C6 Chapter 6

They found a good place to camp for the night, out on a narrow spit by a small forest lake. The men built a shelter of fallen branches to make them feel safe. The summer night had fallen. There was no moon to see, as a grey layer of clouds covered the sky. Nevertheless, it wasn’t so dark that they couldn’t see quite a bit of their surroundings. Saga prepared the campsite. Although they were far out in the wilderness, they didn’t want to light a fire because they were anxious that no one should see where they were. She put out the food that they had left and arranged a place for them to sleep as best she could. She wasn’t at all used to outdoor life, but Marcel helped her spread out their capes on the grass. She was to lie in the middle, which she was relieved about. The forest was unknown territory to her. There might be many different creatures out at night.

At last, they lay down, stomachs full and tired. Saga felt that her whole body was aching. She couldn’t find the right position for sleep. Either the ground was uneven or the cape slipped off her. After a while, she realized that the others were not asleep either. All three of them were looking up at the sky. She wondered whether they felt the same restlessness as she did. Whether they were experiencing the same, almost panicky sensation that they needed to hurry. That they had to hurry up and move on ...

No, she mustn’t become hysterical. It was so out of character.

“Can’t you fall asleep either?” she asked as quietly as possible.

They replied in the affirmative.

“There’s a strange unease in the air,” she said. I don’t know what it is.”

Marcel said he felt the same. Paul, on the other hand, hadn’t registered anything. “I’m just overtired, which is why I can’t drop off to sleep,” he explained.

Of course you can’t feel anything, thought Saga, because this unrest, this unease, comes from you!

She asked Paul: “Those girls. Were they really Swedes? You don’t think they might have been Finns?”

Paul replied: “I have no idea. Anyway, they spoke Swedish.”

Marcel interrupted: “And they’d never heard of the cholera epidemic?

“Do you honestly think I asked them about that?” said Paul. “They didn’t mention it.”

Marcel said: “Well, then I think we’re probably safe here, from both cholera and rumours. Did you ask them what this place is called?”

“No, I forgot,” replied Paul. “The girls were very sweet. Come to think of it, they could well have had Finnish features: tall, prominent cheekbones, that sort of thing. Yes, I admit that it was stupid of me not to ask them what the place is called. But then, what difference would it have made, anyway?”

“No, you’re probably right.”

They lay in silence for a while, then Marcel asked: “Are there really so many Finns here?”

Saga, who knew quite a lot about the Swedish forests that had once belonged to the Finns, replied: “Of course, over the years they have integrated with the Swedes, but I know that many around here are of Finnish extraction, and they’re proud of it. I would much rather be Finnish than Swedish in this instance.”

“What do you mean?” asked Paul.

Saga sighed. “The Swedes don’t have much to be proud of when it comes to the history of the Finnish forests.”

Marcel said gently: “What a lot you know. Tell us!”

Saga laughed. “I know a little about many things. I suppose I’m what you would call a dilettante. I’ve dipped into many subjects but never learnt anything thoroughly. My mother was my source of knowledge: she was very wise. Anyway, Finland was once under Swedish rule and the Swedish kings felt that they could move the Finns about as they pleased. In the late sixteenth century, the king wanted to develop and cultivate these remote parts: first, to be able to levy more taxes and second, as a bulwark against Norway. In those days, the border was open, since it lay across the wilderness. At the time there was great poverty in the Finnish regions such as Tavastia and Savonia, so the Finns didn’t object to moving westwards. In the eighteenth century, it’s thought that as many as forty thousand Finns lived in Sweden and Norway. Their language was a form of Savonian Finnish – it’s died out now.”

“There were certainly a lot of them.”

Saga continued. “Life wasn’t easy for them. They were dubbed Forest Finns, because they liked to live in the high open spaces, where they practised slash-and-burn agriculture – burning the forests to turn them into farmland. Did you notice that we passed some large stone walls surrounding the fields and meadows? They had to dig those stones out of the earth.”

