C10 Chapter 10

Malin and Per didn’t have all that many days for their honeymoon. At least they spent a week together in their new home, a little villa not far from Linden Avenue.

Then Malin decided to pay a brief visit to Linden Avenue. She wanted to see how Anneli was, as she was soon due to give birth. She met Belinda outside the house. Belinda told Malin that Anneli had started to feel very energetic as the nursery was being prepared. Everything was so exciting suddenly, with lace and frills and cute baby blankets and colours and toys, that Anneli had blossomed and was quite lively. Henning was like a ray of sunshine and felt that life was worth living again, because he still felt love and devotion for Anneli.

Once the nursery was ready for the baby, however, Anneli had begun to feel sorry for herself again and was in such terrible pain. Those who had forced her into this state of affairs were truly awful.

Malin could tell that Belinda felt bitter, even if she did all she could to hide it. Malin understood her. Belinda only had one child, and Henning was such a wonderful boy – and now she had a daughter-in-law who seemed to lack empathy. Belinda’s view of the future was pretty bleak.

Malin said calmly: “Relax. Anneli is young. When she’s a bit older, she’ll get more sensible and will probably become a very good farmer’s wife.” Then she went inside.

She wanted to see the nursery. She knew which room it was and made a beeline for it upstairs. They had laid a new, soft carpet on the stairs, which deadened her footsteps. Nobody had heard her coming up. She opened the door to the nursery and stood there, quite mystified.

Ulvar was in there. He was half turned away from her so he didn’t know that she was there. In the middle of the floor stood a beautifully decorated child’s bed. The entire room was an orgy of sugary cuteness. It was so terribly dainty that Malin felt quite sick.

However, there was something that wasn’t sweet at all: Ulvar’s attitude.

He was jumping about the floor like a little devil around a witch’s cauldron in which the unholy were boiled. It was the empty child’s bed that was the target of his hatred. He was attacking it. He had a thick darning needle in his hand, and he was attacking the bed with it. Jabbing and jabbing at an imaginary infant.

Malin closed her eyes for a moment in order to collect her thoughts. She felt extreme, physical discomfort, even horror and terror.

“Ulvar,” she said in an empty tone of voice.

He jumped and stared at her. It was as if his ears flattened, although Malin couldn’t see them under his stiff hair.

He hissed: “Why the hell do you want to frighten me like that? Are you a sadist or ...?”

“No, I’m not,” she answered calmly. “But now it’s time for you to come and live with Per and me. Immediately!”

“And Marco!”

“Yes, of course. Marco will be coming as well.”

She didn’t dare have Ulvar alone in the house without the mediating and serene brother. Thank God for Marco!

Or perhaps it wasn’t God they should thank? She met Belinda in the kitchen and said as calmly as she possibly could that she would take the boys with her. NOW. She couldn’t help noticing the relief in Belinda’s exhausted eyes.

Malin said gently: “Things will turn out as you hoped, Belinda. Once Anneli has her child, everything will be a lot easier. Afterwards, you’ll finally have some peace and joy at Linden Avenue!”

There was no afterwards for Anneli. She gave birth to a stricken girl and died a few minutes later. Once again, Henning had to experience tragedy at close quarters. Eleven years after Saga’s death, his own wife passed away in his arms – both dead as a consequence of the Ice People’s curse. Viljar and Belinda had no words of comfort that could express their shock. They were just as paralysed and just as speechless as Henning. How long was darkness to reign over the Ice People? Viljar was someone who had only been allowed to live a happy life in glimpses. Time and again, fate would strike at him and his dear ones. Seeing his beloved son as a widower with a square little bundle in his arms was so painful! It was almost more than he could stand.

Malin and Per came over, of course, and they were just as shocked at the tragedy. They had more than enough on their plate now that they had Ulvar to cope with! Were they to have another one of his kind?

But it didn’t seem so. After taking a closer look at the baby, they all agreed that Henning’s daughter, who they named Benedikte, had very little in common with Ulvar. Thank goodness for that!

