Jon and Pau went on ahead while Iversen locked the door and turned off the lights in the shop.
'How many activations have you participated in?' asked Jon when they reached the stairs.
'Just one,' said Pau. 'My own. But I wasn't really conscious during it. I was run down by a psychopath on Strшget and hit my head on the cobblestones, and when I woke up from a coma three weeks later' – Pau snapped his fingers – 'bam! That was it.' He started down the stairs. 'It took a while before I figured out what it was all about, even though I could tell right away that something was wrong. But you'll soon see what I'm talking about. Just wait.' He laughed.
They had reached the bottom of the stairs and continued on down the dark corridor to the oak door that led to the library. A faint light came from the doorway.
'Hi, Kat,' said Pau as he stepped inside.
Jon followed Pau into the room. The electric lights were dimmed and the room was almost entirely lit by candles on the table and the few shelves not holding books.
'It's just for atmosphere,' Katherina told Jon. 'It doesn't have any importance for the activation.' She smiled.
'But it's damned cosy,' exclaimed Pau as he dropped into a chair. 'All we need now is some incense and herb tea.'
Katherina ignored him and pulled a book from the glass case in front of her.
'Have you read this?' she asked, handing the volume to Jon.
He took the book and studied it. It was bound in black leather, and even though he didn't have much understanding of such things, he could tell that it was high-quality workmanship. When he turned the book round to look at the title, he saw that it wasDon Quixote.
'No,' Jon said at last. 'I've never got round to reading it.'
'That's a shame,' she said. 'It's a classic. Iversen has read it to me several times.'
Jon nodded and leafed through the book. The paper was thick and pleasant to the touch. It was obvious that someone had put some love into this edition.
'We're going to use it for the activation,' Katherina said casually as she took out another book and then closed the glass case.
'This one?' said Jon in surprise. 'I thought it would involve all sorts of oaths and magic formulas.'
Katherina smiled. 'It's not the words that are important. It's the energy and the emotions that the text conjures up that mean something.' She placed her free hand on the book Jon was holding. 'This one is strong. Can you feel it?'
Jon placed his palm on the book, brushing against Katherina's fingers, which she quickly removed. He closed his eyes and tried to sense the energy she was talking about.
Pau laughed behind them.
'Can you feel anything, Jon?' he asked sarcastically.
'Not the slightest,' Jon decided, opening his eyes.
Katherina shrugged. 'Well, you haven't been activated yet. That usually helps, but even people who are activated can't always feel it.' She cast a glance at Pau, whose smile instantly froze.
'So, is everyone ready?' they heard Iversen say as he came into the room. They all confirmed they were, and Iversen closed the door. Katherina handed the book to Iversen, and they all sat down in the chairs around the table. There was a moment of silence. The flames from the candles slowly stopped flickering. Jon's heart started beating faster, and sweat made his hands damp, as well as the book he was clutching. Across from him sat Iversen. Katherina was on his right, and Pau on the left.
Iversen picked up a book. It was bound in leather, like the one that Jon was holding, but a white bookmark was sticking out of it.
'This is the text we're going to use for the activation. It's the same as the one that you have in your hands, and the whole process really just involves us reading together. I'll start by reading aloud, and then you join in. It's important that we read at the same pace, but that's usually not a problem, once we get going.'
Iversen fell silent and looked expectantly at Jon, who with a curt nod acknowledged that he understood.
'It's been a long time since I read anything aloud,' he said uncertainly. 'At least from a work of fiction.'
'You'll do fine. Katherina will help both of us keep the right tempo,' Iversen explained. 'As we get further along, she'll reinforce or mute the emotions that come up. Don't be afraid, just relax and concentrate on the reading and the rhythm. Immerse yourself in the story and the mood of the book. The more relaxed you are, the easier the activation will be.'
Jon nodded again and took a deep breath. 'I'm ready.'
Iversen opened the book at the place where the bookmark stuck out.
'Page fifty,' he said.
Jon turned to the right page in his copy.
Iversen started reading. His voice was clear and the pace was slow. Jon followed along in the text, and after a couple of paragraphs joined in. He cleared his throat a few times during the first section, and he really had to concentrate to match Iversen's voice. The next section went more smoothly and he had an easier time keeping up. Together they picked up the pace a bit so it didn't seem as artificially slow as when they started. As they turned the page, Jon cast a quick glance at Iversen. He was leaning back in his chair, focusing all his attention on the book. His whole face radiated a tense concentration that made him frown and hold the book closer to his eyes.
The reading continued and Jon noticed how the rhythm and tempo had stabilized; he no longer had to concentrate as much to keep it going. The type and the words before his eyes practically invited his voice, enticing him to pronounce them, as if they had been waiting years for this moment. Little by little Iversen's voice grew fainter until finally Jon didn't hear it at all. He heard only his own voice. It felt as if he were lying in a canoe, low in the water, floating along a river at a comfortable and even speed. The surface was broken only by the boat, while an invisible undercurrent carried it along. He didn't hesitate even when he turned the page. He felt as if he could see what was on the next page so that he could continue reading without interruption.
The letters of the words seemed sharper and more distinct in relation to the white background, which also appeared to have changed character. It was no longer the thick, white surface in which the structure of the paper pulp could be glimpsed; instead, the background was more even, with a glossier surface, as if it were a frosted white windowpane on which the type had been embossed. Behind the pane he could suddenly discern silhouettes appearing and disappearing like a shadow play that was out of focus.
Jon hardly noticed any more that he was reading aloud. The reading itself proceeded almost mechanically and he was able to admire the interplay between the type and the background. He focused on the shadows as they appeared, and after a while he had the feeling that they were following along with the story. When the text mentioned two men on horseback, he could sense there were two figures on horseback behind the white pane, and when the text described a windmill, he could make out its rotating sails cleaving the air behind the white fog.
This discovery made him concentrate even more on the shadows as he read, and just as the main character lunged at a sail of the mill, the white pane shattered and thousands of shards of glass fell away, revealing the scene behind.
Jon gave a start, but the reading continued at the same tempo, even though the words were now hovering mysteriously in the air in front of the scene with the main character and the windmill. They looked like subtitles for a film, but in this case the reading of the words drove the images forward and not vice versa. He could feel his heart beating faster again, his pulse rising.
The reading continued inexorably, as if he were no longer in control of it and he could enjoy the images it was creating. They became clearer and clearer the more he read until he felt he could almost step into the landscapes visible behind the text. The colours of these images were strong and clear, but they seemed artificial. It was as if the colour control on a TV was broken and the result was colour-saturated images that threatened to flow together. The outlines of the people and surroundings seemed blurred, and he tried to freeze the boundaries by intensely focusing on the hazy border areas. He felt a slight resistance, as if he were turning a rusty door handle, but suddenly he broke through and discovered he was able to adjust the sharpness of the images. Astonished, he played with this new tool. He let the scene flow all the way out, so it looked as if it were taking place in a thick fog, and then he adjusted the focus so sharply that the characters looked as if they'd been cut out of cardboard with a scalpel. He could also adjust the colour balance. The scene could be made brighter or darker, and he could control how warm it felt by bathing it in soft yellow light. He experimented with all the adjustments, finding the outer limits and the possibilities for combinations. He noticed that some adjustments offered resistance, but if he focused very hard, he could break through that threshold too and force the precise mood he wanted on the scene.