C7 Chapter 7

It wasn’t far from the local government office to the church. But it felt a long way because of the tense atmosphere between Malin and Mr Volden, who had to walk side by side.

Not many words were spoken.

As a matter of fact, not one word was said.

Malin avoided looking at Mr Volden. All she noted was that he was tall and well dressed, albeit not extravagantly. But a clerk, whether working for the state or the council, wouldn’t be all that well off. He held his gloves tightly in his clenched fist – a sinewy, appealing hand, by the way – and he really stepped out so that she had to take three steps where he took two. She didn’t find this very polite.

Mr Volden, for his part, was pretty agitated, having taken an intense dislike to this damsel who had poked her nose into his business. His plan of the churchyard was fine; well, strictly it was Johnsen’s plan, but it had been Volden who had drawn it! His drawings were always neat and precise – he had been praised for them.

Having to keep up age-old graves! What sentimental rubbish! An unpleasant thought kept nagging at him: something about protecting cultural monuments, but how was that relevant to a little village churchyard and the tombs of an insignificant clan?

What nonsense!

He stole a glance at the young woman’s face. She was nothing to write home about – the sort of person you forgot straightaway. She was nicely dressed though – clean, neat and tasteful. He had noticed that when she arrived at the local government office. He only knew about the Ice People from gossip. People said that their background and history was quite exceptional, whatever that meant. Now they lived at Linden Avenue, quite withdrawn, rarely mixing with others in the parish. They said that this was because of a child they had on the farm who was deformed, who ought to be put in a home because he was a danger to others. But the family had guaranteed to take care of him and make sure nothing happened. Mr Volden had heard scandalous accounts of Ulvar’s week-long guest performance in school a few years ago. Since then, all kinds of rumours had circulated about the boy. Perhaps they kept him in a cage? A quick glance at Miss Christersdatter told him that this was probably not the case. He had heard that she was a deaconess. That seemed likely considering her appearance and her willingness to keep an eye on the boy. However, his ideas of what a deaconess looked like were vague.

They had reached the churchyard entrance and he opened the gate for her. They slowed their pace now out of respect for the dead. This was consecrated ground.

Malin said: “Well?” It was the first word they had spoken since they left the council office. “Where do you plan to cause the worst havoc?”

Did she really have to be so provoking all the time? Still, he knew perfectly well how to hit back!

He didn’t answer her question. Not immediately, anyway. They had not yet reached the graves of the Ice People.

Yellow leaves rustled under their feet. Actually, it was a splendid autumn scene, especially right there in the churchyard, encircled by maple trees and others he couldn’t immediately remember the names of. Trees weren’t in his line of work, so why should he know them?

All of a sudden, Malin started. From the corner of her eye, she saw a small shadow hiding behind the tall headstones, hopping from one to the other as she and Volden moved forward. She began to talk feverishly while diverting Volden’s attention in another direction.

“The church dates back to the thirteenth century. You can see that on ...”

“Right now, it’s not the church that interests us,” he said in a stern voice.

Malin was horrified at what Ulvar could be up to here. But the worst thing she could do was to call his name. He would never forgive her if he was discovered. He had no sense of humour whatsoever when it came to himself. The question was, what would happen if Volden caught sight of him? Ulvar was capable of anything.

Mr Volden stopped. “These are the graves that are to be levelled with the ground,” he said, waving his hand over the Ice People’s section of the churchyard.

“As I thought,” said Malin shortly. “But we won’t accept this at all.”

“Can you give me a single reason why we shouldn’t do it?”

“I could mention many. Let’s begin in the crypt!”

“We won’t touch the crypt!”

“No,” Malin replied. “But that is where it all begins. Have you got the key?”

“I have all the keys to the church estate.”

He marched briskly towards the crypt, making a great show of his total disapproval.

A rusty sound could be heard from the lock as the key was turned. Malin was too scared to turn around and see whether Ulvar was in the vicinity, as he probably was. She thought that Volden would be safe once she got him downstairs and into the burial vault under the church.

“This is the burial chamber of the Meidens,” she said quietly in the airless chamber. “The Meidens owned Graastensholm before we came.”

They had left the door open to give them a spot of light, and she could see Volden nodding grudgingly. She pointed at a heavy coffin with a nameplate on it. Even in the dim light it was obvious that the coffin was very old. “This is where the old Lady Charlotte Meiden is buried. She made a gift of Linden Avenue to our ancestor, Tengel the Good. That was in 1586, Mr Volden, and it marks the beginning of the Ice People’s history in Graastensholm parish.”

