C6 Chapter 6

Time passed at Linden Avenue. It was autumn 1870.

Henning, who was now twenty, was chopping wood out in the courtyard. He was a handsome young man, broad-shouldered with a slow, kind smile that was mostly in his eyes, as if it came from the depth of his empathic soul.

His father, Viljar, was helping him to stack the fuel for the winter. With his mutilated hands, he wasn’t good at everything, so they divided the chores as best they could.

Viljar had recovered. Miraculous was what the doctor had called it. It had taken a few years, but he had been on the brink of death ... Strangely, he hadn’t infected anyone else with tuberculosis, not even Belinda, who was frail. She was doing very well, and was wonderful at taking care of her home. However, she put her trust in Malin, who still lived with them.

Malin had to stay, because Belinda was unable to handle Ulvar on her own. Viljar and Henning couldn’t always be on hand because they worked outdoors. Ulvar didn’t care one bit for Belinda – he despised her. He certainly hissed and pulled faces at Malin and he didn’t seem to have much respect for her. Nevertheless, he seemed somehow to accept her. After all, she and Henning had taken care of the two orphaned boys from the moment they were born.

Marco was in school, as usual. Nobody had any idea where Ulvar was. They had sent the two boys off to school two years ago. Ulvar lasted only a week. After that he was asked not to come back. During that one week at school, Ulvar had managed to scratch rude pictures into the desks and walls, called the teacher an old lecher, fought with all the boys in class in turn, pulled out a knife and cut a few pupils, torn the clothes off the sweetest girl in class and stolen the money that was set aside for parish charities. He was delighted when he was told not to show up in class any more.

The years before Ulvar went to school had been a nightmare for the family. They never knew where he would strike, which meant that they always had to be on the alert. The only one who could control him to some extent was Marco, but how much could a child do? They had to take it in turns to be on the lookout, never letting him out of their sight, because then anything could happen.

Now he was nine and they had no power over him any more now that Marco went to school. Ulvar would simply disappear after breakfast. They assumed that he was up in the hills or the forest. So long as they didn’t hear about vandalism or accidents anywhere, they just let him be.

There was nothing else they could do, because Malin had tried to stop him once and she wasn’t going to try again.

She wanted to know where he went during the day. She had run after him, asking him to be careful and to stop running away so that she could speak to him. She asked him gently what he was doing. Malin had followed him right to the edge of the forest. Ulvar had paid no attention to her shouts but had just walked farther into the trees. This had made Malin cross, which didn’t happen very often. Ulvar’s off-hand manner provoked her so much that she reached breaking point. She rushed into the forest, shouting after him: “Now you do as I say, you damn brat. I’m going to put a stop to your daily excursions into the forest!”

Suddenly, a huge wolf had stood before her, baring its teeth – and now she was the one who was being threatened. Malin pulled back; her body was tense all over, she didn’t know what to do. The animal moved closer with a deep snarl and its ears lying flat. It moved its snout so that she could see its huge fangs. These strange wolves hadn’t been seen for many years, which was why it was doubly shocking. Now there was no point in imagining that they were real wolves because they were inextricably linked to Ulvar.

A few strange things had occurred in recent years. Once, they found a day-labourer lying paralysed in the courtyard and when they walked over to help him, he handed them various valuable objects he had stolen from Linden Avenue. Immediately afterwards, his paralysis ceased and he told them of a frightening incident when he was struck to the ground as if by lightning. Yet it was winter and thunderstorms were out of the question.

Ulvar’s evil laughter echoed through the courtyard. That laughter shook Malin more than anything else in the world.

Another time Viljar was standing in the river because he wanted to save some fishing equipment from the spring flood. Marco and Ulvar were about five years old at the time. They had joined him but had been given strict orders to remain quietly on the bank.

Suddenly, Viljar lost his footing on a slippery stone and fell into the water. The river pulled and tugged at him, he swallowed water, and no matter how much he struggled, he was unable to find a foothold.

Later, he told Malin, Belinda and Henning what he had experienced. He had managed to get his head above water for a second and all he could hear was Ulvar’s sickening laughter, which went right through him. What happened next was incredible: Viljar felt a horrible water creature embracing him. It wrapped its slimy arms around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. It seemed to be laughing in his face, but his eyes had difficulty in focusing so that he didn’t know what to believe. He was sure that his final hour had come. Despair seized him, he prayed to God as usual, albeit to no effect, and, now semi-conscious, he thought he saw one of those water creatures that Saga had chased away from Graastensholm.

