The Stepdaughter

by Margit Sandemo

  On the evening of the second day, she plucked up courage and decided to spend the night at an inn where she had breakfast the following morning in the sunshine.

  Once again she was dressed very elegantly, happy to be rid of the rags she’d worn these past months. Now if she wanted to, she could easily look like a lady.

  Although she was travelling on her own, something women tended not to do, the innkeeper had received her well, and the breakfast was excellent. After having drunk a quart jug of wine, the world looked much better and Sol began to regain her old self-confidence.

  In spite of everything, she felt sure that many exciting challenges still awaited her.

  As she was sitting there in her own thoughts, she suddenly jumped out of her seat and stared through the upper half of the door to the inn. A rider had stopped outside. He got off his horse and tied it up, making sure that it was taken care of before he walked over to the inn.

  It was him – the man she’d been searching for! The Prince of Darkness had taken human form once again – just to meet her? Always at an inn? Why hadn’t she thought of that earlier and avoided this long, impatient wait?

  He wasn’t quite as elegantly dressed this time, but it was sufficiently elegant. Wide thigh boots and a lace collar that covered an elk-skin tunic. Now, without his hat, his beautiful blonde hair caught the breeze.

  Disguised again! For Satan was as black as night. Yet she knew him – oh, yes she did! She recognised him from her dreams – his expression and the demonic glint in his eyes were things nobody could ignore.

  He’d entered the room, but Sol was no longer looking in his direction. She sat so as to give the impression that she was preoccupied with her glass of wine, examining the way the light shone through the pale yellow liquid.

  She sensed rather than saw the shadow that fell across the table.

  “I knew we’d meet again.” The voice, when it spoke, was deep and full of promise.

  Sol tried to appear confused as she looked up at him. At first she pretended not to understand, but then a slow smile came to her. “Yes, I believe we’ve met before.”

  His hand made a questioning gesture toward the bench opposite hers and she nodded kindly. The innkeeper came over and the man asked for food and wine without taking his eyes off Sol.

  When they were alone again, he spoke once more in that strangely thrilling voice.

  “What’s your name, my lovely? No, don’t tell me. Ever since our first meeting, I’ve thought of you as my Moon Goddess. Let me call you by that name!”

  Sol laughed out loud. Ridiculous! Moon Goddess – when her given name meant “Sun.”

  “And you?” she teased. “I see you as a disguised traveler riding the earth – but your true home’s elsewhere.”

  “Well, I’m certainly no archangel!”

  “That wasn’t what I meant either!”

  Sol felt a glow spreading slowly through her whole being. It was fun to sit and exchange inferences about something they both understood so well.

  She was suddenly alive and happy as never before. At last she’d found her equal: A man who could give her everything a woman longed for.

  “I know who you are,” he told her. “I don’t know your name, but they call you ‘the cat-eyed witch!’ No, don’t worry, I realise you’re being hunted, but I’ve no wish to inform against you. You’re known by another name as well.”

  “Am I? And what is that?”

  “The Yellow Spider.”

  “Spider! Ugh! Why?”

  “For people imagine that you’re crazy with men and that you kill your lovers once they’ve embraced you.”

  Sol was furious. “That’s not true. Absolutely not! First of all, I’ve only known a few men, and both of them – all three of them – are alive! I’m not interested in ordinary men. I find them boring.”

  He couldn’t help laughing at her indignation for a moment.

  Then he quietly asked her where she was going.

  “I’m on my way to visit the Finnish lumberjacks. They understand sorcery, so it’s said.”

  His eyes were sparkling as he listened and Sol sighed inwardly as she looked at him. Oh, he was ever so attractive!

  “I could tell by your eyes that you’re a witch, my little Moon Goddess.”

  It didn’t matter to Sol that he spoke so openly. On the contrary. He of all men would surely understand such facts better than anybody else.

  Looking closer, she saw that he wasn’t a young man – but then the Prince of Darkness wouldn’t be. He could be thousands of years old – but in his kingdom, a thousand years was only a day.

  What would he be known as? Satan? Or perhaps Lucifer – the fallen angel who battled with God and was cast down from heaven into hell? This must be the image of Lucifer as he’d been soon after he was cast down. He was still handsome, but already had something of an evil look in his eyes.

  The picture the world had created of the Evil One wasn’t true. He was handsome – just as handsome, in fact, as the Angel of God had once been. Or maybe he was able to transform himself into any likeness he chose? He appeared in so many guises – dragon, dog or snake. He could be anything and everything.

  “Where have you been since we last met?” she asked and was surprised to see him look a little embarrassed.

  “No, sorry. That was a stupid question,” she added quickly and he seemed relieved.

  But she couldn’t help wondering why he’d waited this long to rise up from the ‘depths of darkness’ for a second time. That was what she was longing to ask him – but truly it was of little importance. Maybe he didn’t want to talk about his other life?

  “Little Moon Goddess, my journey will also take me to the east. May I suggest that we ride together? The roads aren’t safe for a lady traveling on her own.”

  Sol bowed her head graciously. “I accept your offer, and you needn’t use titles to address me – we’ve met before, haven’t we?”

