C7 Chapter 7

Saga felt terribly depressed. She felt that she was sitting in a huge spider’s web that was binding her more and more. On the surface, everything was normal. An outsider wouldn’t have noticed anything other than three people walking in the wilderness in dreary weather. All the unpleasantness was inside them. It was as if small fiery-tempered devils were tearing at Saga’s nerves. The terror, which had been latent for a long while, threatened to erupt with full force. She, who had never felt fear in her life!

The wind had whipped up the clouds, breaking them into small shreds that rushed across the sky. Towards evening, it was roaring in the treetops.

Paul had adopted a nonchalant manner, but Saga thought that she could sense the tension in him. She felt that he was irritated with her and Marcel, because they always stayed close to one another. He had made a few attempts to get Marcel away, asking him to fetch water or go up to a vantage point, but Saga had joined him each time. Then Paul had gone along as well, happy and smiling, but under the surface he seemed just about to explode.

He said impatiently: “I hope we’ll soon come across some houses or a farm. I can’t stand the thought of another miserable night. The girls said that we could get there in one day.”

“Yes, to Norway,” said Marcel. “But not necessarily to a village.”

Paul didn’t say anything. He was distancing himself increasingly from Marcel, whom he regarded as a rival. Marcel kept a watchful eye on him because it was beyond doubt that he was just waiting for a pretext to be alone with Saga.

That just mustn’t happen!

As the sun was setting, they reached a well-wooded valley. Suddenly, everything was quiet around them, as if the wind was holding its breath. Not a leaf, not a pine needle moved.

The quiet before the storm, Saga thought with a shudder. This is the quiet before a destructive storm! Not long after that, as the wind grew stronger again, she and Marcel exchanged a few words. Marcel whispered: “He seems to get worse with every passing hour. His human features seem to be almost vanishing.”

“And I had such romantic daydreams about the lonely Lucifer when I was very young,” she replied with a bitter sigh. “I saw myself descending into the abyss to be with him. Being a comfort to the unhappy one! How on earth could I have been so stupid? Imagining that the fallen angel was a poor misunderstood soul! He’s dangerous! Evil and cruel and dangerous!”

Marcel gave her a sidelong glance. “Perhaps that was how you attracted him? So that when he arose from the abyss, he came straight to you. He knew where you were. Sought your compassion.”

She gasped in surprise. “No, it can’t possibly be like that!” Oh, Marcel, she thought. You don’t believe me! You’re just humouring me, the way one does with a crazy person.

“Saga,” Marcel said quickly. “I’ve been considering our options. If he really is supernatural, we don’t really stand a chance any more. However, if he’s just a human being – or Lucifer, who is only a human being for as long as he is on earth – then perhaps ... I don’t want to kill a man, and if he is supernatural, he can’t be killed. But I’ve been thinking about all your medicines ...”

“The Ice People’s treasure? What about it?”

“Have you got any sleeping draughts? Or even better, some anaesthetic?”

Saga was pensive as she gazed at Paul’s straight back ahead of them. “I don’t know. I’ve never looked. But there’s bound to be something ... Yes, now I remember that I sometimes gave my father something to get rid of a pain he had. He fell asleep like a log each time ...”

“Immediately?”

She tried to remember. “It probably took a while. But now I remember what medicine it was.”

“Can’t you try to pour it into his drink while we are resting? Then we’ll disappear while he sleeps. We must be close to civilization now so it wouldn’t be such a crime to leave him on his own. He’ll be all right.”

“What about wild animals?”

“Don’t worry about that. There are no wild animals here. Have we seen any?”

“No, you’re right.” She knew it was a good solution. If only she could pour the sleeping powder unnoticed into Paul’s mug ...

The anxiety ... The air is loaded with my anxiety. Marcel doesn’t believe me. I’m on my own.

Her body no longer hurt so much, and she had simply got used to the pain in her feet. It was just a dull ache.

“Darkness is falling,” muttered Marcel. “That worries me.”

Saga knew what he meant. It wasn’t the dark that frightened him, but their companion.

At that moment, they heard the baying of dogs in the distance.

Paul shuddered violently.

“It’s only hunters,” said Marcel calmly. He had just spoken when they saw a man run into the forest on the other side of the moor.

“Oh, no,” whispered Paul. “That must be the murderer my driver spoke about! We need to hide!”

