C12 Chapter 12

It was a while before Saga made her next move. When she moved towards the corner where the Ice People’s treasure appeared to be, a loose board under her foot creaked and the other end tipped upwards, hitting the collapsed tower. Floorboards and rubble began to move, and with a crash fell through to the floor below. The entire loft shook violently, and part of the wall gave way.

Saga stood stock-still until everything was calm again. She thought that a house ought not to die sadly like this. It was undignified, especially for such an important old estate as Graastensholm, with its long and venerable history.

This time, she took a detour around the ruined parts of the loft in order to reach the corner. All the while, she was acutely aware that somebody or something was lying in wait for her. Now she was almost at the corner. She looked around, without catching sight of anything noteworthy. Then the vibrations returned. When others had previously been up in the loft, they had seemed like a warning, but to Saga they seemed tempting.

She had been chosen to find them.

The vibrations were strongest around a chest of drawers. Was there something underneath it? Would she have to crawl around on the dirty floor? Well, there were worse things, as she had already discovered. Perhaps she was just a bit tired. Whatever she did, her thoughts returned to the only man she had ever loved, Marcel. Sometimes, she finished the thought and called him Lucifer. However, this made her shake so violently with joy that she felt dizzy. So it was better to think of him as Marcel. He was with her now. He watched her bend her knees and grope with her hand under the chest of drawers. He wasn’t really there; it was only that she drew consolation from imagining that he stood next to her. It made her feel surer.

She could feel a box.

That was promising. She pulled it out with some difficulty. It looked extremely old. The lock and hinges were encrusted with rust. She sat up slowly and held the box between her hands, almost devoutly. At that moment, she felt a blow to her neck that almost made her lose consciousness. She quickly pulled herself together. She had only just got to her feet when she felt something behind her. Something big. That much she picked up before she turned around. It was something enormous. She remembered a line from the Ice People’s chronicle: “Some of them were as tall as pine trees.”

Who was missing from Heike’s list of the grey people? Tall as pine trees? She gripped the box tightly under her arm, holding up the mandrake with the other hand.

“Whosoever you are, go hence!” she said, using deliberately archaic language. These beings she was dealing with belonged to an age long forgotten. “Go back to the soil in which you were interred!”

Now three things happened at the same time. She could hear a woman laughing somewhere to her right. On her left, she could the voice of an old man. He spoke in an ancient dialect: “Why are you carrying on like that, woman of the Ice People? After all, we’re of the same wool!”

The huge abominable creature, which she thought was in front of her, clung to her with such force that Saga fell down on her knees.

Then she realized who it was that could be as tall as houses: the spirits of newborn babies who had been left outside to die. They might dwell under barn floors or out in the forest, and they could hold on to the living and torture them to death.

But she undoubtedly had three different ghosts to fight against up here. And they would hardly let her reach the stairs ...

She felt an arm around her neck and reached out. She took hold of a soft baby’s hand that was bigger than her own head. She whispered softly, just as Silje had once done to a baby she found out in the forest: “I baptize you Per, I baptize you Kari, in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen.” All the time, she went on clinging to the huge hand.

The pressure lifted. It was as if this enormous creature and Saga herself felt the same immense relief flow through them both. With a little whimper that dissolved in a sigh, the creature vanished from her shoulders.

“Well, I never,” said the old man’s voice. Saga thought it sounded strangely distant, both in time and space. “I can hear that you know your stuff. Well, well, you’ve managed to get this far so you must know a thing or two!”

Saga felt no fear. She had never felt afraid while she had been in Graastensholm, and she knew why. Of course, she had the protection of the chosen, but there was something more: she had been allowed to feel the strongest kind of love between man and woman, and now that she had no more left, since her beloved Marcel was gone forever, she had nothing to lose! The person who doesn’t see any future, doesn’t fear it.

She said quietly: “Who are you? And who is the woman?”

The man chuckled. “Don’t you know? We’re equals!”

She frowned. “Are you of the Ice People?” she asked incredulously.

“I’m afraid not. We’re not so grand.”

“Now I remember,” she said quickly. “Heike told me that there was a witch and a wizard.”

