Einar slowly opened his eyes. His head was pounding, mouth dry as though water had never touched his lips in his life. A comfortable bed was beneath him, and he was covered in a blue blanket. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there.

For a long while he laid, simply staring at his surroundings, not moving. It was a light blue painted bedroom, the trim white all around. To his right was a wooden door, next to it a large desk made of the same material. Hanging on the wall was a large map of the world. Einar turned his head back, staring at the ceiling, tears pouring out of his eyes.

After a while a gentle breeze caught his attention. He looked to the left, finding an open window above him. Einar watched the white curtains blowing freely in the wind. They reminded him of jellyfish, majestic and ethereal. For the rest of his life, if he ever wanted to focus or find peace, he needed only to conjure up the image of these curtains billowing in the wind.

"You're awake," a gentle voice said, bringing him out of his reverence.

Einar turned his head to the right again. An old woman stood before him. Her hands were clasped, her clouded eyes brimming with tears. "Oh, I'm so relieved! Let me summon the doctor!"

About twenty minutes later, the woman returned with a doctor and an elderly man Einar assumed was the woman's husband. The doctor gave Einar a thorough examination. When he was done, he gave Einar a piece of candy. Ravenously, Einar devoured it. The old woman sat on the bed, her husband lingering by the door, the doctor taking a seat at the desk.

"What's your name, dear child?" the woman asked gently.

"Einar ," he replied meekly. He immediately had a coughing fit.

"May I give him water?" the kind woman asked the doctor.

"Of course. He should have some soup, too, if you have it."

The woman patted Einar 's knee. "I'll be right back."

She came back with fresh, cold water, and then whisked herself away. Minutes later she came back with a bowl of hot soup on a tray. She put it over his lap. Einar gratefully sucked it down, not even caring when it scorched down his throat. It was the best meal he had ever had, not knowing that was simply because he hadn't eaten for awhile.

"Thank you," he said when he was done. Even with just a glass of water and a bowl of soup the boy was feeling much better already.

The woman hurried the tray away and then came back, sitting back on the bed. Gently she took his hand within her own. Einar looked at her, feeling emotionless inside.

Finally, Einar spoke quietly. "Where am I?"

"Reykjavík."

"It's a good thing we needed fish," the old man by the door rumbled, his throat hoarse and his voice deep.

"Yes-we were one of your parents' customers. We would sell them turnips once a month and they would sell us your fish."

Einar 's eyes filled with tears, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall. "My parents?"

The old woman and the man glanced at each other. The woman spoke kindly, squeezing his hand hard. "We found you not far from your house. You were-well. I won't get into that. But you were injured and unconscious."

"Can you tell us what happened?" the doctor prodded gently.

Einar thought back to what had. His mother's beheading, his father's death. His sister being stabbed over and over. If he told them the truth, would they even believe him?

Shutting his eyes, Einar wrapped his arms around his knees, buried his head against them, and wept.

~

The crystalline water sparkled brilliantly, a chameleon of the azure sky. It was sunny, but not hot; if anything it was perfect, the grass a healthy verdant, the beach shimmering in the distance. Sometimes there was a refreshing breeze, carrying with it the smells of the ocean.

Einar loved this. Bobbing along with the waves, his cast waited eagerly for a fish to take a nibble and hopefully bite. Behind him sat his elderly adoptive father, his own fishing pole cast the other way. The pair didn't speak; they didn't need to speak. Even with a large age gap, there had always been a silent bond between the two. He had become one of the only people Einar didn't feel skittish around.

Eyolfur had grown to be a bright young man. He was striking, growing to his full height of 6'1. His skin, naturally pale, had developed a warm tan from being outside so often. He never bothered to cut his hair, and it was currently pulled back with a black elastic hair tie, straight black hair falling down mid-back.

Einar had continued to live at the house with the old man and woman after he had been found. It was a situation not only of convenience, but compassion; the couple cared for the boy deeply. Over the years the three-person family fell naturally into a routine. Einar was always silently grateful to just be alive, so he remained an agreeable, obedient child.