“Why?” Saga objected. “Surely the Swedish authorities have no jurisdiction here?”

Paul replied: “Of course, they have! Norway and Sweden are one realm, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“No, but Swedish law is also in force here. You can be sure of that. The border is no hindrance to it.”

While they were talking, they had unconsciously withdrawn into the forest once more, and they crouched among the trees and bushes. Suddenly, a crowd of men with many dogs appeared on the edge of the moor.

Paul drove the wheelbarrow down into a hole. Nervously, he covered it with branches and moss.

“Come on! Let’s get away!” he said, pale in the face.

“No, stop!” said Marcel. “Can’t you see that they’re running in another direction? Just wait a moment and they’ll be gone. Surely you don’t want to return to the track we came along?”

The thought made Saga shudder.

Paul tried to calm down. His handsome face had turned ashen. Marcel and Saga exchanged glances. Once again, they wondered what he was carrying in his trunk. It was neither particularly big nor heavy. A man could easily carry it by its handles. Nevertheless, it frightened her.

Paul retrieved the wheelbarrow.

The hunting party – if that was the right word when it was a man they were chasing – faded out of sight. As far as they could see, it went in a different direction from the one they themselves had planned to take.

Marcel said calmly: “Now we can go on.”

He was increasingly assuming the role of leader. It seemed that Paul no longer had time to act the aristocrat. There was something else on his mind. Saga was impressed at how well Marcel matched the role, how he grew and became the strongest, the most natural, the obvious leader. He had a quiet authority and it took a while before something like that could be felt.

Paul’s personality was no longer so overwhelming. But it was there – it had simply changed character. Now it was mysteriously frightening! Horrendously frightening!

Not for one moment did Paul get a chance to be alone with Saga. Not for a single moment! Marcel was by her side all the time, on guard. Right now, his gentle strength was all she had as consolation. It was like a protective armour against everything moving about in the forest this evening. Everything that was building in a crescendo of fright and horror and terror.

Paul was furious that he had not yet conquered her. Saga could almost feel how he was just about to explode and reveal his horrific truth. But she was beginning to realize that he was unable to extricate himself from the human character he had assumed. That was a consolation for her.

As long as he was on the earth, he was forced to be a human being and nothing else. She couldn’t help laughing a little at herself and the incredible fantasies she had once had. Lucifer? Perhaps she was the one who was crazy?

Then the certainty came over her once more. The admonition! She had been warned that she had to be careful and think of her task. She wasn’t to allow herself to be taken in by Paul’s smiling handsomeness. He was dangerous, deadly dangerous, and it was a terrible thing that he was still an obstacle to her. She had not gotten away from him.

Saga was fully aware that these thoughts weren’t hers. The spirits of the Ice People, far away on the other side of the storm were trying to guide her on the right path.

But how was she to follow their advice? What options did she and Marcel have to escape? There was only one possibility: she would have to drug Count Paul von Lengenfeldt.

Count von Lengenfeldt? She had long ago stopped believing in that name. But Lucifer himself couldn’t very well appear in the shape of an ordinary man. He had to be a count at the very least.

From time to time, she thought: I’m not really walking about in the forest on this bewitched evening; I’m in bed at home in Sweden, dreaming, and soon Mother and Father will tell me that it’s Sunday morning and I’m allowed to have breakfast in bed if I want. The sun will be shining outside the window, creating a lovely, dancing pattern in the leaves. My life lies before me and I’m still a child without any sorrows.

Yet she knew perfectly well that she was an adult, and most certainly awake. That her parents had gone forever and that her short marriage to Lennart was also over – that it had finished brutally – and that now she was fighting for her life and her fate, struggling to accomplish what she had been put in this world to do.

And that had nothing to do with this frightening forest.

Half an hour later, they were standing in front of a small, derelict farmhouse in the forest.

“We’ll make a stop here,” Marcel decided.

Paul and Saga agreed. Since they had no idea how long they would have to walk before reaching an area where people lived, it made no sense to continue now. It was much too late in the evening; dusk had long since passed and the wind was whistling in the treetops. It was certainly not a pleasant evening!

In fact, Saga had never experienced such a frightening, tense atmosphere without being able to point at anything that might have triggered it.

