C2 Chapter 2

Everybody in the room was very silent after Vemund Tark’s surprising request. The sounds from outside interrupted the calm: the servant girls’ saucy replies to the farmhands; a calf’s moaning moo from an outhouse; cartwheels creaking in the yard.

Elisabet knew that she was not allowed to say anything at all. This would not only insult Vemund Tark, who had made the offer, but the parents, who always decided on a daughter’s marriage. Previously things had been freer but her mother had always turned down suitors who were not terribly serious.

Finally, Ulf muttered quietly: “Well, I never.”

Mrs Tora had spent all afternoon complaining that they would not be on time for the first evening party in Christiania, and she would not listen to her husband’s suggestion that they might as well leave the following morning and then enjoy the rest of the season. She insisted on being offended and neglected. Now, however, she had forgotten all about Christiania. She turned to her daughter with a radiant smile: “Elisabet,” she whispered. “Just imagine becoming a member of the Tark Family, one of the most prominent families of the diocese.”

Elisabet could no longer keep quiet. She turned to Vemund and in a cool and clear voice asked: “What does your brother make of all this?”

“My younger brother? I think he would very much like it. You’re just the kind of woman he needs, and he can be of great help to you in the future, not least financially. I understand that right now you landowners are paying heavy taxes. What’s more, I don’t think he would have any objection to his future wife’s appearance.”

“Thank you,” was Elisabet’s bone-dry reply. “You say that I’ll be given time to get to know him and like him. That’s very magnanimous of you. Then he’ll also get to know me, for better or for worse, won’t he? Because his opinion also counts, doesn’t it?”

“Now, now, Elisabet! Not in that tone,” her mother admonished.

“That’s fair enough,” Vemund Tark said calmly.

Listening to the undertone in her voice, nobody could help noticing that Elisabet was hurt. “I admit that I would love to take care of your female relative. It sounds like a sensible occupation for a useless daughter. Admittedly, we have a ninety-six-year-old on the farm, but my great-grandfather Ulvhedin looks after himself. However, I won’t accept any horse-trading! I suggest that my parents give me permission to take care of your relative. Then we’ll have to wait and see. If your brother and I get to like one another, we can discuss the other offer later on. For the moment, I’ll say neither yes nor no to it.”

“Elisabet!” her mother exclaimed, shocked. “A young girl doesn’t spell out conditions! Will you please curtsey and say a nice thank you!”

Finally, Ulf regained his composure. “Elisabet’s suggestion is a very sensible one. What do you think, Vemund?”

He nodded. “It sounds like a good solution. I imagined a marriage of convenience, which is more usual. However, I should have realized that Elisabet is too much of an individualist to be moved about like a chess piece.”

His smile was both jolly and sarcastic but then he continued in a more serious tone of voice: “You must understand that not just anybody can take care of my relative; I must be extremely cautious in choosing the right person. It will require tact, intelligence, compassion, discretion and not least medical expertise. The woman who took care of her for some years wasn’t particularly well suited for the job but I couldn’t find anyone better. At the moment, she’s being cared for by somebody who’s totally useless. Miss Elisabet: I would never offend you by offering you an ordinary job that any night nurse could do. As a matter of fact, the task is quite complicated.”

“In other words, the job offer is a compliment?”

“Absolutely!”

“Then I’ll accept it as a compliment.”

“Elisabet, you shock me,” Mrs Tora said. “I thought I had brought you up to be humbler. Go to your room immediately!”

Elisabet sought moral support from her father but he did not want to contradict his wife in the presence of a visitor. He was confused and concerned because his only child might be about to leave home.

Elisabet protested at being sent to her room. “I promised Aunt Ingrid to come as soon as possible. Am I to break my promise?”

“Of course not,” Tora said irritably. “But you know I don’t like you visiting her. Ingrid can teach you many things that you don’t need to learn.”

Vemund Tark looked somewhat surprised.

Ulf smiled wryly. “Our Aunt Ingrid is an old witch.”

“That’s exactly what she is,” was Tora’s agitated reply. “Who was it who got two of our cows to lose their calves?”

“Certainly not her,” Ulf muttered. They had clearly discussed that matter many times before, but he did not want to argue with his wife.

“Now say goodbye and thank you to Mr Tark,” Tora said, as if she was speaking to an eight-year-old. “Thank him for his splendid offer. You can leave now. We’ll discuss your future without your presence.”

Elisabet walked politely up to Vemund, holding out her hand. “Thank you,” she murmured as she dropped a curtsey. The irritating shyness, which would appear when she least wanted it, prevented her from looking at him except for a brief moment, but she had time to register an inscrutable expression in his fascinating face. Then she ran out of the room.