She had the characteristic yellow eyes and high cheekbones, and her hair was as black as soot. Her limbs were also gnarled. But that was all she had in common with Ulvar. Benedikte was very heavily built. Her face radiated a strange strength and great serenity. She would probably never become a beauty, but there was no evil in those Ice People eyes, which already had such a steadfast look in them.

Added to Henning’s burden was the fact that Anneli’s parents would not acknowledge Benedikte as their grandchild. They took one look at the child – and turned away in disgust. Much of the reason for their distaste was, of course, Anneli’s tragic death in childbirth. The family at Linden Avenue was left in no doubt that they were considered to belong to the devil. As if the Ice People had ever been Satanists! Never, perhaps with the exception of some of the cursed members, but even they had never worshipped the Evil One in the manner people thought. Sol was undoubtedly the one who had come closest to doing so, but she had only met the Prince of Darkness in a state of narcotic ecstasy. He had never been real. There was only one evil power for the Ice People, and he was Tengel the Evil. To them, he was much worse and much more tangible than some imaginary ruler of hell.

At Linden Avenue, little Benedikte was very much loved. Everybody treated the small angular body with love, and everybody spoke gently to her. Belinda loved her straightaway, watching over her with great care. Benedikte was bound to need love later on, because her life would probably not be an easy one. Everybody could figure that out.

Henning would stand with her in his arms, rocking her back and forth with his cheek against her warm cheek, and feel immense devotion and just as much sorrow. He had loved Anneli right up to her last breath, despite her bad moods and mounting aversion to him. Now he would do all he could to see that their daughter led as dignified a life as possible.

But he was scared. Deep in his heart, he was scared. Benedikte did not seem dangerous, but she was only an infant now. She might become more evil in her soul than Ulvar or Sølve, he who had set out so promisingly, only to become a cruel monster later in life. Henning prayed to God that his daughter wouldn’t have such a fate.

Fortunately, Anneli’s parents moved back to Christiania. It was a relief to know that they would no longer be spreading stupid rumours in the parish about the people at Linden Avenue.

In a way, Viljar and his family calmed down. They no longer had the disrupting Ulvar in the house, although he dropped by as often as he could. On those occasions they all took care that he was never left alone with Benedikte, but he never seemed to take any interest in her. Something else was occupying his thoughts, although they were unable to tease out of him what it was.

Almost every day, Marco would drop by on his way from school. He and Henning had been the world’s best friends, and Marco liked to see and admire the little baby. She seemed to bond with him and she would light up in a toothless smile every time he arrived.

The farm was doing well, and everything would have been splendid if it hadn’t been for the fact that Henning seemed out of sorts, so lonely. Something had died in him. It was something that had already happened before Anneli died. Belinda and Viljar believed that Anneli’s constant nagging at him had affected him more than he had wanted to show. Somehow it was as if he hadn’t been approved of. He clearly felt that being efficient and kind wasn’t enough in life. If so, where had he gone wrong?

In fact, he hadn’t gone wrong at all. He had simply fallen in love with the wrong girl. Because the truth is that a pretty face isn’t enough. Anneli was the one who was inadequate, but Henning blamed himself.

Malin and Per’s son, Christoffer Volden of the Ice People, was born in 1874. (In Norway, they were still accustomed to call themselves “of the Ice People”.) The little mite was named after his grandfather, and everybody was so proud!

Things had gone surprisingly well during the two years that Marco and Ulvar had lodged with Malin and Per. They lived in their small villa and were doing quite well financially. Per had a secure job with the local authority and Malin also had means. Hardly a day passed when one or other of them didn’t meet up with their relatives at Linden Avenue. They were a close-knit family. Marco was doing well at school, and Ulvar ...

Yes, Ulvar. Malin couldn’t come to grips with him. He was just as fierce and vicious as ever – laughing his crude laughter whenever he could be malicious – but he was strangely subdued in his new home. Most of his jibes were empty threats that couldn’t frighten them anymore.

