“It’s true,” Kara said without rancour.
I looked up at Snorri, not sure whether to say it or not. “If you want death’s door badly enough, then in this place you’ll find it.” I shook my head. “Don’t look for it, Snorri. But if you do, and you find it, I will open it for you.” And then madness took my tongue, “And go with you.” I think it’s a disease. Being treated like a brave and honourable man becomes an addiction. Like the poppy, you want more of it, and more. I’d eaten up the cheers offered for the hero of the Aral Pass, but to be treated as an equal by the Norseman made those cheers dim, those thrown petals pale. There’s a sense of family in that warriors’ grip. A sense of belonging. I understood now how Tuttugu, soft as he was, got drawn along with the rest of them. And God damn it, it had got to me too.
“Come with me, brother!” Snorri started to stride down the hall like a man with purpose. “We’ll open death’s door and carry Hell to them. The sagas will tell of it. The dead rose up against the living and two men chased them back across the river of swords. Beside our legend Beowulf’s saga will be a tale for children!”
I followed, keeping a brisk pace so the uncertainty nipping at my heels couldn’t catch me. Kara and Hennan hurried along behind. My sister waited beyond the door, unborn, altered, hungry for my death. But Snorri had released his own child from that fate . . . surely a Kendeth could do the same? My head swam with visions of the parades they would hold for me in Vermillion on my return, the honours Grandmother would heap upon me. Jalan—conqueror of death!
? ? ?
It didn’t take long for the foolishness to start to fade. I just had to remember the Black Fort to realize how little appetite I really had for this nonsense. For the longest time I hoped my over-enthusiastic boasts wouldn’t be put to the test, that Snorri’s search would be fruitless, but in time he stopped, one hand set against a pillar that to my eyes looked exactly the same as every other.
“This one.”
“You’re sure?” I peered into the depths of it, trying to see something amid the pale fault lines stacked one on another, reducing its clarity to a misty core.
“I’m sure. I’ve stood a moment from death so many times. I know the feel of its threshold.”
“Don’t do it.” Kara pressed between us. “I beg you.” She looked up at Snorri, craning her neck. “The unborn could be waiting for you on the other side. Would you really unleash such things into the world? You’ve no weapons to stop them save steel. And once they hold it open . . . how long before the Dead King comes?” She turned to me. “And you, Jal. You heard what Kelem said. Your sister will hunt you down and eat your heart. Go through that door and how long do you think it will take her to find you?”
Snorri set both hands to the crystal. “I can feel it.”
“They’ll be waiting for you!” Kara grabbed his arm, as if she could hold him back.
Snorri shook his head. “If we were in the deadlands and I asked you where the door to life lay . . . what would you say?”
“I—” She pursed her lips, seeing the trap before I did. “It makes no more sense for it to be in one place there than it does for it to be in only one place here. It would be everywhere.”
“And the unborn will be waiting . . . everywhere?” Snorri offered her a grim smile. “There will be nothing waiting for us. Jal will give you the key. Lock the door behind us.”
I saw the calculation cross her face. Quick then gone. Skilfar had sent her for no reason other than this moment—the key offered freely, no trace of Loki’s curse on it.
“Don’t go.” But the conviction had left her voice. That made me sad, but I suppose we’re all victims of our ambition.
“Stay.” Hennan, his first word on the subject, his bottom lip pushed up as if to steady the upper, eyes bright but refusing to say more, too used to disappointment. His years seemed too short to have beaten the selfish out of him, but there it was.
Snorri bowed his head. “Jalan. If you would do the honours?” He gestured to the crystal plane before us.