1. Hluti
“Let’s go, skanks!” Tiffany’s voice, pitched with excitement at a level normally reserved for summoning dogs, drilled through my headache, causing me to wince, not for the first time that day.
I knew staying up to smoke weed, drink and fool around with Brad ‘til the early hours of the morning was a bad idea but, hey, I wasn’t gonna see the dumb idiot for a couple of weeks and, in his words “Babe, I want you to remember me so you don’t go screwin’ some Viking douchebag!”
Like I would. Trying to deal with one needy guy is hard enough without entangling myself with some hairy dude a whole continent away. I know that festivals are a “don’t ask, don’t tell” type of place, or as Tiffany put it “what happens at HEKLAFEST stays at HEKLAFEST!”
It’s alright for Tiffany of course. Her “fiancée” (I use that term loosely) is the eldest son of some high-flying politician and currently in a prestigious private college on the other side of the country. He is tall, athletic, muscular and very handsome and no doubt working his way through a whole host of girls. Tiffany didn’t seem to care. She was making her own conquests of rich young boys here on the East Coast.
“Come ON you ho-bags!” Tiffany screamed as a beep sounded from outside the house. “The car is here!” I groaned, hauling myself up from the armchair and kissed the still comatose Brad on the head. He muttered something and didn’t move.
“I’ll... I’ll see you in a week, Brad.”
“Blergh.”
“Yeah...”
I grabbed my large rucksack filled with warm clothes, heavy shoes, make up, tampons and portable hair products. I checked that I had passport and foreign money, all secure inside my small shoulder bag. I sighed, brushed my bright red dyed hair back behind my ears, put on my thick rimmed glasses and left the room quietly.
Maybe I will find some manly Viking guy and show him a good time.
What? Where did that thought come from? I shook my head and made my way down the steps in front of the house I shared with Tiffany and Crissy.
Both Tiffany and Crissy came from super wealthy families and as such I benefited by living in a house where I would normally never be able to afford the rent. I paid my share, of course, but my parents were both elementary school teachers and had saved for years, foregoing many pleasures so that I, their only child, could go to a good college.
“Becky, hurry up! Our flight leaves soon!”
I clambered into the ostentatious limousine that Tiffany had ordered us (no doubt using daddy’s seemingly bottomless credit card, the lucky cow) and tripped over the baggage that she and Crissy had unceremoniously dumped in the middle of the luxurious seating. I shoved my bags into the pile and collapsed into a seat. As the car left the front of our Boston townhouse, driving past the parked cars and broad trees, their leaves now in full bloom in the bright fresh New England spring, I finally took a breath and processed the fact that we were heading abroad for some weird music festival.
The festival, titled HEKLAFEST, promised to be “The Most Explosive Music and Alternative Arts Festival on the Planet!!!” (Yes, with three exclamation points). It was, allegedly, set in the shadow of some giant (and active) Icelandic volcano and was themed around “Getting Back to Mother Nature” or something.
Crissy had said “Sounds like some hippy B.S.” while I had wondered if camping on the side of a volcano was at all safe.
“Oh Becky, darling, you’re such a softie!” Franny had said when I brought this up a few weeks ago, dismissing my concerns as not worthy of further thought. Franny – or Lady Francesca Lucinda de Monfort-Smythe as her full titled named her – was the fourth member of our group. She came from British nobility and claimed that she had slept with one member of the royal family, though she would not say which one it was (“nor if it was one of the married ones!” She had said, her eyes sparkling wickedly.)
I believed her.
She had immediately ingratiated herself with our group and while she often acted as though she was more educated and better than us, we all loved her. Mainly because if Tiffany and Crissy had vast pools of resources to plunder, they paled in comparison to Franny’s and she was happy to share the wealth. Her father owned major shares in the airline we were travelling with and as such my travelling was free. As were the festival tickets. And the luxury “glamping experience” yurts we had ordered. And most likely any food and alcohol consumed while there. I may not be like them but if they are willing to splash the cash, I am only too happy to be a part of that.
Who knows what they keep me around for?