Ingrid regarded young Elisabet, who had just told her everything at a breathless speed. Ingrid was seventy-three years old and she called herself a witch, which she was. A witch with style! In her there was nothing of the long-nosed, bent, shrewish old woman of the tales. Ingrid was still beautiful and she could probably still charm a man out of his wits; her eyes were a vivid yellow underneath her white hair, her slow smile could send shivers down the spine, and people whispered that strange things happened at Graastensholm. However, until recently Ingrid’s long marriage had been impeccable.

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” Ingrid asked. “To leave home for an unknown life?”

“Of course, I want it, Aunt Ingrid,” Elisabet replied passionately. “Do you think ...?”

“Don’t call me Aunt,” Ingrid said, pulling a face. “It’s the most ageing word, you make me feel ancient! And you’re a grown-up now!”

Elisabet smiled. “Do you think it’s fun drifting about at home, doing nothing? Mum scolds me for not doing anything but the moment I try to help with something, she’s on at me again. A lady of a manor doesn’t do this or that or the other. Manor! Would you say that Elistrand is a manor?”

“If I understand you correctly, it would seem that you’re not helping in the right places,” Ingrid said with a laugh. “I know how you feel. Even so, I’m not altogether sure that you’re doing the right thing. It’s so easy to make a mistake.”

Elisabet looked at her inquisitively. Then she exclaimed spontaneously: “Ingrid, can you tell my fortune?”

“Tell your fortune? Me? I’m not a soothsayer!”

“I’m sure you are.”

Ingrid’s glance turned dark. “I don’t always want to know what will happen.”

You can look into the future, Elisabet thought, but she wasn’t going to pester Ingrid. Instead, she began to talk about something else. “Ingrid, there’s something that’s very much on my mind. Great-grandfather Ulvhedin is bored absolutely stiff. Couldn’t he move up here, just for a while? He manages everything by himself and ...”

“Dearest Elisabet. There’s nothing I would rather have and we’ve spoken about it so often. But your mother ...”

“I know,” Elisabet sighed.

They looked at one another and burst out laughing. Ingrid placed her hand on Elisabet’s.

“Your mother is a splendid person and we all like her very much. Just see what she’s done to Elistrand. It’s a magnificent farm! But the problem is that she doesn’t fit in among the Ice People.”

“Can’t you say that you don’t like being on your own here? Wouldn’t she take that into consideration?”

Ingrid was in her own thoughts. “I’m not on my own here.”

“Well, then. What have you done with all your servants? And the farmhands?”

“I’ve only kept the ones who were strictly necessary. I need to save wherever I can.”

“How do you manage without them?”

“I don’t need them. I have the little ones!”

Elisabet shivered. She had certainly heard something about what went on at night at Graastensholm, and as she had walked through the hall a short while ago, she had felt that shadows were scrambling to get away and hide. But she had pushed it aside as imagination.

Ingrid went on: “Elisabet, my marriage was a very happy one. Nevertheless, I had to keep myself in check because I didn’t want my husband to discover the mystical talents I actually have. When he passed away a few years ago I grieved sincerely. But at the same time – in a particular way – it felt like getting out of a prison.”

“Because you could use your magical powers again? You’re clairvoyant, aren’t you?”

“Yes! And in order not to shock the most superstitious of my servants, I dismissed them – with brilliant references, of course – and only kept the three I could trust.”

“You receive help at night? From the little ones ...? But I thought that not all the shadows I saw were all that small, after all?”

“Hush,” Ingrid laughed, putting a finger to her lips. “One doesn’t talk about such things.”

“Mum thinks that you cast a spell over our cows.”

The old woman had a sad look in her eyes. “I would never allow a need for revenge to hurt innocent animals. I don’t think evil of your mother, Elisabet. Your mother just doesn’t understand me.”

“Great-grandfather would have a fantastic time here! He suppresses his gifts.”

“Yes, he and I could have lots of fun here,” Ingrid exclaimed. “There are so many things we could do. Elisabet, tomorrow I’ll have another word with your parents. I’ll tell them that I’m afraid of the loneliness and beg them to let me have Ulvhedin come and stay with me.”

She was lost in her emotional recollections. “Old Ulvhedin! We had such fun in my younger days!”

“I’ll do my best to coax my mother,” Elisabet promised. “I’ll tell her that you pace about restlessly in your solitude.”

The thought tickled Ingrid immensely. “Please do, Elisabet,” she asked. “And please point out that I intend to let everyone in the parish know that I was the one who forced them to send Ulvhedin over here. That way, your mother’s reputation won’t be tarnished.”

“Great-grandfather will be so pleased,” Elisabet said, bouncing up and down in her chair with delight. “And Dad as well, because he can see how Great-grandfather is suffering. It’s almost a pity that I’m about to move now. I would love to have seen what the two of you could get up to here.”