But now came revenge ...

The obnoxious, slimy creature was ruled by a stronger will. Viljar felt himself being lifted up through the water, and the poor, mutilated fingers he had left touched on something gnarled at the water’s edge, some plant with strong roots, he thought, and semi-conscious from lack of oxygen, he clung to it. His lungs worked like a ruined organ pipe, but he was saved.

From then on, they let Ulvar do what he wanted. There was nothing else they could do. He would always come home with Marco, whom he worshipped. Then they could relax. Nobody was better at keeping an eye on Ulvar than Marco.

They weren’t afraid that Ulvar would trouble animals when he was gone. Like all the cursed members of the Ice People, he had a way with animals and could understand them.

This was the only good side to his nature.

Of all the stricken members of the Ice People, Ulvar was most like Kolgrim. The hopeless one. Malin would often think of his terrible tragic fate. Kolgrim had been no more than fourteen years old when he suffered a cruel and sudden death, caused by his greed for the treasure and probably influenced by Tengel the Evil. She wouldn’t wish Ulvar such a fate for anything in the world. She didn’t want him to die so young, she wanted him to mend his ways. Ulvhedin had managed to do that, hadn’t he? After all, he had been just as cruel as Ulvar and Kolgrim. But Ulvhedin had had helpers: Villemo, Dominic and Nicklas, the three chosen ones.

The Ice People didn’t have any chosen ones now. The dark angels had told Henning that now he would be a chosen member in place of Saga, and he seemed capable of doing the impossible – but he was unable to tackle Ulvar. Henning didn’t have yellow eyes and he didn’t have any occult talents. All he had was a tremendous ability to get through all the practical problems they faced during these years.

But Ulvar was beyond the reach of Henning’s capabilities. They had had some terrible episodes over the years, when their good name and reputation had been at stake. Like the time, for instance, when Ulvar had tried to torch the villa of a woman he didn’t like. The swift reactions of Viljar and Henning had saved the villa and the family’s good name. On another occasion, Ulvar had caught a boy who had said something awful about his appearance. The boy had been subjected to outright torture before they had heard his terrible screams and come to his rescue. The boy’s father had demanded compensation and Viljar had settled the matter peacefully so that the case wasn’t brought to court.

They knew perfectly well that Ulvar was feared and despised throughout the parish. They had even talked about placing him permanently in an institution.

That wasn’t something they wanted for Saga’s son. So they kept an eye on Ulvar but were always on the alert. So far, they weren’t worried about his trips into the forest. So far, nothing had happened. But they had no idea what he was up to there. And yet they ought to have known. If only they had gone back a little through the family history, they would have understood straightaway.

Viljar straightened his back after laying a few logs in place. “Here comes Marco. He’s home early from school today.”

“He’s running,” said Henning in his deep voice. “He seems agitated.”

Viljar prayed: “Dear God, please let it be nothing to do with Ulvar.” Belinda and Malin had come out, and Marco stopped in front of them. He was like a revelation, so handsome, serene and fine in his features. His black curls framed his face, which could make an artist lose his head. In the future, many girls would probably suffer a lot of anguish in lonely love dreams.

“What’s the matter, Marco?” asked Viljar. “I hope it hasn’t got anything to do with ...”

“No, no. This has nothing to do with Ulvar,” Marco gasped. “But I happened to hear ... that they want to do away with the old graves in the cemetery. There isn’t enough room to dig any new graves.”

They all felt a cold sensation down their spines, as if the cold wanted to envelop them.

“What are you saying?” Viljar whispered.

Malin exclaimed in despair: “They can’t do that!”

“So they want to flatten the graves of the Ice People, the Meidens and the Paladins? They’re ... sacrosanct!”

“Yes, they are,” Viljar said sternly. “For us. Everybody in our family has always found peace and strength by going to the churchyard and ‘talking’ to our ancestors. This is a part of our solidarity, of belonging. The Ice People are one, no matter how times move on. We can’t be separated.”

Malin turned to Marco. “Who has given this crazy order?”

