C2 Chapter 2

Henning and Malin got on very well, and they had confidence in one another. They divided responsibilities between themselves, just as Saga and Henning had done. The only difference was that Malin was much more robust, down-to-earth, knowledgeable and self-assured. She also brought order to the farm’s economy. Now that there were more villas in the parish, she saw to it that it was Henning who sold milk, butter and other produce to the new residents. He earned quite a tidy income from that, because the new people were mostly well off and could pay. After that it didn’t matter so much if some old neglected widow in the village got her daily ration of groceries free from Linden Avenue.

The two children, Marco and Ulvar, received the best care they could have wished for. The wet nurse came regularly to give Marco his milk. They had also set up a better system for Ulvar so that he didn’t have to suck on a linen rag to get the diluted cow’s milk into him. Of course, Henning didn’t have much spare time. If he ever did, he would spend it by the window looking on to the road. Eagerly, to begin with. He expected to see his parents turn up at any moment. Sometimes, he would ride out on the horse to meet them and would return home late. Alone.

Later on, he became quieter. A shadow would appear over his eyes. Malin saw it but was unable to comfort him. All she could do was divert his attention and turn his thoughts to other things, such as the chores that needed doing or anything amusing she could think of. But what was there that was amusing now?

Then a letter arrived. It was from the company that owned the ship Emma. It was addressed to “The boy, Henning Lind of the Ice People”. Malin and Henning sat for a long time at the kitchen table before they plucked up the courage to open it. Malin had seen the immediate hope in Henning’s eyes giving way to mounting anxiety, a wish to postpone the moment and just lie down and go to sleep until it was all over and he could hear the happy sounds of an arrival around him.

Then Henning gave a deep and resolute sigh. “You open it!”

Malin didn’t want to open the letter either. She wanted to go on waiting and hoping for cheerful voices at the door. Nevertheless, she realized that it was her duty to open the letter. It was something you couldn’t expect a boy of eleven to do ...

She tore open the letter resolutely. The words swam before her eyes. It was just as she and Henning had feared. In a toneless voice, she read the letter aloud to him:

It is our painful duty to inform you that debris from the ship Emma has been found along the coast north of Arendal. Two bodies have since drifted ashore but neither were your relatives. Sadly, after such a long time has passed, we must assume that there are no survivors.

Malin let the letter drop in her lap. She didn’t like the final words of regret.

It was as if all vitality had left them. They just sat there as dusk fell, unable to rise from their chairs.

Finally, Henning broke the silence. If Malin had expected him to be broken, she was very much mistaken.

“They haven’t found them,” he said in a low and bitter voice. Malin didn’t know what to say. The best thing might have been to shatter all his illusions straightaway, yet for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Perhaps she felt that the boy needed a tiny hope in order to go on living? Perhaps the certain knowledge of his parents’ death would be the straw that broke the camel’s back? He had experienced so much evil in his young life. His one source of comfort had been his relationship with his parents. And then Saga, whom he had lost. Now he had her, Malin. She promised herself that she would never leave him, not until he was an adult.

“No,” she said. “They haven’t found them.”

It was as if Henning breathed out. A long, silent sigh of relief.

He had told Malin the story of Saga’s last night. One evening when they were sitting alone by the fire, watching the sun set across the mountain ridge, he had told her all about it. About Lucifer, the children’s father. About the dark angels with their huge wings, who had fetched Saga so that she didn’t have to die. He had told her about the strength he had felt when one of the angels had placed his hand on him. He showed her the mandrake, which he always carried around his neck. He let her feel the blankets that Marco and Ulvar had been wrapped in. They were cold now, but Malin could still feel a kind of vibrating echo of the warmth that had protected the two infants against the cold night. Malin had believed him. There were so many wonderful legends about the Ice People. The only thing they had discussed that evening was the plan for the two boys. One of them was destined to become the most distinguished of the Ice People. The other one had a different task ...

This was something Henning and Malin had spoken about a lot. About which of them was which. There was no doubt at all that Ulvar was a cursed child. Malin didn’t want to say it, but from time to time she felt that she could detect a fleeting gleam of evil in the baby’s eyes when she turned him over or if she held him a bit tight when she needed to change his nappy. Ulvar didn’t like being washed. A normal baby would have screamed, but not Ulvar. His yellow eyes would just stare at her with something that looked like hatred. It made Malin feel very ill at ease: After all, he was only a few months old. Nevertheless, she liked Ulvar. He seemed so strong, so dauntless. She felt great tenderness towards this problem child, and she wanted the very best for him.

Malin didn’t appreciate Marco quite so much. There was a reason for the way Ulvar behaved. But Marco ...?