So. Three extremely rich, spoilt girls and me. All on our way to Iceland. To camp on a volcano for some music festival where, now I thought about it, I didn’t know who was actually performing.
“This is going to be FUN!” Exclaimed Crissy, cracking open a bottle of vodka, sprawling luxuriously on her seat in the limousine. “I want to get completely wasted, dance ‘til my feet bleed and seduce a different gorgeous guy every night!”
“Ew Crissy, that’s gross, you slut!” Tiffany said in that mock-horror way of hers. “Just make sure I’m not already in the tent with a guy myself!”
And with more giggles, insults and drinks we made our way to New York, JFK Airport and Iceland!
2. Hluti
The first thing I noticed upon landing in Keflavik was the stench. It wasn’t the smell of trash or anything you might smell when it gets real hot in New York, but a sulphuric, eggy smell. Tiffany gagged noisily and Franny (who we had met at JFK before boarding) held a delicate tissue to her nose.
“Oh dear me,” she said faintly. “I hope we don’t have to endure THIS the whole time! That would be most unbearable.”
“Well, that would be the hot springs!” A man interjected as he walked past. “They’re all over the country and provide a lot of the water! You get used to it.” He smiled at us.
Tiffany scowled in return. “Get away from us, creep!” The man quickly hurried along, muttering to himself. Tiffany swivelled to face the three of us, her eyes blazing, her perfectly coiffed hair shaking as she trembled with fury. “If this country stinks like this then a) I’m not staying and b) I will never hook up with some huge European guy! Not smelling like rotten eggs! This is not what was advertised… whose awful idea was this?”
No-one spoke. No-one wanted to remind her that it was Tiffany herself who had pushed for us to all go, and even organised the tickets. Apparently, there had been big buzz about it across Instagram or whatever she used to stay connected this week.
“Tiffy,” I said, eventually, in what I hoped was a placating tone, “We’ve come all this way. We’re tired, a bit drunk, and the smell is bad. But come on. Have some spirit! We’re in a beautiful place and once you get to the campsite, you’ll have forgotten all your issues.”
Crissy and Franny backed me up.
Crissy mutely held out a bottle of spirit she had bought from the in-flight shop. “It’s real good,” she said. “It’ll help.”
And so it was, we four clueless, intrepid explorers ended up in a vehicle that appeared to be a weird cross between a 4x4 jeep and limo, hurtling through the bleak but breath-taking Icelandic scenery.
The plan was simple. Spend one night (partying) in Reykjavik, staying in the most expensive hotel in the city (owned by Crissy’s dad, naturally) before heading out the following day into the highlands towards HEKLAFEST. I had wanted to spend some time seeing some of the sights and wonders of this fantastic country; truly, the only reason I had agreed to come, aside from the fact that I had to pay almost nothing for it, was that I thought I might get to go to The Golden Circle, see Seljalandsfoss, and even maybe hit the Blue Lagoon. This idea was vetoed by the other girls, who just seemed to want the headiness of dancing, drink, drugs and mindless sex in a country where consequences, apparently, weren’t a thing.
I was kinda mad at the girls for not appreciating such a stunning place, but I couldn’t really complain. These 3 three were, truth be told, my only friends. I had Brad, sure, but I don’t think either of us were that serious about the relationship. The sex was nice, and he was pretty sweet when he wanted to be, but he was often more bothered about hanging with his buddies and playing X-Box against some 12-year olds in Korea who were constantly “owning them at Cod” whatever that meant. For my part, I preferred a quiet evening in where “Netflix and Chill” meant actually watching Netflix and doing nothing else.
The three girls I was with were the three who seemed to care about me (as much as vapid, image-obsessed rich girls care about one another I suppose.) Once again, I have no idea what they see in me, a quiet nerdy girl from a small, middle class, hardworking family from Maine.
I should be more grateful and less judgemental. These girls might be a bit empty headed at times but they have never been anything but lovely to me.
I looked across at my three friends. They were busily pouring out some champagne that the limo-jeep driver had provided in the spacious back seat, giggling and chatting away excitedly. Franny handed me a glass, a small strawberry sitting happily in the bottom and smiled.
