C14 Chapter 14

Mounted on their horses, they watched the forest die before their very eyes. With plaintive screeches the trunks collapsed to the ground. The entire valley was filled with that horrendous sound. And ahead of them the chaos grew worse and worse.

It was true what one of them had said earlier: had it, in fact, been Heike himself? He no longer remembered. But it was true that there was no way out of the valley, only into it! At the edge of the forest, where the path ended, the tangled wilderness seemed to gather momentum.

But the witch’s power had been destroyed. Now the young people would have to take heart!

And try to avoid getting lost.

The horses were obviously nervous. They danced and whinnied loudly, didn’t want to enter the infernal racket and the chaos of fallen branches.

“Mira,” Heike shouted above the noise. “Don’t you still have something that belongs to me?”

“You mean the horse?” Mira asked.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

She sighed. “Oh, Heike. I had hoped you wouldn’t ask. Can’t I keep it?”

“Unfortunately not, Mira. I would give you anything, but not that! The mandrake and I belong together, and it must stay in the family. We are like master and servant, I just don’t know which one is which. Let’s just say we’re inseparable.”

“It’s just that I felt so safe wearing it. I would even dare ride through this forest with it and I can accept the fact that I was staying at an inn that doesn’t exist because I had it with me.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that. I need it now!”

With a deep sigh, Mira took off the mandrake, rode up to Heike and gave it to him. “Well, thank you for lending it to me! Do you know where I can get one of those?”

“Try an apothecary,” Peter interjected. “They might know. But not all mandrakes are equally effective. They have to have a proper human form and must be pulled out of the ground at a place of execution by the tail of a black dog. The black dog will, incidentally, die from the mandrake’s screams when it’s pulled out of the ground.”

“Is that what happened to this mandrake, Heike?” Mira asked sceptically.

“I have no idea. All I know is that it’s very old. At least five hundred years old, perhaps older.”

“But it doesn’t look old!”

“No, not at all.” It’s keeping itself alive, Heike thought but didn’t say aloud.

There was actually something unusual about the mandrake of the Ice People. The plant’s rosette of leaves, the part that had grown above ground, had been shredded so that only a few fibres were left. For that reason the mandrake seemed almost to have some “hair” growing from its “head” and across its “face”. It looked very lifelike.

Or perhaps the hair was fine rootlets. He wasn’t sure.

“I love it already,” Mira sighed. “You should never have lent it to me.”

“But I thought it saved your life,” Heike said.

“Yes,” she answered earnestly “So it did.”

All three of them looked at one another. Heike tucked the mandrake under his shirt with a certain sense of satisfaction and they were then ready to venture on into the forest.

The sun must be high in the sky. Had there been any sun, that is. But the sky was hidden by dense cloud that had quietly enveloped them. Nothing felt light or sunny any more.

The horses objected to entering the chaos and they had to force them to move forward. To be on the safe side, they tied all three horses together so none of them would run away.

Almost at once, a semi-rotten branch fell on Peter’s head. They looked around and saw the trees falling and tumbling down, the rootlets twisted in spasms of death, vapours rising from the marshy ground, while horrendous sounds could be heard as the slimy branches gave way and snapped.

It was a forest undergoing a death struggle, and there was nothing they could do but try to make their way through it. They were terrified of riding in a circle and arriving in the valley of horror once again, for now they knew that there were no people down there, no grazing sheep, no cows, no inn, no church ... only screeching ravens.

That was where the two French horses had roamed about grazing, bewildered and abandoned by their owners, in a valley they couldn’t leave and where there were no other living beings until Heike and his friends arrived.

Heike shuddered at the thought of the vast loneliness that lay behind them.

But the cemetery must still be standing there among the ruins. And in the cemetery Princess Feodora was now resting in peace with her little daughter, surrounded by members of her family. The coachman and his horses had also found peace wherever they were. And the evil Anciol had been pierced through the heart with a stake and could no longer do any harm.

The forest, the embodiment of her thirst for revenge, the incarnation of her insatiable erotic desire, was undergoing its final death throes all around them as they worked their way through it painfully slowly. Soon, in a year or two, new, natural forms of growth would take root here and conquer the terrain.

