C9 Chapter 9

Saga fell to her knees and hid her face in her hands.

“No! No!” she moaned.

She heard the voice of the being roaring – as if in a large, echoing hall.

“Don’t be afraid, Saga! The sword isn’t aimed at you. It’s merely my attribute.”

She removed her hands and with eyes filled with tears she looked at the terrifying, incredibly handsome monster in front of her.

“Oh, you don’t understand, Sir. I’m not afraid. But I love Marcel ... and I had thought ...”

“Of a future with him? That you’ll have, Saga. But not here.”

“You mean ...?”

“My time here is short, it will soon be over. And didn’t you say that you had once thought you would like to come down to me?”

The thought was daunting.

“Yes, that’s true. But I can’t, Sir. I have a task before me.”

The former angel of light smiled. “Yes, you’re right, and a very important task.”

The large wings closed and disappeared. The sword dissolved into nothing. This creature, now a mixture of Marcel and a demon, came down to her and helped her to her feet.

His hand burned against her skin.

Saga looked into his eyes, which were gentle and frightening at the same time. They shone like ... the eyes of a goat? Oh dear, no. How could she think that? It ought to have made her laugh, but instead made her shiver.

Marcel’s seriousness. Now she saw where it came from. It came from that being with the penetrating eyes and the awe-inspiring authority, which not even the mildest smile could offset.

“Are you not afraid at all?”

Those eyes ... were they the kind of eyes that were associated with demons?

“No, I’m not afraid,” Saga replied. “I’m dazed, confused and deeply unhappy.”

“You mustn’t be. You’re the one I’ve chosen.”

She understood that this was a great honour, and dropped a deep curtsey to Lucifer, the outcast from heaven.

“I don’t think you’re Satan, Sir.”

He gave her a bitter smile. “No, I’m certainly not Satan. I’m the angel of light, who was plunged into the abyss. I was one of the highest among the archangels.”

In his present shape, he was somewhat taller than Marcel, but was no longer so frighteningly big as Lucifer. He was still very dark and dressed in only a loincloth, but the wings and the sword were gone. He was unbelievably good-looking.

“Why did you frighten me so much, Sir? Down in the forest?”

His hand gently touched her shoulder. The powerful erotic charge made her stop.

“Because I wasn’t sure of you. I still didn’t know how much this Paul meant to you. I wanted to test you.”

“He’s never meant anything to me. Surely you knew that?”

“Yes, when I was quite sure of your love, I finally dared to reveal myself to you.”

“Why did you have to wait? Don’t you have the power to take what you want?”

“No. You obviously don’t know the legend about Lucifer’s love. If you did, you would know that Lucifer’s love must be returned before he can show himself to his woman. Until then, he must walk about in earthly disguise and not go near her.”

“That’s running a great risk. What if the woman loved you as Marcel but was disgusted by the dark angel!”

“Is that how you feel?” he asked quietly.

Saga looked at him. She felt dizzy. Suddenly she experienced him with all her senses, with skin, hair and nerves.

She whispered: “No.”

Then she smiled, relieved.

She couldn’t tell him all, she didn’t dare, because he was so splendid, so monumental, so unearthly. She couldn’t do what she wanted to do most of all, which was to throw herself into his arms and remain there, follow him wherever he went, follow him right down into his abyss. She also didn’t dare to mention the fire that was eating at her and the troublesome yearning she felt to be his right here and now. The heat of the forest had followed them right up here; the hyper-erotic mood, the sensuality was so dense that they could breathe it in, so persistent that it had crept under her skin, thumping heavily and rhythmically in her veins.

The being from the other side took her hand and led her up towards the cliffs.

With trembling voice, she said: “You’ve been up on the earth every hundred years. You must have loved many women.”

“None. And forget that old tale about my love from ages ago! I forgot her immediately! But the curse was still in effect. I had to get out and search. Where could I find an earthly woman who was worth loving and who could reciprocate my love? That’s something that has happened only now ...”

“Yes, but why me, really?”

He stopped on a ridge among the cliffs.

“You have certain similarities with the first one, that’s true. But it’s completely beside the point.”

She looked questioningly at the being with the fascinating features, waiting for his explanation.

“First of all, what I said to you was true – that your yearning to come to me in the abyss and be with me was something that appealed to me. But you’re also of the Ice People. You’re one of their chosen ones, and you have a task that all beings on earth, under the earth and in heaven support.”

“Was it only because of that?” Saga asked, slightly disappointed.