“I really love you girls,” I said, relaxed for the first time since setting off on this trip. “I mean it. Like, you guys are the best!”
“Bring it in!” Crissy cried, swooping across the back of the limo-jeep and embracing all of us in a messy hug, resulting in a pile of giggling bodies and spilt drinks.
“Ladies,” said our driver as he slowed down, interrupting our squeals, “Welcome to Reykjavik.”
3. Hluti
“I could get used to camping, if it was all like this!” Franny breathed. “Back in good old England, camping seemed sooo miserable, but this… I like this!”
The glamping yurt we had pre-paid for was vast and sumptuous. There were four separate compartments, each with a comfortable double bed inside. In the central area, there were three large sofas surrounding a beautifully crafted wooden table. There was also a kitchen area replete with fridge full of booze, toaster, kettle and microwave. We also had a private bathroom situated behind the yurt, accessible by a short. covered walkway.
Hardly what I would call camping I thought, recalling family holidays when I was younger, sitting cramped and bored in a tiny tent while the wind and rain battered the thin canvas.
Tiffany quickly got to checking the alcohol stock and Crissy plugged her straighteners in, touching up her hair in front of a grand free-standing mirror. Franny lounged on one of the sofa’s casually reading a magazine. I decided to step outside and take in the surroundings.
The campsite was sprawled out across a plain that was, according to the driver who got us here, completely made up of dried lava, settled after previous eruptions from Hekla (that was the name of the volcano. I did not know that until we arrived there. I need to pay more attention.) The lava had cooled and formed into fascinating, twisted shapes.
Not ideal for camping upon, perhaps, but to counter this, huge temporary wooden platforms had been constructed across the plain, with pop up tents being screwed into it, lending the plain an eerie uniformity. This was not the type of festival where you just brought your own tent, sticking it wherever you felt like.
There were quite a few people around, standing and talking, some lighting fires and cooking on them. A happy, expectant buzz hung in the air.
At the other end of the plain, at the foot of Hekla itself was the main festival area. I could see scaffolding and stages in the distance, along with countless tents, marquees and other stalls and kiosks. Music was blasting from somewhere, a tune unfamiliar to me, but it didn’t appear to be from any live band. As far as I knew, the live music didn’t start until tonight.
I wish I had done some research on this thing instead of meekly just accepting anything I had been told, following along like a lost little sheep.
Ah well, here we were. I did not notice the sulphuric eggy smells anymore; in fact, I found the fresh air amid the beautiful surroundings invigorating. It was mid-afternoon and I was ready for some dancing, some drinking and some flirting – sorry, Brad, it’s only flirting – and I was determined to enjoy myself.
A tall, muscular, bearded man strolled along towards me. He was wearing one of the thick bright purple sweaters that marked him out as one of the staff of HEKLAFEST. He waved and smiled.
“How’s it going?” He asked in accented English. “You girls enjoying yourselves?”
You’re handsome! I managed to stop myself saying that bit out loud.
“Hey,” I said coyly, “Yeah we’re, uh, we’re great thanks. It’s a beautiful country.”
“Yes, I’m very blessed to be Icelandic and live in such a great place. My name is Guðmundur. I’m assigned to be your guide for the next three days. Anything you need, I’m your guy!”
“Anything, eh?” I giggled and put a hand lightly on his arm. “Let me think about that for a second!”
Ugh, CRINGE! So cheesy!
Guðmundur didn’t seem to mind. “Yeah, for sure. I love you American girls, so I can be sure to help however I can!” He winked.
“Firstly, I’m really sorry but I don’t think I’m gonna be able to say your name properly.” I smiled ruefully. “I don’t know any Icelandic!”
“No problem! Most friends call me Gunder!”
“Cool, I can cope with that!” I winced again, my pathetic attempts at flirting making me want to run away sobbing. “So, umm, what do you recommend, Gunder?”
“First, I want to meet all of you. I have made an itinerary for us if you want to follow it, bands to watch, times to eat, the best bars we have going. It all kicks off at 6:30 tonight so we have time to chill before then. You won’t want to miss the opening ceremony!”
“Well come on in and meet the girls, Gunder! I’m sure the drinks will already be flowing!”