Mr Volden didn’t reply. He seemed impatient and not at all interested. He was probably regretting that he had embarked on this pointless visit to the cemetery.

Malin moved on to another coffin. “This is the grave of an important person: Silje Meiden, who later became the wife of Tengel the Good. She took care of Dag, whom Charlotte had left out in the forest to die.”

“How awful!”

“Those were hard times for unmarried mothers, Mr Volden, and they haven’t got any better. So the Meidens showed their gratitude to the family for saving Dag by giving us Linden Avenue.”

“You owned Graastensholm as well,” he said aggressively.

“Yes, we did. That was because Charlotte Meiden’s son, Dag, married Liv, the daughter of Tengel and Silje. They are buried here too.” Malin walked on through the dark vault.

A small pebble tumbled into the crypt from outside. Volden turned around but said nothing. Ulvar was just outside, undoubtedly eavesdropping attentively. Malin had to be careful what she said. Volden mustn’t appear to be an enemy – although this was how she thought of him. You never knew how Ulvar would react. Unconsciously, she adopted a slightly gentler attitude.

“Here it says Jacob Skille,” said Volden. “Who was he and what is he doing here?”

Malin smiled. “He was Charlotte’s husband in her old age. Sol had persuaded him to come to Graastensholm, but by then she was already finished with him. I don’t think Charlotte ever understood that relations between Sol and Jacob were so bad. I certainly hope not.”

Volden read out another name: “Tarald Meiden.”

“He was Liv’s and Dag’s son. The weakest member of the Ice People. Because I’m not counting the stricken: they weren’t to blame for their fate, and besides, they were often strong personalities.” Was Ulvar listening to what she was saying? He knew that he was one of the stricken ones, but that was just about all he had been told.

“Tarald was simply weak,” she went on. “His greatest accomplishment was that he and Yrja had Mattias, their wonderful son. He also had another son, Kolgrim, who is ... not buried here.”

“Oh?”

“He’s buried in the Valley of the Ice People. In Trøndelag. He was one of the most severely stricken ones.”

Volden took no notice of that statement.

“And this is where Yrja Meiden is buried. She was the mother of Mattias ... A really fine woman of very humble origin. She came from Eikeby.”

“And Sunniva Meiden. Who was she?”

“Sol’s daughter – Tarald’s first wife, Kolgrim’s mother. She died when he was born, as do all the women of the Ice People when they give birth to a stricken child. Kolgrim was a tragedy during all his fourteen years.”

Volden didn’t reply.

“And here we have Mattias,” she said, continuing her walk among the coffins. “He was a physician. They said his eyes were exceptional, radiating all the goodness in the world. Here lies his wife, Hilde, daughter of the Graastensholm executioner.”

“Quite a mixed gathering, I must say!”

“Hilde was all right,” was Malin’s short reply. “The Meidens died out with Mattias, because they only had one daughter, Irmelin. She married Niklas, another of our ancestors.”

They went outside into the clear autumnal air. Malin saw to it that she was the first one out and managed to catch a glimpse of Ulvar’s grotesque little frame creeping into a corner by the church wall.

“What are these grandiose tombs?” asked Mr Volden, heading towards the nearest one.

“The Paladins. They were margraves, of princely blood. Most of them are buried in Denmark. Cecilie’s grave is here as well. She was Tarald’s sister and as headstrong as her brother was weak. She was married to Alexander Paladin.”

“So that was how you became part of a princely house?”

This remark irritated Malin. “The Paladins were fine people, but I’m referring to their hearts and souls and not their princely birth.”

Volden didn’t like to be put in his place. “And this one. Who’s that? Tristan Paladin?”

“That’s Cecilie’s poor grandchild. It wasn’t until he moved to this parish that he found happiness. He was the brother of my ancestor, Lene.”

Volden looked swiftly at Malin: “So you are of princely blood?”

This made Malin let out a loud laugh. “No, our royal blood is very watered down! There’s a maid, a corporal, and goodness knows what.”

He continued his walk. “Ulvhedin Paladin of the Ice People ...”

“Yes, yes,” Malin sighed. “He was quite a character!”

“Wife Elisa Larsdatter – that must have been a misalliance, if ever there was one.”

“Certainly not! Ulvhedin was a stricken member of the Ice People. Elisa made a human being out of him. Well, maybe not her alone, but even so!”