At first, Malin had thought that this was because she was tightening the reins. Then she began to suspect that it was something else that had touched Ulvar’s warped mind. He was planning something. He had secrets, and that was why his home and the family seemed unimportant to him. That was why they were allowed to live in peace.

Malin was frightened to death when little Christoffer was born. And she knew that Per was too. When she showed the little boy to Ulvar, her hands were trembling so much that she had to ask Per to hold the infant.

Ulvar looked at the baby without any interest at all. All he said was: “What a fright! Just muck. Nothing to write home about!”

And then he walked away.

He was always out a lot. He often went over to Linden Avenue, where Henning would put him to work immediately. Ulvar obeyed grumpily, did what he was asked to do and then went up into the forest. That was where he usually spent most of the day. However, in recent days and weeks, he had spent more time at Linden Avenue instead of going to the forest. He avoided work now, and nobody quite knew where he was. In the afternoons, he would reappear and pretend that he had been around all the time, and then he would walk home. With a horribly pleased smile on his face.

Malin didn’t dare to let her little baby out of her sight, whether Ulvar was at home or not. She watched over her baby because she didn’t feel comfortable with her foster-son.

But there came a day when she had to go to the trading company and young Christoffer had just dropped off to sleep. She didn’t want to wake him and took the chance. Per was at work, Marco was in school and Ulvar had been away for a couple of hours.

Malin was scared stiff. She hadn’t even reached the road before she regretted her decision and turned around. It was better that her baking should be spoilt if her young son’s life was at stake. Young Christoffer was now about six months old, and all this time Malin had never left the baby on his own. She couldn’t bring herself to do so now.

The house was quiet as she went back indoors. She tiptoed up to the bedroom door. A soft growling reached her ears. Malin was terribly worried. She thought: God, what have I done? She hardly dared to look inside, and really had to steel herself to do so. She felt an unbearable pain in her chest. The door swung open and the sound of growling became stronger. Malin felt faint. The grey wolf was there. It was sitting next to the cot, with its eyes fixed on the door. When the wolf saw that it was Malin coming in, it bounded over to the open window and was gone. She walked over to the cot on legs that shook and almost refused to carry her. She bent down gently over the baby. Christoffer was fast asleep and breathing regularly. He hadn’t noticed anything. Malin stood there deep in thought while her body and mind began to relax. Then she whispered towards the window: “Come back! I’m leaving now. Will you please keep an eye on my most precious treasure for me?”

Then she left the room and waited for a while in the kitchen. Before she left, she looked in through the chink in the door.

The wolf was in place.

That evening, Malin baked a big cake for Per and the boys. When Ulvar returned, she gave him a big hug.

She whispered: “Thank you! Thank you, my dear boy!”

Ulvar extricated himself from the embarrassing embrace, hissing: “Why are you so damn lecherous that you must throw yourself on me, you horrible cow?”

But he really tucked into the cake. He ate almost half of it.

Which he definitely deserved.

Young Christoffer was soon able to toddle about by himself. In a way, this made it easier for Malin because she could have him around her and keep an eye on him. At the same time, the little boy became a lot livelier and demanded more attention.

One afternoon, she stopped in the middle of her chores and listened. She could hardly believe her own ears.

But it was true! The low voices from the twins’ room could only mean one thing: Marco was teaching Ulvar to read!

Ulvar had consistently refused to learn anything so effeminate and childish! Now he sat, clearly excited and eager and willing to learn. And the lessons continued! Evening after evening, they would sit next to each other in their room, reading and learning, Marco with the patience of an angel and Ulvar with a devil’s cantankerousness.

What on earth was going on? Apparently, the wild boy wanted to become civilized.

Or perhaps not. Ulvar had quite other plans for his reading skills than becoming civilized. He had realized that it had been awfully stupid of him not to go to school and learn to read. For many years, he had been missing something really obvious.