I turned back, opened the yurt and lead him inside.
4. Hluti
I awoke with a start, my head pounding, my eyeballs aching. I groaned wordlessly. The need to pee was greatly pressing on my bladder but the rest of my body was stubbornly telling me not to move or I might die. I tried to roll over and put my legs over the side of my bed, but something blocked my way.
A something that groaned.
That’s not right.
Slowly, painfully, I raised my head. Gunder was lying next to me, apparently naked. Slowly, painfully I looked under the covers. I was also naked.
Oh no.
My heart started racing as the events of the night before began to come back to me.
Gunder was immediately popular with all the girls and appeared willing to drink as much as we were. Soon, our little family of five was quite merry and ready to hit the festival. We somehow staggered down to the main stage of the festival area to participate with hundreds of others in the beginning of HEKLAFEST. The man who came on stage was also very tall and bearded. He had striking, piercing eyes that, when projected onto the huge screens either side of the stage area, appeared to gaze directly at me no matter how I was looking at it.
He was charismatic and slightly frightening, yelling his welcome through the microphone, causing the crowd to roar and cheer his every sentence.
Are you ready for an eruption?? He had screamed. I, my confidence high due to the drink, had made a dirty, obvious joke in Gunders’ ear. He sniggered.
This weekend we want to fill this place with noise! He roared. We want to tap into the very power of Hekla himself!
This had sobered me slightly. Himself? Hekla was a mountain.
We want to appease the great and mighty Hekla! Let our noise, our passion, our excitement be pleasing to him!
I was thoroughly confused. What was he talking about? I turned to Franny, who was stood right next to me, but she was screaming along with everyone else. Her eyes were glistening as she raised her hands in an almost worshipful manner.
LET. HEKLAFEST. COMMENCE! The man shouted and the crowd once again roared its approval. He left the stage and a group of long haired men appeared carrying instruments. They launched energetically into a furious heavy metal track full of distorted strangling of guitars and choking on the microphone.
“Ugh.” I said to Gunder, shouting to make myself heard over the racket. “I hate this kind of music! Is there anywhere else we can go? We want to dance!”
He nodded and beckoned to the other girls. They gathered round, faces flush with excitement.
“That was amazing!” Tiffany exclaimed. “So totally awesome!” Crissy nodded enthusiastically.
“What? Really? Can we go somewhere else and dance? I want to get my boogie on!” I pouted a bit. The hairy men on stage were thrashing their heads back and forth in time to the driving beat. I felt sick listening to it. “Please guys? Surely you don’t like this?”
“I mean… It is pretty exciting, isn’t it?” Franny said. “But you’re right. I’m here to dance, drink and see where the night takes me!”
“Ladies, follow me!”
Gunder lead us all into one of the marquees. The music there was much more what we were looking for. Huge speakers were at one end of the marquee, connected to a big set of decks raised on a stage. Two people, a man and woman were moving behind the decks, placing records on them and fiddling with equipment. The music was pounding, repetitive and extremely catchy. I could feel it thudding in my chest, and the drinks I had consumed to that point began to fill me with a confidence and forwardness that was quite unlike me.
People were now flooding into the tent, heading to the middle of the floor and to the bar that ran along one long side of the cavernous marquee. Tiffany, her arms raised above her head and her hips swaying sensuously, moved away from us and immediately found an eager man to dance with. Crissy and Franny followed, whereas I turned to Gunder, threw my arms around his neck and started to move in what I hoped was a sexy manner. He responded eagerly, allowing himself to be lead onto the dancefloor.
My memories become a bit blurry at this point. I remember drinking – lots – and being introduced to a bunch of Gunders’ friends who, for some reason, scared me slightly. That might just be post-hangover brain telling me that, but I had a definite sense of unease.
Then, more drinking, more dancing and eventually, I grabbed Gunder and full-on made out with him in the middle of the mass of bodies. I briefly recall Tiffany nudging me and winking and Franny giving me the thumbs up from where she was wrapped around a hunky guy of her own.