They walked past some more Paladins. But Malin led his steps, carefully but decidedly, towards a big and very old headstone. The text on the stone had been outlined recently, so Volden could read it easily: “Tengel the Good of the Ice People. Born 1548. Died 1621. Wife Silje ... Yes, here are the ones you mentioned.”

“Yes. Now we’re at the very heart of the Ice People. Our ancestors protect their descendants, and Tengel the Good is our outstanding protector.”

Volden stared at her as if he believed that she was crazy. Malin didn’t show that this had any effect on her. Instead, she pointed to the text at the foot of the stone.

He read it in silence and said: “So this is where we find Sol, whom you’ve mentioned so many times. Who was she?”

“A crucial person in the history of the Ice People. She was condemned to death by the representatives of the crown. Sentenced as a witch. Perhaps quite rightly so.”

Volden looked at Malin. “Condemned to death, did you say?”

“Yes, but the Ice People killed her so that she didn’t have to suffer because of people’s ignorance.”

“She was also one of the Ice People, was she?”

“Yes, she was Tengel’s niece and stepdaughter.”

“So Tengel and Silje had three children to take care of?”

“Four,” replied Malin. “Here’s the fourth: their own son, Are. He inherited Linden Avenue and he was a good man. With both feet solidly on the ground.”

“Wife Meta.”

“Daughter of a village prostitute.”

“Heavens!” muttered Volden.

“The Ice People have also taken care of the poor and the vulnerable. Two of their sons are buried here. The third son fell in the Thirty Years’ War.”

Volden was quite dizzy from hearing about so many years of history.

He read: “Tarjei Lind of the Ice People.”

“Yes, he was destined for great things. Greater than we can imagine. It was he who was born to fight Tengel the Evil. But Kolgrim, the evil one’s instrument, killed him before he had had time to develop his special talents.”

“Now wait a moment,” said Volden. “This is getting a bit too complicated. Who was Tengel the Evil?”

Malin had allowed her memories to get the better of her. “Not here,” she said, afraid that Ulvar would hear. “Not on consecrated ground,” she added.

Volden gave her a searching look but then turned away. “Here is another stone next to Tarjei’s.”

“That’s his son, Mikael. This ends that branch of the family, because Mikael’s son, Dominic, moved to Sweden.”

He walked on. They read the epitaphs of the Linds of the Ice People until they came to a tall and beautiful stone.

“This stone seems to be pretty recent,” said Volden.

“Yes,” said Malin vehemently. “We’ll never forgive you if you destroy that one. Never!”

“Heike Lind of the Ice People ...” he read. “I’ve heard about him! Wasn’t he ... pretty ... exceptional?”

“Certainly. He was one of the greatest characters of the Ice People. One of those who really overcame the strain, the burden, that the curse entails. We can’t thank him enough for his long struggle.”

“I heard a strange rumour,” said Volden, “that he was able to attract ghosts and spirits and much worse things into Graastensholm.”

He smiled wryly as he spoke, as if he wanted to show that he distanced himself from such rumours.

Malin merely nodded. “The grey people, yes, that’s right. It was him and his dear wife, Vinga, who got them into Graastensholm because we, the Ice People, wanted the estate returned to us. But they had to give it up. It wasn’t until Saga came that the grey people gave up possession of Graastensholm. That marked the end of the estate. Saga was the mother of our twins.”

“‘Was,’ you said?”

“Yes, she gave birth to a stricken child. A woman who bears a cursed child nearly always dies.”

Malin knew that Ulvar was listening but didn’t think that what she had said was all that dangerous. But she must be careful not to mention the treasure or the ability to use witchcraft.

Malin knew so very little about Ulvar! She had no idea of his futile, desperate attempts in the forest to discover what made him so unusual! Occasionally, by sheer coincidence, he had managed to carry out some wizardry without comprehending where it came from or how it had turned out so successfully. Now and then, he could see creatures that were hidden from other people, or know things without anybody telling him about them. However, he wasn’t able to handle what was frightening or foreign, which was precisely what made him so dangerous. A sorcerer’s apprentice who doesn’t master his craft is dangerous to others!

There was much they didn’t know about Ulvar, and he had no intention of telling them anything!

Volden and Malin walked quietly back to the gate. “There’s somebody missing from here,” she murmured to herself. But he had heard her. “Whoever could that be?”

She started. “Oh, no one really.”

“I’d like to know!”

“It’s Tula,” was Malin’s reluctant reply. “She vanished.”

“Vanished? What do you mean?”