She paused for a moment and then went on. “It so happened that the mining industry gained momentum during the seventeenth century, and the Finns were living in areas that were rich in valuable ore. Added to this was the fact that the Swedes didn’t care for the Forest Finns. So they persecuted them, burnt and ravaged their homes and fields so that they, the Swedes, could gain access to the ore. Consequently a large number of so-called ‘displaced Finns’ were left with nowhere to live, and they were persecuted everywhere. Strict laws were introduced against these displaced people. They had to learn Swedish and go to church, otherwise they had to pay steep fines. But what they did in this region survives to this very day. It’s thanks to the Finns that many small and big villages exist here.”

Marcel said: “Now I understand what you mean when you say that the Swedes didn’t exactly behave honourably here.”

“Yes. My mother also said that there are many other traces of the Forest Finns’ lost, foreign culture. They lived in smoke-houses, an ancient type of building. We’ve seen a few on our trek. Their god was Ukko; he was a fertility god. The old Forest Finns were extremely superstitious, Mother told me ... actually, it’s in the books of the Ice People, because Sol spent some time in these forests. There’s said to be a birch tree somewhere near the border – I don’t know which side – but it’s unique. It’s very grotesque, gnarled and deformed, and full of horrible outgrowths. There was once an old Finn who knew a lot about witchcraft, and had a reputation for being able to heal all sorts of illnesses. Do you know what he did? He conjured everyone’s ailments into that poor birch, which is why it looks as it does. Nobody dares to go close to it or touch it, because goodness knows what would happen then. You’d be afflicted with all sorts of terrible diseases.”

“Oh, dear,” said Paul. “I hope that birch doesn’t grow near here.”

“As I said, I’ve no idea where it stands. All I know is that it exists and that it seems to be immortal. And then there’s ...”

“More unpleasantries?”

“No, not exactly. There’s said to be a cross on the ground very close to the border.”

Marcel asked: “What do you mean?”

“It’s in a meadow or something like that. I don’t know, but it’s as if it’s etched into the ground, down in the soil. A big cross. And no grass grows on it. The black earth forms the shape of a cross in the grass. It’s said to be very old.”

“But the Finns didn’t believe in a Christian god, did they?”

“Dear Marcel, I don’t know any more than what I’ve just said. However, I swear it’s true! My mother told me so, and she never lied. She spoke about many other strange things in these big forests, but I’ve forgotten them. Only those two things are indelibly printed in my mind. Perhaps it’s because they’re part of the history of the Ice People.”

A fogbank drifted over the spit, hiding the sky from them. They fell silent and let sleep come to them. Saga lay on her side, curling up as she tried to make her summer coat keep her a bit warmer. Then she felt Marcel carefully spreading a corner of his wide cape over her. Paul was probably already asleep.

She wasn’t lying so close to Marcel that she was touching him, but she could sense his warmth. It kept her wide awake. She lay there for a long time, listening to the sounds of the forest. Distant bird noises and animal calls, a yell from a fox or maybe an owl’s hooting: often it was difficult to tell the difference because they sounded so much alike. Branches and twigs creaked and squeaked. She could hear heavy, sauntering steps. She shuffled a fraction closer to Marcel, but not too close. She didn’t know whether he was asleep. He lay quite motionless, she couldn’t even hear his breathing. No wonder, because somewhere outside, a breeze was blowing. Perhaps it was moving the treetops or perhaps the wind brought a quiet song from a roaring river with it.

She lay there, thinking of her task, which had been pushed into the background a little since she had met Marcel and Paul, who had had such an impact on her. It was difficult to concentrate on what awaited her: first, because she didn’t know what it was, and second, because her fearlessness had deserted her. Anxiety – a diffuse, indefinable and hence frightening anxiety – had settled in her.

She moved a bit. Her aching body was unable to rest. It was raw: the coldness of night was extra strong out here on the spit, where the veils of mist played over the water, curiously drifting in and over their bed for the night.

Without noticing it, she relaxed and fell asleep.

Saga dreamt. A completely absurd dream that would have been ridiculous if it hadn’t been so ominous.