The valley was finally free of the curse.

As they were crossing a marshy meadow, surrounded by trees toppling over and falling with great splashes into the bog, Heike asked Peter in a low voice: “How are you ...? Do you still have a problem with ...?”

Heike was too shy to say it straight out.

“No, no,” Peter answered quickly. “Everything is back to normal. It happened as soon as you drove the iron rod through her.”

“Good,” Heike nodded. “Then we know for certain that she is dead. I suppose I ought to be grateful for the fact that that was all it took. With some creatures you have to sever the head from the rest of the body in order to lift the curse.”

“Ugh!” Peter said with a shudder. “You know, I’ve been thinking about the Frenchmen and the other corpses in the crypt ... Shouldn’t we try to help them? Talk to a priest somewhere?”

“That would probably be a good idea,” Heike answered indifferently. “But I don’t intend to be the one to show them the way here.”

“Neither do I. Perhaps it will turn out all right.”

Peter spoke in a normal voice again and stooped in order to pass under a smooth, mossy branch that looked as though it might snap at any moment.

“What an idiot I’ve been, though,” he exclaimed. “I’ve studied a great deal, as you know, and now I recall having read a similar story before! An oriental legend ...”

“Really?”

They dismounted from their horses in order to lead them to better ground. At this particular spot the wilderness was completely impassable.

“Yes,” said Peter. “I think it is called ‘The Black Hair’, and it comes from that closed country far in the east, called Japan. The legend, or rather the ghost story, deals with a man who left his wife for some time in order to marry a wealthy woman, planning that it would benefit both himself and his first wife. So his wife waited for him to come back with a lot of money for them both. After many years he finally returned and they shared a single night of wonderful love-making. The next morning he found her bones in their bed and her hair strangled him.

“That’s almost what happened here!” Heike exclaimed.

“Yes, but it would never have occurred to me that gorgeous Nicola ... And, anyway, it’s just a legend.”

“Perhaps it’s more than that,” Heike said. “And if it can happen in one place, it can most probably happen in another.”

Mira suddenly cried out, “Look up there! There are steep slopes on both sides! Could that be the pass?”

“I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s not the valley,” Peter said. “Yes, it is the pass, I recognize the peak there, Heike: we’re no longer in the forest! We made it through!”

“I hardly dare believe it,” Heike said, apprehensively, but the others detected the joy and relief in his voice.

It was the mountain pass. Which would lead them back to the world of the living.

Not right away, though. When they were finally able to leave the terrible, devouring forest behind and stood at the highest point of the pass, all they could see were hills and valleys without roads. They sensed that their hardships weren’t entirely over yet. There was no trace of the road that had led them there. It was rather disheartening that the witch’s spell had also affected the area outside the unhappy valley.

However, once they reached the nearest valley they quickly found the right road. It was just the last part of the route, up towards the pass and through it, that had been a delusion. A long time ago there had probably been a real road but now it belonged to the world of witches and ghosts.

It wasn’t hard to choose which way to go, because the road they found dwindled into an overgrown path in one direction, while the other way seemed wide and promising.

“Do we dare believe it?” Peter asked with scepticism.

“Peter the Doubter,” Heike said as he smiled. “Yes, I think it’s the right road.”

Mira didn’t say anything. She just gazed at Peter’s back and neck with adoring eyes.

They rode for a long time that afternoon, sometimes in silent contemplation, at others in lively, light conversation. Oddly enough, it was Peter, who was normally so cheerful, who was the most silent of them all; at times he even plunged into downright sadness. Perhaps it was no wonder, Heike thought. He had, after all, been madly in love, and then had been given a deathly shock!

But one thing they could all agree on: they were indescribably hungry, and their travelling funds were just as empty as their stomachs.

“When did we actually last eat?” Mira asked thoughtfully as they rested on a bank by a little pond. They had picked lots of berries, and Peter had caught a fish with his bare hands. They were frying it now, waiting impatiently for it to be done.

“Shhh,” Peter said. “If you start pondering things like that you’ll go mad!”