God, he’d been such an idiot! He couldn’t stop blaming himself. He, who had believed all this time that a treasure must exist somewhere, he who had heard Malin speak about all their ancestors in the graveyard – he had never thought of the obvious fact that everything about the Ice People must be written down! So that future generations could learn about the history of the clan. The evidence had been right before his eyes all these years.

Well, not exactly. Far from it, in fact. But Ulvar, who had nosed about at Linden Avenue, had come across some thick books full of meaningless squiggles, probably handwriting, in a locked cupboard in Viljar’s and Belinda’s bedroom. Locks weren’t a problem for Ulvar, so he had looked in that cupboard many times. He couldn’t understand why on earth they wanted to keep such dusty old books.

It was only recently that he had understood how important they were. During the time he was lurking around Linden Avenue, he had stolen one of the volumes. Sitting in the basement by a peephole where some light came in, he had tried to spell his way through a page. Of course, it didn’t work out. He tried to figure out what the letters meant; he compared them with each other but the only letter he recognized was U, as in Ulvar. That is to say: Ulvar had never asked, but Marco had shown him once.

Ulvar was pondering. Then he gave up because he realized that he needed help.

Marco was only too pleased to help. He was happy that his brother was showing an interest in school work. He was rather surprised that Ulvar seemed more interested in handwritten letters than printed ones. But it didn’t matter: it meant he would have to learn to write, which would only be an advantage.

Ulvar really put his mind to it. He wrote down laboriously letter after letter, holding the pen tight and breaking several pencils. He would swear and throw the whole lot in a corner, but come back the following day, firmly resolved to learn.

Then he surprised Marco again. He wasn’t satisfied with the letters he had learnt. Well, he was, but they wouldn’t do. Marco wondered what on earth he meant by that.

Ulvar didn’t want to disclose the reason why, but after long and exhausting discussions, Marco deduced that what Ulvar was on the lookout for was not only the usual, modern letters but also the old, Gothic alphabet. This should have made Marco suspicious, but his disposition was much too pure for that. He was just happy that Ulvar was taking an interest in intellectual pursuits, which hadn’t been the case before. So Marco was the teacher and Ulvar the pupil, learning slowly and laboriously. It took time, but Ulvar did learn. Learning something new when you’re a bit older is always difficult.

Ulvar was pleased. Now he could read! Now his time had come.

He left the house early one morning while everybody was asleep. From the bedroom, he could hear Christoffer burbling, but the little boy was only one year old and not dangerous. Ulvar continued walking determinedly to Linden Avenue. That house was also quiet. Not even Henning’s three-year-old daughter was awake. Ulvar wasn’t interested in those brats, he never spoke to them and pretended not to see them. No, he had more important things on his mind. At the back of the house he coaxed the basement lock open and sneaked indoors. He tiptoed into his secret corner under the peephole and dug out the very oldest book. He hadn’t dared to smuggle more than one book at a time down to the basement, in case Viljar and Belinda happened to look in the secret cupboard in their bedroom.

Ulvar opened the book. Mikael Lind of the Ice People had written it, but he didn’t know that. The handwriting was old and difficult to read. After all, it had been written in the seventeenth century when they had begun to write down the history of the Ice People. Of course, Ulvar knew nothing about the very first book, which was Silje’s. That was so precious that it was kept with the treasure. Ulvar read: “I heard the fate of the Ice People like the darkest tones from the string of a harp.” Then he lifted his head. “I can read!” he whispered triumphantly. “I can read! Now I want to know everything!”

But he didn’t get on very fast. Patience had never been one of Ulvar’s strong points, but now he surmounted his difficulty. He wasn’t going to stop until he had managed to decipher every single word, every single letter. That day, Ulvar only managed a few pages, but he had no intention of giving up!

Not on his life! They had denied Ulvar the right to know the history of the Ice People: they were clearly afraid that he would get to know too much. But Ulvar always wins in the end, he thought. You bet. I’ll show them!