“Precisely! And if you don’t invent any stupid spells, like conjuring us to a remote corner of the earth, we could come out and talk to you.”

She nodded. “I’ll give you my word of honour if you will do likewise.”

“Splendid!”

Two creatures appeared from the dark recesses of the loft: a woman whom anybody would immediately identify as a witch, because of the way she looked, and an older man wearing such simple and ancient clothes that he seemed to belong in the Iron Age.

They looked at her and gave her an arch smile. “You’re certainly a strange girl, Saga of the Ice People,” said the woman. “I’d give a lot to be in your shoes.”

“Oh, I’m really not that enviable,” Saga replied.

“Well, you are! You’ve frightened the wits out of our cocky leader and deprived him of all his henchmen.”

“Well, he’s still got you,” said Saga.

“Not if you help us.”

“I’ll be happy to do so. But then you must promise to leave Graastensholm.”

“That’s fine with us. We’re finished with this life.”

Life was an odd expression in this context. Saga couldn’t help smiling. She asked them: “What is it you want from me?”

“We want you to defeat that lunatic who has us in his power. We wanted to leave Graastensholm when your relative, Heike, passed away, but the wretched creature was too strong for us and forced us to obey his will.”

“How could he do that?” asked Saga. “There doesn’t seem to be anything special about him.”

The old wizard gave Saga a broad smile. “Thank you! That was just what I needed to hear! You see, there’s a pecking order among us displaced persons. Us, who haven’t found a resting place.”

“So he ranks the highest, does he? Why?”

The woman, dressed completely in shabby black clothes, scowled. “He committed a great deed compared to others among the unholy. He killed a child inside a church. When the priest arrived to rescue the child, he also stabbed him. In front of the altar.”

Saga shuddered. She felt uneasy. “Then it must have happened in this parish? Otherwise, how could Heike have conjured him up? But nobody has mentioned anything about this in Graastensholm church. Such a thing ought to be known to everybody!”

The woman in black replied: “No, it wasn’t in that church. You probably know that in the old days, the big estates had their own chapels. And Graastensholm farm is very old. There was a manor house here before the present one. This was long before the Meiden Family lived here. It was in the chapel on that farm that it happened. The victims were buried in consecrated ground, but not him.”

Saga was confused. “But ... wasn’t he the ghost in the Dead Man’s Bog in Moberg Parish?”

“Yes. They hanged him there but then they brought his corpse here.”

“Where is his grave?” she asked quickly.

“You think quickly and wisely,” replied the old wizard.

“He’s the one I want to defeat. He seems to be the most difficult to get.”

“He was buried by the gallows.”

Saga had never heard of any gallows around here. “Perhaps my family will know where it is.”

“Hardly,” replied the witch. No one alive today knows about the gallows hill. It was the little hill behind the milk loading platform, outside the gate here.”

That was where Viljar was sitting! Without knowing anything about the hanged man’s grave.

Saga said: “Thank you. Now I know! But what about you? What would you like me to do for you? To allow you to rest?”

The woman’s voice came from far away. Like an echo from a crypt. “No, no. We’re having too much fun, so we’ll probably roam about for another few hundred years or so. We won’t be a bother to the Ice People any more. We don’t want that because we have a lot of respect for you. We were just conjured up here. No, all we want is for him to be destroyed.”

“Who are you?” asked Saga.

“I was burnt at the stake in this parish in 1578. And my friend was a great wizard in pagan times. He was also killed because of witchcraft, but we won’t go into the way it happened. They weren’t so sensitive in his day and age.”

“Well, people nowadays leave a lot to be desired when it comes to sensitivity,” said Saga. “So you’ll leave Graastensholm then?”

“Yes, yes. Completely voluntarily!”

The witch went over to Saga. “Allow me to kiss the hem of your skirt, blessed one!”

The wizard made a deep bow.

Saga gave a little laugh. “I’m not that noteworthy. I was chosen for precisely this and nothing else. As a matter of fact, I think it’s been an extremely easy task. Much too easy.”

The old wizard chuckled. “One day you’ll realize who you are and why your task seemed so easy. Then you’ll understand!”

Saga looked questioningly at them, but they just laughed and shook their heads.

She pulled herself together. “There are still some creatures out in the courtyard. What am I to do with them?”