He was incredibly handsome! Jet-black curls covered his well-shaped head. His skin had a dark hue – sometimes golden, at other times almost black. It changed according to the light in the room. His exquisite face with its pure lines would always draw one’s eyes. The grey, almost black eyes, the finely arched eyebrows, the peculiar smile ... It was precisely the smile that confused her so much. Marco was an unfathomable little creature. Of course, one can’t be expected to understand a tiny infant. Personality is something that comes later on. Yet Marco had something more, something that had already taken shape. Malin knew what it was: he considered! For him, she wasn’t just another moving shape making kind sounds. She was a human being, and he pondered who she might be – or what she could be.

It was uncanny! She felt that she was being scrutinized by Marco, especially as he never seemed to disclose his thoughts. He would never yell when she scrubbed his ears or when soap got in his eyes. He would simply gaze at her just as Ulvar did. But Marco’s eyes showed no trace of hatred, just omniscience. Then a hint of a smile would appear on his lips. Malin never knew whether his smile was cool, sad or merely impersonal.

Saga’s twins were truly extraordinary.

They seemed to adore Henning. They would kick their little legs in delight when he came, and he would sit for hours, burbling and playing with them. This would bring tears to Malin’s eyes, because it was such a beautiful image of three little orphaned boys.

She loved them with all her heart. However, the one she loved the most was Henning. At least until the little ones developed their own personalities.

The months went by.

The wet nurse stopped coming because she wasn’t needed any more. The two boys ate the same food now that they were no longer babies. They could sit up and seemed sturdy and healthy. Ulvar had tough hands, which he liked to use when there was something he didn’t care for. Marco’s eyes were calm and alert to everything around him. He seemed to grow handsomer day by day, while Ulvar’s appearance moved in quite the opposite direction. Malin and Henning had got used to him and didn’t think he was so horrible to look at. But other people who dropped in would often scream because he looked so awful. Then Malin would tell them quietly to be a bit more considerate. Ulvar was a human being and she didn’t know whether he would grow up to be sensitive or vengeful. Then they would chuckle and say: “Surely he doesn’t understand anything yet,” but Malin could see a pensive look in their eyes.

Henning didn’t talk about his parents any more. The subject seemed to be taboo and Malin never raised it. She knew it was something that frightened the boy to death. He didn’t want to hear her say: “Now, Henning, you must realize that ...”

Malin didn’t want to say it either. The memory would fade over the years and he would slowly become resigned to it.

Now it was 1862, and Henning turned twelve. Strangely enough, the farm seemed to be doing better. Malin thought that Henning was cut out to become a brilliant farmer, better than his father had ever been. Viljar had wanted to do something else, but had come to terms with taking care of Linden Avenue, the Ice People’s last bastion in the parish.

They were even able to afford a farmhand, whom they needed because although Henning and Malin were clever people and worked hard, there were some heavy chores that they didn’t have the strength for. Besides, there was a limit to how much they had time to do.

The farmhand was a kind, elderly man. Not exactly quick on the uptake – but he didn’t have to be, did he? He was kind to the animals, which was the most important thing, and he was good at what he did. However, he avoided any mention of the two baby boys. He kept away from them, preferring not to see them. Malin had seen him fold his hands in prayer if he happened to see them in the kitchen. A swift, frightened prayer. She didn’t raise the subject, and thought it best to ignore it.

Malin thought it was wonderful that she could work until her back ached and her brain couldn’t be bothered to think when it got dark. It meant that she didn’t have time to speculate about her own life. She couldn’t help admitting to herself that it was a problem. She knew that her parents, Christer and Magdalena, expected her to marry and have children. And continue the Ice People’s line.

The Ice People mustn’t die out! They were the only ones who could save the world if Tengel the Evil ever woke from his sleep and seized control of the earth. Whether the Ice People could defeat him was a different matter, but those who were in possession of the clear water of life were the only ones who could counteract the effect of the water of evil. It was their duty to live on.

Malin’s parents were now the only members of the Ice People left in Sweden. And Linden Avenue was all that was left to the Ice People.

One day, Henning was bound to marry – provided he didn’t work himself to death on the farm, helping to take care of Saga’s two little boys.

But those two? You couldn’t count on Ulvar. He was a brute and a monster. And Marco ...?

Malin was quite unable to make him out.

One thing she did know was that she was unlikely ever to get married. She was pleasant and efficient, as she wasn’t afraid of admitting to herself, but young men never looked at her twice. If she was ever to marry, she was the type of person an old widower would choose. Common sense and calculation. A capable, stable wife, who could take care of an already established family and home and that he could boss around, knowing that she would carry out any order to the best of her ability. And who could give birth to a series of wholesome children.

Except that Malin didn’t want an old greybeard. That was why she was happy with these three small boys who needed her, so she drowned everything she might have felt she was missing in hard work.