The almost unbearably handsome Marco looked at her with his gentle, dark-grey eyes. “I don’t know, Malin. But I suppose the people who decide what the place is to look like.”

Viljar and Malin looked at each other.

Viljar said: “The municipality? I suppose somebody with maps on his desk and theories decides.”

“Or the parish council? Those who decide over the church?” Belinda suggested.

“Maybe,” was Viljar’s nervous reply.

Malin got a fighting look in her eyes. “I’ll go over and have a word with those vandals, those spiritual amoebas. This is something we’ll never allow!”

That decision was to change Malin’s life.

A peculiar creature was creeping about up in the forest. Naked, on all fours, like an animal, he sniffed his way across a flat rock in a glade. Now you could see what Ulvar really was: a monster.

He uttered grunting, snorting sounds like a wild boar or a tiger on the scent of prey. His nose picked up the exciting smells of the earth. He had a strong erection – without it leading to anything because he was only nine years old. But he liked the sensation. Ticklish and wonderful. His hands quested over the rock, groping his way around, but in vain, because there was nothing there. Everything had been swept clean.

Only the smells were still there. Smells of rut and death and other far too occult and exciting things.

Then he sat back on his haunches, convinced.

“Somebody has been here,” he murmured softly. “I’m at home here, I ought to know! Oh, this is a great place!”

Ulvar was absolutely right. To the right was the cliff wall where the mandrake had been hung when Vinga had fled to it from the dead. Without knowing it, Ulvar was sitting in the middle of Heike’s magical circle in the mouth of the invisible graveyard, which the grey people had conjured up and which had had such catastrophic consequences for Graastensholm.

Kolgrim had been here before. Ulvhedin had too, and so had Ingrid only once – when she had conjured up the grey people. Sol had been here many times to take a ride with the Prince of Darkness. No wonder that Ulvar, one of the worst stricken of the clan, was able to pick up strong vibrations!

He was toying absentmindedly with his splendid erection, considering how he hated the living, those at home at Linden Avenue. He was sure that they were hiding something from him. He knew it. One day, they had happened to speak too loudly, not knowing that Ulvar was nearby. Someone had whispered: “No, we can’t take out the treasure. Ulvar must never ever get to know that it exists.” Another voice had said. “Yes, but he’s only a child!” Then came the answer: “You don’t know what the stricken will do if they find out that the Ice People’s treasure of witchcraft exists. It will trigger their enormous, collective evil power.”

Yes ... Ulvar knew. He had a force within him that couldn’t find an outlet because it was fumbling its way at random. Something was missing. That something had to be the treasure!

Ulvar hadn’t been allowed to hear very much about the history of the Ice People. They had been careful not to put ideas into his head. However, once a guest happened to mention something. Ulvar imagined that she was a distant relative of that stupid woman, Belinda. She had said something very interesting and then she had been told to keep quiet.

What had she said? Ulvar had really thought a lot about that. Was it something about an evil ancestor? Who would reappear if they didn’t watch out?

It sounded so exciting that he was almost in ecstasy. He felt a ticklish sensation in his private parts, but no matter how hard he tried, it came to nothing. Something was also missing there. He was sure of that.

He gave up his fruitless attempts and began to sniff his way across the earth.

There was something about death here, that was what he picked up most vividly. He almost suspected that there was somebody dead here ...

Ulvar lay down flat on the ground, inhaling the smells.

His brain called forth a vision. He became excited: this was something he had never tried before! He saw something! As if inside his head.

A big, fat man ... And lots of horrible creatures tugging at him, tearing him to pieces ...

Wonderful! Ulvar’s body experienced a sense of immense joy! He breathed heavily. Those creatures? They had to be the grey people who had once been at Graastensholm, those that the boys in school had spoken about. What a shame that the grey people no longer existed! They and he would have understood each other, because they must be just as gloriously evil as he was.

Damn! Such a lot was hidden for him. But one day, he would ...

Ulvar started. As the natural creature he was, his inner consciousness had registered that he had better hurry home. Marco must be coming home from that stupid school, which had separated the brothers. One day, Ulvar would set fire to that stupid school! It would be a splendid fire! He was already looking forward to it, hoping that the teacher would be inside. The stench of grilled meat. Wonderful!

There was nothing wrong with Ulvar’s imagination when it came to devilry. He put on his clothes in a jiffy and like an animal, he moved swiftly through the forest.

