C12 Chapter 12

Henning sat at the edge of the road next to the bridge, gazing at his daughter, Benedikte. She and Christoffer, Malin’s son, were throwing sticks into the river from one side of the bridge. Then they ran over and looked down to see whether the river had carried the sticks under the bridge through the narrow channel in the middle. Just as thousands of children have done through the ages.

He looked at her with tender sadness. Benedikte was eleven years old, and nobody outside the family would have said that she was beautiful. She was as big as a fourteen-year-old, square and broad, with a deep voice that echoed through the house. Her hair was almost black but dull, her hands and feet were as big as sledgehammers. Her face had the characteristic features of the stricken: broad cheekbones and slanted, yellow eyes, an ugly nose and a broad mouth.

But her smile was warm and kind. She moved awkwardly like a puppy, and although she could be stubborn and difficult to get along with, she seemed to be the one who suffered most from this.

The children ran along the road, followed by a couple of fluttering butterflies. Henning let them go, knowing they would soon be back. It was a long time since they had had to fear wolves in the parish. Those had disappeared with Ulvar.

Five years had passed since Ulvar had been sent to prison so dramatically for murdering a woman in Christiania. Of course, they had tried to get him set free, but they had soon realized it was hopeless. He had committed the crime and had to accept his punishment. In the eyes of public opinion and the court, there weren’t any mitigating circumstances.

The authorities had realized pretty soon that he didn’t belong in a prison. He had been moved to an institution for dangerous mentally ill criminals and had been there ever since.

The family had visited him there, but he hardly appreciated their visit. He just shook the bars and swore and threatened everybody if they didn’t get him out of there. But what could they do? Henning knew that Ulvar’s fate was taking a terrible toll on Marco. That extraordinary young man had become introverted and pensive, and several times he had asked Viljar and Henning and Malin and Per to help get Ulvar out of the mental institution. They had tried, sent petitions for mercy, but to no avail.

Henning was relieved that Ulvar was behind bars – although he felt deep personal sympathy for him. He knew the curse of the Ice People and that this was Ulvar’s fate. He had been born to it.

The children returned, now in the company of a young woman. Henning felt happy and at ease.

It was Agnete, the daughter of the new priest. She was a gentle, kind woman, Anneli’s complete opposite. Henning had wanted to propose to her for a long time but hadn’t had the courage to do so. After all, he had a cursed child and not every woman would be willing to accept this strain. But Agnete seemed to be very attached to Benedikte. She was so kind and understanding towards the little girl that it warmed Henning’s heart. Her devotion seemed to be reciprocated to the full. Benedikte beamed as soon as she saw Agnete; the two would whisper and giggle together, and Agnete called frequently to say hello to her young friend. She also taught the children a few times a week.

Never for a moment did it enter Henning’s mind that he might be the one that Agnete was interested in. Partly, at least. She was fond of both father and daughter.

But Henning never showed her that he returned her interest.

This is something that can make a woman feel dejected, and at times it can be risky. In Agnete’s case, it turned out to be catastrophic.

Henning got up and went over to say hello to her with his warm smile that went right to her heart.

He said clumsily: “You’re far too nice to the children.” He had never been taught how to have a conversation with a lady. Anneli, his wife, hadn’t been of any use to him in that respect, because she twisted everything he said, mocking him for his boorish manners.

“I’m not nice. I just find it amusing,” Agnete said, laughing nervously. It was difficult to feel at ease with a man when you didn’t know what was going on in his mind.

It was Sunday and the sermon had ended. Everybody was on their way home. Henning had stayed with the children because Benedikte found church a bit difficult, and nine-year old Christoffer had been disobedient in the morning so he hadn’t been allowed to go along as punishment. Christoffer decided straightway that from now on, he would be naughty every Sunday.

Henning cast a sidelong glance at Agnete while she was talking to the children. She was quite attractive. Such lovely eyes ... and her gentle smile. Blonde hair, dressed somewhat conservatively – after all, she was a clergyman’s daughter – and her hands were so lively and stroked Benedikte’s rough hair so gently and tenderly. Her face was narrow and finely shaped and she was rather thin, but that was how she was built. Her delicate figure appealed to Henning’s protective instincts.

