six inches tall. Carved of wood and face painted with black and maroon lines. Its head was long and birdlike its face frames by a thick mane of white feathers. It reminded David of the little Native American carvings he'd seen in stores as a child. But this one was a different story because he'd seen the real thing.

He walked up to the counter where it sat beside the register like destiny had placed it there just for him.

"At föll eders øie, venn?" Asked the store clerk as the older blond man walked up to the register.

"I'm sorry, I don't…"

"Ah, English man," he said.

"American, actually," David said.

"Welcome to Vågsøy!" The older man laughed. "So, you like?"

"Er – yes, you have a very nice town," David said.

"Good! Good!" He chuckled again and patted David's shoulder over the counter, much to his dismay.

"I'm glad that you can speak English because I wanted to ask you a question about this figurine," David said. He held up the mini bird-man the clerk took it, turning it around in his fingers a couple of times. "I was wondering what this is, exactly."

"Vaktmann," said the clerk.

"I'm sorry?"

"How you say… Guard. Guard Man," he said, struggling for the right word.

"Guardian?" David suggested, and the man's face lit up like Christmas.

"Ha! Yes, Guardian!" He said with a deep laugh. "Vaktmann. He is guardian."

"A guardian of what?" David asked.

"Spákona," said the clerk.

"Oh – I know that word, it's, er – Seer, I think," David said. "So these Vaktmann are protectors of Spákona. What do they protect her from?"

"Evil," said the clerk.

"You want?"

David shrugged. Why not? Couldn't hurt, and it'd led him to the information he'd been looking for. Those two people we'd seen with Greg's grandmother – Svana's father Jolfund and the yet-to-be-named second – were there to protect her. They believed that evil was after her, so maybe it wasn't such a bad thing for them to be near her. As long as they were watching out for a widow, there couldn't be any harm in that. Still, what worried David was the question that if it wasn't Nana Olaf who'd killed Papa Olaf, and those other two wannabe watchers were only there to protect, then who did kill Papa Olaf?

Svana took David to lunch, and after his little visit to the souvenir store his mood did improve quite a bit. Maybe the figure wrapped up in the plastic bag in his coat pocket was also a good luck charm?

After spending four hours away from the farm, David was ready to see Greg and grovel for forgiveness. In fact, he was actually happy to see the farm when it came into view beyond the trees that surrounded its fields. David got out of the car and the house door swung open. Out ran Nana Olaf, hysterical. She ran to Svana, crying and shouting in Norwegian. Svana tried to calm her down. Jolfund stepped out of the house, long hair flowing freely and casting most of his face in shadow. Next to him was a younger man, thin and shorter than the other.

"What's going on?" David asked. Unfortunately the only two people who spoke English were so wrapped up in their conversation that his question had gone overlooked. He turned to Jolfund and the young man. David's eyes fell to their hands and noticed the hunting rifles in their hands.

"Svana, what the hell is going on here?" David asked.

"Someone has been in the house," Svana said.

"What do you mean someone's been in the house? Where's Greg?"

"Greg hasn't been back since he left. Nana's worried that something may have happened to him," she said.

"I know something has happened to him!" She said. She looked David in his eyes and roughly tapped her chest. "I can feel it!"

"Okay, well let's put the guns away and form a search party," David said, glancing at Jolfund and the other hunter. "The last thing we need right now is to find Greg and let a bullet accidentally go off."

Svana wrapped her arm around Nana Olaf's shoulders and gripped David's shoulder. "Come with me," she said.

He followed them up the porch steps and into the house. Svana walked Nana Olaf into the living room and sat her in her chair beside the fireplace, and then nodded her head for David to follow. She led him up the stairs and into the first door on the right, into Papa and Nana Olaf's room.

The smell was familiar; metallic and putrid. There was a bundle on the bed, twigs wrapped in linen straps and tied off. Svana walked into the bathroom across the hall and returned with a pair of scissors, snipping away at the linen pieces until she could open the bundle.