“No. When I saw you, I was struck by immense love for you. I had to have you at any price. But Count Paul ...”

Saga said: “Yes, who is he?”

Lucifer shrugged his big, shapely shoulders.

“I don’t know. He may be somebody your ancestors found in order to divert your heart. They chose the most handsome man on earth for you ...” He gave a gentle smile. “But that wasn’t enough.”

“No,” she said with a little smile. “All I saw was you, Sir. Oh, you have no idea what he’s done!”

“To you?” The tall being showed clear signs of jealousy.

“No, no. You mustn’t fear that! But I opened the trunk ...” She shuddered at the thought of what she had seen. “No,” she then said resolutely. “I won’t waste my time with that now. Anyway, we have to fetch the leather bag with the treasure!”

“Later. He’ll be asleep for a very long time. This hour is ours, Saga. Now you’re mine and mine alone.”

He removed Saga’s jacket gently. “If I’d had more time, I would have begun by courting you for a long time. We would have had a deep friendship ...”

“Do we not have that already? As Saga and Marcel? I’m not afraid, Sir. I’m ready. There’s nothing I want more.”

He touched her tenderly on her cheek and smiled. “Didn’t you have any suspicion that I was Lucifer?”

“No, it never occurred to me.”

“I made one big mistake! I didn’t think at all. You see, I speak all the languages of the world, so I just began to speak Norwegian. I thought that you could also speak Norwegian.”

Saga let him take off her clothes as he spoke. He did it so lightly, as if there were no obstacles. The clothes just dropped off her.

His mere touch triggered strong, pleasurable sensations, making every nerve and every fibre in her body vibrate. From his gasping breath she sensed that she wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

Thousands of years ... alone in an abyss.

Compassion and sympathy for him and his bitter fate flowed through her and seemed to be transferred to him, because for a moment the stern mask seemed to become gentler and he almost lost his self-control.

Saga wanted to postpone the wonderful experience to come. She said: “Why did you say you were my relative?”

Without noticing, she had adopted a more intimate form of address. It just seemed to be the natural thing to do as they had grown closer to one another.

“I did so in order to change roles with Paul von Lengenfeldt, to make you believe that I was the protector your ancestors had sent.”

“But we’re very much alike.”

“That was one of the reasons why it wasn’t so difficult to trace you. Don’t you know that subconsciously one feels sympathy for someone who resembles oneself? That isn’t because one is self-centred; it has something to do with the need to sense a mutual understanding and solidarity.”

Now he had undressed her completely. Saga didn’t feel cold: the night wind didn’t reach them at all because he shaded them with his magic, his wish for warmth.

The dark angel looked at her, holding her away from himself. She wasn’t shy, not in the least. She who hadn’t even dared to appear naked in front of her husband!

“You’re so beautiful, Saga,” he said in a thick voice. Then he knelt down in front of her and placed his head against her breasts. He kissed them slowly and pleasurably, first one and then the other. He gave himself time, licking her nipples with his dark tongue. Saga gasped every time he touched her skin, and the desire in her abdomen became unbearably strong. He took her beautiful head between his hands, burying her face in his dark curls while she whispered words of despairing love and longing.

“It’s so lonely down there, Saga,” he whispered. “So empty ...”

“I know.” But did she really? She saw the abyss in her mind’s eye as she imagined it. Black cliffs, a raw and damp cold ... She knew nothing about it; she was merely guessing. Perhaps he lived in a beautiful, wonderful palace with an army of servants?

With slow, sensuous movements, he let his well-shaped hands caress her body until she moaned with impatience. Now he trembled violently all over. He touched her skin with his tongue, across her stomach, lightly, arousing and filling her with desire.

Saga closed her eyes. Her knees could no longer support her and she lay on the ground with him over her. The cliff floor under her was no longer hard. She lay as if in the softest bed, everything was warm around her, and he radiated a burning heat. All she wanted was him.

His glance was fevered and his lips moved. Saga placed her hands around his neck, drawing him closer – perhaps he didn’t know what kisses were?

Oh, what was she thinking, she who had previously been too shy to take the initiative to kiss! But now she dared, she wanted to feel his lips against hers; she knew that he would not think she was shameless, he would just be happy because she was showing him her love.

He trembled violently as she found his mouth. She tickled the tip of his tongue with hers – and then everything happened very quickly. There were a series of swift movements, an eagerness and an impatience from both of them ... and then he was with her, inside her in all his might. Everything gathered in one single moment of immense pleasure. Saga’s body stiffened and straightened out in intense enjoyment. She tossed her head backwards while at the same time being caught in an ecstasy so strong and intense that everything whirled around her, and all she heard was his violent breathing that sounded like screams of pleasurable pain.