When he was legally able to, at the age of sixteen, he dropped out of school to help with the family business. They taught him the turnip trade, how to grow them, harvest them, how to save them from rot. Surprising even himself, he was very good at it. Einar did most of the chores, not only because he was more physically capable but because he wasn't sure how else to show his gratitude.

In turn, Einar taught his father how to fish. Weather permitting, they spent one day every weekend out in their modest boat, fishing. Sometimes they had lively conversations, sometimes they didn't. Either way, Einar could always find a peaceful happiness in his heart doing this.

As time passed, Einar grew to be a well respected member of the town. His parents worried endlessly about him. He wasn't much of an eater, and his appearance was on the gaunt side, especially given his height. Often at night before bed he would stare at himself in the mirror, wondering what sort of woman his sister would have grown into. He was attractive in his own way, and he was sure his sister would have been the gem in many a man's heart.

This was how the days and weeks went for Einar. He wasn't sad, but he also wasn't exactly happy. He tried to fully repress his past, trying to think of it as little as possible, doing anything and everything to preoccupy his mind for as long as possible. Because of this he grew to be quite intelligent. If he wasn't working, then he took solace listening to the older fisherman tell their tales of the high seas. If those two things weren't an option then he was at home, locked away in his room. Einar's only appetite was for books, devouring any and all he could get his hands on.

"So," Einar's father's voice spoke, causing him to jump. Einar twisted on his bench, looking at the old man's back. "Can I ask you something?"

Einar found this odd. "Of course-you never have to ask that."

"What happened on that day we found you, Einar?"

The young man frowned deeply. Not saying anything, he turned back around, looking pointedly at the still water. His reflection wavered in front of him, and he focused on the flickering image instead of what had been asked. He puckered his lips, not wanting to have this conversation.

"There was an investigation, you know."

Einar hadn't known, in fact. Even so, he gave no indication of that, nor any indication he had even heard the statement.

"You were the main suspect."

"I was nine," Einar said tartly.

"That doesn't change the fact that you were the sole survivor of a horrific crime scene, covered in blood, holding a sword, with barely a knick on you."

Einar closed his eyes and puckered his lips, swallowing down bile.

The old man sighed heavily. "That's exactly why the investigation against you was dropped; you were only nine."

Einar twisted in his seat again, glaring at his fathers back. "And you? Did you think I did it?"

Looking surprised, the white-haired man looked at his son. "No, Einar; not for an instant."

"And mother?"

He looked wounded. "We both vehemently vouched for you. Clearly you had been through a horrific crime. You were a victim, and we finally convinced the police of that."

After a moment longer, Einar's dark eyes fell to the bottom of the boat. "Sorry."

Smiling faintly, he put a wrinkled hand that had seen years of hard work to Einar's cheek. He patted it before withdrawing the arthritic hand. "I understand. I just wish you trusted us enough to help you carry your burden."

"I-"

Einar's father looked at him expectantly. Frowning in defeat, Einar turned away again. When he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "Even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Einar glanced over his shoulder to see how serious his father was. When he saw nothing but patience and sympathy, he turned back around and told the truth.

"We were eating dinner and a bunch of people dressed all in black broke in. They came in everywhere-through the windows, through the doors. They killed everyone."

"Why?" he asked, sounding horrified.

"I wish I knew," Einar replied softly, fighting back tears he didn't want to fall and mix in with the water.

"Did you recognize any of them?"

Furtively Einar wiped at his eye. "No."

"Was there a motive? Did they take anything, or-or-?"

Einar shook his head again. "No. It seemed...random."

The pair fell silent. Time passed. The water turned a shimmering orange with the setting sun, a color that reminded Einar of fire. This reminded him of his childhood; he didn't want his father, his father who probably didn't have that many more years on this earth, to feel guilty, so Einar didn't mention the fire-water.

Einar jumped when a hand gently squeezed his shoulder. Turning, he found his father's wrinkled face giving him a smile.

"I'm sorry for earlier, Einar. We won't speak of it again."

Einar gave a small smile. He then pulled his fishing line out, putting his pole in the boat beside him. "It's getting late; we should get back home."