She was at home in Sweden. Some of the neighbours were also there. They were all standing behind the big haystack up at the main farm. But things didn’t look the way they used to behind the haystack. The usual open fields with stubble. Instead, what lay in front of her was a strange, nightmarish landscape dotted with enormous, grotesque pillars of stone. Between them, frightening black holes glinted, from which came a hollow, rumbling sound. Steam also poured out of these holes. The tall, crumbling pillars of stone cast shadows on the people.

One of the neighbours’ wives said bluntly: “Dimmuborgir.”

The others nodded, just as eagerly and knowingly.

“This was where he emerged,” said another one.

Saga asked: “Who?”

The others gave her a stern look. How could she be so stupid?

“Lucifer, of course,” they replied.

She was confused and asked again: “Lucifer? But surely he doesn’t exist?”

“He most certainly does, you must know that! He’s emerged in order to search for his love, and it’s you, Saga.”

Once again, they gave her a stern look.

Somebody else said: “You resemble her. You look exactly like her. He’s out looking for you, don’t you know that?”

In her dream, Saga replied in a way that showed that often people think clearly and quite consistently, even if the events are a hotchpotch of many things. “I don’t want to be loved because I look like somebody else! I want to be loved for my own sake!”

One of the women shoved her face right up into Saga’s. “You want to be loved by him, don’t you?” Somehow, she felt superior. “I wanted to when I was a child, but now I know better. Lucifer is nothing but a beautiful empty shell. There’s nothing of substance inside.”

Suddenly, the stage changed. Now Saga found herself, all alone, in a big, dark forest. Well, not quite alone. There were some men, or were they fauns? They were horrible to look at and completely naked. Their ears were erect and hair bristled on their thighs and calves, and you could see their over-sized tools under the hair. They walked over to Saga and she could feel that she was naked as well. For a moment, it rushed through her mind that these could be the demons of the Ice People, but she wasn’t sure. They more resembled fauns and satyrs she had once seen in a book.

“You won’t escape,” they whispered, drooling with desire. Your friend and helper is of no use, because Lucifer wants you, and nobody can stop him.”

They touched her and she could feel desire flowing through her body. Then, all of a sudden, she heard moaning shouts from far away and a raging hurricane that prevented her from hearing clearly what was being shouted: “Saga! Saga! Hurry up! You haven’t any time! Lucifer desires you and nothing can prevent him any longer. Hurry! Flee!”

“Don’t worry,” she shouted back as she tried to ward off the eager hands of the satyrs. “I don’t want him. You see, it’s not me he loves, but the woman from the past.”

“You’re mistaken, Saga. It’s you he loves now that he’s got to know you. and you won’t be able to get away. Flee, flee, Saga!”

“But you sent someone to help me?”

“We were wrong, he’s not strong enough.”

The roar and the voices disappeared and so did the satyrs. She was alone in her room at home in Sweden. Her father was bending over her, shaking her.

Saga tried to explain: “Yes, Father, Marcel is strong enough. I love him, so Lucifer can do nothing.”

“Wake up, Saga! Wake up!”

Saga woke with a gasp. Her father wasn’t there. A raw fog surrounded her. She was outdoors. Marcel? Marcel was there, it was his voice she had heard.

Yes, of course! Her father had gone forever. Oh, how she missed him! Right now, she missed him deeply and dreadfully!

She sat up.

Marcel smiled. “You must have been dreaming. You were moaning in your sleep.”

She cast an anxious glance in Paul’s direction but he wasn’t in his place. “Did I say anything?”

“No, no. No revelations of terrible secrets.”

Saga couldn’t really return his smile. “Is it morning?” she asked and stood up.

“No, it’s still night.”

She caught sight of Paul, who was gazing at the lake. The dancing fogbanks made him seem quite unreal.

Saga shuddered.

“Yes, it’s cold,” Marcel said. “Creep down here again.”

She couldn’t take her eyes off Paul. He seemed so enormous, standing there, with his shining, beautiful golden hair and his noble features in profile. An archangel – she had even called him that.

Anxiety began to flow in her. She was beginning to fear that her ancestors were right. Marcel wasn’t strong enough faced with that monster standing there. Marcel was far too nice, too kind.