She was Lucifer’s woman. The lover of the lonely dark angel.

Since he was no ordinary man with an ordinary man’s limitations, it wasn’t enough for him to possess her just once. They had such a short time together that they needed to use it. Saga experienced the next hour as one long series of orgasms – hers, his, sometimes at the same time. A great many tender caresses and words. Now and then she became so overwhelmed by all the love she received and wanted to give that she wept, and at other times it was as if he was the one who was unable to express properly how much he loved her, and then he would hold his hands tightly around her neck, stroking her hair and her face with powerless desire. It was as if Lucifer was making up for thousands of years of hopeless yearning.

Finally, when they were completely exhausted, and sank down next to each other on the soft cliff, the golden glow of the rising sun lit the sky. They lay there, gasping for breath, tired but happy. Both were aware of the fact that now they were a pair, they had each other and loved each other with the same immense passion and tenderness.

They took care of every single moment, knowing that it would soon be over.

Finally, he stood up. Saga got dressed. The cliff was now hard as stone. The storm had abated, but a sharp, hostile wind blew among the stones.

“How long do you have?” she asked softly.

“Not very long.”

“I don’t want to part with you.”

He pulled her violently to him. “Nor do I. Saga, can’t you ...”

Both of them fell silent. They were horrified. Nearby. They heard voices nearby! And rushing dogs ...

“The scent leads this way,” said a coarse voice. “He must be up there!”

“Saga ... hurry up and hide!”

He pushed her in between two boulders.

“But why should I hide? It’s a man they’re searching for ...”

“Shh!”

Now it was Marcel who stood in front of her, dressed in his usual clothes. The ordinary Marcel that she had fallen head over heels in love with.

“You shouldn’t see this,” he said quickly.

“No, Marcel, not the sword!”

“Don’t worry, I don’t have the power to kill here on earth.”

Then he went back to the cliff again. At that moment, a small group of men with two dogs approached.

“That’s him!” shouted the leader, who must be the sheriff. “We won’t let him get away!”

Marcel had gone to the edge of the cliff and now stood with his back to the abyss.

One of the men said hesitantly: “But that isn’t ...”

Then everything happened so quickly. The dogs were released, Saga forgot all limitations and jumped up.

“No, stop! You mustn’t! You’re wrong!” she shouted in despair.

The sheriff, surprised, turned to where the voice came from and ordered the dogs and men to pull back. Only the man who had already hesitated obeyed him. The others rushed towards Marcel – and Saga shouted again.

The man she had called Marcel gave her a long, loving look, as if he wanted to drag her with him, and then he disappeared over the edge and was gone.

The dogs stood by the edge and barked. The men stopped abruptly. They were horrified.

Saga wept: “What have you done? What have you done?”

“It wasn’t him at all,” the sheriff said weakly. “I saw it too late. He’s not the one we’re chasing! Oh, God! May God forgive me, because I certainly can’t forgive myself.”

They went to the edge and looked over. The tears were trickling down Saga’s cheeks. It was infinitely deep – they couldn’t see the bottom of the cliff.

“I can’t see him,” one of the men exclaimed in surprise. “What happened to him?”

Only Saga understood. Time was up. That was what he didn’t want her to see.

The sheriff sighed: “We’ll never retrieve him. It’s impossible to get down the cliff.”

Saga agreed. She was weeping. “No, you’ll never see him again.”

They turned to her and expressed their regrets. They didn’t have any way to make amends for what had happened.

She shook her head. “It was probably something he wanted himself,” she explained, choking. “He was terminally ill. He only had a few weeks to live. I believe he would have preferred it this way.”

She said this in order to console the men, but also to prevent them from delving too much into who he was. Besides, it was almost true.

“Good heavens, do you see that?” said one of the men, pointing. “Down there, farther out on the plateau. There’s a man lying there! Perhaps he’s the one we’re looking for?”

“No,” Saga said wearily. “He travelled with us. I’ve no idea who he is. He called himself a count, but he’s a thief and ... and, Sheriff, I’m afraid he’s also a murderer.”

“What? Another murderer? As if we haven’t got plenty with the ones we’re chasing!”

Saga was so tired that she had to lean against the rock. Nothing had any meaning, because her beloved was gone forever. What did she have to live for now?

“I don’t know who he is, Sheriff.”