Many, many months later, Malin was sitting by the table in the kitchen, pouring the Sunday soup into the plates. She was extremely concerned.

“What’s he doing, Per? Now he’s also gone on a Sunday. This just won’t do. Several days every week he disappears early in the morning and doesn’t come back until suppertime. What’s he up to?”

“So far, we haven’t received any reports that he’s been up to mischief,” replied Per. He was busy cutting up some meat for his son, Christoffer, who was now four years old. “I think we can leave him in peace.”

Malin wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “On those days when Henning doesn’t need him on the farm, Ulvar just disappears and nobody knows where he’s been. The only ones who catch a glimpse of him now and again are the people at Linden Avenue, and that’s when he’s on his way home.”

Per replied: “I suppose he’s up on the mountain ridge, and as far as we know, he never harms animals. Just leave him in peace, Malin. After all, it’s an advantage that he’s not at home.”

“Yes, but ... Tailing him won’t work. I’ve tried that: it only made him absolutely livid, and I was very frightened. Do you know what I think? Now is the time to make that journey to Sweden. My parents are getting on and it might be good for Ulvar to get away from here for a while.”

Per promised: “We’ll leave in the spring. But I can’t say I’m looking forward to having Ulvar join us. It may turn out to be an arduous journey.”

They stopped talking when Marco came in. The room always seemed brighter when he was there. He was transforming from a boy into a young man, and suddenly Malin was glad that she was a happily married woman of a completely different generation than his. Being a girl of Marco’s age would be quite an ordeal. He had such an incredibly strong personality that a young girl would probably only want to go on living if she thought she had the chance of seeing him again. That sort of thing is exhausting.

Malin didn’t ask Marco about Ulvar, because she knew it would be pointless. The answer would always be an evasive: “I’m not familiar with all his whims.”

Malin would never be able to grasp it. In many ways, the brothers were so close that they knew everything about each other. However, Marco had once said something that might explain his evasive attitude: “He has lowered the veil,” was what he had said. No more than that. Malin interpreted it to mean that there was an abyss, a divide, that separated the two boys, and that each had the ability to extricate himself from the other. To lower a veil of mist so that the other person couldn’t see through it. Of course, this was just stupid guesswork, but this was the best answer she could come up with.

The journey to Sweden was strenuous. To begin with, Ulvar was furious at having been forced to join them, and he dreamed up a thousand excuses to get away. It was precisely this opposition that convinced them that he ought to be away from the parish for a while.

Marco kept a tight rein on him throughout their stay in Sweden. Otherwise the visit would have been a disaster, because Ulvar was in a foul mood and did everything he could to spoil the atmosphere. However, after a serious talk between the brothers, Ulvar actually became more subdued and everything went – fairly – normally.

Malin’s parents, Christer and Magdalena, admired their grandchild Christoffer, and gave the twins a big money note. Ulvar was thrilled to bits. However, on the homeward journey he was so restless that he became a nuisance. What they didn’t know was that he had reached a very exciting and promising part of the Ice People’s history when they prepared to travel to Sweden, and he was impatient to read on. When they made a stop in Christiania on their way back to say hello to friends, Ulvar had had an absolute bellyful. He just couldn’t wait a minute longer. He wanted to get back to the parish. “You can stay here,” he said brusquely. “I don’t care for these people. I want to go home!”

Not even Marco could hold him back.

Malin sighed: “Do as you like, Ulvar. You know where to find the key to the front door. And ... thank you for being so nice during the journey.”

Nice? What a sickening, nauseating insult! Ulvar made a horrible face, but he didn’t have any more time for them.

He caught the train from Christiania. The new railway between Christiania and Drammen tempted young boys like Ulvar with speed and excitement. Of course, he hadn’t told the family that he was planning a journey by train because if he had, he mightn’t have been allowed to go. They had travelled by horse and cart, in which he had been practically invisible. Now he was out on his own, using public transport.