They had to flee! Marcel had to get away!

“Saga ...” Marcel said quietly. “There’s something you should know. When I woke up, I discovered that Paul was rummaging in your travel bag. In the Ice People’s treasure. I coughed in a discreet way to show him that I was awake and then he moved away quickly. That was when you began to whimper in your sleep.”

“Paul? Why on earth is he curious about the Ice People’s treasure?”

“Isn’t that obvious? Didn’t you see how eager he became when he was told how much it’s worth?”

Saga looked pensively at the supernatural creature out there on the spit.

“But it doesn’t make sense ...”

“What do you mean?”

“Marcel, you and I must have a talk in private. As soon as possible.”

“Can’t you say it now?”

“No, it’s too complicated, and too unbelievable. Do you think he wants to get hold of the mandrake?”

“He was scared of the mandrake, remember?”

“Yes, Marcel. What’s Dimmuborgir?”

He gave Saga a questioning look. “I’ve no idea.”

“It must be a place name. A gate to ... oh, dear.”

“That’s of no help to me because I have absolutely no idea,” he repeated.

“It sounds Icelandic, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, or Old Norse. Icelandic probably. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, nothing really. We must talk about that later. Marcel: can we part company with Paul as quickly as possible?”

Marcel was confused. “It’s a bit tricky out here in the forest ...”

“Keep close to me,” she said fiercely. “He ... he’s dangerous!”

“Yes, I know. He’s after you. I’ve said that several times. But now he’s walking towards us so please don’t mention anything about the treasure!”

“No, of course not. We’d better just behave normally.”

“Don’t be afraid! I’m here ... all the time.”

Saga sighed inside. Marcel was strong and safe. But he had no idea what they were up against.

Or was all this just her imagination? Dreams, a grotesque twist of the mind?

Paul smiled at them stiffly. It was obvious that he didn’t know whether Marcel had seen him rummaging in Saga’s bag. They agreed that it was still too early to get up, even if it would soon be morning. They had better try to sleep a bit more.

Now Saga was well and truly scared.

She woke up again feeling uneasy. At first, she was unable to make out why, but when she felt a few drops in her eyes, she sat up quickly.

“Wake up, it’s raining!”

They quickly got to their feet. The rain was falling quietly but it wouldn’t have been pleasant lying in it, as exposed as they were. They broke up their camp even though it was still very early. They wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep now.

Saga went to the edge of the lake to wash herself a bit. The rain made small, silent circles on the surface. She bent over the water and for the first time in many years, she looked closely at her own reflection. She had probably done so when she was very young, which is when you like to explore yourself, hoping that you’re nice, really nice.

Now Saga rediscovered herself. With wondering eyes, she looked at herself as Paul and Marcel must see her. Although she didn’t like it – she smiled at herself with self-irony – she had to admit with some surprise that perhaps she would agree with them. Regarding oneself as good-looking isn’t easy. One’s natural modesty is a hindrance, and everyone tends to find faults with their own appearance. From the tiniest spot to an ugly nose or bandy legs. No matter how much Saga searched, she was unable to find anything worth mentioning.

She thought to herself: I haven’t looked at myself for ages. The last time was probably when Lennart was courting me. Of course, I looked in the mirror every day, but the face that stared back at me was without any consequence at all. Now I want to be incredibly beautiful so that Marcel will like me.

Not Paul! Heavens, no. Not him. He’s ... No, I can’t even think about it. It’s just too awful, too macabre, too incredible; I’m fantasizing beyond limits now. Some dreams are all I have to build these fantasies on. I’m not quite right in the head!

They were calling her and she came to herself again and finished washing herself in these primitive surroundings. I should have been like one of those carefree women of the Ice People, she thought. Like Tula or Sol or Villemo.

Or gentle like my own mother. But I’m not. I’m calm and cool and reserved like ... Well, like Shira must have been. And Tarjei? This seems to be how the chosen end up. Perhaps so they’re better able to concentrate on their task. But I’m not able to concentrate at all. With a man next to me, whom I’m falling increasingly in love with. And an ... immensely dangerous ... no, I daren’t think that far, it’s against my nature, I’m beginning to panic!