“Well, why is he lying there?” asked the sheriff. “Is he dead?”

“No, we intended to spend the night in a barn by a dilapidated farm ...”

“Yes, I know where that is.”

“Then we began to be suspicious of that man down there.”

Saga didn’t say what they suspected him of. What if she had said that they thought he was Lucifer! Then they wouldn’t have listened to her any more.

“So we poured a sleeping powder into his drink. Shortly afterwards he disappeared – with my most precious possession! It’s that bag that is lying just behind him. My friend went out in the dark to search for him and bring back the stolen goods. I was supposed to wait in the barn, but when I looked in the count’s trunk, I saw ... a decapitated head!”

She grimaced. The men stared at her because they doubted that she was telling the truth.

“The barn was so dark and I was so scared ... I simply slammed the lid shut and ran out into the forest. We had just caught sight of him down there and were on our way down when you appeared.”

What an incredibly good job she was doing of piecing together a credible story without mentioning that horrible night – or that long, love-filled hour just a short while ago. If only they didn’t ask for too much detail.

The men were silent. Then the sheriff muttered: “Well, I suppose we had better go down and see for ourselves.”

“May I have your permission to pick up my stolen bag? Before he wakes up? It’s important to me.”

The sheriff hesitated. Then he shook his head. He ordered two of his men to go down to the count and keep an eye on him – not to wake him up! – and to take good care of Saga’s bag. Without opening it: ladies’ belongings must never be opened!

Saga was grateful, until he added: “We’ll be there soon. And you, Madam, will come along with me!”

She was too exhausted to protest. Her heart ached with emptiness and yearning for Marcel, as she preferred to call him. Lucifer seemed too – mighty. In a tender moment, he had told her that he tended to call himself Marcel when he was on the earth. It was a name that was familiar in most countries. During the Roman Empire, he had called himself Marcellus. In today’s Italy, Marcello. For many centuries, he had been a monk under the name of Brother Marcus. Saga had noticed right from the start that there was something monastic about him, and he agreed that this was so.

The sheriff’s words made her come back to the present. They were on their way down the mountain and through the peaceful forest, the sheriff, Saga and the man with the dogs.

“On your trek through the forest did you happen to see a fugitive?”

“Yes,” she replied blandly. “A few times. Most recently last night, when he came running across the meadow by the farm.”

The sheriff asked her: “Please show me which way he went.”

Saga just nodded matter-of-factly. Her heart felt numb and she felt dead. That is, if death meant a deep, unquenchable pain.

Marcel was gone. She would never see the black angel, the banished one. The one she had loved, for a few short days, more intensely than in a whole lifetime of love.

She didn’t care about anything else.

When she found herself standing by the derelict farm, she awoke from her sorrow and stepped back.

No, she didn’t want to go inside! She wasn’t really scared but she knew that she would be sick and depressed if she were to look in the trunk again. She couldn’t cope with taking part in somebody else’s unfortunate fate. Not now. Her travel bag was there, so if they would please bring it out with them ...

Then she remembered the mandrake, which she had placed on a beam. She nodded, pale in the face, and went inside.

Everything looked different in the daylight. The decay, the dirt, the rats’ droppings and the cobwebs, the dust ... everything appeared more clearly now.

And this was where they had planned to spend the night? Saga shuddered with horror.

She fetched the mandrake discreetly and placed it in its box. She refused to look in the direction of the wheelbarrow.

“Is this the trunk?” the sheriff asked.

“Yes,” Saga replied. Her voice was thick and she hurried outside again.

“Oh, hell!” the sheriff exclaimed. And then shortly afterwards: “Mrs Simon, you can come in again. There are no decapitated heads here!”

“Well .... Last night there was!”

“At first, I did think it was a head,” said the sheriff. “And in the darkness, I can well believe that you could have made a mistake. It’s not a head, only a mask. A horrific, grotesque mask.”

“Then why ...?”

“Why did he bring it with him? I don’t know ... unless ...” The sheriff lifted up the horrible mask. Under it lay another mask, and a bundle of colourful silk clothes. There was a box, which he opened and closed without interest. Then he took out a big, worn envelope and put it in his pocket. Then he pulled out the wheelbarrow with the trunk in it. “Come,” he said. “We’d better walk over and take a look at this young cuckoo!”

Saga turned back in the doorway and looked around the barn. She was looking for Marcel’s little bundle, in which he had kept his travel provisions. She wanted to keep it as a memento. But it wasn’t there. There was nothing left to remind Saga that Marcel had ever existed.