“Nobody knows. She went into Graastensholm and then she was gone. It’s twenty-two years ago now, and no trace of her was ever found.”

She might have added: “And four demons vanished with her,” but she didn’t. Mr Volden had been given all the information he was going to get that day.

A carriage was parked by the entrance, and his superior, Mr Johnsen, got out. He met them at the gate.

“Oh, here you are,” he muttered. “That certainly took an awfully long time! Have you convinced her now?” Volden turned his head and gazed over the churchyard. A moment before, Malin had become aware of Ulvar’s presence behind the wall.

Volden said slowly: “I think I’ve learned a little bit about piety.”

“What? Piety? Respect? What’s that got to do with it?”

“Quite a lot,” was Volden’s reply, and Malin rejoiced. She could have hugged him on the spot. He continued: “I think we should reconsider the forest cemetery.”

Johnsen glared angrily from beneath his shocking eyebrows. “The forest cemetery?” he barked. “Nonsense! Unnecessary expense! This rotten old place needs to be redeveloped. I have the plan ready. The local government board has accepted it. Do you really believe that I’d withdraw it now, and make myself look a fool in front of them? You’ve got a cheek!”

Volden pursed his lips. “I’ve changed my view of the matter, Mr Johnsen. The history of culture. These are irreplaceable memorials of strange lives and fates.”

“Now listen, Volden, you’d better watch out because your job isn’t that secure, remember! Has she talked you around?”

“Miss Christersdatter has given me a greater appreciation. I suggest that, first of all, we get in touch with the Society for the Protection of Ancient Monuments and hear what they have to say.”

He was certainly brave! Malin’s admiration for him had grown.

Johnsen looked like a provoked bull. “I suggest that you come to my house at seven o’clock this evening so that we, the churchwarden and I, can talk a bit of sense into you. Or perhaps we should discuss whether you ought to find another job? You’ll be coming along, too, Miss Christersdatter. Then you may get an idea of what you and your historical information are costing me! I haven’t time to stand here any longer, I have an appointment with the local government chairman. So, I’ll see you at seven!”

Before Volden and Malin had time to protest, he was back in his carriage and driving away.

Volden looked rather pale.

“I really hope that this won’t cost you your job,” said Malin miserably.

“I don’t really think it will,” he replied, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Because, if so ...”

“Let me worry about that,” he said, abruptly. Then he adopted a more formal tone. “Do you know where Mr Johnsen lives?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll come and pick you up at Linden Avenue at a quarter to seven.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you.”

“Not at all. It’s simply my duty.”

He looked after Johnsen’s carriage. Perhaps Malin wasn’t supposed to hear what he said, but she did.

“Such a ... social climber,” he whispered.

Viljar was sitting in the kitchen at Linden Avenue. “Well, how did it go?”

Malin’s cheeks were red, but she replied remarkably calmly. “I don’t know yet. I think I managed to persuade one of them. But the other one will be difficult. We’re going to his house this evening to discuss the matter. That is to say, he intends to persuade us to change our minds.”

“Did you say ‘we’?” Belinda asked.

“Yes, a man by the name of ... Volden, I think it is.”

“Is he the one you managed to persuade?” asked Viljar.

“Yes, he was very arrogant to begin with, but then he softened up. He became almost human. But only almost.”

Viljar and Belinda exchanged glances. Malin’s casual attitude said a whole lot more than her words. “By the way, Ulvar happened to be in the churchyard,” she said in a low voice. “He was spying. Of course, I pretended not to see him.”

“Good. But did he get to hear anything about the Ice People?”

“I don’t think so. I was very careful. But then, he must have heard some things about our ancestors, their names and what they accomplished. I just couldn’t avoid it.”

Henning looked out of the window and saw Marco and Ulvar playing by the water barrel by the stable. “I hope you didn’t mention the treasure?”

“Not a word.”

“Good. Because I think that now and then Ulvar is trying his hand at witchcraft. Clumsily and helplessly, but he wants to master the art.”

The others didn’t reply. The years with Ulvar hadn’t been totally uneventful. They all thought that they heard an echo in the room of his exaggerated, crazy laughter.

“Well, I’d better dress nicely for my visit to Mr Johnsen,” Malin said breezily. “Belinda ... would it be possible for me to borrow your little red hat? Everything I have is so deaconess-ish.”

“Of course, you may borrow my hat. Do you also want to borrow my light dress? The one I wore at the wedding last year? After all, it’s just hanging there.”

“Thank you, if you really mean it ...” said Malin, smiling brightly.