The old witch waved her hand deprecatingly. “If you can tackle the tall one, you won’t have to worry about the others. When the hanged man loosens his grip, they’ll flow away from the farm like a brook. Focus your energy on him!”

Saga said: “He won’t let me go voluntarily.”

“No, he won’t, but he respects you. Very much so. Use it!”

Saga hadn’t seen anything respectful in the hanged man’s behaviour towards her. He would do anything in his power to prevent her from getting out of this place alive ...

The floor shook as she walked on it, and the loft was now a dangerous place.

She pondered. If she crossed to the peephole over there, she would be able to see the gate where Viljar was waiting, right in front of the old hill where the gallows had been. She didn’t know whether Viljar was wearing a crucifix around his neck. She didn’t know his views on religion. But if he happened to wear one, and she shouted to him that he should go to the hill and bless it ...?

No, she wouldn’t be able to make him understand at that distance. The hanged man would hear her and understand what her intentions were, and then perhaps go down and hurt the defenceless Viljar. No, that wouldn’t work.

She would have to trick the ghost. But how?

It was as if the old woman was able to read her thoughts. “He’s vain and greedy for power,” she said quietly. “You must make use of that! If he gets his way, he becomes power-hungry and superior. And perhaps careless.”

Saga thought that the hanged man had psychopathic features. She thanked the witch and the wizard warmly for their information, adding that she had made a plan. Then they took leave of one another and the tumbledown loft was suddenly empty. The old couple had gone.

Saga took a firmer grip on the box and walked over to the stairs. That whole section of the loft began to sway under her feet. It creaked in the middle, where the tower had broken through the floor. She ran with light steps over to the door and down the stairs. Its movement was also alarming, buckling and creaking. She staggered as if from exhaustion.

Then she was on the floor below. Since the hanged man had hidden himself, she couldn’t see him, but she knew that he was nearby. Suddenly she heard his voice close to her ear.

“Well? I see that you’ve made it downstairs again, eh?”

“Yes, I’ve come down,” she said, trying to sound tired. “The ones you sent me were tough, but I tackled them in the end.”

“Yes, but I can see that it was costly for you,” he said, pleased with himself.

She turned in the direction of the voice. “Are you really such a coward that you don’t dare to show yourself?”

“As far as you’re concerned, I take precautions. You’ve taken far too many of mine. I’d rather not have you pouncing on me.”

She looked in his direction with an expression of disgust. “I’d never forgive myself if I let down Heike of the Ice People. I certainly have no intention of giving up. I have time to get you where I want you. What’s more: I don’t feel that I owe you anything. However, I’d like to reach a compromise with you. Right now, I can’t be bothered to fight. You know perfectly well, don’t you, that I can defeat you if I make the effort. But first, I’d like to take this box back to Linden Avenue. Will you grant me safe passage?”

He hesitated before replying. “You’ll come back, won’t you?”

“Yes, and I’ll get you. Indeed I will! Make no mistake! You might have time to rebuild your little empire again, but that’s a risk I’ll have to take.”

He pondered once more. “I could render you harmless straight away ...”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Of course,” he replied quickly. But he didn’t try to do so. As the old couple in the loft had said, he had great respect for Saga and his insecurity was enormous.

Why was that?

“So you’ll let me stay here?” he said, somewhat confused.

“Yes, for the time being. But I warn you, I can strike at any time.”

She could tell that he smiled. Obviously, he had already gathered all his admirers in his imagination. Next time she turned up, he would be prepared.

“I’ll leave now,” Saga said. “And you’ll let me pass your henchmen out in the courtyard, will you?”

“With pleasure,” he replied, matter-of-factly. “I look forward to seeing you again,” he added mockingly, as she carefully made her way down the ruined steps. She walked down the drive without any problems. There was nothing to see, nobody accosted her. She had no idea whether the hanged man was following her or not. Then she was outside the dangerous area, and Viljar got up from the milk platform. He looked concerned.

He said: “Thank goodness, Saga! Never have I been so happy to see somebody again! You were gone for quite a long time.”

Now she noticed that night was falling. Had she really been inside as long as that?