She took a deep breath and pulled herself together. She went back to the men and tried to smile normally. Whether she succeeded is a different matter. She felt that her smile was a stiffened laugh on her lips.

Paul’s look was flirtatiously arrogant and Marcel’s was firm and calming. Everything was as usual. She was the only one who was in turmoil.

They walked in silence now. The drizzle taxed their spirits as it seeped in and under their clothes. The mood wasn’t good. Paul became increasingly gloomy, and Saga thought that this was because Marcel had caught him unawares. And was there something that was occupying his mind? Something he was trying to make himself do?

Marcel was also subdued. Perhaps he was wondering what Saga wanted to talk to him about? Was he trying to find a pretext so that they could talk together, just the two of them?

Saga was fully occupied with her own thoughts. Anxiety swept over her in waves.

They had come to an incredible wilderness. Nevertheless, later in the day, they met another person, who seemed to be out hunting. They had no chance of hiding. He was walking straight towards them.

Saga exclaimed: “Oh, dear. If he’s Norwegian, he’ll realize immediately that we’re Swedes. What are we to do?”

Marcel replied: “Leave it to me.”

They walked up to the man and greeted him with the peace of the Lord, because these words were the same in both languages.

Saga was confused. On one hand, she didn’t want them still to be in Sweden, and on the other hand she feared that they would be found out and taken back across the border.

The man had a slight touch of grey in his hair and was carrying an awesome gun over his shoulder. “Well,” he said, “fancy meeting people here in the middle of the forest!”

Perhaps he’s Norwegian, thought Saga. Perhaps he’s a border guard?

Then Marcel took them all by surprise. In fluent Norwegian, he told the man that they had lost their bearings and feared that they had landed on the Swedish side of the border.

“No, not at all. You’re certainly at home in good old Norway,” the man replied. He seemed nice – the way you want somebody to be when you meet them in the wilderness. He asked them where they were heading.

Marcel answered briefly that first of all they were heading for Kongsvinger, which was true. This was what they had agreed on.

Well, in that case they had come a bit far north, said the man. He observed them curiously. They could see that he was puzzled. The little wheelbarrow was now in pretty bad shape. It had recently lost a wheel and they had spent a lot of time repairing it.

He expressed his surprise. They were certainly strange people to bump into in the middle of a forest. Three uniquely handsome individuals, who also struck him as cultured.

Neither Paul nor Saga dared to say anything, for fear of disclosing their nationality. Only Marcel did the talking, in his fluent Norwegian.

The man told them that they were in a vast wilderness near the Swedish border and that they needed to keep heading westwards and perhaps a bit towards the southwest in order to reach Kongsvinger. They were likely to come across habitations – although quite some way from where they were now.

Saga looked down at her ruined shoes and sighed. Her feet were tender all over, but worst of all was an open wound across her toes. Her body ached, and she was having to walk with a slight limp.

Anyway, they were in Norway. The worst was over – the worst of their trek, that is.

If only they could reach other people! Get away from Paul before he ...

Before he what?

Before he wanted her? She wasn’t a silly goose who would accept anything at all. She could stand up for herself, couldn’t she? What was more: she had Marcel.

But what if ... Paul wasn’t human?

They thanked the hunter for the information and continued their trek. They hadn’t walked far when Paul and Saga exclaimed almost simultaneously: “Now, Marcel. You really have to tell us: how is it that you speak Norwegian like a native?”

He looked at them with some surprise, and then said: “I’m sorry, I thought I had told you in my little biography. I spent a few years in Norway when I was a child. But it’s a period of my life I’d rather not talk about.”

That was all he said. From his subdued expression, they realized they would have to imagine for themselves what he had experienced. His dark colouring and slightly exotic appearance might have provoked people who objected to anybody standing out from the crowd. Those who did tended to be bullied.