Staggering back to the yurt, giggling and shouting. Yanking Gunder into my sleeping compartment and ripping his clothes off…
Brad…
Oh no…
I felt a wave of shame and nausea sweep over me and I stumbled quickly over the snoring Gunder and outside the yurt. I vomited noisily, tears streaming down my face.
“Good night last night?” Franny asked laconically, sitting on the floor, cigarette in hand. “Sounded like fun.”
5. Hluti
“Becky. We need to talk!”
“Leave me alone Gunder! I have a boyfriend!” That last word was a screech, hurting my delicate head. “I’m sorry! I just… wasn’t thinking last night! Please leave me alone!”
I stormed off. Dark clouds were gathering over Hekla, as if nature itself was reflecting my own mood. It was about 4pm and I’d been successfully avoiding him up to this point.
“OK… I’ll leave you be. Will you at least promise you’ll come to Fórnin tonight?”
I stopped and spun to face him. “What?”
“Fórnin. Means Sacrifice. It’s pretty cool. There’s music and a show – all sorts. We do it on the second night of HEKLAFEST, it’s a traditional Icelandic thing. I think you should come. I got passes to the VIP area if that helps?”
Despite everything, I was intrigued. “I… I guess that would be OK. But this doesn’t mean I am your, like girlfriend or anything. Clear?”
“Yeah, for sure. Just be at the main stage at 10 tonight. I’ll find you.” He walked off, and part of me wanted to call after him. I resisted the urge, and stomped back to the yurt to sulk.
I spent the rest of the day by myself. The other girls had found guys too and were hanging out with a bunch of hairy dudes. I was no good company, and I slumped in front of the yurt, trying to calm all the feelings roiling inside me, ready to erupt at any moment. Guilt wracked me and I felt sick every time I thought of Brad. What would he say? Would he be mad or just devastated?
Should I even tell him?
While I prided myself on my honesty, I was who knows how many hundreds of miles from Boston and not likely to ever see any of the Icelandic guys again, it could feasibly be covered up. I sighed and glanced towards Hekla, brooding and magnificent in the sunlight, the dark clouds gathered above it threatening but holding back.
The girls would eventually spill about me and Gunder. Word would get to Brad.
I was going to have to spill. I checked my cell phone. We even had WiFi in our yurt so I was just a quick FaceTime away from Brad. I could tell him now and give him a couple days to mull it over. I put my phone away. I was a coward. I hadn’t even messaged him on Facebook or anything since arriving. He would probably freak more if I suddenly contacted him with this news.
I looked back to Hekla. “Do you have any answers for me?” I asked the volcano. Nothing. I snorted.
A sound made me tear my eyes away from the majestic volcano and onto the path in front of the yurt. Franny was making her way towards me, her lithe frame slightly covered by the thick woollen jumper she wore but looking gorgeous nonetheless.
“Hey”
“Darling, I’ve been looking for you. Are you OK? Need a hug?”
“No, Franny, thanks. I’ll be OK. I promise.”
She sat down next to me and rested her head of luscious dark brown hair on my shoulder. “Becky, sweetie, please tell me you’re coming to the Fórnin thingy tonight? I’ve been chatting to Heidar, you know, the bass player from that awful band last night? It sounds like it should be a blast!”
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Got nothing else going on!”
“Splendid! I promise you, you’ll completely forget about Brad and all your problems! Just make sure you’re there. You will remember tonight for the rest of your life!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll be there. Gunder said he got us some VIP thing or other. Hey, I’m pretty starving, have you guys eaten?”
“Come with me, my love. We’ll make sure you stop worrying.”
Chatting amicably, I allowed her to lead me away from the tent and towards the crowded eating area of the site.
6. Hluti
Drums pounded, causing my heart to race, a repetitive and relentless rhythm coming from… somewhere. I couldn’t see any drums but their presence could be heard, be felt by the gathered masses.
The tall, slightly scary guy from the night before was back on stage. The drums didn’t stop but changed rhythm to a staccato beat, allowing the man with the piercing eyes to speak in between the thudding, the drums emphasising his words. The dark clouds hadn’t left the head of Hekla all day and were growing as the light finally began to fade. A low ominous rumble came out of the clouds as though nature wanted to beat the human made drums with something far more spectacular.