Viljar exclaimed excitedly: “You’re carrying a box! You did it! And Graastensholm ... is it liberated? From you-know-who?”

“Not entirely,” she said breathlessly. “Viljar, have you got a silver crucifix? With you, I mean?”

He gave Saga and inquisitive look and put his hand instinctively to his throat. “Yes, as a matter of fact I have. Belinda gave it to me. She’s quite devout, so for her sake, you see ...”

Saga interrupted him: “Give it to me quickly!”

“What? Are you devout?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, in my own way. My father’s Catholic faith has left its stamp on me. Thank you,” she said as he gave her the crucifix. “It will certainly be useful. Now you take the box and hurry down to Linden Avenue with it. I’ll be there soon. Please hurry, because I’m busy!”

Viljar replied: “No, I’ll stay here! I can see that you’re tense. You might need me.”

“Then you must move because I don’t know how this will turn out. You mustn’t get hurt in any way. You see, at least one of them is left, and he’s the very worst of them all.”

Viljar was confused, but he walked a few steps down the road towards Linden Avenue. Saga focused all her concentration. She held the crucifix tightly in her hand and went slowly towards the hill.

At that moment, she heard a shout from Graastensholm. A shout of horror and fury. The hanged man had realized what she intended to do. She began to run.

“Saga! Watch out! He’s after you!” Viljar shouted. She looked over her shoulder. The long, loose-limbed ghost had been so shaken that he had forgotten to hide behind his invisibility. He sprinted with great, flowing steps and with loud shrieks of anger and unfathomable terror.

There were those who did not desire to rest in peace. He had never had it so good as here at Graastensholm at the head of a small army of spirits. He didn’t want to lose that prestige.

It wasn’t far to the hill, but the hanged man moved with supernatural speed. Saga rushed across the fallow field, shouting to Viljar that he should get away quickly, because the ghost was sly enough to perhaps attack Viljar, an ordinary human being, and thus put pressure on Saga, who would then have to abandon her plan.

She didn’t know whether Viljar would take her advice. Now her one and only objective was the hill where the gallows had once been, though nobody knew about it. Only a few more steps ... But the steps of the dead one seemed to come steadily closer. His steps boomed on the ground and she could almost feel his enormous wrath. Now the game was over; now it was a struggle for his existence! Her feet barely touched the grass on the hill as she sped up it. The ghost was breathing down her neck. He stretched out his long arm and touched her shoulder. Saga fell headlong. The mandrake was around her neck, but it was the crucifix that was the most important tool here.

She was holding the crucifix right at the base of its longest arm, with its front facing the ground. The hanged man stumbled and fell on top of her. The stench from his arm that was pressed against her throat was horrible, but then several things began to happen at the same time. She thought she heard a cry from Graastensholm, a shout carried on the wind from the creatures that were still up there. “Don’t touch her, don’t touch her, she’s dangerous!” was what she heard. At the same time, a violent tremor went through her. The hanged man roared and let go of her. Then he fell to the ground, where he yelled and writhed like a snake.

Saga shouted to drown his voice: “In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, I consecrate this place and what it hides. My person is most inadequate for this holy rite, but I have to do it, so help me God!”

All the while, she held the crucifix turned towards the ground. The hanged man’s screams became weaker. His body faded, seemed to waste away, became smaller and smaller until it seemed to sink down into the ground with a slight moan, a sigh of surrender and ... peace.

Saga got to her feet. Her knees were shaking. Then she walked back down the hill and out into the field.

What had happened? Something had given him a serious shock before she had had time to say the blessed words? Was it the crucifix? Or the mandrake? Or was it because she was chosen?

None of these seemed likely.

Viljar walked up to her. “Good heavens, Saga,” he said, pale in the face. That was all he was able to say.

Some white shadows fluttered past them and disappeared towards the forest. “Those were the last ones,” she said, her voice trembling because the experience had been so taxing for her. “Graastensholm is free now. Tomorrow, I’ll go to church and give thanks.”

Suddenly, they stopped in horror. From the old manor house, the could hear a loud roar. It spread through the whole house, and they saw the walls sway but without collapsing. They understood that inside the outer walls the whole edifice was about to fall down. They could see the roof caving in and sinking more.