Malin and Per came along, with Viljar and Belinda immediately behind them. They all stood on the bridge on this bright summer’s day to talk a little. Malin invited Agnete home for coffee after church and Agnete gave Henning a quick, inquisitive look, which Malin registered immediately.

“Everyone at Linden Avenue is also invited, of course,” she added swiftly. “It’s our turn this week!”

Marco came running. From a long distance, they could see that he was very concerned.

Whenever Agnete saw Marco, she felt strangely split. He was such a kind man, whom she would dearly have loved to have as a friend. Good-natured, affectionate, but she would never be able to handle the burden it would be to be in love with him. This was something she resisted almost fiercely. Marco’s fantastic face attracted everybody, you could enjoy the sight so much that it hurt. For some reason, it pierced your heart because you instinctively felt that it was almost too much for a humble human being to comprehend. She gazed at Henning once more and found that looking at Marco had dazzled her so that she was only able to see Henning’s silhouette.

Marco was alarmed. “Ulvar is free!” he gasped when he reached them.

“What?” said Malin. “Has he escaped?”

“No, they set him free.”

“Set him free?” asked Viljar. “Surely they can’t do that?”

Marco lowered his glance. “I believe he was sick. They ... they ... didn’t want to keep him any longer.”

“Didn’t want a sick person in hospital?” said Malin. “Well, where on earth would he go otherwise?”

Marco said wearily: “I don’t know. He’s bound to come here.”

Henning nodded. “Yes, of course, and we’ll give him a warm welcome.”

Malin was pensive. “Is there talk that he’s on his way?”

“It seems so.”

“Well, then we’d better hide him. People in this parish will never accept him living here.”

Agnete said: “Why on earth would you want to do that? Doesn’t he have just as much a right to live as everybody else? Surely he’s not to be ostracized?”

“Well, I’m afraid he is. “

Agnete was shocked and agitated. “What about brotherliness? What happened to that? This isn’t right!”

Belinda pondered. “They’ll search for him at your place, Malin, and at Linden Avenue. So he can’t stay with us. We must find a place where he can be left in peace. You must know that everybody is afraid of him.”

Marco felt anxious. They tried to soothe him with kind words and assure him that they didn’t want to leave his twin brother in the lurch.

Then they all made a beeline for Malin’s and Per’s house. Subconsciously, Henning manoeuvred so that he was walking next to Agnete. He liked that. Sensing her by his side made him relax. He was thirty-three years old now and he knew that Agnete was roughly the same age, perhaps even a few years older. Her strict upbringing was the reason she had never married. She was the youngest child, and her parents had always put a stop to any hint of a romance. They would tell her: “You can’t marry. What will happen to us if you leave us? You can’t do that!”

Henning found such an attitude extremely selfish. Didn’t it enter their minds that they were holding her hostage? After all, this was Agnete’s one and only life.

He had tried to pluck up the courage to ask her; he just didn’t have enough self-confidence to do so. Not after Anneli’s constant humiliation of him as a human being and a judge of women.

Later in the evening, young Benedikte walked up to her father at Linden Avenue. She looked rather downcast as she stood there with a couple of drooping wild flowers in her hand.

“Well, Benedikte. How are things?” Henning asked her kindly.

She said in her hoarse voice: “I went to pick some flowers in the forest for Grandma. But suddenly, a very big dog appeared from among the trees and it growled horribly at me.”

Henning instinctively straightened his back and his arms felt stiff. “A big dog, did you say? Did it look like a wolf?”

“Like in Little Red Riding Hood? Yes, it did, because I thought about her straightaway. But it was really big.”

Henning swallowed. “It was a good thing that you ran home,” he said in as steady a voice as he could muster. “Come and sit down and have some supper.”

Then Ulvar is in the neighbourhood, he thought. I must warn the others.

Ulvar headed for the churchyard. His face was fierce, resolute and full of hatred. Five years! Five years in humiliation among scum that had the permission of the law to boss him around, keep him locked up, mocking and taunting him!

Human scum! He was always opposed by these miserable creatures!

They had spoilt his plan with the flute five years ago when Tengel the Evil had turned his back on him.

This was what hurt the most. That thought, that memory, was like an open wound: he couldn’t get over what had happened.

“You just wait and see, Tengel,” he whispered through clenched teeth. “I haven’t had my final say, trust me. I’ll go to my ancestors. One of them is bound to help me ...”