She was twenty years old and had taken stock of her life. It was a bit early for that perhaps, but Malin had always been very down to earth. She had dispensed with any illusions a long time ago. A few passionate crushes in Sweden had come to nothing. The objects of her tender love had barely noticed her. One had chosen her best friend instead. Another was a young teacher at the deaconess school. For some months she tried to catch his eye, wishing him to look deep in her eyes. One day, he suddenly wrinkled his brow and said: “Are you new here, Sister? Because I don’t seem to have seen you before.” Before she had time to answer, he had turned away indifferently and begun to talk to a colleague.

That was when Malin knew that she wasn’t one of the great eye-catchers. It was also when she decided to travel to Norway, because she was concerned for Saga.

What a good thing that she had made the journey and had arrived in time to help the three lonely little boys! When she saw the immense confidence that Henning placed in her, she couldn’t help feeling horrified at what would have happened if she hadn’t come.

Malin felt the burden on her young shoulders, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling.

As time went by, the twins got to their feet. They would totter and tumble several times before they managed to move from one room to the other, over doorsteps that seemed like small mountains to them. This meant that Malin and Henning had to spend more time taking care of them, because Ulvar was full of energy and stubborn. A certain wickedness had been noticeable in him from the very beginning, but now he had discovered that he could get hold of anything within his reach he really became a handful. Malin and Henning were often so tired in the evenings that they just looked forward to the moment when he fell asleep.

Marco also had a mind of his own. He was a very quiet and secretive child, and so handsome that it hurt to look at him. He would often give a quiet and gentle smile and his expression was dreamy. He wasn’t as talkative as the aggressive Ulvar, yet the two of them could sit and burble to one another in a childish language the others didn’t understand. Although they were like chalk and cheese, they were very close.

Malin found it extremely difficult every time she had to tend to Ulvar. Grabbing his deformed body with the angular joints and the sharp shoulder blades was something she could never get used to. What would this poor child’s life be like: how much stupidity would he have to face? She and Henning couldn’t always be with him. Besides, Ulvar didn’t seem to care very much for her. Occasionally, his roughness would hurt her. However, she told herself that this was his nature. She knew that if that boy was ever to love anyone it would be Marco who was closest to his heart. Then Henning. She was merely a necessary evil.

Henning baffled her. He was surprisingly efficient and he succeeded at everything. Malin thought about what he had told her about the dark angel, who had laid his hand on him and said that now he was to be chosen in place of Saga ...

He seemed to possess an inner strength that saw him through hardship and sorrow. An inner light. And she? Was it a coincidence that she had arrived at the right moment? Might young Henning’s invisible protectors have had a hand in that? Besides, he had the mandrake. She had no idea how great a role it played in his success.

Malin and Henning certainly didn’t get anything for nothing! But Henning had the strength to cope and manage the tough jobs on the farm. They both had plenty to worry about. Occasionally, she had to write to her parents and ask for help – with money above all, of course, but also with things they needed in the house or on the farm, which Malin knew were available in Sweden but not in neglected Norway. For a century the Danes had looked on Norway as an inferior vassal state, and now the Swedes had taken over the suppressive attitude of the Danes. But in spite of everything, the Norwegians lived their own lives, developing their own culture, their own pride, untroubled by those who despised what they called their provincial habits.

Christer and Magdalene were always ready to help their only daughter, no matter what she asked for.

Many well-to-do people had arrived in Graastensholm parish to live in the new villas. It was the kind of situation that can attract some not quite so nice inhabitants. Burglars had broken into the villas. The bailiff hadn’t succeeded in catching them yet and people had complained.

Malin hadn’t taken much notice of the rumours about this crime wave and hadn’t even had time to think about them. In her subconscious mind, she believed that old Linden Avenue was much too insignificant a place beside all those big modern houses. Surely their farm wouldn’t be of any interest to thieves.

She didn’t discover what thieves would find so appealing about Linden Avenue until they appeared there. At first she thought that the impressive avenue of linden trees might have made them believe that the little farm was full of riches. But that wasn’t the case ...

One autumn evening, Malin was woken by a faint rattling sound. Then she heard whispering voices. She sat up in bed, nervous and tense. It wasn’t until now that she realized how defenceless they were. Henning was asleep and she didn’t want to wake him. Boys of his age were often rash and might attack the culprits without understanding how dangerous they were.

This was something she would have to tackle on her own.

The moon shone into her bedroom with a cool glow, lighting up the place. She checked that the twins were fast asleep in their cot next to her bed. She could hear Henning’s calm breathing from his room. Malin got out of bed and put on her slippers and dressing-gown. She stood quietly for a moment, listening to the sounds coming from the floor below. Then she picked up the poker and went to the top of the stairs.

