C10 Chapter 10

How do you live on when the one you love more than life itself has gone forever? What do you do when an unbearable grief tears you to pieces, when your soul is one big, painful wound, which the memory and the loss seem to rake up once more with sharp claws? What’s left then?

This impossible love, this incredible lover! Not dead, yet just as completely unattainable. No earthly man could ever fill his place. It would be completely out of the question. Nobody would ever be able to encompass her with so much tenderness, such intense love, nor would she be able to give such love to anybody, because it had literally been superhuman.

It had been perfect. Absolutely perfect.

How could it actually happen that she would fall so immediately and irrevocably for a superhuman creature, a ... demon? It wasn’t so difficult to understand. Lucifer had fascinated her ever since her childhood years, when she was drawn to the lonely, unhappy and handsome angel of light down there in the abyss. When she met Marcel, she had felt an instant rapport, which in a matter of a few days had turned into love, both physical and mental. Nevertheless, for the first time in her life she had felt anxiety, experienced what it was like to be frightened. She had intuitively sensed that something was wrong. The unknown had been with them on their journey through the wilderness ... When Marcel revealed his true identity, her anxiety lost its grip on her. She relaxed. She was calm. Strong. Happy ... and at the same time deeply unhappy, because she knew that she would lose him again.

Now everything was in the past.

Saga woke up, rested, in the coaching inn. She woke, painfully aware that she would never see him again.

She had made a plan for the day: she was to catch the mail coach to Kongsvinger this morning. But really all she wanted was to sleep, and forget, forget ...

She would have liked to know how he was getting on now? He who had waited all alone for hundreds of years. Would he be satisfied now, and able to settle down? Saga knew that he wouldn’t. He had told her that his yearning would be many times heavier to bear. Because now it was real, now he had her to long for. When another hundred years had passed and he was able to reappear on earth, she would be long gone. No cruel deity could have invented a harsher revenge. Saga had no greater wish than to be allowed to die. It wouldn’t bring them closer to each other, but she would at least have peace.

Finally, she sat up and began to get ready for the journey. She mustn’t die. Not yet. She had a task to perform. After that she would see ...

While she got dressed and had a very much needed breakfast down in the taproom, she reflected that she had changed a lot.

It wasn’t so much the fact that she had slept for almost twenty-four hours straight and was now rested. No, she now had a strength that must have come from Lucifer. She had never known fear, except during those first days in the woods, but now it was as if she were twice as resilient, blessed with an inner strength that could move mountains. He had said that he would try to give her the will to perform the task that awaited her. So now she was not just one of the chosen of the Ice People, with the control needed in difficult circumstances, she had also been given supernatural power over herself and hence, everything around her. A power that was only to be used in the service of good. She knew that. If it hadn’t been for her sorrow and longing, she would have felt impulsive and invincible.

She had to sit on the box next to the driver because the coach was full. As they drove out of the village and onto the wide plain, she turned and looked eastward, towards the forest. A noise like a loud organ could be heard in the treetops, even at this distance.

There was a mountain ridge ... Could that be the one? Its naked cliffs and slopes rose out of the forest ... Yes, it had to be the one. It was as if she had been stabbed with a knife in her heart, and she wanted to turn around. But she didn’t want to go back to that place again – what was the point? He wasn’t there, was he? So the forest would seem twice as deserted.

Saga wondered how Paul was. He had undoubtedly been taken back to Sweden to be punished for his petty fraud. And what about the fugitive, the knife wielder? Saga didn’t know what had happened to him either. She didn’t have the energy to take on his concerns.

She just had to forget everything, so that she could concentrate on the task to come. She looked away from the sorrowful forest.

Saga reached Graastensholm Parish in late July.

She was horrified.

She had a childhood memory of a gentle, beautiful place: even though more houses were beginning to be built on the outskirts, it had still been recognizable as a village. She remembered the Graastensholm estate as a deserted, brooding building that nobody dared to enter and Linden Avenue as a small, cosy farm, admittedly old and draughty, but with an unmistakable atmosphere of cosiness and love.

