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The Legend of The Ice People 2
Witch-Hunt
© Margit Sandemo 1982
© eBook in English: Katrin Agency 2012
Series: The Legend of The Ice People
Title: Witch-Hunt
Title number: 2
Original title: Sagan om Isfolket 2 - Haxjagten
© Translation: Margit Sandemo
Translation: Gregory Herring and Angela Cook
Edition: Katrin Agency
© Cover and illustration: Katrin Agency
Illustration: Ragna Lise Vikre
ISBN 978-87-7107-279-2
www.theicepeople.com
www.legendoftheicepeople.com
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.
All contracts and agreements regarding the work, editing, cover, jacket and illustration and layout are owned by Katrin Agency.
The legend of the Ice People is dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of my dear late husband Asbjorn Sandemo, who made my life a fairy tale.
The Ice People - Reviews
‘Margit Sandemo is, simply, quite wonderful.’
- Emine Saner, The Guardian
‘Full of convincing characters, well estabished in time and place, and enlightening ... will get your eyes popping, and quite possibly groins twitching ... these are graphic novels without pictures ... I want to know what happens next.’
- Christina Hardyment, The Times
‘A mixure of myth and legend interwoven with historical events, this is imaginative creation that involves the reader from the first page to the last.’
- Anne Oughton, Historical Novels Review
‘Loved by the masses, the prolific Margit Sandemo has written over 172 novels to date and is Scandinavia s most widely read author...’
- Mia Gahne, Scanorama magazine
The Legend of the Ice People
Once upon a time, many centuries ago, Tengil the Evil went out to the wilderness and sold his soul to the Devil. He became the forefather of the Ice People.
For wealth and power, one of his descendants, in every generation, would be cursed to serve the devil and perform evil deeds. Their distinguishing feature would be yellow cat eyes and they would possess magical powers. Some say they will never be free of the curs until they unearth the urn that Tengel the Evil is buried in. It is said to hold all his fearsome potions, and indicate how, one day a child of his blood will be born, gifted with knowledge and wisdom the like of which the world has never known before.
So says the legend but no one knows if it’s true.
In the 16th century, a cursed child of the Ice People was born. He tried to turn evil to good, and therefore he was called Tengel the Good. This saga is about his family. Or maybe it is mostly about the women in his family.
Chapter 1
There was no warning of the catastrophe. There were no omens. Nothing appeared to be amiss. Life in the high Valley of the Ice People in fact was austere and hard for Silje, Tengel and the children – but they shared a simple happiness. As often as they could, they spent time together doing ordinary things. The children particularly liked to join Tengel when he went fishing on one of the lakes and today the oars of the boat, in which they all sat, creaked regularly in their rowlocks each time they broke the surface of the calm water. Seated in the stern, the children were chattering incessantly, their shrill voices carrying across the mountain lake. Sol sounded matter-of-fact, as usual; Dag was calm and slightly aloof; while Liv’s piping fairy-tale tones were mostly drowned out by the other two.
Silje sat in the middle, watching Tengel at the oars; his unflinching gaze was on the children – he was always concerned that some harm might befall them. But they were responsible – unfettered but disciplined – and Silje knew that he really didn’t need to watch them quite so closely, though she understood his concerns. Here was a man who had once resigned himself to an empty, lonely existence, but who now had four people depending on him, respectful and giving him the love that he had only imagined in his most secret of dreams. She was so proud of them all – her little family.
Her husband Tengel – the feared outcast whom she had met five years ago – only she knew that his frightening, faintly demonic exterior concealed an unbelievably fine human being. As for the children, her heart warmed just thinking about them. Sol, always cheerful and lively, presented them with a dilemma, tainted as she was by the blood of Tengel the Evil One and the threat of tragedy. Dag was a blond intelligent dreamer and Liv, the youngest, imitated the older ones in everything. Liv takes after me in so many ways, thought Silje. The same chestnut-brown, wavy hair – although maybe with a hint more copper than mine – the same shy, expressive eyes and the ready smile. She shares my imagination as well, seeing trolls everywhere, breathing life into shadows and everyday things, communing with trees. Oh, sweet child, thought Silje, if you continue in my footsteps your life will be rich and varied, but you may be too kind and generous-spirited to cope with all the heartache it will bring.
She was reluctant to turn around and look at the children. It always distressed her to see how poorly dressed they were now. Sol’s dress had burst all its seams. Dag wore a jacket and trousers made from one of Silje’s worn-out skirts, every stitch a testament to her lack of skill with needle and thread. Liv’s dark heavy woollen dress, conjured from a pair of Tengel’s old trousers, was an utterly worthless garment which had been openly ridiculed by neighbours’ wives. The very thought of it made Silje cringe with shame.
They had set out their only fishing net carefully in a favourite spot and were now returning towards the shore.
Much to their delight, the children had been allowed to come along, because the weather on this early summer’s evening was so mild.
