Totentanz

Epilogue

Like fireworks
We pull apart the dark
Compete against the stars
-- Sleeping at Last, In the Embers

Many people knocked at the headmistress's door. Students in trouble, parents come about students who were in trouble, teachers come to complain about students causing trouble... After forty years Headmistress Rothnát had gained the ability to deduce which group was currently outside her door based solely on how they knocked. Students knocked softly in the hope she wouldn't hear, parents knocked loudly to show how indignant they were, and teachers gave only the most perfunctory knocks before opening the door.

This one was a teacher.

"Come in," Rothnát said -- unnecessarily, because Professor Thýrvul had already walked in. Trailing behind her was a small, skinny, dark-haired boy of maybe nine who looked around her office curiously. "How can I help you?"

Thýrvul gestured to the boy. "This is him. Karandren Hriaþansson."

Rothnát gave him the piercing stare she reserved for all new students. It was meant to make even the most troublesome teenager quail. This youngster, who was barely tall enough to see over the edge of her desk, returned her stare coolly and without showing the slightest discomfort. For the first time in her career Rothnát was the one who looked away. A strange feeling of déjà vu struck her. For a minute she saw, not the little boy, but a tall, gaunt man with unnaturally sharp teeth and eyes that seemed much too old.

She shook her head to clear the strange vision. It looked like she really did need that holiday the teachers had been pestering her about.

"So, young man, you are going to be one of the youngest students the academy has ever accepted. Your teachers in your hometown spoke highly of your magical potential. I hope you intend to work hard here."

The door had swung shut after Thýrvul and Karandren entered. Now someone else knocked at it. A burst of noisy staccato raps, followed by the door being shoved open. Rothnát knew exactly who it was even before she looked round. Only one person knocked like that.

Sure enough, it was Diarnlan Kergínelsdóttir. Rothnát remembered her only too well as a student. She hadn't caused trouble, but only because she kept all the other students at arm's length and had spent the entire time studying. She had apparently made it her life's goal to learn absolutely everything there was to know about magic. If she had wanted to she could easily have become the youngest person ever to become a Great Mage. But instead she seemed content to live in obscurity and supported herself by brewing potions for the academy's use. What she did in the rest of her time, Rothnát neither knew nor cared. Rumour among the teachers claimed she was writing a book on the Óhreinnjǫrð. Rothnát rejected that story out of hand. Why in the world would anyone write a book on that? How could they even gather the necessary information?

"I brought both potions," Diarnlan said with her usual abruptness.

She set down the box she was carrying. Inside were two jars, one full of a teal liquid and the other full of a bubbly olive-coloured liquid. The first one was meant to be rubbed on the students' hands and feet before their swimming lessons; it would make them temporarily grow webbing like a duck's. The other was a healing potion meant to expel water from a person's lungs, just in case something went wrong while the students were in the water.

"Thank you," Rothnát said. She handed over a receipt. "Take that to my secretary and she'll pay you for this lot."

Diarnlan turned to leave. She stopped when she spotted Karandren. For a minute the two of them stared at each other. They both frowned, as if they were trying to remember something very important that kept escaping them. Then Diarnlan shrugged and walked off. Karandren stared after her for a while. Rothnát had to say his name twice before he heard her.

"What was that about?" she asked curiously.

Karandren shrugged. "I don't know. That woman just reminded me of someone I once knew."