Saga had never had problems resulting from her Walloon background. Most of the inhabitants of Wallonia weren’t so different from many Scandinavians. But Marcel looked more foreign. You could see it in his intense glance, his smile that flashed white against his golden-brown skin, his curly black hair and his harmonious body, from the shape of his hands to the features of his face. The more she got to know him, the more handsome he seemed to her. She hadn’t seen him properly at first, because the incredible Paul had outshone everything and everyone near him. Now she could see more clearly. But the fact that Marcel might have had difficulties because of the intolerance of some Scandinavians didn’t surprise her at all.

The wind was beginning to pick up. Not much, but enough for the mild rain to feel unpleasant. Saga was perspiring after walking for so long, but now the cold wind began to chill her body, and the dampness in her clothes felt ice-cold. There was nowhere they could rest because they couldn’t sit down on the wet ground.

They walked and walked. While Saga anxiously listened to the distant shouts she seemed to hear from time to time – it was probably just her imagination – they trudged on for hours. The countryside was increasingly undulating, and they had to climb hills and dip down into boggy valleys, wading across brooks and rivers. They fought their way forward and had to help one another with the wheelbarrow, which Paul refused to part with.

And Saga didn’t have a chance to speak to Marcel privately.

Not until the afternoon. They were on their way down a steep slope and the barrow got stuck. Paul was already far down in the valley, and Saga stopped to help Marcel. She was on the verge of hysteria by now because of the terrible turmoil raging in her. Two strong emotions were taking their toll: her newfound love for Marcel and her increasing horror of Paul.

Paul did nothing. He was merely there, still maintaining a mask of authority as a nobleman, despite the fact that more and more cracks were appearing in the façade. Saga wondered what she would eventually see behind it. The threat he posed just got bigger and bigger. He had stopped making passes and no longer made open advances to her. It was as if it didn’t matter now – because he already had her in his power and had calculated precisely when it was going to happen. This certainty had struck her when at one point she met his glance and saw the irreversible, the irrevocable, in it. He had no need to rush, because she had already fallen into the trap, and all the power was his.

Then his eyes had glided over towards Marcel, and she had read utter disgust and hatred in them. That was when Saga realized that Marcel was now also in danger.

They had to get away! They simply had to! But how do you flee from somebody like that?

The two of them were crouching together trying to free the wheelbarrow from some roots that were twisted around the axle.

That was when Marcel said: “Now I want to know. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“It’s really not that simple, Marcel.”

“We’ve no time to waste. This may be our only chance to talk. Come on, speak up!”

She stuttered: “This may be a bit confusing, but ...”

“Get to the point!”

She took a deep breath. “I think Paul is Lucifer.”

Marcel had got to his feet because the wheelbarrow was now freed. He was just about to lift it up when her words made him stop in the middle of the attempt and stare at her. “Say that again?”

“I told you, didn’t I, that it’s a bit confusing ...”

“Surely you can’t mean it?” he said with a laugh. “Lucifer? Just because we talked about him?”

“No, Marcel, there’s more to it. The ancestors of the Ice People have warned me several times. But it wasn’t until last night that I understood that they meant Lucifer.”

“When you whimpered in your sleep?”

“Precisely.”

They could hear Paul’s distant call from down in the valley: “Are you coming?”

“Yes,” replied Saga, “but we’re stuck with your damn wheelbarrow.”

“Don’t irritate him,” Marcel muttered. “Even though your conclusion is totally wrong, he’s dangerous. That’s something I’ve discovered for myself.”

“Yes, he loathes you, Marcel.”

“I know. His eyes radiate bloodlust when he sees me.”

The wind had grown stronger but it had stopped raining, so that their clothes and hair had a chance to dry. But the wind was stiff up there in the hills.

Saga had more than enough to do trying to convince Marcel, but when she saw his obvious doubts, it all became too much for her.

“Oh, forget it,” she said. She was tired.

Marcel replied: “No, I’m listening. There is something strange about him. But Lucifer? The fallen angel? How is that possible?”

They were working their way slowly down the slope. So slowly that they had time to talk to one another.

Saga measured her words as she spoke about her dreams, especially the most recent one. About Dimmuborgir, where he was said to have arisen.