He had been set free a few days ago. He worked his way systematically through the plan of revenge he had drawn up in captivity.

The first thing on his list was to visit the street in Christiania where Agda, the whore, had lived. The blackened, burnt-out ruin still stood there, reminding him of his immense loss: the flute. He had waited with endless patience in a dark corner until he spotted the man who had entered the room that time. He had drowned him in the Akers River. He had held his head under the water until he was limp. Then Ulvar found some of those who had held him down in the street. He stabbed them in the back. He did the same to one of the policemen. He couldn’t find the other one and he didn’t have any more time to search. He hid the corpses in garbage piles.

Then he went on his way to his home parish.

He was now in such a fanatical state of mind that he didn’t feel hunger, tiredness, anything. He was driven by a terrible willpower.

The churchyard ...

That was where he wanted to go first.

He tried to remember what Malin had said on the evening when he had spied on them. About the cursed ones of the Ice People and which were their graves. But now he could read and didn’t need to use his memory.

The dusk was rather deep, but the western sky was still yellow. The headstones cast long, dim shadows on the ground. The flowers in the vases had already begun to lose their colours and looked greyish.

But Ulvar hardly saw the flowers. He had never had an eye for such things.

He squatted on the churchyard wall with his eyes firmly fixed on the family graves.

He muttered quietly: “You cursed members of the Ice People. Show yourselves and help your fellow so that we can liberate our great ancestor. I’ve been chosen to do that, you know. The attempt didn’t turn out the way it was supposed to, thanks to the stupidity of ordinary mortals. So! Hurry up, please appear when Ulvar, the greatest of his descendants, calls upon you!”

Ulvar had forgotten that the really evil ones weren’t buried here. Not the cursed ones who had lived before Tengel the Good, not Kolgrim, nor Sølve, not even Sol or Trond, Tula or Mar were here, and they would never have come to his assistance in the manner of the good helpers.

But the graveyard came alive, because Ulvar was able to see what was hidden and those that he had called upon could tell him a thing or two. To his immense excitement, he saw shadows appear and take on human form, as they walked slowly towards him.

There were many of them! But they didn’t strike him as being willing to co-operate. He moved a few inches backwards on the wall, and stood up so that he was looking down at them.

A man who looked like a chieftain appeared, and although Ulvar didn’t know him, his intuition told him instantly that this was Tengel the Good. So he snarled and retreated a bit. He took an instinctive dislike to this leading fighter of Tengel the Evil.

Somebody else was standing near Tengel the Good. The two resembled one another so much that you could almost confuse them. Although the other seemed younger, not so forceful and authoritative, but more sensitive, and somehow softer, Ulvar could feel that both were immensely strong personalities. His intuition told him that this other one was Heike of the Ice People. Then there was a third man. A horrible beast with Mongolian features, a man with a bitter humour, somebody you wouldn’t joke with. Ulvar thought he must be Ulvhedin. He was absolutely convinced of that. Perhaps these creatures were communicating with him?

A woman appeared, unbelievably beautiful with shiny red hair and intense, yellow-green eyes. She was Ingrid, the witch of Graastensholm. And then a younger man, straight-backed and self-assured. Ulvar didn’t know that this was Niklas – yet he felt it intuitively. A large throng of other spirits followed them, but were not significant. Since Ulvar had the ability to see the dead, he understood that they were the descendants of those family members who weren’t cursed, and who were buried in this churchyard. For instance, Silje – when he saw her he knew immediately that this gentle, strong-willed woman just had to be Silje – and Vinga and Kaleb and Tristan Paladin and ...

How did he know all this? What was it that gave him this instant knowledge and awareness?

They didn’t give him time to ponder.

In a terse, blunt voice that sounded strangely hollow and resonant, Tengel the Good spoke: “Ulvar of the Ice People. Turn around in time! Turn your back on Tengel the Evil; join us, and fight against him!”

Ulvar started. He was indignant. “Fight him, my lord? Never, ever! Do you want me to join a bunch of traitors? You were all predisposed to become the followers of our great master. But you wouldn’t hear of it.”

“You must think very, very carefully, Ulvar, because you’re in trouble, and you know it. You’re sick and you need treatment. And, believe me, Tengel the Evil won’t lend you a helping hand!”