  She spoke in an ambivalent tone of voice and his teasing grin told her that he was also playing her game.

  Again she thought he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Despite the deep lines of experience etched in his cheeks. And the small creases at the corners of his mouth and under his eyes, he was almost unbearably handsome. Those blue eyes twinkled and his golden hair layered itself in gentle waves. Maybe there was a sign of grey at the temples, which made her wonder how old he actually was? ... Maybe around forty? How many thousands of years he’d already lived, nobody would know.

  She felt a tingling sensation along her spine and the hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. It was one thing to be with him on a ride to Blakulla, dreamlike as that was and without any obligation. It was quite another to sit opposite him in a country inn and arrange to travel with him – with everything that journey might entail.

  Yet he was the only creature who completely understood her. So why did she feel nervous? She had to admit to herself that the togetherness and belonging felt far greater during her secret rides to his kingdom.

  ***

  One hour later, they were riding in single file along the banks of the Glomma in the autumn sunshine. The path was too narrow for them to hold a conversation, but Sol was conscious of his presence as he rode behind her. She could also sense that he was aware of her – both physically and mentally aware of her.

  As she rode on, she was struck by a sudden, crazy thought – it was already obvious that this was the man for her, so maybe she should settle down properly with him here in this world? And make a home and have children? Could she then free herself of the sense of restless yearning that had always haunted her? For the first time in her life, she wanted to be like other women – know the comfort of a man and a home. But was it possible? Being together always, with someone like him? Surely it wouldn’t work – he was merely a visitor, a stranger in this worl
d.

  But she intended to ask him nonetheless. Oh, yes, she’d ask him – but not yet. First they needed to get to know each other better.

  Sol had never desired anything so passionately as this, and the idea of peaceful, innocent happiness flowed through her like streams of crystal-clear water.

  They rode for a long time before he called a halt. They’d passed a small village and were now in a more rural countryside. Her wandering knight pointed to a small barn up in a clearing.

  “Let’s rest there for a while, shall we?”

  She nodded, her heart pounding with excitement. It was midday and the sun beat down on the walls of the barn, making it warm and pleasant inside. He undressed her slowly until she stood naked before him. He studied her for a long while and then began to arouse her passion with methodical, practiced expertise.

  Sol had never met such a skilful lover. Right now, he wasn’t like the Prince of Darkness in her journeys to the underworld; there he was more urgent. Here, he seemed aware of precisely what a woman wanted and when he lay naked with her at last, her whole body trembled.

  Even so it wasn’t the same orgy that she’d always enjoyed so much at Blakulla. She didn’t know exactly what had changed – couldn’t pinpoint it. In the underworld, she’d never needed to be aroused, her body had always been on fire. Now, for the first time, a worldly embrace was arousing her. It was more of enjoyment but without the aching ecstasy that asked for more and more.

  But he could certainly arouse her, she couldn’t deny that! As they lay exhausted next to each other, she felt a warm sense of closeness to him growing within her. At last she’d found a rock to build on – someone to live for. Softly she stroked the velvet-smooth skin on his chest.

  This time I’ll do nothing to kill a possible foetus, she thought. If I become pregnant from this, I’ll welcome it with all my heart. Just imagine – the offspring of me, ‘the cat-eyed witch’ and Satan himself. I’d love and cherish a child like that – if it were possible from such a union.

  “You were very good,” he said in a voice still hoarse with passion.

  “So were you.”

  He obviously knew this already. After all, this hadn’t been his first time – but for Sol it had been different. In fact, very different from her rides to Blakulla. He was not as well endowed physically as he’d been in the deep darkness of the underworld. No doubt, that detail was part of his earthly disguise as well.

  “Now we belong to each other,” he whispered.

  “Yes, but you know, I’m no angel.”

  “Neither am I,” he said as he smiled.

  “No, of course you aren’t.”

  He took hold of her mandrake. “I want that,” he said softly.

  “Why?”

  “As a love token.”

  Sol felt a pang of reluctance and sorrow. She couldn’t give her most treasured possession away! But on the other hand, she couldn’t deny him since all mandrakes rightfully belonged to Satan. With sorrow in her heart, she let him take it.

  Then she got up and began to put on her clothes. He followed suit, slowly and leisurely.

  “I’ve probably killed two or three people in my life,” she told him in a low voice, feeling that she could and should tell him everything. “But I’ve decided to stop now. I want to start a new life with you – a better life.” She laughed at him. “My foster parents have been urging me to make a new beginning for a long time, but until now I’ve been too wild and stubborn to have regard for human life. Anyway, all those I slaughtered were evil people, who tried to hurt my loved ones. I haven’t killed anybody for any other reason.”

  Sol’s companion gave her a broad smile. He was very attractive to look at, standing naked against the wall. “You don’t need to apologise to me,” he smiled, “for I’ve wiped out an entire people.”

  “Yes, I suppose you have,” she laughed. “Or more.”

  “No, it’s true. A whole population of witches and sorcerers.”

  “You’re talking nonsense.”