When Marcel didn’t appear to understand, Saga remembered that he had never heard the legend about Lucifer’s love. She related it very quickly. How Lucifer was allowed to rise from the earth once every century to search for the woman he had once longed for. That Saga resembled her, but that Lucifer, according to her dream, had now fallen in love with Saga and not just with the picture of the woman he had once loved. And that he was obsessed by his need to possess her.

“They said it, not me,” she said apologetically.

“He’s absolutely mad about you,” said Marcel thoughtfully, as they carried the wretched wheelbarrow down the difficult terrain. “And what you told me about the satyrs seems to show that your soul isn’t completely unperturbed either.”

“No,” she said passionately. “That’s not true, it’s not him ...”

Oh, dear, what had she been about to say? “That isn’t how it is,” she corrected herself. “I feel ill at ease in his company.”

“Yes, forgive me, Saga. I was jealous, I admit. You’ve probably gathered how I feel about you, haven’t you?”

He kept his head down. He was clearly embarrassed. Saga, cool and reserved, surprised herself. She made it easy for him by asking him, gently and quietly: “Have you also understood my feelings?”

Marcel gasped. Once again, a great solidarity – and a limitless yearning – vibrated between them.

Paul shouted from below: “Why have you stopped?”

“Because your wheelbarrow is stuck again!” Saga yelled angrily, so that it rang through the trees.

That wasn’t true, but he mustn’t get suspicious.

“So your ancestors warned you?”

“Yes, and they said you’re not strong enough to fight him.”

He smiled at that, though his eyes were serious.

“No really, I fear for your life. And he’s supernatural, as we know.”

“If he’s Lucifer, yes. You have to understand that even though he’s mysterious, I find it hard to believe what you say. It’s much more likely that he’s just an ordinary human being.”

“Shouldn’t we look in his travel bag?” she whispered. “After all, we have it right here.”

Marcel glanced down the slope. “We can’t do that. He can see us quite clearly. What’s more, it’s carefully locked and tightly secured.”

“True. Have you noticed that he hasn’t opened it once during the journey?”

“Yes. I wonder what’s in it.”

“Something sinister, I think.”

“We’ll be down in the valley soon,” Marcel said. “Then he’ll be able to hear what we’re saying. Saga, I stand by your side. I promise to believe in what you say.”

“What my ancestors say. They’re the ones who know and I trust them absolutely.”

He nodded. Oh, how she loved that face. The serious expression around the appealing mouth. She felt almost dizzy with love.

“Saga, we need to get away before something happens.”

“Yes, because my sense of foreboding is growing greater and greater. It’s as if he’s preparing something.”

“That’s how I feel too. I thought I was imagining things, but now you’re clearly telling me that your instincts and mine are the same. I’ll think of a way for us to get away from him.”

“Is that possible? If he’s a supernatural being, surely he’ll be able to find us easily wherever we hide?”

It sounded completely hopeless. But Marcel’s words were a consolation.

“Saga, if the legend is true, it could very well be that he hasn’t acquired every human ability during the short time he walks here on earth. So it might be possible to fool him. Only I don’t quite know how.”

Listening to him talking like that, Saga felt that Marcel didn’t quite believe what she had told him but was simply trying to calm her down. However, what he said next was even more of a consolation, albeit frightening: “You see, I’ve had some time to think, and I think – think – that you may be right. At one point last night ... when he was standing by the lake ... he became almost invisible. At the time I thought it was the fog that was closing in, but it was something more, Saga. It really was! But please don’t say any more right now!”

His words trickled down her spine like ice-cold rain.

They began to talk about everyday things: complaining about the weather, which was certainly not in their favour. And then they were right down in the valley.

Paul regarded them with a searching look in his eyes. His mouth showed a cunning, almost devilish smile.

Good God, thought Saga. Please let him not have more power than an ordinary human being. Please let us at least have a slight possibility of escaping!

She was scared. It didn’t help that Marcel stayed so close to her that she could feel the warmth from his body.

Nothing helped. Because now the air was thick with signals about the most terrible danger. From far, far away came the anxious shouts: “Saga! Saga! Your life is at stake! You have a task to carry out! Flee! Flee!”