Ulvar hissed: “I’m not sick at all,” pulling his jacket closer around his throat so that his horrible wounds couldn’t be seen. He knew that his face had already changed its appearance. The evil disease that the whore had infected him with had almost consumed his nose. These were the symptoms that had caused him to be thrown out of the mental hospital, which he didn’t mind at all.

“You’re sick.”

“Not fatally.”

“Perhaps not immediately, but you’ll hardly get better. You can get help at Linden Avenue. Although they’re not aware of it, Henning and his daughter have healing powers. Go to them. Don’t you understand that you’re infecting others?”

“How amusing,” giggled Ulvar, but he seemed a bit subdued. These old friends, or whatever he ought to call them, seemed so sure, strong and stern. “Before I’m done, I’ll infect the whole of Norway!”

“Mind your words, Ulvar. You know that Ulvhedin is here. He has the power to conjure you down into the earth. So be sensible, join us, and help us fight against our evil ancestor!”

Ulvar was about to say: “You miserable creeps, you cowards ...” but cast a glance in the direction of Ulvhedin and kept quiet. He didn’t want to be conjured down into the earth!

Actually, Ulvhedin was only able to conjure old fiends, but Ulvar didn’t know that. They just wanted to scare him a little.

A crescent appeared in the sky behind the headstones. It was shrouded in a thin mist and surrounded by a shining circle. In silhouette against this background, those who were standing in front of him seemed more awe-inspiring than he would have liked. He felt a cold sensation down his spine.

“Very well, I give in,” he said quickly.

Tengel the Good gave him a sardonic smile. “That was a very quick promise!”

Ulvar flared up. “Well, what the hell do you want then? What else can I do but say I want to give up?”

“A whole lot more,” Tengel replied shortly. “You can go and ask for Henning. Tell him that his daughter, Benedikte, has great healing powers!”

“Poo! I can go to Marco. He always helps me.”

“Don’t go to your brother for this sort of thing,” Tengel said sharply. “Don’t misuse him.”

“Oh,” said Ulvar, putting out his tongue. “I’ll do exactly as I please.”

“Ulvhedin!” commanded Tengel.

The huge monster stepped forward.

“No, no!” Ulvar tried to defend himself with both hands. “I will, I will!”

“What is it you will?”

“Whatever you want me to do.”

“Thank you, but we reserve the right to doubt that. Well, Ulvar, you were born with this stigma, I’ll help you with one single thing. I won’t heal your sickness completely, but I can see to it that you won’t hurt others. Then it’s up to you what you want to do. You must choose sides – now you must think carefully! Nothing good has come from Tengel the Evil. Not even his disciples have benefited from knowing him.”

“How do you know?”

Niklas interrupted with resigned kindness. “You’re hopeless. Unfortunately, you have a task to carry out, otherwise we’d have obliterated you for the benefit of mankind. But your infection must go away, that’s the least we can do.”

“A task? Me? What sort of task? I only know one, which is to obey and serve my great magician. You can stand there and threaten me, but you can’t do anything because you’re dead and I’m alive. I’m invincible, remember!”

Tengel the Good stepped forward, which made Ulvar step backwards so that he almost fell down on the outer side of the wall. He had to fumble and struggle in the most embarrassing way in order not to lose his balance.

With a few authoritative movements of his hand and a few muttered conjurations in front of him, Tengel the Good removed the horrible infection from Ulvar’s body. Of course, Ulvar couldn’t feel this, but he understood that it was happening. Instinctively, he lifted his hand to his face – but nothing had changed.

“You quack,” he yelled. “You could at least have cured my sores.”

Heike stepped forward for the first time. “You, Ulvar of the Ice People, have tried our patience long enough now,” he said coldly. “For your mother’s sake, we ask you to choose the right side. Then your wounds will heal in due course. Go now, and don’t hurt your nearest and dearest anymore. Or anyone else.”

There was so much Ulvar had wanted to say and do. Swear at them, damn them, mock them with despicable sounds – but to his annoyance he crept silently away from the wall and down the path next to the cemetery. As he went he saw how the creatures dissolved in the night air and how the moon ruled alone over Graastensholm’s old churchyard.

The sense of defeat was great. It bothered him.

His wish to spread sorrow and death around him was greater than ever before.