Viljar, who had turned completely white, said: “It’s as if the house was only waiting for you.”

Saga wasn’t so sure. “I disturbed a lot when I was up in the loft. That might have given the place the death blow.”

“Were you really right up in the loft? Well, you must have been. You have the box.”

She took it from Viljar as they walked down towards Linden Avenue.

“Shall we open it?” he asked.

“No, we’ll wait until we get inside. I think Belinda and Henning should join us.”

“Thank you for thinking of them!” he said. “Will you tell me what happened?”

“Not now. I’ll write it all down in the Ice People’s book so you can read it there. I prefer not to talk about it: it was ... very frightening!”

“I understand.”

They went home to Viljar’s little family, who embraced them. They were happy that everything had turned out well. Graastensholm was liberated and the finances saved!

Then they gathered around the box.

Viljar asked Saga: “Are you really sure that it contains the secret?”

“Absolutely sure. There’s no doubt about it.

“And the grey people let you remove it?”

“They weren’t interested in it.”

Viljar lifted the lid solemnly. It took a while before they realized that the very damaged sheets of paper covered in neat handwriting were Silje’s diary from the Valley of the Ice People. It took more than a while for them to decipher the handwriting, and longer still to reach the most important part. One of the pages contained a precise description of the spot where Tengel the Evil’s pot of water was buried! Silje hadn’t understood what it was that Sol had seen, but she had described the place in great detail. Kolgrim had understood. And Tarjei. And it had cost them their lives ...

Later, the descendants of the Ice People had searched at random. Now they knew for sure.

Henning speculated: “I wonder who will go up there?”

Saga replied with certainty: “It won’t be me. I’m not clairvoyant. As a matter of fact, I have no special talents. I was chosen, but only to clean out Graastensholm and to find this book.”

“I think you’re right,” said Viljar. “Because of the grey people, our ancestors had to find a chosen one in time – before the book was lost. What’s more: I don’t think any of us three will be involved in a journey to the Valley of the Ice People. Thank goodness for that!”

“We’ll just have to wait and see,” said Saga. “Now I’ll write to Christer and Malin in Sweden. Oh, dear, there are so few of us left, Viljar! Only five in all – that’s terrible! Please keep the book somewhere safe.”

Viljar replied quickly. “It will go in the safe cupboard where the Ice People’s treasure and Shira’s bottle and the findings from Eldafjord are kept.”

“Yes, that’s fine,” agreed Saga. “That’s where the book must be kept until the right person comes. May it be soon!”

“Amen,” said Belinda.

That night, Saga woke up from a strange dream. She sat up and stared into the dark room. There was nobody there.

What was it she had dreamt?

Or had she dreamt at all?

A kindly soul had stood by her bed and whispered: “Thank you, Saga! We all thank you. But, Saga of the Ice People, you do understand that everything went much too easily, don’t you?”

She had replied: “Yes, I think so, too. Much too easily.”

“Precisely. We had expected that you would face a much harder struggle against the grey people. We are concerned for you. You see, there’s nothing we can do.”

That was when Saga woke up. But she was all alone in the room.

“Steinbröta?” the parish priest repeated. “I’ve never heard of the place.”

Saga said cautiously: “It might be an old name.” She was sitting in the priest’s living room with Viljar and his family.

The priest got up and looked in some old books. “It sounds like a smallholding,” he said pensively. He regarded them over his spectacles. What a strange thing to come to him for, he thought, but Graastensholm wasn’t an ordinary farm either. He had been there himself, had walked in through the gate and been thrown back by a gust of wind that had sent him right across the road and into the field.

Now this young woman from Sweden had cleaned out the haunted house – and now she wanted to have him bless a few places. They were so sure, so convinced, the four of them sitting in front of him, that he had to believe them.

“Well, it says something here,” he exclaimed, surprised, when he had leafed through one of his books. “Stenbråten is the same as Steinbröta. Let me see, this handwriting isn’t easy to decipher ... ‘Stenbråten, a smallholding under Graastensholm. Abandoned 1499 following a family drama there. Never occupied since then. The place is said to be haunted ...’”

“That seems to be correct,” Vilja said. “Where was it?”