"What is that?" David asked as she pulled branch and bracken off of whatever had been left on the bed.

An ashy grey bird with crumbled wings lay inside the bundle. Its neck was bent in the middle in a sharp L, broken. Most likely the cause of death.

"It's a swan," Svana said.

"I thought Swans were white and… beautiful?" This one was disproportionate. It looked like, well, an ugly duck – just like the kid's story. He'd never really put much thought into whether that story was based in fact.

"It's a juvenile swan, still young, not yet flying among its elders," she said. "Now it never will."

"So… you think that this was some kind of threat by whoever placed it here? Like a good ol' fish wrapped in newspaper?" He asked.

"Yes, but not to Nana Olaf," she said.

"It was placed in her bed, why wouldn't it be a threat to her?" He asked.

"Because a fully grown white Swan would have been a symbolic representation of the leader of this community," she said. "But a young juvenile, this is obviously a threat to the life of her progeny."

"Your grandmother has a progeny? So, like, a Seer in training?"

"No, but she does have a young fledgling," she said. "This is a threat on Greg's life, David. Someone wanted her to know that her only descendant with her gifts is in their sights."

David heard Greg's name, and that was enough to send him down the stairs and out the door to join the hunters waiting outside. Papa Olaf's death, Greg's visit, it was all part of some plan – a power play. It appeared that Svana and Nana Olaf hadn't told David how much sway the grandmother played in the community. And someone wanted to remove her from that position. So they killed her husband and used his death to lure her young progeny – the only one left who could possibly take her place after she died – to kill him, to take him away from her.

To take him away from David.

Svana came out of the house after David.

"Don't go out into the woods – you don't know the area," she said.

"I'm not waiting here for you all to come back and tell me that you can't find him," David said. "Give me a gun – I want a gun."

"You don't need a gun, David," she said.

"Someone threatened Greg's life. If he's out there alone, he's at risk. I need a gun," he said.

"You need to calm down and keep a clear head," she said. She grabbed his shoulders and forced him to face her. "Greg is depending on you. If you don't keep a clear head then you may not find him – and if you do find him, you may not be able to protect him. You might be the one to hurt him. I think it would be best if you just stayed here."

"I would never hurt Greg," David said. "I want to help you look for him."

"Still, if you just waited here with Nana –"

"Svana," said the younger hunter. "La den mann komme."

Svana bit her lip and lowered her gaze. Jolfund reached for something in his belt and handed it to David. David took the shiny object, with a dark grip and a wide barrel. It was a flare gun. Jurke handed him a small mag-light, and David nodded his thanks.

"Just follow the road and don't stray too far," Svana said. "If you're leaving then I'll stay here with Nana."

"Thanks," David said, looking at each of their faces.

"If you find my cousin then fire the flare – my brother, Jurke, he will find you," she said. David glanced Jurke over – he'd been briefly mentioned before, by Sarah. She didn't seem to like what the guy did to deer. "Please, bring my cousin home."

"I will," he said. She patted his face and left the three men, tracing her steps in the thickening snow back up to the farmhouse.

Jolfund gripped David's shoulder and tilted his head toward the road, the tunnel under the cover of trees. They set out, snow and pine needles crunching under their steps. Jolfund and Jurke kept their rifled ready, raising it here and there whenever they would see a dark shadow. David saw a few bucks and doe scatter away through the trees as they walked in the darkness.

David spotted something that the other two hunters hadn't seemed to notice in the snow – shoe prints.

"I have something here," he said. He pointed his flashlight down at the print. Jurke pointed off into the trees, and said something to Jolfund. Jurke set off after the trail, and Jolfund was right behind him. But when David tried to follow pursuit, Jolfund turned and placed a hand against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

"All right, fine, I'll just stay here, clueless," David said dryly.

The move hadn't been aggressive or even harsh, and David understood that he was just keeping his safety in mind, but he didn't like being left out. Once Jolfund and Jurke were gone, he also didn't like being left alone on the side of a lonely road in the woods in a foreign country in the dark. Every time a noise would resound in the trees – a flitter of wings, or a rustle of branches – he would flash the light in the direction, but find nothing. The one time that he'd flashed his light across the road, where had been no sound at all, he saw a face.