Mr Volden turned up on time, and Malin, who had spent the last hour in front of the mirror in resigned self-criticism, greeted him shyly. Their acquaintance so far had been pretty tempestuous. It was a bit difficult to know how to smooth the troubled waters.

Malin thought he looked slightly surprised. But her appearance had changed quite dramatically since the afternoon. Wearing Belinda’s elegant clothes was something new, and it made her feel wonderful. Malin hadn’t had many moments in her life where she could feel like a woman and only Malin. She had always had to be somebody’s helper. Someone people could rely on.

She wanted to take Viljar along as well, to lend her moral support in the struggle with Mr Johnsen. But they had a cow that was about to calve, so he would have to stay at home. He told her that nobody could make the case for the churchyard better than she could. Malin wasn’t so sure about that. Women probably didn’t count for much in the world of Johnsen and Volden.

They walked silently through the town. New roads had been built – minor, interlaced villa roads, and at the centre was something that could be called a street. Malin, who had never seen the old farming village of Graastensholm, found it difficult to imagine what it had looked like. There were fields here and there, but the villas clustered around so that you could no longer call it a village. Urban housing was the right word in this context.

Mr Johnsen’s house was slightly set back. They had to pass a small grove of trees to reach it.

Malin stopped suddenly.

“What’s the matter?” asked Volden.

“I ... I don’t know. I just felt scared. Perhaps it was a sound.”

A sound she recognized but hadn’t heard for a long time and had hoped she wouldn’t hear any more.

But no! There it was again!

The bushes were rustling as if something was lurking there. Then a large, grey and frightening animal stood in front of them, its teeth bared. A deep growl came from its throat.

“Good heavens,” Volden whispered, placing his arm protectively around Malin’s shoulders. “It’s a ...”

“Turn around!” she said. “No, don’t draw a knife because it won’t help. Come on! Immediately!”

Nevertheless, he went on standing there, probably because he didn’t want the beast behind him. Malin saw how horrified, how mortally terrified he was, and she admired him because he was thinking of her welfare first and foremost. He placed himself between her and the wolf as they walked backwards, followed by the monster.

It didn’t seem to want to attack them. It just forced them to walk backwards. As a good watchdog should.

“We won’t be able to get past,” Volden whispered, looking very pale.

Malin, who had seen these monsters before and knew what they were up to, said: “All we can do is retreat.”

“I’d rather not start to run.”

“Same here. I’d rather see what we have behind us.”

Volden whispered: “You don’t seem scared.”

“I’m restraining myself,” she murmured back.

They were out of the grove. The wolf stayed on the path under the trees with its head ominously lowered and its ears flat. Then it made a swift movement and disappeared into the golden shrubs.

Volden swallowed fiercely. “Shall we ...?”

“No, we can’t get through there. It’s quite impossible.”

“No ... but I know of no other way to Mr Johnsen’s house. Of course, we could walk around ...”

“Perhaps to the right?” Malin suggested, although she suspected that this would be futile.

“We must try. Oh, dear, we’re very late, we should have been there by now.”

The chances that he would be fired were mounting. Malin felt sorry for him. They began to walk slightly aimlessly to the right. It was a long way around. The grove extended in both directions and they didn’t want to walk through it again.

“Who on earth could own such a beast?” Volden whispered. He seemed too afraid to speak aloud.

“I don’t think anybody owns it.”

“Do you think it was a wolf? A real wolf from the wild?”

“I don’t think it could be anything else.”

“But it was so enormous. And there are no wolves in Graastensholm parish! Besides, a lone wolf wouldn’t attack two grown people. I just can’t make sense of it. It was frightening!”

“To put it mildly.”

A roaring sound filled the air.

“What was that?” asked Volden.

They stopped to listen.

“It was a loud noise,” said Malin. “Listen! It’s still going on!”

Volden stiffened. “There’s a sound of crackling and roaring.”

“I can smell smoke, and look at the sky!” Malin said.

“It’s Mr Johnsen’s house! A fire, or an explosion. ... And we were supposed to be there by now.”

Malin and Volden looked at one another, trying to regain their composure and do something because everything that was going on around them had paralysed their ability to react.

Somehow, what had happened seemed to tie them together. As if they were a couple of helpless human beings, faced with the known and unknown forces of nature.

Volden was the first one to express what they were both thinking. “It sounds very peculiar indeed, but I think we can thank that beast for saving our lives!”

Malin was unable to answer. She was horrified – albeit for several reasons that Volden knew nothing about.