The deserted farm wasn’t particularly inviting, but it could at least provide a roof over their heads. The mood here was different from out in the forest. The place was peaceful. It was as if it was hibernating. Sadness, sorrow, dreams and memories of past – undoubtedly very difficult – times rested over derelict houses like this. Saga saw that the place had probably been a traditional Finnish smoke-house with a hole in the roof instead of a chimney, a low ceiling, and thick beams in the walls. A sauna, or what remained of one, stood at the edge of the forest, where there was also an old-fashioned grain-drying house of the Finnish type. The farmhouse itself still retained its characteristic half-timbering, but there were just two points of the roof stretching up towards the dark sky. Only the barn was still fairly intact. That was where they went, opening the creaking door and disturbing a forest animal so that they themselves had to jump quickly aside. It was probably a pine marten. They quickly checked to see whether there were more animals, but the place seemed empty.

“Little marten,” said Saga, “we’ll just borrow your house for tonight. Then you can have it back tomorrow. If you want it back, that is, when it smells of human beings.”

The little barn was certainly usable. Inside, they couldn’t hear the wind nearly so much.

“Oh, dear,” laughed Saga, “my ears are so cold that I can hardly hear anything.”

“Yes, there’s no end to what the sky is sending us,” Paul grumbled. “Baking sun, rain and stormy weather. All we lack is snow!”

Marcel smiled. He looked at Saga in the semi-darkness in the barn, and his eyes communicated tenderness, love and a silent reminder not to forget the sleeping powder.

They were hungry and thirsty, and made a meal of the very last of their provisions. They had found a spring nearby in the forest and Saga fetched some water.

When Paul was busy elsewhere, Saga nervously poured the powder into his mug. Adding the powder to clear water? Surely it would be visible? But no, it dissolved completely. All that could be seen were a few grains at the bottom in the glow from the small tallow candle that Paul had brought with him.

To be on the safe side, she grimaced when she tasted the water she had in her own mug. “Ugh,” she said. “I don’t think we ought to drink water from that spring again!”

“No,” Paul admitted. “It has a strange taste to it.”

Marcel muttered something that they couldn’t hear.

Paul clearly didn’t suspect anything.

Saga sat completely still, feeling her tired, aching body gradually relaxing. Her clothes had dried a long time ago, but the raging wind still felt like a cold gust against her ears and skin. However, her senses were not calm. They were very much on the alert. She saw, heard and sensed ...

The roof was bowed, but it didn’t look as if it would collapse on them. However, in another corner of the barn there was a hole through which the light of the summer night fell, revealing the miserable state of the place. Saga could see long cobwebs draped over old tools, a ploughshare, a broken basket woven from birch bark and other objects of bark or wood. Here and there lay bundles of straw from the meadows that had been cut and harvested long ago. The rotten beams of the walls looked as if they ought to have collapsed ages ago.

But what was most noticeable was something that could be neither seen nor heard. It was a power so intense and dense that Saga could hardly breathe. A force from outside, non-human and frightening. The threat, the danger, was still there, stronger than ever. It had gained strength for the final, crushing attack. Against her.

A sound from outside made them start.

“What was that?” asked Paul, glancing towards the wheelbarrow with the trunk.

Saga wasn’t really able to identify what they had heard. It had sounded human and yet it wasn’t. Was it a sigh? A vague moan?

“I’ll go outside and look,” said Marcel, getting up calmly yet forcefully. Saga thought how sensuous he was. So immensely and suggestively charming.

She said quickly: “I’ll join you.”

Paul groaned. “I haven’t got the energy. I’m so tired.”

Marcel and Saga exchanged glances. Was the sleeping powder already having an effect?

Outside it was a misty night. The darkest hour had already passed. They stood still and listened. The ruins, the smoke-house and the stable were shrouded in the unearthly fog. Grass and flowers grew tall around them, nettles, gnarled trees ... and all around them was the forest.

They passed a field, or what had once been one, on their way back to the house. Now the forest was re-conquering it. This was where the sound had come from.

Marcel took Saga’s hand and said: “Come!”

They worked their way through the long grass and reached the back of the collapsed house. The birds had already hesitantly begun their morning concert in the forest. It was still rather early and even the birds seemed to understand that.

Saga asked faintly: “Do you think ... it was the ones ... who once lived here?”

Marcel smiled. “Hardly.”

But Saga wasn’t so sure. She held his hand as she looked around. Might they be close to that bewitched birch? No, none of the birch trees she could see seemed deformed or in bad health.