Not a face, but a warped beak encircled by a halo of large, brown feathers and white eyes with large black, soulless dots at their center. Vaktmann. It stood in the shadows, just out of the full reach of his flash light. David crossed the road and gripped the flare gun in his fist, just in case these guardians weren't as pure as the clerk believed them to be. After all, they were Nana Olaf's guardians, but David was still fair game, and so was Greg. He slipped and fell right on his ass, dropping the flashlight. He quickly scrambled up to his knees and grabbed the flashlight, pointing through the trees toward the figure. Gone. He'd expected it to be.

He pushed himself onto his feet and wiped the wet snow off of his legs, and carefully treaded to the spot where they'd been standing, searching for foot prints to lead him to wherever they'd run off to.

"Oh, God," David said as fear rose from within.

What he found was blood. Lots of it. A few feet from where the person wearing the Vaktmann costume had been standing was a large, iron animal trap. It had already been sprung, and its teeth had sunk into something. The scene had remained untouched and uncovered by most of the snow due to the boughs above providing shelter. This provided a breadcrumb trail of blood and uneven footsteps.

Someone had been maimed and limped away from this. It could have been Greg. David had researched the area enough to know that there were wolves in this region of Norway. If Greg had been injured, bleeding alone in the woods… and a wild pack happened upon him in his lost and confused struggle…

David didn't want to think about it. He hurried along the trail, only finding small droplets here and there. That meant that most of the blood had been shed when he'd struggled out of the trap, but the bleeding wasn't much on its own. His feet slid a few times, but never enough for him to lose total balance.

Then he saw him. A shoulder sitting against the trunk of a tree, only half visible.

"Greg?" David called out. The body didn't move. He ran to the tree as quickly as he could and rounded the trunk, flashing the light down.

Greg. He wasn't moving. David fell to his knees and immediately gripped his face; his lips and ears had a faint blue tint. His face was pale, meaning that the surface blood vessels contracted as the body focused its remaining resources on keeping the vital organs warm. Greg was in a mild state of hypothermia. But alive. David checked his pulse to make sure that his heart was still strong.

Finally, Greg opened his eyes.

"David?"

"I'm here," he said. Greg smiled and went to move, but gritted his teeth and whimpered once he'd moved his right leg. David looked down and shed light over the wound.

"Don't move," David said.

"You came for me," Greg said. He smiled dopily, which David assumed was an effect of the hypothermia slowing down his blood flow and his brain inducing endorphins to keep panic at a minimum. Basically Greg was drunk on as much calm happiness as his body could supply to provide him with an easy death.

"Of course I did," he said. He took his overcoat off of his shoulders and draped it over Greg's body, rubbing his cheeks to get some blood flow back into his face. "Of course I did, of course."

Greg smiled again, probably not even aware that this was really happening. To him this was probably just another of the many dreams he'd probably had since falling asleep in the snow.

"I need you to focus," David said. "Tell me the last thing you remember."

He took the flare gun in both hands and pointed it up to the black sky, pulling the trigger and bracing himself against the shot. The sound was a muffled pop, not even a loud snap, followed by a long, fading hiss as it rose up above the trees like a bright red star in the night. David looked down at Greg, whose eyes had been looking up and following the flare with a serene calmness in his eyes. Then his lids began to fall again, as his eyes lost focus.

"No, no – Greg, don't go back to sleep," David said. He knelt beside him and placed a hand in the middle of his back. "I want you to try and move your body away from the tree."

Greg didn't seem to hear him, and David groaned. He stepped awkwardly over his body and placed a foot on either side, squatting and slipping his arms under Greg's. He struggled as he wiggled and moved Greg forward enough to fit himself between the tree and Greg. He sat down and pulled Greg's body against his own, recovering them with the coat. He had to warm Greg up, and the only source he had was his own. His arms wrapped firmly around Greg's torso, and Greg's slack body fell limply against David's.