He paid no attention to the shocked looks or the stir he caused at the station and in the train. On the contrary: he was happy to see children and grown-ups stepping aside. This made him proud and rash. He was quite convinced that his equal didn’t exist in the Nordic countries. Journeying by train was a thrill. Ulvar stood at the very back of the train on the viewing platform and watched the tracks disappear away from the train. This gave him an intoxicating sensation of owning the whole world. He laughed at the wind that blew his hair in all directions. It didn’t bother him in the least that the smoke from the coal made him look black. He was almost eighteen and now he was on his way home to find out more about the secrets of the Ice People. That was his main reason.

The ticket inspector came out to punch his ticket. Ulvar hadn’t bought a ticket and had no intention of doing so. He tossed the ticket inspector over the railing and then walked through the wagon to the front platform. He was such a macabre sight with his gnarled, square frame, covered in black soot and with his hair sticking out in all directions, that people shrank into their seats.

Now he wasn’t far from home. On a bend the train slowed down and Ulvar jumped off. He rolled down the embankment and walked home through the forest.

The ticket collector had survived the fall; all he would say was that it was one of the minor devils of hell that had thrown him off the train. He had been so frightened when he saw that creature on the rear platform that he hardly dared to ask for his ticket. He should never have asked to see it, as he now realized, looking at the dressings and bandages that swathed his body in his hospital bed.

Ulvar sat in the basement at Linden Avenue with one of the books on his lap. He had come to the end of the history of the Ice People, and he had reached a very important point.

Ah, he thought. So this was what they were so afraid of! This is what I, the strong and open-minded Ulvar, wasn’t supposed to see!

He had read a lot over the months and years, fuming on all the days when he hadn’t been able to get down into the basement, because it wasn’t every day that he could guarantee he wouldn’t be spotted at the back of Linden Avenue. Besides, sneaking upstairs to swap the volume that he had finished with a new one wasn’t easy. This had cost him time and patience. Oceans of time. Many times, as he read, he had ground his teeth at what they had withheld from him. He had read with great surprise about Tengel the Evil and the treasure – which, so far, seemed within his reach – and about the stupid struggle of the stricken members against the Ice People’s evil ancestor. How could they? However, the passage he had now come across was the last straw!

It said that the cursed ones of the Ice People must never touch a flute. No members of the family, and especially those who were stricken, were ever to do so. Because there was a particular tune played on a troll-tuned flute that would tempt Tengel the Evil to appear, awaking him from his hibernation so that he could seize power on earth. And if that happened, our planet was in great trouble!

The book fell from his knees, but Ulvar didn’t notice.

“So now we know,” he whispered grimly. “Tengel the Evil! You’ve found your ally!”

He shuddered. Where had that sound come from? Or was it just a sensation? It was as if a wind was blowing on him, as if the shelf of rotten wood under him was shaking ominously, like a tremor in the earth. Inside his head or outside, he didn’t know which, there was an intolerably loud, moaning sound like an echo of the wind.

Ulvar sat there, stiff as a board, his cheeks covered in red, nervous spots.

Then he felt an exhilarating sense of pride. Their great ancestor had chosen him to carry out this great deed: to liberate Tengel the Evil!

He stood up suddenly, almost forgetting to put back the book, but pulled himself together and managed to smuggle it up into the bedroom without anybody seeing him. It was the third-last volume in the collection, but the remaining books would have to wait. Now he was ready for his task, his destiny in life.

As he ran home, thoughts raged through his brain. A flute, a troll-tuned flute. Where could you find one? And troll-tuned? What did that mean? Were there different ways of tuning a flute? He hardly knew anything at all about flutes, to be honest. Now he understood that all the rest of the family had kept quiet about the instrument because of him.

They were devils! They had tried to fool him! They were jolly well going to regret it! Honestly!

Because now we’re strong – Tengel the Evil and I, his most outstanding disciple!