“I think we ate at Târgul Stregesti,” Mira said. “But what did we eat? I hardly dare think about it.”

Heike solved the riddle for them. “When we turned onto the ancient road across the pass some days ago, we crossed over into a bygone age,” he explained. “We moved back into ... when do you think it would have been, Peter?”

Peter picked the fish out of the embers, blew on his fingertips and answered, “It’s hard to say. Feodora died in 1618, that much we know, and the village probably went on existing for some time after that. No, I’m not sure whether it was before or after that year. But by all means, go on!”

“Yes, well, I believe that what we ate at the inn was real food. The food of the village. But at the castle ...?”

“Everything tasted of hay or grass or nothing,” Peter said. “You’re right, Heike. In the time we landed in, Nicola and Feodora and the coachman were already ghosts, who were haunting the living village to such an extent that the inhabitants finally had to move. No, it’s all getting much too complicated. A ghost town with ghosts that are even older! Well, at least we managed to lift the curse and save the lost souls, didn’t we? Or, rather, you did, Heike.”

To everyone’s great surprise, Peter suddenly burst into tears. He hid his face in his hands as he let out several loud sobs. They waited patiently and with understanding, though with some concern, as one tends to do at such outbursts. Peter finally managed to suppress his weeping, took some deep breaths and sniffed.

“I have had terrible pangs of conscience today,” he confessed in a thick voice as he dried his eyes. “How could I, I who admire you so much, have behaved the way I did? Being cross and nasty to you? And, on top of that, hitting you with an axe? I might have killed you! It’s so unlike me to do that sort of thing and I don’t understand it. I could die from sheer shame, Heike!”

“You were subjected to Anciol’s bewitching power of love,” Heike answered matter-of-factly. “I knew that from the very start and I didn’t attach much importance to your actions. The only mistake I made was that I thought it was an instance of ordinary, earthly love and that that could drive a man to do such things. I didn’t know then that Nicola was one of the evil undead.”

“Can you forgive me?” Peter asked, placing his hand over his friend’s.

“I already have. Otherwise I wouldn’t have been so determined to get you out of that castle.”

“Thank you, Heike! Thank you for saving my life! And you, Mira, can you forgive me? I wasn’t very nice to you either.”

Her radiant gaze spoke for her. Peter was somewhat astonished to discover just how strong her admiration for him was. And he had once called her a “cow”.

In order to conceal his embarrassment he began dividing the fish among them.

The food revived their spirits, and as night fell they caught sight of a much wider road deep down in the valley. With small villages dotted here and there and a big river.

“All this can’t be mere illusion,” Heike said carefully.

“No, those villages are real,” Peter established. “My friends, we are back at the Mures Pass and now, at long last, the road to civilization lies before us.” Joyfully they rode downhill towards the valley. It wasn’t the Mures Pass but a different valley, but that didn’t matter. They were on the right track, what more could they wish for?

“Tell me,” Peter laughed. “Did we really experience all that? Târgul Stregesti and Cetatea de Strega and everything?”

“No, right now it certainly does feel very unreal,” Heike said, smiling. “But haven’t all three of us got our share of injuries? Both physically and mentally?”

“There’s no doubt about that,” said Mira.

Two days later they reached Peter’s family’s home in the city. They were given a hearty welcome and had the opportunity to rest in big, comfortable beds – pure luxury after all their travelling and sleeping in the open.

The following day, having made a number of inquiries, Peter got the address of a historian who was reputed know Siebenbürger inside and out. He spent much of his time in the museum, and they obtained an interview with him. Mira preferred to stay at home as she didn’t want to hear another word about the awful valley.

The professor was a fat, bald man who invited them to sit down in his office, which was bursting with books. He asked why they had come.

They said they wanted to know whether there was a village by the name of Târgul Stregesti, and a castle that the village belonged to.

“Oh, that,” laughed the professor, who spoke good German. “That’s just a legend.”

“We’re not so sure about that!” Peter said.

The historian looked from him to his other strange guest. The young men continued to explain.

They hadn’t got very far before the professor stood up and walked to the door. “Wait a moment, my colleagues have to hear this.”