There were two of them. They had brought along a lantern. Their hoarse, whispered words shocked her.

“Hell, no!” one of them was saying. “This old box. I bet there’s nothing worth having in that, damn it!”

“Yeah, you bet there is! Have you never heard of the Ice People’s great treasure? It’s famous all the way to Christiania.”

“Oh, like hell it is. If they’re so rich, what are they doing living in such a poor place?”

“You’re right,” said Malin, in as cool a voice as she could muster as she walked down the stairs. “It’s true there is something known as the Ice People’s treasure, but I doubt that it would be of any interest to you.”

They stiffened as they heard her voice. Now they stood like statues, staring at her.

“Jeez,” one of them said, as if they hadn’t expected to see anyone.

“What was it you said about the treasure?” asked the other one, who was no angel.

“It’s nothing but worthless old medicines and herbs,” Malin said, hoping that they wouldn’t notice how much her voice was shaking. “It’s only valuable to us. So please leave!”

One of the men screwed up his eyes: “Old medicines, eh? I think you’d better show us this treasure, little lady.”

Oh no, Malin thought, what have I done now? The other culprit, who had a pretty limited vocabulary, said impatiently: “What the hell are we supposed to do with old medicines?”

The first one hissed loudly: “I know a collector who’s willing to cough up the money, so just shut your trap!” Then he said to Malin: “You’ll hand over the old treasure, won’t you? Then we won’t do you any harm.”

“Unfortunately, it’s somewhere else,” Malin replied. “But if you leave now, I won’t tell anybody that you’ve been here.”

The stupid one came closer. “Now you listen, Sis! You don’t decide for us. Understand? We can beat you to a pulp if we feel like it. So we want that treasure now!”

A drowsy Henning appeared on the half-landing behind her. “What’s going on, Malin?”

“Go back to bed,” she replied swiftly.

“Are there more people in the house?” the stupid one asked.

“Only children. You heard there are only children here,” muttered the more intelligent of the two. “Now listen, wimp, come downstairs so that we can talk to you.”

Malin, who immediately grasped that they would take Henning hostage, shouted: “No, don’t! Just stay upstairs!”

The rough one came up the stairs and grabbed Malin by the arm. “You shut up, Sis, or you’ll be in a bad way!”

“Ouch,” cried Malin. “You’re hurting me!”

Before Malin had time to stop him, Henning had rushed past her and begun to hit with his bare fists the thief who was holding her. With her free arm Malin tried to hit the man with the poker, but the other thief managed to twist it out of her hand.

“We’re not playing any more games,” said one of the thieves. He had grabbed Henning and was holding the kicking boy in a firm grip. The other one was holding Malin unpleasantly tightly and had shoved his grinning face right into hers. He dug out a knife and pointed it at her in a way that couldn’t be misunderstood.

“Let go of the boy,” she managed to say.

Henning yelled. “Malin,” he sobbed. “I forgot to put the mandrake around my neck. It’s lying upstairs. Let Malin go, you horrible creature!”

Both men laughed hoarsely. Now they had the upper hand.

Then there was a roaring sound, like an extra loud clap of thunder. The entire hall turned dazzlingly white, and the men yelled helplessly and senselessly, loosening their grip and collapsing on the floor in apparently unbearable pain.

Malin stared at Henning. “What happened?” she whispered, ashen faced.

“It came from upstairs,” he whispered back.

They looked up. In the moonlight, they saw the noses of the two babies poking out between the banister rails. The boys were tiny, but they could just about manage to stand by themselves, and they were looking very pleased with themselves at the tableau in the hall.

The burglars had turned silent. They lay motionless on the floor.

“Heavens,” Malin whispered. “Heavens above!”

Henning said: “They’re breathing. The men are alive, both of them.”

Malin collected her thoughts. “I think that was meant to be. So that we wouldn’t get into trouble with the authorities. Tie them up, Henning, quickly before they come round! Then you can wake up the farmhand and ask him to fetch the bailiff. I’ll take care of the children.”

She walked upstairs. She swallowed a lot and found it difficult to look the two little boys in the eye. Ulvar’s laughter rolled hoarsely through the hall.

Good God, what is it we’ve got in the house? she thought, shocked, as she knelt down in front of them and embraced them. This could have gone so wrong! What if he decides to turn against us, against Henning and me – or somebody who hasn’t done any harm? No, no, that’s something that Henning and I will never be able to cope with. Never, ever!

“Thank you anyway, little Ulvar,” she whispered into his hair. “Thank you for showing us that somehow you like us. I’m so grateful.”

Defenceless was what she had thought. How ironic!

Ulvar seized a fistful of her hair, and shook it so hard that Malin had to flex all her muscles in order not to scream. His delighted laughter bounced off the walls.