What she now saw was a town. The church was still there but it was hidden, overwhelmed by all the fine villas that surrounded it, while the trees around the churchyard had grown huge. Otherwise there weren’t many trees to see any more – they had been felled to make way for new buildings.

And Graastensholm ... was nothing but a ruin. The big house still stood but it was just an empty shell, with broken windowpanes, a collapsed roof and decayed farm buildings. A depressing image of past greatness and present decay.

Things were not much better at Linden Avenue. Now it was really apparent how old the buildings were. Are had once added a new wing to the house, but even that was now more than two hundred years old. The closer Saga got to Linden Avenue, the more evident was the decline. The farm wasn’t exactly mismanaged, because the fields were ploughed, corn was growing, and there were some cows and a horse. Yet everything seemed so haphazard. The cornfield merged with the meadow next to it, here and there the corn stood far too low, and its sickly colour indicated that it was growing in swampy soil. The outhouses were very badly in need of repair, and nettles grew in the corners of the courtyard.

Even the venerable old avenue that had given the farm its name seemed to be about to give up. The trees needed to be cut down so that new ones could be planted.

Not far away, the horrible Graastensholm brooded over the whole scene. Saga could see black birds circling around what remained of the tower – jackdaws, crows or possibly ravens.

Why do empty window openings make a place look so eerie? It makes you think of a haunted castle, except that here the expression was justified. During Saga’s childhood, and even long before her time, ghosts had haunted Graastensholm. It was sixty-five years since Heike and Vinga had brought the ghosts to the place, in 1795 ...

Saga now stood at the front door of Linden Avenue and knocked. A boy about ten years old opened the door.

“Henning?” she asked with a smile.

“Yes?” said the boy questioningly. He had an open and honest look in his eyes, was quite big and hefty for his age but seemed thoroughly nice. His features were pure, with a broad forehead, a sensitive mouth and eyes set far apart under his light-brown fringe.

“I’m Saga, your cousin from Sweden.”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, blushing. “Mother! It’s Saga, she’s here already!”

“Good heavens,” said somebody from inside the house, and then quick steps could be heard. Apparently, Saga had arrived rather earlier than anticipated. Nevertheless, Belinda beamed as she came out and gave her a hug.

“Welcome, welcome,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “It’s been so long since you were last here. I think you were only twelve or thirteen then. And now you’re a grown-up. Do come in!”

Belinda had aged a lot since then. Saga thought she couldn’t be much more than about thirty, but worries and hard work had left their mark on her sweet little face. Her hands were raw, and her arms muscular. She was thin and had dark circles under her eyes.

They walked into the big living room, which showed their clumsy, desperate attempts to maintain their standards. Yet everything seemed so ineffective, so lacklustre. There didn’t appear to be any servants in the house.

Saga was offered a seat on the sofa by the fine table, and Belinda whispered an order to Henning. He immediately went off into the kitchen.

“Where’s Viljar?” asked Saga.

Belinda touched her hair nervously with her hand. “He’s not so well today,” she said quickly.

“I hope he’s not ill? Seriously, I mean? Long-term?”

Belinda replied: “No, no. Not at all.”

Henning came back with three cups and a plate of cakes.

Belinda laughed breathlessly. “We hadn’t really counted on seeing you yet. Your letter didn’t arrive until a few days ago. It must have taken a long time to get here. Otherwise we’d ...”

At that moment, the door opened and Viljar entered the room. Belinda fell silent. She was perplexed.

Saga was shocked. Was this the young, handsome Viljar she remembered? By now, of course, he was forty, but he had changed so much. The skin around his eyes was loose, his stubble was several days old. His hair was untidy and he looked as if ...

“Goodness, Viljar! Do you drink?” she exclaimed, horrified. The words were out of her mouth before she had time to think.

Belinda and Henning stiffened in horror. Viljar started, trying to fix his eyes on Saga.

“Is that you, Saga?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that, but you’ve changed a lot.”

“Have I?” he murmured and looked down. He tried to hold on to the back of a chair and was about to sit down but looked towards his wife, Belinda, instead. “Belinda. Have you ...?”