He fetched an ethnographer, who was an expert on Siebenbürger’s folklore, and a geographer. The two young men had to repeat what they had already said before continuing.

The three learned men listened with great interest, at first with amused scepticism, but later with wrinkled brows and astonished expressions on their faces. The folklorist displayed a particular interest. He asked sharply whether Heike and Peter had previously heard the legend about the evil witch in Stregesti, but they both assured him that they came from far away and that they had never been there before.

When Heike and Peter had finished talking the wise men looked at one another.

“Where is this valley?” they asked.

“We don’t know exactly,” Peter said. “We strayed away from the Mures Pass and got lost. There weren’t any people for miles around.”

“Officially, there is no village of that name,” said the geographer. “But the legend belongs to the fairytale treasury of the kingdom of Ardeal.”

“Yes,” said the folklorist. “According to the legend, there is a village deep in the mountains southwest of here. But no one has ever seen it.”

“Which isn’t so strange,” Heike said dryly, “Since no one has ever come out of there alive until now.”

The historian looked thoughtful. “A number of men have disappeared in the mountains over the years. But we always assumed that they had been attacked by wild animals.”

“May we hear the legend?” Heike asked carefully. “Perhaps then a lot of things will become clearer to us. There is much we don’t understand.”

“Yes, I’d be happy to tell it,” the said ethnographer. “But may we at least offer you a glass of wine?”

The young men accepted the offer and the ethnographer began to tell the story. “The legend tells of a princess of Gepid origin called Anciol ...”

“May we ask you questions while you tell it?”

“By all means, please do!”

“Anciol is a strange name. Where does it originate?”

“It is probably of Gepid origin. The Gepids captured Ardeal at the start of our era and disappeared from the historical record in the year 567, when they were defeated by the Lombards. But, of course, some of the people survived and lived on, even though they were oppressed by their conquerers. According to the legend, Anciol means ‘the best, the supreme’. And this witch really lived up to her name. Her need to assert herself was very strong! As was her appetite for men, who could not help but love her because, according to herself, she was the most beautiful and desirable woman in the whole world.”

The two young men looked at one another and nodded.

“Yes, that is indeed our Anciol,” Heike said. “But when is this woman supposed to have lived?”

The folklorist shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a legend. Up until now, no one has believed that it ever really happened. But I would guess in the Middle Ages. Anyway, this woman was described as very desirable, lovely as a child but also with a very powerful form of erotic attraction. Nevertheless, things did not go well for her. Her father had promised her to the son of a prince from Moldavia. But he had the nerve to fall in love with someone else after meeting the gorgeous Anciol. And that someone happened to be Anciol’s own cousin, who lived in the same castle. However, what made Anciol fret the most was the fact that her cousin was older than her. Her name was Feodora, but it couldn’t have been the Feodora whom you met. She doesn’t enter the story until later. At any rate, the betrothed prince was so rash as to claim that Feodora’s hair was more beautiful than Anciol’s, and that there was something eerie about Anciol’s hair: it practically resembled raven’s wings. This must have had something to do with the way in which she styled her hair, parted in the middle and draped across her face, and it also had a blue-black lustre. And if there was one thing she was proud of, then it was her long hair! What a horrendous insult that was!

“The prince took Feodora, his bride, with him back to Moldavia. But Anciol fretted terribly over this. She didn’t mourn, she fretted, and she swore a holy oath that she would go all the way to becoming a witch. She was already knowledgeable on the subject of witchcraft but now she wanted to be resurrected after her death, and guess who was going to suffer for the humiliation she had endured? Yes, of course, the blasphemous individuals who had been so abominable to her. But also all other men in the world. They were all to suffer for the insult that had been inflicted on her, and her hair was to play its part in her act of revenge.

“Another thing was her sexual desire, which certainly didn’t diminish after she passed into the world of the undead. On the contrary!

“Her erstwhile fiancé could not settle down at home in Moldavia. He had a child with his wife, Feodora, but then he could no longer withstand Anciol’s power. She made every effort to get him back and he rode like a madman to the castle up in the mountains, only to be met with the most terrifying fate. Anciol forced him to make love to her every single night until she wore him out. And when he died, prematurely old and broken, he returned as a ghost. She degraded the former prince as her coachman and slave.