As they rowed, Silje’s eyes searched the mountains surrounding the Valley of the Ice People. They were thrillingly bathed in burnished gold by the setting sun and her gaze eventually came to rest on a fissure between two peaks. ‘You know. Tengel,’ she said musingly. ‘I’ve often wondered if there’s a way through the mountains up there.’
He rested on his the oars and looked upwards. ‘Yes, there is, and a few of us have managed to find a route. I don’t recommend it though. It brings you out onto the glacier on the other side. From there it’s a hair-raising journey down to more pleasant countryside.’
‘So you’ve really been right through yourself?’
‘Yes, once, a long time ago. I swore never to do it again.’
The boat touched ground, and the children jostled to be first ashore.
‘Be careful!’ warned Tengel.
No other words were needed and they all did precisely as they were told. He had instilled unbelievable discipline in them – but it was a discipline that reflected only love and kindness. The children hung on his every word and were always careful to obey. It was not difficult to see that they worshipped him – but only Silje knew how much.
****
Each of them took something to carry up the hill to t
he cottage. The children had learned long ago that, to survive in this wilderness, everyone had a part to play. Liv grew tired, so Tengel lifted her up on his shoulders. Sol and Dag walked on either side of Silje.
Sol looked thoughtful. Her lively face, framed by dark curls, was uncharacteristically serious. ‘Why do I call you Silje, when Dag and Liv call you mother?’ she asked.
Silje took her hand. ‘It’s a long story. You’ve always called me Silje.’
Both children looked up at her expectantly. ‘The other children called Dag and me ”bastards” today,’ said Sol, her eyes wide and questioning. ‘What does it mean?’
Silje felt a chill run down her spine. ‘Did they? They had no right to say that.’
She stopped walking. ‘All right!’ she decided, ‘I think you’re both old enough to hear the truth. You’re seven, Sol, and Dag is nearly five, but I don’t think Liv will understand because she’s only three.’
She called Tengel’s name and he stopped and turned. They had reached their own land now, crossing the meadow beneath the cottage and outbuildings.
‘The children were called bastards today!’ she said quietly.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. They want to know the truth,’ she replied. Silje was indignant, but at the same time eager to tell them. ‘You take Liv home, and I’ll tell the whole story. They’re old enough now, don’t you think?’
Tengel hesitated, looking at them thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I believe it’s for the best. I’ll come back and join you after I’ve put this little girl to bed. Come on Liv, You’re so sleepy you can hardly keep your eyes open.’
****
They sat down beside the stream on some old logs where their pails of milk were placed to cool. In the background the water bubbled and gurgled softly as Silje began her story and the children sat very still, eager to hear her every word.
‘First I must tell you that I am not your real mother, Sol, nor yours, Dag. But I am Liv’s mother, I hope that doesn’t sadden you.’ She paused, her expression anxious. ‘I’ve tried hard to see that you wouldn’t miss having your real mothers and I’ve always loved you both so much – every bit as much as I’ve loved little Liv. Father feels exactly the same.’
At first the children sat dumbstruck, then in a plaintive voice Sol asked, ‘So Tengel isn’t our father, then?’
‘No. He’s Liv’s father. You, Sol, have always called him ”Tengel”.’
‘But I don’t,’ Dag butted in. ‘I say ”father”.’
‘That’s because you were much younger when we took you in. Sol was older.’
This wasn’t going very well, thought Silje, struggling to find the right words. It was becoming too complicated for comfort for her, but she made one more effort to explain. ‘The thing is, we wanted you to be our children more than anything … ’
Sol interrupted her. ‘So who is our real mother?’ she asked, her voice uncertain. ‘Did you just take us away because you wanted us?’
It was so typical of Sol to see right through her fumbled explanation and get to the very heart of the matter, thought Silje, sighing. Although she was only seven, her mind was already much sharper than was normal for that age.
‘Of course not, dearest.’ replied Silje at last. ‘Anyway, you had different mothers.’ Despite finding this very difficult, Silje knew without any doubt that she was doing the right thing and she decided to persevere gently. ‘Sol – your mother was Tengel’s sister, so that makes him your uncle and Liv your first cousin.’
Sol sat motionless, staring into the distance.
‘Where is she now, then?’
‘Your mother, do you mean? In heaven, Sol. She’s dead. She died from something called the plague, a terrible sickness. It took your father too, and your little sister called Leonarda. Of course, you can’t remember any of it, because you were only two when I found you. You were all alone, and so was I. So it wasn’t just you who needed me – I needed you as well. Angelica was the name your mother gave you.’
Sol stared at her intensely, and then her face lit up. She had always been proud of her name, Sol Angelica, and now she was pleased to know why she had been given the second part of it.
Silje tried to think, but her mind wandered as she looked at the girl’s dress. Far too short in the sleeves, it would not last much longer. The cloth had almost worn through in places and she had absolutely nothing from which to make a new one. Shaking off the thought, she dragged her mind back to the problem in hand.
