Night Swim at Hveragerði – Part 2: Northern Lights

Kári's secret was simple, and it took him a long time to say it.

"I'm afraid of the dark," he said, staring up at the stars. "I work nights at the power station, and every night I walk the same path alone. My father drowned in a fjord when I was ten. Since then, I've never been able to sleep without a light on."

Freya turned to look at him. The steam was rising in soft curls between them, and his face was half hidden in the vapour.

"Thank you for telling me," she said.

"You're the first person I've told."

"Then I'm honoured."

"You're honest," said Kári, with a small, shy smile. "That's why it was easy."

They were quiet for a while, watching the sky. Then Freya saw it: a faint green glimmer on the northern horizon, like a brushstroke of light across the black. It grew brighter, rippling and shifting, until the whole sky seemed to be breathing.

"There," said Kári softly. "Look."

Freya's breath caught. The aurora unfolded above them in long green ribbons, rising and falling, flickering with pale violet at the edges. The snow on the hills glowed silver beneath it. Even the steam seemed to shimmer with light.

"I never thought I'd see this," she whispered.

"Most people don't see it the first time," said Kári. "They're too busy being cold."

She laughed, tears in her eyes, and reached under the water for his hand. He did not pull away. His fingers curled round hers, warm and steady, and they sat together under the lights while the whole valley fell silent.

"My secret," said Freya, after a long while, "is that I didn't come to Iceland to write the book. I came because my sister and I had planned this trip together, three years ago, and I was too scared to come alone. I thought if I got here, I'd feel her with me. I didn't. I just felt alone."

Kári turned to face her. His eyes were dark and kind.

"And now?" he asked.

"Now I'm sitting in a hot spring with a stranger who's afraid of the dark," said Freya, and laughed through her tears, "and I think maybe she'd have liked him."

"Then she'd have liked me very much," said Kári, grinning.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Yes."

"Would you walk me back to my car when we're done? And then, tomorrow, would you show me the valley in daylight, and the power station, and the path you walk every night? Without the dark?"

Kári's face softened. "Yes," he said. "But only if you let me hold the torch."

"Deal," said Freya.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, very quietly, while the aurora rippled green across the sky above them. "Here, under the lights, where nobody else can see?"

"Yes," said Freya. "And if I say stop, we'll go back to the car and drive very slowly through the snow."

"Good," said Kári, and leaned in.

He kissed her slowly, the warmth of the water between them and the cold air on their faces. His hand came up to rest against her cheek, wet and warm, and she leaned into the touch, her heart steadying. The kiss tasted of geothermal mineral water and something sweeter underneath. When they parted, the lights were still dancing above them, and both of them were smiling.

"Green?" he whispered.

"Green," said Freya. "Very green. Now let's get out before we turn into icicles, and you can show me the path in the morning."

"In daylight," said Kári, and laughed, and helped her climb out of the water into the bitter, glittering night, where the aurora still shone above them like a promise.