“Moldavia was beset by war. Feodora’s great-grandchild, a young woman who was also named Feodora, had to flee with her newborn daughter and her father, who was a voivode. They fled to the valley and the castle in southwest Ardeal, which she had heard so much about and where her own relatives had lived.

“But, oh, how it had changed! A forest had grown around the valley, a forest nourished by evil and sickly desire. Half the village had caved in and the other half was haunted in the most horrifying way by a succubus that stole the men of the village and used them to satisfy her manic desire before killing them. Feodora grieved over her beautiful castle, which she had now inherited as the last of her lineage. She was naive enough to name her little daughter Anciol in the hope of lifting the curse from the castle, and the beautiful bridal gown still hung there that the daughter was to wear one day. Perhaps Feodora thought that the undead one would simply disappear?

“If so, she had certainly misjudged Anciol! Anciol was ‘the only one’. No one else was to bear that name or wear that bridal gown! Who did they think they were?

“Of course, it all came to a bad end! Here was a descendant of her rival who was beautiful and whose hair surpassed Anciol’s by far in both length and beauty, and on top of that, she had the same name as her!

“The witch took decisive action. Mother and daughter were killed. The child was insignificant, she didn’t care about it, but now she had the chance to avenge herself on her rival, the first Feodora. There was no longer a priest in the village and the deceased were buried in an unconsecrated grave.

“The Princess Feodora became a ghost and was forced to serve Anciol. The rest of the village died out because there were no more men left. And then the forest closed around Târgul Stregesti for good, and all that was left was a legend in Ardeal folklore.”

They sat silently for a moment.

“We misunderstood Feodora,” Heike said at last. “She was only seducing men so that she could save them from Anciol-Nicola. She was trying to fight against the witch.”

Then the history professor said, “I always found that legend to be poorly constructed. Its narrative structure does not have the proper shape to make it suitable for children or grandchildren.”

“No, it seems it’s based purely on reality,” added the geography professor. “Just as capricious in its narration as life itself. But, my young friends, you’ve managed to awaken our curiosity! You’ll have to show us the way there!”

“Not on your life!” Heike and Peter answered both at once.

Heike was happy to say that he was on his way north and that he had already been delayed by a month. And wild horses couldn’t drag Peter back through that forest!

So instead they drew as precise a map as they could, and the geographer announced that he intended to organize an expedition in search of the village. The two young men expressed their joy in hearing that, as they were thinking of all the poor deceased men in the castle. Someone ought to recite a few holy words over them.

Then it was time for the young men to take their departure. Peter’s family provided Heike with both food and money. They didn’t know how to repay him for saving Peter’s life.

When they were saying their farewells, Heike noticed that Peter and Mira were holding hands. They blushed and smiled shyly, and Peter said that he had found lodgings for Mira in the city and that they might, in time, join forces. Heike gave them his warmest congratulations. He didn’t know when they had discovered their feelings for one another, but love always manages to find both time and space to develop.

Late that autumn an expedition reached Târgul Stregesti. The astonished participants found that everything the two young men had told them was true. The forest was definitively dead now. They found the ruins of the village, the cemetery – which was blessed by a priest who was a member of the expedition – the ruins of the church and the older village, including the castle.

Deep in the abyss under the castle ruins they found the Frenchmen and all the other dead men surrounding the coffin. The men were buried in the cemetery and their graves were blessed. But they did not touch the contents of the coffin. In it lay a terrible mummy with its mouth agape, completely without hair, and the men turned away making the sign of the cross. Not even the priest wanted to have anything to do with that abomination.

Instead they poured a great weight of rocks onto the stone floor above it.

Then they left the secret valley.

By then, Heike Lind of the Ice People was far away in northern Europe on his way through Denmark, travelling home to his kinsmen in Sweden and Norway. Home to people he had never met, who knew nothing of the existence of a descendant of the vanished Sölve, Daniel’s son.