“It says nothing about that,” said the priest. “But there’s bound to be an old map of the parish somewhere.”

He searched again, and then they all bent over the table where he had spread out a map.

“Most of the smallholdings were up on the hillside,” said Viljar. “That was the case with the Black Forest and Klaus and Rosa’s farm. My paternal grandmother, Vinga, would have been able to tell us a lot about them: she knew the ridge like the back of her hand from her time living in the wilderness. I myself have walked about quite a lot up there. I’ve seen many ruined houses ...” He let his finger glide over the map. “I happened to come across a ruin here. What does it say? ‘Ödetj ...’ No, it can’t be that. But there are several, one at the edge of the forest and one slightly higher up.”

The priest suddenly exclaimed: “There! Not that far from the Black Forest!”

Saga peered closely. The map was worn and all the place names were abbreviated. “It says ... ‘St.br.’ Yes! That’s it!”

That very same day, they all went up there, the priest carrying holy water and his cassock because they reckoned it would be impossible to find the children’s corpses now. Perhaps there wouldn’t even be anything left of the barn or the dunghill. The churchwarden was also with them, though he was pretty disapproving. He didn’t understand anything and didn’t want to understand either.

It took them quite a long time to find the ruins. Trees were growing everywhere. Eventually, when they found them in the middle of the blackest part of the forest, the priest changed into his vestments and held a small ceremony at the spot. Saga felt that she had never taken part in anything so sad and peaceful as when they stood there in the deep silence of the forest and all they could hear was the priest’s chanting.

Then they went back to the churchyard. Now the churchwarden made objections. They wouldn’t be able to find the unfortunate woman, surely they could understand that, and did the priest honestly want to bless all the offenders that were buried there? Hadn’t the woman been a sinner herself? Could the priest really take it upon his conscience to ...

The priest asked gently: “Can you, Mr Olsen, bring yourself to refuse to assist a repentant sinner? Not even Jesus did so. But perhaps Mr Olsen is above Jesus?”

“No, no, of course not! But all of them ...?”

The priest said: “I’ve always wondered where the criminals were buried in the old days. Now we know. We can’t move their bones into the churchyard. That would be too much. However, we can expand the churchyard beyond this old, half-dead juniper bush ...”

And that is what happened. He was no fool, that priest.

They decided to let the municipality take over Graastensholm. In return for a reasonable sum of money, of course. By this time, the parish was no longer Graastensholm. It had been included in a larger district called Asker. The price they got for the estate would enable them to refurbish Linden Avenue, concentrating on the farm that they didn’t want to lose, even if the surrounding new buildings came closer and closer to it.

Graastensholm’s land was to be parcelled out and to be added to the farms around the estate. Of course, Linden Avenue kept a small part because it also bordered the old Graastensholm. They began to demolish the buildings that the grey people had ruined and planned a park there instead. Despite the Ice People’s assurances, nobody would ever dare to live there. The parish decided that all the meadows and fields were to be built on.

Graastensholm manor was to be razed to the ground and completely obliterated. There would be nothing left to remind anyone of the place. The church was renamed. Linden Avenue became like a small island among the planned villas.

Saga helped her relatives with everything. She was happy to be useful. She didn’t feel any zest for life. Her task had been completed, and now she just wanted to die. She couldn’t cope with the thought of living a whole life in emptiness and yearning. A great many endlessly long years of constant, endless longing lay before her. The prospect was grim.

Then one day in late summer, everything was turned topsy-turvy.

That was the day when Saga finally understood what had happened.

She understood why her task at Graastensholm had been so easy to tackle; why the grey people had felt such respect and fear of her; and why the hanged man hadn’t dared to touch her without being hurt himself. And why the witch had seemed jealous of her.

She was pregnant!

It wasn't Saga, the chosen one, they had honoured and feared – at least, not just her, nor the mandrake, nor the crucifix.

It was the child that she was carrying. Because its father was Lucifer, the Angel of Darkness himself.

She sat on the edge of the bed that evening, making sense of everything.

To begin with, she was completely quiet while she let the news and the knowledge sink in.

Then she stood up and burst into irresistible and happy laughter. She stretched out her arms over her head and laughed and wept by turns.

Now she had a reason to live!