“WELCOME.” Boomed the man, his voice as timorous and reverberating as the drums. “WELCOME TO FÓRNIN!”
A roar greeted this and at that moment, Gunder appeared.
“Hey guys!” He said excitedly, his face flush. “I’ve got you the best VIP packages you could want, come, come!”
Tiffany squealed and immediately followed. We hurried to keep up. The man on stage kept speaking, something about requesting another year of peace from Hekla, but I wasn’t listening. We clambered up some steps and found ourselves on the side of the stage, hefty technicians scurrying around, checking cables and speaking into walkie talkies in their native tongue.
“Here, drink this!” Gunder thrust a sweet-smelling concoction into my hands and, without a second thought sipped it. Seconds later, I dropped to the floor, all sound and light fading fast.
I awoke groggily to see my three friends, Gunder and the scary bearded man surrounding me. A man holding a camera lurked in the background, a red light indicating that it was on. I was no longer at the side of the stage, but appeared to be sat on a chair surrounded by rocks. It was very hot, and I realised powerful lights were all pointed at me. I was also tied to a chair.
“Guys, what?”
“Hush…” The scary man said, smiling gently at me. “You are chosen. You are Fórnin, chosen to appease Hekla. Be honoured.”
“What? Guys, this isn’t funny! Seriously, let me go, I don’t like this!”
“I’m sorry, Becky. But you have been chosen.” Tiffany, her eyes wide with rapturous delight stepped forward. “You were chosen a long time ago! This whole thing, HEKLAFEST, the yurt, the crowds down below, it’s all for you!”
“But… I don’t…”
“It’s simple, darling. Every year, someone is chosen to appease Hekla. We, the sons and daughters of the richest people across the world, we gather for this one moment.”
“But… It’s a volcano! How can anything you do appease it? This is insanity!”
“The last time we neglected to perform the Fórnin was 17 years ago, in 2000. And then again in 1991.” Scary man said factually, “There was an eruption both those times, but a small one. To remind us. That it hasn’t happened since, and we have performed this sacred ritual every year since proves that it is necessary.”
“But… Why? Why me?” I was sobbing now, fear and panic completely taken over. Ugly crying Brad called it. Brad hated my ugly crying.
“Well, you didn’t think we were your friends because you brought something to our group, did you?” Crissy said coldly. “You were a prime candidate, easily lead and gullible. It was our turn to choose someone, we’re all in a sort of lottery. Our number came up a few years ago, and we arranged to share a dorm with you at university, to groom you.”
“As for why do it at all,” Tiffany continued, “If Hekla were to erupt, properly erupt, it would throw the world into chaos. Our money and power would be worthless. This is our way of maintaining the status quo.”
Scary man stepped in closer. “You know how many silly tourists go missing in the highlands of Iceland every year? No-one will question that you got drunk, wondered off in the night and fell down a ravine somewhere. Regrettable. Plausible.”
I could say nothing. Faintly, I heard chanting and realised that all this was being projected on the huge screens at the foot of the mountain. I was span around in my chair, and I saw the source of the heat – We were perched on the very edge of the rim of the crater, and Hekla was active.
Lightning flashed above me, and I screamed wordlessly. I struggled violently, uselessly against my bonds. A figure stepped up to me. It was Gunder, and he gently wiped away one of my tears with his hand.
“Thank you, Becky, for last night.” He said softly. “I shall never forget you.”
They dragged my chair closer to the edge, and my scream died on my lips. I cried, and all the people I loved flashed through my head. Brad, my parents. The list was shockingly short and that, in the midst of the terror, seemed to be the saddest thing of all.
A laugh bubbled up in my raw throat as I remembered something my dad told me before I left for college, a lifetime ago. Scary man announced something to the camera and my chair was shoved, and I began dropping to my end.
Becky, my dad had said in that oh-so-serious way he talked when he wanted to impart some wisdom on me. Be careful of boys. Be careful of alcohol and drugs. And whatever you do, be careful not to end up in some sort of death cult.
I smiled and hit the flames.