Ingrid turned serious. “I’m also sorry that you will be leaving, Elisabet. You’ve been a breath of fresh air in the family. I was looking forward to Sölve or Ingela having company when one of them moved here to take over responsibility for Graastensholm and Linden Avenue.”

But that won’t happen after all, Elisabet thought. Isn’t it wishful thinking?

“From what I gather,” she said somewhat bitterly, “they’ve decided above my head that my future husband, this younger Tark brother, is to move here. How on earth can anyone be called Lillebror?”

“Some people are baptized with that name, so there’s nothing strange about it. Well, anyway that’s good. You’ll be coming back to this parish. Nevertheless, there’s something in your description of Vemund Tark and his family that gives me an unpleasant gut feeling. I think I’ll tell your fortune anyhow. I’ll look a bit into the future.”

Elisabet shouted enthusiastically: “Yes! Will you read my palm? Or tea leaves, or the cards?”

“We don’t need any of that kind of nonsense.”

“Have you got a crystal ball?”

“What would I need that for? Although I would have liked to have something that belonged to this Vemund Tark. Then I would be able to see it all more clearly.”

Elisabet said: “I’m afraid I haven’t anything.”

“Well, let me see your hand.”

Ingrid took the girl’s hand between hers. “It’s not to read the lines, merely to establish a physical and mental link.” She had hardly touched the hand when she gave a start.

“No, this isn’t good at all,” she muttered. “Are you really leaving, Elisabet?”

“The grown-ups seem to be convinced about it. I’m also quite curious about this Lillebror. What can you see?”

“See? I can feel. Opposition to the idea. There’s something sickening about it. Something eerie.”

“Oh, dear!”

“You mustn’t allow yourself to be exploited. There’s a very dominating power ...”

“Wait a moment, I do have something after all! Tark handed me his handkerchief so that I could dry my hands after I’d bandaged young Edvin. I’m afraid it’s soiled with blood, but he said I could keep it. I’ll show you!”

Elisabet searched in her pockets. “No, I changed my frock, didn’t I, when I got back home. Oh, bother. Or ... wait, I put it in my bag!”

Elisabet ran over and fetched her small bag. “Here! Here’s the handkerchief. Sorry it looks a mess!”

“That’s fine!” Ingrid said.

She felt it and held it in her hand.

“This is becoming more difficult than I thought,” Ingrid muttered. “Edvin’s blood is on it: I can feel that rascal’s ideas about women and I can see quite a vagrant life as a farmhand on one farm after another. But I think he’ll calm down in his old age. I believe he was born out of wedlock. There’s no reason to tell his father, Nils, about that! His mother was led sinfully astray! Anyway, I’ve finished with Edvin. Now I’ll go deeper ...”

Ingrid closed her eyes. “Yes, this must be Vemund Tark. Here we have the dominating power I mentioned a while ago. Is he stylish?”

“Well, yes. He’s exactly my type and probably also yours.”

Ingrid nodded. “But don’t allow him to exploit you for his own objectives. I can’t really read his personality ... He’s a lonely wolf, and he is possessed by immense and unfathomable despair. But why? I can feel the unpleasantness but not so strongly here. I don’t understand. May I hold your hand again?”

Elisabet stretched out her hand.

“The opposition,” Ingrid whispered with her eyes closed. “Think very carefully about it, Elisabet! You mustn’t make any mistakes now!”

“Do you see something dangerous?”

“No, there’s no danger. But I seem to see a façade. A wall or something like it. A beautiful, beautiful wall. And the opposition won’t let me in. And the same goes for you.”

“You’re talking in riddles!”

“The future consists of nothing but riddles.”

Ingrid opened her yellow eyes and looked at Elisabet. “It’s behind that façade. That is where it’s to be found. The abominable thing! They’re afraid that it will get out!”

“They?”

“The Tarks. All of them. And Vemund, he’s in it as well. Anyway, he’s stuck in the filth right up to his neck!”

“And Lillebror?”

Ingrid wrinkled her brows. “I can’t see him. He seems so nondescript in this connection. As if he’s hiding. May I have the handkerchief again?”

She was given it straight away. Elisabet was completely engrossed by what she was hearing.

“That rascal, Edvin,” Ingrid muttered. “He keeps interfering with his superficial little escapades. There we go again! I feel it very vaguely ...”

Elisabet breathed out with a tremble, holding her breath so that she did not disturb Ingrid’s thoughts. “I can’t see any more, sorry! I might wash away Edvin’s blood but that would mean that Vemund Tark’s vibrations would also disappear.”

The excitement dissolved.

“Nothing about a dark man who wishes me well, or anything like that?”

“Nonsense! Do you think I’m a walking fortune teller who comes out with crazy guesses just to please?”

“No, far from it,” Elisabet smiled. “I must admit that you’ve frightened me a bit but you’ve also made me curious.”