“Honestly, Malin, do you really want to discuss the matter with the parish council?” asked Viljar, as they stood in the courtyard.

“Yes, I’m on my way now; I’m really fed up. I won’t allow them to touch our part of the churchyard. What others in the parish want is up to them. But they’re not to touch the graves of the Ice People!”

She started. A horrible creature was creeping from behind the outhouses. “Hello, Ulvar,” said Malin in a kind voice. “You’re on time, as usual. You always know what time of day it is. You’re good at telling the time.”

He grimaced at being praised.

Belinda couldn’t help shuddering when she saw him. She would never get used to the sight.

Ulvar was shorter than his brother. In fact, he looked as if somebody had sat on him during his earliest infancy. Malin always felt sympathy when she looked at Ulvar, but she had no reason to do so. He loved to look the way he did and to frighten others with his mere presence.

Ulvar was exceptional in his appearance. If you really wanted to compare him with some of the stricken members of the Ice People in previous generations, then it would have to be Grimar, the twisted creature in the Valley of the Ice People. Or Hanna. Or the daughter that Gabriella gave birth to and who Liv and Are allowed to die before she had managed to take a single breath. Tengel the Good, Ulvhedin, Mar and Heike had looked awful, yet all of them had had something in their personality that appealed to others. Ulvar was only frightening, which he liked. He didn’t want to look good. He sneered at the thought. What a lot of nonsense! No, he would much rather look like a devil than a forest monster, because it would give him power! His legs were short and bent; his torso was enormous, and it was placed directly on his hips without any sign of a waist. The colour of his hair was impossible to decide but a mixture of brown, grey, blond and black. It always hung down unkempt over his treacherous, yellow, gleaming eyes, because nobody was ever allowed to cut or comb his hair, let alone wash it. His cheekbones were horribly angular and his mouth could become grotesquely wide if he decided to bare his teeth. Ulvar was immensely proud of all this. You might say that providence had blessed him, since there was nothing more he wished for.

He looked inquisitively at the others, sensing that something had happened. Viljar told him about the graves, which were to be razed to the ground.

Ulvar liked graveyards. He saw things there that nobody else did. Oh, and he knew a lot of secrets about the dead! He wasn’t interested in the Ice People’s ancestors, because they had never appeared before him or spoken to him. Not that he knew if they would appear to the stricken members of the clan. That was something that was never discussed at Linden Avenue. They thought it best that he knew nothing about it.

There was much that they hid from Ulvar, and probably quite rightly. Before Ulvar had had time to digest this new piece of information, Malin was on her way down the avenue to speak to the culprits at the local government office.

Belinda said: “Come in and have something to eat. There’s food ready for boys with a hearty appetite.” Viljar and Henning went in with her, and the nine-year old twins followed immediately after.

Malin entered the dingy local government office. She searched the doors for the right sign ... There! The Highway Authority. Was this the right door? No, it wasn’t, but she was given directions and entered a big hall where her steps echoed on the floor and around the walls. After a few questions, she reached the right person, and told him her reason for coming.

The clerk, a young man with a very stern look and very correctly dressed, wrinkled his brow.

“Those graves are very old, Miss Christersdatter. Nobody’s interested in them any longer!”

“But we are!” she replied angrily. Those are our ancestors and we ...”

She interrupted herself. She couldn’t bring herself to mention that they communicated with them and certainly found it meaningful to walk among the graves. She changed her words: “We’ve taken care of the graves constantly. They’re a part of our history.”

“We know that the Ice People were once the most important family in the parish,” he said measuredly. “But times have changed.”

“Oh?” Malin was in a belligerent mood.

The young man was too stern to be charming. Otherwise he would probably have seemed quite nice. But officialdom had rubbed off on him, making him stand on his dignity.

“You must have noticed the burgeoning local population. This has its consequences – also with regards to the churchyard.”

“Surely more land can be added to it, can’t it?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “In what direction? The river runs past it, encircling it for quite a way. Then there is a hill and a field.”

“The field ...”

“Much too useful to cultivate. The farmer won’t let us have it.”

Malin gritted her teeth. She thought for a moment and then said: “This is pointless. If you won’t give in, we’ll have to take the case to a higher authority.” She had no idea what that would be. But it seemed to have an effect, because the expression in the young man’s eyes said: “What a pig-headed person!” He got up and said: “Come!”