“A beer? Yes.”

Belinda was already on her way out into the kitchen when Saga stopped her.

“I need to have a serious word with you. If you’ve a cup for Viljar, that would be better.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye but said nothing. He walked out into the hall and straightened his hair in the big mirror there. Back in the kitchen, he splashed his head with cold water and ran his hand over his chin as if he was thinking of shaving, but then decided to wait until later.

He seemed under the weather, sitting at the table drinking black coffee. The cakes that Belinda offered each of them made him shudder.

Belinda said cautiously: “Saga, you wrote in your letter that you’d been summoned. Can you tell us a bit more about it?”

“I don’t know much more than that. I just got a message in a dream from our ancestors that I was to come to Graastensholm. That you needed me here.”

“Oh, God,” murmured Viljar.

Saga turned to him. “Perhaps that’s not true?”

He laughed joylessly. “How are you supposed to help us with our hell?”

“Viljar,” she replied calmly. “You must remember that I am one of the chosen.”

He looked at her. His eyes showed that he felt ashamed that Saga was seeing him like this. “Yes, I believe you are. Now that I see you, I know it’s true. Not just because of your incredible, almost exotic beauty, but because of the inner glow that radiates from your eyes. A mixture of supernatural joy ... and grief.”

“You’re right,” she said with a nod. “Only I don’t think that has much to do with my special talents. It was something I experienced on my way here ...”

With her female intuition, Belinda understood straight away what Saga meant. “You wrote that you had divorced your husband. That was a very brave decision. Was it ... somebody new you met? On your journey?”

“Yes,” said Saga with a sad smile. “The love of my life, and I say that with no exaggeration. And I ... lost him again.”

“Is he dead?”

Saga hesitated. Then she answered: “Yes.”

“How sad! But Viljar is right – one can tell from your eyes.”

Henning dropped his spoon in his cup and Viljar jumped up and scowled at him.

“How long has this been going on, Viljar?” Saga asked bluntly.

“What?” he asked. His voice was thick.

“Your drinking habit?”

“Oh, I don’t drink that much,” he said defensively. “I only had a small glass yesterday evening because ...”

Then his shoulders drooped. “How strange. Here I’ve been, getting angry with Belinda because she keeps telling me that I drink too much. I thought I had it under control. Then an outsider comes and the first thing she sees is my drinking problem. I think the truth is beginning to dawn on me!”

They sat in silence for a while. Then Viljar suddenly exclaimed: “But how else can I keep going?”

“Tell me about it,” Saga said calmly. “You seem to have a very loyal family.”

“Yes, I do,” he replied in a thick voice. “I love them, yet I’m hurting them!”

“You’ve never struck us though,” Belinda whispered.

“No, and if I had, I might as well die,” Viljar exclaimed loudly. “Isn’t it bad enough as it is? I let them toil while I escape into another world.”

Saga spoke decisively. “Your remorse will have to wait. Get to the point!”

Viljar took a deep breath. “There’s so much.”

“Begin with the essence.”

“The essence,” he repeated bitterly. “The essence is the excrescence called Graastensholm.”

“Yes, I saw it on my way here. It’s pretty ... shocking.”

“If only you knew, if only you knew ...”

“Nobody can get inside it, said Belinda quietly. “People have lost their lives in there! One day, there was a tramp lying dead by the gate! His face was staring as if in horror! A council official went inside and never came out again.”

“The municipality wants the farm,” Viljar said wearily. “As it is now, it’s worth nothing. They want to tear down the house, or burn it, and build a new farm or something else. Nobody dares go up there. We even brought in exorcists, but they didn’t get any farther than the gate before they were blown away and hurt themselves rather badly. The same thing happened to the priest.”

“Have you been up there?” Saga asked.

“Have I been up there! If I were to tell you about all the things I saw the minute I stepped inside the gate, you wouldn’t believe me. They’re deadly dangerous, Saga.”

“Who? The grey people?”

“Yes, and worst of all, young Henning has seen a couple of them lurking outside the buildings here! On Linden Avenue.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” said Saga with a sigh.