What about the cross on the ground?

Oh, come on! A cross doesn’t sigh!

Saga stared so intensely into the misty half-light that she could have sworn that she saw an old, bent woman limping through the grass and disappearing among the ruins.

Her imagination had become pretty lively on this journey. Didn’t she already have plenty of small creatures of the abyss to think about as it was, without having to imagine unfortunate creatures from the past in this great forest?

Marcel grabbed her arm. “Look!” he whispered.

On the small, scrubby field, where young trees and undergrowth were taking possession of the terrain once more, they saw a man running in the direction of the forest. He stumbled, got to his feet again and staggered on.

“That’s the killer,” said Marcel. “It was him we heard.”

“He seems to be hurt. We must help him,” Saga replied.

“You don’t really believe, do you, that he’ll stop if we run after him? That will just make him even more scared. Besides, he’s a murderer – he may think of killing again. And we haven’t time to get involved in the sheriff’s affairs. We can’t afford to irritate him any further.”

For a moment, Saga thought that it would be nice to have a sheriff or a bailiff, or whoever, to sort things out, and to find out how much longer it would be before they reached the border. But she thought better of it.

While she looked in the direction where the fleeing man had disappeared, she said absentmindedly: “You’re right. While we have Lucifer with us, no sheriff can help us. We’ll simply drag more people into the abyss.”

Marcel turned her resolutely towards him. “Dear Saga,” he said with clenched teeth. “Stop all this talk about Lucifer! You’re right that Paul is strange and enigmatic, but that’s as far as I can follow you.”

“But the whole atmosphere ...”

“The whole atmosphere in this forest on a summer night can’t help being mystical. Surely that makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“You don’t know what I ... Oh, never mind. Forget it,” she said, resigned. “You’re not one of the Ice People, you’re not able to sense things the way I do.”

Marcel gave her a tender look. “No, I suppose you’re right. Let’s agree that Paul is absolutely human, and let’s go in and see whether he’s fallen asleep? So that we can be on our way. You can manage to walk, can’t you, even though it’s still night?”

The prospect of walking alone with Marcel seemed tempting. “Yes, of course. Forgive me and the nonsense I’ve been talking! Let’s go in!”

He didn’t take his hands off her shoulders. “Not yet, Saga ...”

He stood close to her, looking searchingly in her eyes. His fascinating glance was loving, warm and attentive.

“Saga,” he whispered quietly. “There’s a reason why you were given that name. You’re made for these dreamy, bewitched surroundings. You blend in with the trembling grass, the lightness of the mist and the sadness of the forest. You ... When all this is over and we’re among people once more, and alone ...”

Marcel let the sentence float in the air. But Saga, who had never before dared to show her emotions, had never been able to, bent her head so that he couldn’t see her face. Perhaps Marcel understood. He pulled her gently towards him and drew her head on to his shoulder. His arms were securely, but gently, around her, and she let out a trembling sigh of relief. With Marcel, she wasn’t scared. She felt how tense his muscles were, and sensed that he was controlling himself almost beyond his ability. This made her happy and full of anticipation. He was fond of her – not just protective and considerate but in a way a man feels towards a woman he would like to conquer.

Tenderly and quietly, but tense in every fibre, he lifted her face and kissed her on the forehead. No more than that. He understood that she needed time to recover from the shock she had experienced in her marriage.

Saga thought, almost in despair, that he must have realized that she was fond of him. God, let him be patient! I want it so much. So very, very much! Never had she felt a man’s closeness like this – like a provocative inevitability, a need that almost left her breathless, forcing her to control herself and refrain from flinging her arms around him in wild, uncontrollable despair; holding him firmly, demanding immediate action from him, begging him on her knees to take her here, in the tall grass in the quiet glade, while the storm raged in the treetops.

She was totally shocked at herself and had to take a deep breath in order to pull herself together.

Marcel whispered: “We had better go inside to Paul. He’s probably wondering where we are.”

She replied with a laugh that made her sound like a hoarse crow: “If he hasn’t fallen asleep.” She hoped that Marcel didn’t notice how her voice was shaking or what his physical proximity had done to her.

“I hope to goodness he’s sleeping,” he mumbled. She noticed that his voice was also thick and unclear. They walked past an old grindstone and went into the barn, tip-toeing so as not to wake up Paul.