“Me, too,” Ingrid chuckled. “If I were you, I would go. Just to see what lies behind the wall. Behind the façade.”

“You believe, do you, that I can do that safely?”

“Safely ... You must keep your eyes open. Especially with regard to this Vemund, who might exploit you for his own purposes. I don’t know what that man is up to. I mean, along comes a young and elegant bachelor and sees a lovely girl – and then he proposes on behalf of his brother! Already that is pretty suspicious!”

“Thank you for using the word ‘lovely’,” Elisabet laughed. “To be honest, I think I was somewhat disappointed. Afterwards I was really mad! If I had had a slight weakness for him – because of his pleasant appearance – that emotion died immediately he had finished speaking.”

Ingrid said: “Good. But please remember what I’ve said repeatedly. When it comes to this enigmatic family, don’t make any mistakes! That’s extremely important. Be very careful whom you choose to trust. Honestly, Elisabet: you just can’t imagine the amount of falseness and abomination here!”

Elisabet promised to be vigilant. She looked at her cousin and was intrigued by Ingrid’s fine complexion. She could not see a single wrinkle. The only trace of old age was a certain fatigue and experience of life in the eyes. But of course, it was not the face of a twenty-year-old she saw! Age is a strange entity; no matter how youthful a person may seem, the indefinable, invisible signs are there even so.

“Ingrid, what do you make of marriages of convenience?”

“Both for and against. My son, Daniel, who loves statistics, insists that such marriages can be surprisingly happy. He entered such a marriage himself and it seems to work fine. I suppose my own marriage began with interests that we had in common, but developed into a lovely relationship. Why do you ask? Are you scared at the thought of marrying someone you’ve never seen?”

“I know it’s the usual thing to marry in that way but, well, I suppose I’m afraid. I’m sure I can adapt but what if he doesn’t like me?”

“I actually think he will,” Ingrid said quickly.

“Thank you,” Elisabet said with a smile. “From what I gather, it’s certainly an excellent match. It will also be useful for him to marry into Elistrand, but what if he’s madly in love with somebody else? That would make me feel stupid!”

“I didn’t sense anything of the kind in your hand. I didn’t want to be too optimistic, but now I had better tell you: if you can fight your way through a difficult patch in which everything can go terribly wrong ... then I see a fine and happy future for you.”

Elisabet was surprised and laughed abruptly. “I say. And there you sit, frightening me like this!”

“You haven’t reached your goal yet,” Ingrid warned. “I see a lot of unpleasantness. To put it mildly.”

Elisabet sighed. She was regretful but also glad that she had asked for a prophecy.

“Ingrid,” she said hesitantly: “To change the subject ... you know how the Ice People have their legends ...”

“Yes, heaven knows I do!”

“One of them, which is rarely touched upon, is the prophecy that a child will be born with far greater natural powers than the world has ever seen. Surely that child is bound to have been born by now? Could it be Ulvhedin? Or Shira? Or Villemo, or Dominic? And why not you, for instance? Sol was pretty good at black magic herself.”

Ingrid leaned back and smiled. “We’re only small fry. No, that person hasn’t been born yet.”

“Dad tells me that the curse is eradicated?”

“Ulvhedin says otherwise and so do I.”

Elisabet was silent for a little while. “I don’t like it. Things have been quiet for many years, ever since Shira accomplished her journey. I thought she had managed to break the power of Tengel the Evil.”

“She only half succeeded. She provided us with the means to wipe him out.”

“I see. Will it be that person who is not yet born who will complete the task?”

“I can’t say anything about that. Maybe we’ll never succeed. Once Tengel the Evil wakes up, we and the world will be in dire trouble.”

“Oh, then it’s urgent, it’s urgent,” Elisabet moaned. “Can’t one of us go up to the Valley of the Ice People and search?”

“No,” Ingrid said sharply. “When not even Ulvhedin was able to, how are we supposed to?”

“The unborn ... Can you foresee anything about it? Is it a he or a she?”

“I think I know what it will be, but I don’t want to say anything in case I ruin my prestige as a fortune teller – now that I’ve clearly impressed you with my art. However, there is something strange ...”

“What?”

“Something that’s not in keeping with the habits of the Ice People. I sense that this person will be one of eight to ten siblings!”

“Oh, no. Then that child can’t be one of the Ice People. Nature has always been extremely tight-fisted when it comes to lots of children. Isn’t the record three? Are and Meta’s three sons?”

“Yes, which is why it doesn’t make sense to me. And yet somehow it does ...”

Elisabet wasn’t listening. “Anyway, I don’t plan to give birth to ten children with this Lillebror Tark! To be honest, I don’t want to have a single child by him. I don’t even want to go to bed with him.”

“You have to,” Ingrid said in a serious tone. “Besides, it’s not nearly as bad as you imagine.”

“Ugh,” said Elisabet, grimacing.