Viljar went on: “Besides, we can’t manage financially any longer. You’ve seen for yourself what things are like here on the farm. We can’t use Graastensholm’s fields and we can’t sell them either. As you can see, I’m on the verge of giving up.”

Saga turned to Belinda: “Doesn’t your family live at Elistrand?”

“They’ve moved back to town and dropped me,” said Belinda. “Now that we no longer have any standing in the parish and everybody blames us for the state of affairs at Graastensholm, they don’t want anything to do with us.”

Saga protested: “But you can’t just tear down Graastensholm. We certainly can’t burn it either! There’s something in the loft that ...”

Her voice died away: “... that the Ice People need.”

Her eyes met Viljar’s. He put her thoughts into words. “But can’t get hold of. Until somebody comes who has the abilities.”

Saga said: “I think the idea was that we had to wait until the one all the Ice People have waited for finally came. The one who has the strength to fight Tengel the Evil. But now ...”

“Now the whole house, with the loft and its secret, is in danger,” said Viljar. “In great danger, because of the grey people. I don’t think our ancestors reckoned with that.”

Saga had become very serious. “It’s high time to get it down from the loft. Before it’s lost forever.”

“And that calls for somebody who’s chosen,” said Viljar.

They fell silent.

Finally, Saga said: “So this is the state of affairs.”

After a short pause, Viljar asked: “Aren’t you scared?”

She shrugged her shoulders and looked at him with clear, immensely beautiful eyes. “No, I’m not scared. I’m not used to feeling fear. But now I know how it feels. I experienced it quite recently.” She thought a little and said: “No, I’m not the least bit afraid of the grey people.”

Viljar said in a low voice: “That’s only because you don’t know them.”

Saga lay in the white bed in the attic with the small-flowered wallpaper. She was beginning to feel increasingly calm. She realized now just how much she had roughed it on her journey, and how scruffy the various places they had stayed at had been.

Now she was “at home” at Linden Avenue, the Ice People’s first home in the south of Norway. They had inherited Graastensholm from the Meiden Family, but before that Linden Avenue had been a gift from Charlotte Meiden to Tengel and Silje. Linden Avenue was their original home, because they couldn’t count the Valley of the Ice People: that was the home of nightmares.

Viljar and Belinda had invited Saga to stay for as long as she wanted. Forever, if that was what she wanted now that she had cut her ties with Sweden. She thanked them and said that she would have to bide her time. First of all, she had to carry out the task that she had been given.

It was true that Saga didn’t feel any fear over her task. Or, to be more precise, her tasks, because there were in fact two. First, she had to chase away the grey people, and second, she had to find the hidden treasure in the loft – before the house collapsed completely, or the authorities confiscated it, or someone burnt it down.

She smiled sarcastically. It probably wouldn’t hurt the grey people if the house did collapse around them. Ghosts didn’t really bother about such things. They didn’t mind drifting around in ruins or houses that were no longer there. She remembered a story her mother, Anna Maria, had told her about an old castle in England. The castle had its own house ghost but it was special because it had no feet: it walked about in the big banqueting hall on stumps of bone. This particular riddle was solved when one day the owners ripped up the floor to lay a new one. That was when they discovered that there was another floor beneath. The ghost had been walking around with its feet on the old floor – “its” floor, from its time in this world.

Saga fell asleep. And then she had a dream.

A storm was raging in a ravine. The Ice People’s ancestors called her from far away on the other side. The wind carried their moaning voices to her.

“Saga! Saga! Can you hear us?”

Saga nodded in her sleep. It wasn’t easy to catch their message. She had to ask several times, straining her voice because the storm took it all the time, throwing it away.

Finally, the voices reached her: “Hurry up, Saga, hurry up! You have very little time. You must go up in the loft, quickly! Before it’s too late!”

“Why?” she shouted.

But they faded quietly away and disappeared. She was alone and didn’t understand any of it. Of course, she would do what they asked. She would go up there as soon as possible. But first of all, she had to help the little family at Linden Avenue out of the problems that burdened them so much.

Otherwise, they might end up losing Linden Avenue as well! And that mustn’t happen.