‘Your mother was very beautiful, Sol. Very, very beautiful. Her hair was jet black and wavy, just like yours, and she had lovely dark eyes.’ The child said nothing, but her eyes were brimming with tears. ‘Your eyes are lighter though,’ added Silje hastily ‘more of a green or yellowish colour – almost like Tengel’s.’
The sign that you are of the chosen ones, a descendant of the original Ice People, thought Silje bitterly. Oh, my dear children, what will become of you all?
‘What about my mother, then?’ asked Dag. ‘And my father?’ He sounded slightly reproachful, as if Silje and Tengel had deprived him of something.
This was more difficult. It would be impossible to tell him his mother had abandoned him in the forest to die.
‘Your mother.’ she began with a little smile, then waited as Tengel walked soundlessly towards them across the meadow that was already damp with the evening dew. He sat down with them and Dag clambered into his arms at once, as if needing to reassure himself that he really did have a father.
‘Your mother, Dag, was a fine lady,’ continued Silje. A noblewoman – a baroness. We don’t know her name or even if she’s still alive – and we don’t know where she lives. We only know that something very bad happened to her and she lost you. I don’t know how it happened, only that I found you.’
The two children leaned forward, desperate to hear more. She would have to go on.
‘It was a strange night, children. It was bitterly cold and bonfires lit up the sky over Trondheim. I had lost my whole family in the plague and was alone in the world. I was hungry, tired and homeless. Then I found you, Sol, beside the dead body of your mother. I took you with me, because I liked you and wanted to help you. You didn’t want to leave your mother, but you would have died as well, if you had stayed. So you see why I had to take you with me, don’t you?’
Sol nodded solemnly.
‘Which farm is called Trondheim?’ inquired Dag.
‘Trondheim isn’t a farm,’ said Silje. ‘It’s a big town – beyond.’
‘Beyond what?’
‘These mountains.’
The boy looked at her, frowning. ‘Is there anything beyond the mountains?’
Silje and Tengel looked at each other in dismay. Here was something they’d overlooked.
‘All the great wide world is there,’ said Tengel carefully, troubled by the direction of the conversation. ‘But we’ll save that for another day. Now let’s listen to Silje.’
The cry of a waterfowl, probably a diver, echoed across the lake as mist rose along the water’s edge. No one was paying heed to the time, however, on this wonderful, glorious summer evening.
Silje glanced anxiously at Tengel. What was troubling him this evening? For the last few days he’d been so distant. He seemed to be listening for something. What was causing that anxious look in his eyes? She knew her husband well, and understood his ability to sense disharmony in the ley lines of the natural world around him. There seemed to be something that was just beyond his grasp and understanding, and it frightened her a little. She looked away from him.
‘Then, Sol,’ she continued, ‘as you and I were walking along, we found Dag. He was all alone, just like us, but he was so very much younger.’ Silje dared not say how young he was – that his umbilical cord was still in place! He must never know of his mother’s unspeakable wrongdoing. ‘In fact it was you who heard him crying, Sol. It’s thanks to you that Dag is alive today.’
The children gazed at each other enq
uiringly, weighing up what they had just been told. Gently, slowly, their hands inched closer until they touched – then their fingers entwined.
It was most often Dag and Liv who kept each other company, Silje reflected. Sol was far too volatile, too mysterious to spend much time with the younger ones. Nevertheless, there was never any doubt that they were all devoted to each other, not least because the harsh conditions here in the wilderness had helped to create a bond of trust between them.
‘So all three of us continued walking – well not Dag, of course; I carried him – and we had no idea where we would go or where we might find food, warmth or shelter. Then, suddenly Tengel appeared. None of us had ever met him before.’
A cold shiver went through her as she remembered the events of that night: meeting Tengel for the first time, the gallows, the executioner, the soldiers, the stench from the funeral pyre. She sat upright, straightening her shoulders as if trying to shake off the memory.
‘Tengel took care of us,’ she said softly, her voice full of tenderness. ‘He gave us everything we needed and we’ve all stayed together ever since – just like a little family.’
Tengel smiled wistfully. He said nothing of his own loneliness, which had been far more wretched than theirs. For a while Silje and the children had suffered loneliness brought about by circumstances and the need to survive, but his had been like a deep wound that never healed. Being so different from other humans, he was constantly aware of how everyone shied away from him. Even now it distressed him to think about that first encounter with Silje and Sol – the way they had both recoiled from his mystifying frightening appearance.
It had been so difficult for him to forget that meeting. The memory of Silje’s vulnerable innocent eyes had haunted his loneliness, drawing him to her. Had he wanted to preserve her virtue, only later to defile her himself, he wondered suddenly? No, he was being unfair to himself! He really had wanted to protect her, to be selfless and benevolent. His resolve crumbled, at long last, only when he come to realise, to his complete astonishment, that she was deeply attracted to him. Oh, what a marvellous time that had been, filled equally with yearning and pain, apprehension and desire, as each of them struggled to understand the other’s feelings. All the while he knew fate had decreed that he should resist the attractions of women – yet how could he ever have resisted Silje?
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