His skin was freezing to the touch. David couldn't keep the fear roiling beneath his skin, through his veins to the core of his heart, from making him tremble.

"Greg, baby, you need to stay awake," David said. "Tell me about how you got here."

"I'm an idiot," Greg said.

David sighed with relief and laughed a bit, just happy to know that he was still with him. "That's not telling me how you got here."

"Yes it is," Greg said. "I went off on you, then I walked out here alone. I don't know this place, I didn't know where I was going. I couldn't even find my way back to the road."

"Actually we're not that far from it," David said.

"That doesn't make me feel any better," Greg said. David chuckled and sniffled, trying to keep his emotions from turning into tears. The last thing he needed was for them to freeze to his face.

"Keep talking to me, Greg," David said. "Tell me, uh – tell me about the funeral and the after party. I bet you showed these Scandinavians a thing or two about drinking contests, eh?"

Greg's body rocked as he laughed. David rubbed his chest and stomach with his hands to warm him up faster as Greg shivered against him.

"They drank me under the table in ten minutes flat," Greg said. "I wished that you were with me at the burial. I kept thinking about how Nana treated you, and I just couldn't believe it. I kept blaming myself for putting you in that position. David, I'm so sorry."

Where the hell were Jolfund and Jurke? He shot the flare minutes ago – they weren't that far. David hoped that they'd figured out the rough area before the flare burned out because they only gave him one.

"You're worried," Greg said quietly. "I can feel it in your body."

"Of course I'm fucking worried," David growled. "If I can't keep you warm enough you can die."

"You care so much about me," Greg said. "You always do. You're always looking after me and taking care of me. And I just keep screwing things up by pushing you into directions you don't want to go."

"No you don't, Greg, you've never screwed anything up. You've only ever made everything better. Before you I didn't have a life outside of my lab coat. I was a coward – I'm still a coward. I wasn't living, I was just alive. The first time you kissed me, it was like you brought life into me. You brought light where there hadn't been anything in years. I love you, Greg. I love you so much that I came to Norway because you asked me to. I love you so much that if you die all that is life to me dies with you."

"You've never told me that you loved me before," Greg said. "Why didn't you ever say anything before?"

"I try to show you with actions," David said. "I'm not really big on expressing my emotions with words."

"Sounds like the David I know," Greg laughed. David fought through the knots straining his throat. He held Greg tightly, leaning his face against his. His eyes welled up with tears, he couldn't help it.

"Greg, if you just try and make it through this with me I'll do whatever you want me to do. I'll buy a house with you, I'll tell everyone at work – whatever will make you happy. Just fight with me," David said.

Greg didn't answer. David turned Greg's face toward him. He was asleep.

"Greg," David said. But Greg wouldn't wake up.

He couldn't wait for Jolfund and Jurke, he had to get Greg back to the house now, as fast as he could. He hoisted Greg up with him – much heavier than he'd been expecting, but dead weight was always the worst way to carry a person on one's own. He used the tree to help prop Greg up enough to changed positions and let him relax onto David's back. He grabbed Greg's arms as they slung over his shoulders, and tried to keep the weight of them both from slipping on any slick patches of snow.

David took step by step against the cold wind with the weight of Greg's life on his shoulders. If Greg died here he would never forgive himself. It was his fault that Greg had stormed off on his own in the first place. He should have run after him, not napping and going off on drives.

David fell to his knees to catch his breath. Almost to the road, he reminded himself.

He heard something. The only sound at the moment was the soft hollow moan of the wind blowing past his ears. At first he was hopeful that perhaps the men had found them at last, and almost called out to them. But the growl shut his mouth before he could utter a sound; a hard, rumbling bark. It sounded like a dog, but David kept seeing wolves in his head. His nerves were completely on the edge of fire now.

Out of the darkness came two large, round amber eyes. Beneath them was a maw of bared fangs.