Chapter 2

Maya walked barefoot over to the window and opened it.

A rush of cold air poured in, carrying the scents of pine resin and earth, as well as a hint of chill from the distant glaciers.

Suddenly, the sound stopped, and the fjord fell silent, as if the entire world had been muted. She stood by the window for a long time, but the sound did not return.

She left the window ajar and returned to bed, wrapping herself tightly in the blankets.

For the first time in a while, she fell asleep without relying on painkillers.

When she woke up the next morning, it took her several seconds to remember where she was.

No call bells. There were no footsteps in the hallway or the sound of carts rolling over the vinyl flooring. Only the sound of wind seeping through the crack in the window and sunlight glinting like scattered silver on the surface of the fjord in the distance could be heard.

She sat up and pressed her hand to her chest.

Her heartbeat was steady. The bone in her back, which had been aching faintly since last winter, was something she never thought about because it was always there. Now, she barely felt it at all.

She pushed the thought aside—probably just a good night’s sleep.

She rummaged through her backpack for the painkillers, hesitated, and then tossed them back in. She pushed open the door and walked out.

The early morning in Urvik was quieter than she had imagined.

The surface of the fjord was completely still, reflecting the snow-capped mountains across the water. Their peaks were just dipping into the mirror-like surface.

The air was cold and crisp, sweet to the touch. Breathing it in felt like taking a sip of icy water. She walked along the only path by the water, passing thatched-roof houses and the restaurant from yesterday. The door was still shut, and no smoke rose from the chimney. She continued until the road simply ended.

At the end of the road, there was a gravel path leading toward the ridge. Standing at the entrance, she recalled the words her landlord had spoken through the door: “Don’t go into the mountains alone at night. It’s fine during the day, but don’t go too far.”

She began to climb.

The first two hundred meters were manageable. Though the gravel path was uneven, the slope was gentle and walking was effortless. She even had time to admire the wildflowers blooming in patches among the rocks on either side—tiny purple, bell-shaped blossoms rendered translucent by the morning light.

Then, suddenly, the slope grew steep. The gravel gave way to bare rock, leaving only a narrow, well-trodden path hugging the mountainside—one side a sheer drop and the other the deep green waters of the fjord below.

She began to pant. It felt as if a wad of wet cotton had been stuffed into her chest. With every breath, she had to force it aside, only to have it spring back as she exhaled. After walking about a hundred meters, she sat down on a protruding rock.

Her hands were shaking. It wasn’t fear; her body was protesting.

Maya unzipped her backpack, but when her fingers touched the medicine bottle, she pulled them back.

She wouldn’t take it. Her illness wouldn't respond to medication anyway. She rested her hands on her knees, lowered her head, and listened as her breathing gradually slowed from heavy to steady.

Just then, she heard someone behind her say, "That stuff doesn't work."

Maya turned her head.

A man was standing a few steps away in the shadow of a pine tree.

He wore a thick, dark sweater with frayed cuffs and a loose collar that revealed a sliver of collarbone. His hair was a color between brown and gray, like a winter tundra. His eyes were pale, the color of a glacier, almost transparent in the shadows.

He held a handful of red wild berries.

Maya looked at him. The man didn’t step forward nor speak again.

He just stood there, holding the berries as if they had agreed upon it beforehand. She suddenly realized he might have been standing there for a while.

"Have you been standing there the whole time?"

“Yes.”

“Watching a stranger hike?”

He tilted his head as if considering the question. "Until you stopped."

She didn’t know how to respond to that. She looked at his hand. The wild berries were held loosely and not crushed. A bit of red juice had stained his fingertips.

“What’s that?”

He looked down at his hand as if he’d just remembered he was still holding something. Then he walked over and placed the berries on the rock beside her.

“Eat them. It'll make you feel better."

She picked one up.

The wild berries were tiny, smaller than a pinky fingernail, with a fine fuzz that glistened in the light. When she put one in her mouth, a burst of tartness and sweetness exploded on her tongue.

It wasn’t a gentle sweetness but a wild, almost aggressive one, as if the fruit had concentrated all its strength into that tiny bit of flesh.

She picked up another one.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Erik.”

"I'm Maya."

He nodded as if he had no objection to the name.

His gaze shifted from her face to the backpack on her lap. The zipper was open, revealing a sliver of the white cap on a medicine bottle. Then, his gaze shifted back to her face.

“You’re from the south.”

“How did you tell?”

“Your clothes,” he said. “They’re too thin. Even in the summer, the temperature drops below ten degrees at night. In two months, it'll be below zero."

She looked down at her jacket. It was the kind of jacket you’d find in the south.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She’d been preparing an answer to that question the whole way.

Traveling, taking my mind off things, wanting to see the northern mountains—any of those would suffice.

But the tart-sweet taste of wild berries still lingered on her tongue, her lungs felt stuffed with cotton, and last night’s wolf howl seemed to cling to her ears. Suddenly, she didn’t want to say those prepared words anymore.

“The doctor said there’s no need for further treatment.”

The words landed on the rocks between them, lying side by side with the wild berries.

She didn’t look at him. Instead, she looked at the snow-capped mountains across the fjord, the blue fissures of the glacier, and the clouds slowly drifting in from behind the peaks.

She waited for him to make that expression—the sympathetic, awkward one where he didn’t know what to say and started with, "You need to stay positive." She’d seen it too many times in the hospital. Everyone ended up making that expression.

The silence lasted a few seconds.

Then he said, "Well, at least we should look at the good parts first."

Maya turned her head.

Erik wasn’t looking at her either. He was gazing toward the ridge where the sunlight was falling from the side and turning his light-colored eyes a nearly transparent silver-gray.

“The good parts?”

“There’s a lake behind the ridge. It's fed by glacial meltwater. The color is different from that of other bodies of water.” He turned back to look at her. "Those mountains you saw on the way here are just the front wall. The best parts are all behind them.”

He reached out his hand.

His hand was large, with prominent knuckles and dirt under his fingernails.

Not just dirt, but the kind of mark left by having been in contact with the earth. She took his hand, startled by how warm it was.

It wasn't the warmth of normal body temperature, but rather the kind you feel after holding your palm over a stove for a long time. It radiated from his palm and traveled up her wrist.

He pulled her to her feet. When he let go, his fingertips lingered for a moment on the inside of her wrist.

It was so brief that she wasn't sure if it was just her imagination.

“Let’s go.” He nodded toward the ridge. "We'll head to that pine forest today. You can make it.” She followed him uphill.

His pace was steady, and with every step, it was as if he knew whether the rock beneath him would give way.

She walked behind him, studying the texture of the back of his sweater and the tan line on the nape of his neck.

He didn’t look back to see if she was keeping up. However, every time she slowed down, his pace slowed just enough to keep her within his line of sight.

When they reached the edge of the pine forest, she stopped to catch her breath.

He turned around.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“What?”

“Your lungs.”

She straightened her back. “How do you know it’s my lungs?”

"The sound of your breathing. There’s a pause when you inhale,” he said calmly, as if describing the weather. "It's as if something is blocking the air partway through."

She didn’t speak.

He didn't press her, either. He just stood there, waiting for her to catch her breath.

The pine forest lay behind him. The trunks of the old pines were deep red, their bark cracked into irregular scales. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the canopy and cast circular patches of light on the ground.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Once they had passed through the pine forest, the landscape suddenly opened up.

The gravel path gave way to a well-trodden dirt track, and the vegetation shifted from towering pines to low shrubs and moss. The moss was as thick as a carpet and ranged in color from deep green to grayish-white. When she stepped on it, she sank in slightly, as if walking on snow.

She saw the alpine lake he had mentioned.