  Somewhere deep inside her, the terrible significance of what he’d just said suddenly dawned on her. At that very moment, an icy cold force began to take hold of her. Rays of sunlight were flickering through the cracks in the walls and she stared at him, wide-eyed.

  “By the way ... what’s your real name?”

  “Why?” He smiled without suspecting anything. “You called me your wandering knight, right?”

  “No, I want to know your real name.”

  “Why?”

  She was suddenly feeling dizzy, but she managed to continue speaking calmly. “I want to know your real name!”

  “Why? Oh, well, there’s no harm in telling you. My name’s Heming.”

  Sol’s face turned very pale. “Heming the Bailiff-killer?”

  His smile vanished. “How do you know me by that name? How the hell do you know? Nobody this far south has heard of that name!”

  Slowly, ever so slowly, a burning rage of awful intensity began to surge within Sol and with it an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. The rage that began as a small, involuntary cry quickly turned into a loud and piercing scream of pain. Without any hesitation, she grabbed a sharp pitchfork that stood against the wall and still screaming, she moved toward him, clutching it tightly in both hands.

  “Stop!” he yelled. “Have you gone crazy?”

  Using all her strength, she ran at Heming with the pitchfork. He desperately tried to avoid it, but Sol had moved with the speed of lightning. A split second later, the twin prongs struck him with terrible force, piercing his stomach and holding him to the wall. His scream filled the air.

  For a long moment, Sol stood motionless, staring at him with the same uncompromising look she’d first given Abelone’s son twenty years ago.

  “You’re mad, witch,” he managed to say with a violent gasp of breath.

  Sol went and stood very close to him. “Don’t you recognise me? I’m Sol of the Ice People, Tengel’s stepdaughter.”

  Heming stared at her with a look of pure horror in his eyes.

  “No,” he cried through his pain. “You’re dead! They’re all dead!”

  “No,” said Sol, now in a calmer voice. “Tengel’s alive, and so are Silje and Dag and Liv. All those you were searching for.”

  “No! No!” he gasped again. “It can’t be true. “Oh, help me, please help me!” he whined. “I’m dying!”

  “Yes, you’re dying!” said Sol. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am. For you were the one who brought death to the Ice People. You killed Hanna, my teacher and soul-mate. I think she knew that this would happen. I believe she could predict this.”

  “Spider!” he yelled. “Yellow Spider!”

  Sol sat down quietly on a log and watched him, utterly unmoved by his screams. When she spoke to him, her voice was a low monotone, and he was forced to listen although suffocating from fear and pain. Blood was pouring out of his body, running down his thighs. He tried to stop the flow with his hands but was barely able to lift them.

  Sol’s eyes were burning fiercely, but her voice had lost almost all its vibrancy. “So you’re just an illusion. A vague memory of an unusually handsome man I met in my long forgotten childhood. Not a bit demonic!”

  Of course, he had no idea what she was talking about. He knew nothing of her ‘rides’ to Blakulla – simple, ignorant, unenlightened as he was.

  He might have been able to charm any woman, but he was no Satan.

  Sol hadn’t understood that the ointment she used had aroused her senses during her previous trips to Blakulla. Suddenly she felt extremely tired and confused – she didn’t know what to do. All she was certain of was that she’d never hated any man as much as she hated this one dying before her now.

  “Help me please! Help me,” he whispered. “I did nothing. It was the soldiers.”

/>   “Silje also suffered because of you,” said Sol in the same lifeless tone of voice. “And Tengel suffered with her. I’ve done this for their sake, and for Hanna and Grimar, for your own father’s sake, and for the sake of all the many dead in the Valley of the Ice People. For all these people you’ll die, Heming the Bailiff-killer! And for all the children you cold-heartedly allowed to suffer the pain of death so that you could keep your own miserable and worthless life!”

  Heming could hardly hear her any longer. Her voice was reaching him through a haze of pain and fear. There was a pounding in his ears; he tasted blood in his mouth and felt it trickle down his chin. He coughed and tried to shout – to beg for her help.

  “For God’s sake have pity on me!” he whimpered. “Please have pity!”

  “God has never stood by my side,” said Sol icily. “Only the Devil, and now he’s very pleased. You’ve been a tough opponent, Heming the Bailiff-killer. Have you ever accomplished anything since you left the Valley of the Ice People except whore with women and deceive? I suspect that your absence during the last months has been because you were in a dungeon and the men with you when we met at the first inn were your prison wardens? Satan is pleased now, Heming. He’s on my side, do you understand?”

  The haze before him was thickening, but he could still see her.

  Sol, for her part, sat perfectly still, hunched low on the log, watching him closely as he died. All the while, there was a fierce, yellow glow in her unforgiving eyes.

  Soon all Heming saw were those yellow eyes.

  Then suddenly they too were gone.

  Sol rose to her feet and picked up the mandrake root from the floor where it had fallen from his hand. She quickly returned it to its rightful place around her neck and, without looking back, she walked quietly out of the barn. With Heming’s horse following behind on its leading rein, Sol rode away toward the east to seek out the hidden settlement of the Finnish lumberjacks.