Since Malin was still pretty frustrated, she followed him into another room with an even more dignified appearance. A tall man was sitting at the desk. She didn’t catch his title, which didn’t bother her. The young clerk muttered something about the reason for her visit. The important man looked up under his bushy eyebrows. Malin had the impression that life at home wasn’t so easy for him and he therefore compensated for the damage here in the office by showing an almost desperate authority. She was sure that he probably took soda for his dyspepsia.

“I don’t think there’s anything reprehensible in my plan for the renovation of the churchyard,” he said sarcastically. “We’ve been very respectful and let the more recent graves stay, and only focused on doing away with the old ones. According to my instructions, young Mr Volden here has drawn up a new map of the area.”

Young Mr Volden gave her a slightly triumphant nod.

But Malin hadn’t given in. “Surely you can see that your plan won’t hold water in the end? Graastensholm parish – I happen to prefer the old name – is no longer a village but a small town now. The way you’ve allowed the parish to be extended is bound to mean that even more houses will be added. In a few years’ time, you’ll have to extend the churchyard anyway. Then sacrificing the graves of the Ice People will have been totally in vain.”

The face of the authority looked even more serious. This was probably an expression his wife had never seen. Where was Malin getting these crazy ideas of a domineering wife?

He obviously didn’t like Malin criticizing his life’s work in this parish. To be on the safe side, he didn’t mention the extension of the parish as such but focused on the churchyard: “Hasn’t Mr Volden explained to you that it isn’t possible to extend the churchyard?”

Mr Volden nodded vehemently.

Malin exploded. “Surely there are other options, for goodness sake! Why not a woodland cemetery? On the outskirts of the forest, for instance?”

“So far from the church,” said the mighty authority, disapproving. “That will never do.”

“It worked before,” hissed Malin.

The man used the worst possible tactics someone in authority can use when faced with a visitor. He picked up where he had left off with his deskwork while saying airily to Mr Volden: “If the papers for the district physician are ready, you can pass them on to me.”

“Right you are, Mr Johnsen.”

Mr Volden signalled to Malin that the audience was over and that she must follow him. However, Malin couldn’t resist a quiet remark as she leaned towards the Great One: “Was she grumpy this morning?”

He gave her thunderous look, but she couldn’t decide whether the furious blush in his face was due to anger or surprise. The last thing she saw was that he took a glass with soda from his desk drawer.

Young Mr Volden was very agitated as they entered the big hall.

“Miss Christersdatter, you’ve behaved very ...”

“I’d like to see the plan you’ve drawn up. Besides, you shouldn’t tighten your lips like that. It doesn’t look good, and if you continue like that, you’ll soon get to look like Mr Johnsen in there.” The thought seemed to deter him. He seemed to be afraid that others in the hall would hear her.

“I no longer have the plan,” he mumbled.

She regarded him with her head tilted. “Actually, you could look quite charming,” she said in a critical tone of voice. “But that servile, official expression that you’ve adopted makes you look like a prudish old spinster. Which is what you probably take me to be.”

A cloud of thunder settled over his head. Malin wasn’t in the habit of offending anybody, but these two men had treated her in a condescending manner, and now she was finding it impossible to weigh her words.

She was twenty-eight years old and she felt that she had the right to object to a rude puppy like Volden. Puppy ... he was probably about thirty, and he was already behaving like a fossilized stickler for the letter of the law.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’d like you to show me on the spot what vandalism you intend to carry out.”

“In the churchyard?” he asked, surprised.

“Yes, of course. Where else? Your working day is probably over by now. You have time to walk over to the churchyard with me before you leave for home. Your wife can keep supper waiting for fifteen minutes.”

“I have no wife,” he said, his lips clenched. “Besides, I don’t intend to follow your whims.”

Malin turned on her heel and walked to the door. “In that case, I’ll get in touch with a supreme court lawyer we know, somebody who helps our family with such issues.”

That was a white lie, because the Ice People were quite isolated at the moment.

But the words had an effect. “Very well, then, I’ll show you the churchyard,” said Volden, his teeth clenched. “Just to convince you that no other solution exists.”

“Fine,” was her reply.

She had no idea what she had triggered.