When they got back outside, she showed the sheriff in which direction the fugitive had run. The knifeman, for whom these men had been searching for so many days.

The sheriff muttered: “I must say, there’s plenty going on in this forest today.”

Saga thought to herself that he should have been here last night.

For the time being, they let the fugitive remain a fugitive, focusing instead on Paul.

The sheriff’s assistant had taken charge of the wheelbarrow, and Saga placed her travel bag on it again. They walked through the same forest where she had experienced the most shocking, nightmarish things last night. Now it was a completely different scene: light and beautiful, with shadows dancing in the sun. It was as if the forces of nature had let go of their oppressive and tight grip on her journey. There was no more burning hot sun, no fog or rain or storm. The struggle was over.

Count Paul von Lengenfeldt lay where he had been all the while. Saga started when she realized that he hadn’t moved at all. One of the men who had been assigned to guard him got up and said calmly:

“He’s sleeping like a log, Sheriff. Here’s the young lady’s bag. We haven’t touched anything.”

“Right,” said the sheriff. “Don’t wake him up yet. I’d like to skim these papers first.”

At that moment – probably because he heard their voices – Paul moved in his sleep, muttered something, smacked his lips as if his mouth was dry, then turned on his back. He went on sleeping quietly.

“Heavens,” said the sheriff. “What a handsome young man! Gosh, Mrs Simon, I must say you have had good-looking fellow travellers! The other one was also ... No, I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to reopen ...” The sheriff ordered his men to handcuff Paul, and then they all sat down some distance away while the sheriff examined Paul’s documents from the tattered envelope.

He sat mumbling and muttering to himself, making everybody very curious, until he finally said with a sigh: “Did you say he called himself Count Paul von Lengenfeldt? Well, his real name is Pelle Larsson and he seems to be a fourth-rate actor. He’s usually hired for his handsome good looks, because the critics don’t like him. His profession may explain the costumes and masks. There was also a make-up box in the trunk. Anyway, there’s much more here: there seem to be subpoenas for fraud, particularly against women in high society.”

“He boasted that he had been ‘at court’,” muttered Saga.

“He probably meant in the bedchambers of the ladies-in-waiting. There are also love letters from women who want to know why he let them down. One of them urgently requests him to return her driver and horse and carriage. There’s also something here about a contract at a theatre in Christiania ...”

“Well, that’s where he was going,” commented Saga. “It was probably his only way out, far away from creditors and wronged women.”

She told them about the coach and coachman waiting in Värmland, and the sheriff promised to take care of it.

The coachman – he had told her that “he” was really a devil and not human at all. Was it Paul he had meant? Or had he figured out who Marcel was? That was impossible to say. But Paul had referred to his Thespian cart. Shouldn’t she have deduced that Paul was an actor? A Thespian cart was used by travelling troupes of actors. Saga should have understood that.

While they tried to wake up the sleeping Paul, Saga thought, somewhat bitterly, that her ancestors had probably dwelt too much on his splendid good looks when they appointed a protector for her. Or perhaps it was more correct to say that they had chosen somebody she couldn’t help becoming interested in. That way, they hoped that she would avoid Lucifer. But she hadn’t wanted to avoid him! He was the best thing that had ever happened to her! Oh well, her ancestors had also regretted their error and said that they had chosen the wrong protector for her.

They weren’t infallible. Not at all! They probably hadn’t reckoned that her acquaintance with Paul and Marcel would last so long. They hadn’t thought that it would be so fatal and so intimate in this deserted forest.

Saga took the bull by the horns and asked whether the sheriff had heard that there was an outbreak of cholera in Värmland?

“Oh, it was just a false alarm,” the sheriff snorted.

She took a deep breath of relief and annoyance. So they could have avoided their troublesome walk in this wilderness. But then, she would not have had time to get to know Marcel properly.

Oh yes, he had chosen her! She would never have been able to escape!

And she wouldn’t have wanted to.

She realized that they were now very close to a sizeable village. The main road to Kongsvinger went from it. There was also a coaching inn where she would be able to borrow a horse. The sheriff asked one of his men to accompany her to the village and to carry her travel bag. She couldn’t walk on her own: the criminal was still on the loose and might cross her path.

Saga thanked the sheriff and his men for all their help and left. Shortly afterwards, the first house roofs began to appear.

At long last, Saga could leave the deep forest. What a lot of memories, good and bad, she was bringing with her. What a lot of her old persona she had left behind.

She would never be the same again.