Saga looked around.

“Where is he?”

“He’s certainly not in here,” said Marcel matter-of-factly. “He’s run away. But he probably won’t get far.”

Saga walked around the barn. She was confused. “Why did he do that?” she asked despondently. She didn’t want to show how frightened she was now. This was an unexpected move from Paul.

From Lucifer?

She didn’t dare say it aloud.

“He can’t be far away,” said Marcel, in an attempt to calm her. “The wheelbarrow with his beloved trunk is still here. He’ll probably be back soon.”

Saga only heard half of what Marcel was saying. She had caught sight of something in the corner where the light was falling.

“Marcel ...”

“What’s the matter?”

They walked over to the corner.

Saga gasped: “The mandrake!”

It had fallen out of its box, which was lying beside it. It looked as if somebody had thrown it as far away as possible.

Saga picked up the mandrake carefully, brushed off the dust and cobwebs and replaced it lovingly in its box. While she did so, Marcel inspected the wheelbarrow.

“Saga,” he said, with ominous calm. “The Ice People’s treasure is gone.”

She started. “What?”

With a few, long steps, she was by his side. Her suitcase was still there – wide open – but the leather bag containing the treasure was gone.

“No!” she moaned. “No, no!”

This was the worst thing that could ever happen. She had been entrusted with the most precious, the most valuable treasure, and she had betrayed that trust.

Marcel said feverishly: “He can’t be far away. He’ll be easy to track down in the long grass. I’ll run after him.”

“Me, too!”

He grabbed her wrist. “No, you won’t be going out tonight. Not when there’s a killer and a madman on the loose! Stay here so that I don’t have to worry about you. Put some beams across the door so that nobody can get in. Just wait for me here. I’m sure I’ll soon be back. He can’t be very far away and if the sleeping powder is beginning to work ... Besides, you can’t run as fast as I can with your blisters.”

He was right. “Please hurry up! Come back quickly!”

“I’ll soon be back – with the treasure!”

He gave her a quick hug and disappeared.

Saga stood there. She was agitated and breathing heavily. She was on the verge of bursting into tears. The Ice People’s treasure? Now God had to help her! She couldn’t go to Linden Avenue without it. She simply could not!

She fiddled absentmindedly with the box containing the mandrake. Put it on a beam. I must see to barricading the door, she thought distractedly, but did nothing.

Instead, she caught sight of Paul’s trunk. He’s left it because he’s got hold of something that is far more valuable than whatever is in the trunk, she thought. Now he’ll go to towns and cities where he can sell the Ice People’s laboriously gathered supply of medicines and magical herbs bit by bit. He’ll rake in a huge amount of money. No member of the clan would ever have dreamt of doing something so crazy.

She had approached the trunk very carefully, and now stood right by it. Everything was quiet outside. She had heard Marcel shout Paul’s name once, but he had obviously given up on that tactic. Now the forest was roaring its distant song of sadness. It was as if the wind had become stronger once more.

Saga’s hands moved automatically. Reluctantly, she reached out to the trunk and then drew back. Then came another, careful touch ...

She couldn’t think clearly. She was acutely aware that touching other people’s belongings was a crime, but she no longer had the strength to stop. Her curiosity, her thirst for knowledge, her longing to get to know a bit more about the unfathomable Paul – whose name wasn’t really Paul – was too strong.

Of course, the little trunk was locked with a proper padlock. But Saga had made up her mind and now she looked for something to open it with. A stone. She had to get hold of a stone. But she didn’t feel the least inclined to leave the barn. She stood there unable to make up her mind. There! There by the door was a stone. It wasn’t particularly suitable for the purpose; it was much too round, but it would have to do. With trembling hands, she hammered on the lock. After many attempts, it creaked a bit. After one hard bang, the lock opened.

She stared at the ruined lock with a pang of conscience. What on earth had she done? Then she swept aside any scruples, took a deep breath and lifted the lid.

She gasped for breath, letting out a scream of incredulity and horror. Her heart was pounding so that she thought that her whole body would explode. In the semi-darkness of the barn, she stared down into the trunk – at a face, contorted in a heart-wrenching grimace of pain and with tufts of hair sticking out around it. A head that ...

Saga staggered. She snapped the lid shut with a helpless moan. Then she rushed blindly out into the grey night.