The Ice People 3

by The Step Daughter (Legend of the Ice People #3)

  “You’ll make yourself ill if you eat like that,” she warned.

  When the girl had finished eating, Sol got up. “Well, now you’ve finished and so now we can begin.”

  Meta looked surprise. “Begin with what?”

  “Getting you clean, of course. Off with your clothes and into the water.”

  “Into the water? No!” the girl cried, shocked. “No, it’s dangerous!”

  “To bathe? I must say you seem scared of the water and of washing. Bathing will do you no harm. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “No. I’m scared.”

  The only thing Sol could do was to undress herself and drag Meta into the water. First she found some lye from her bag and scrubbed the girl’s face and hair over the pot with warm water. Meta yelled and thought she was about to die. Things weren’t made any better when Sol took a few leafy birth twigs and used them to scrub Meta’s body from top to toe until the girl’s skin almost burned.

  “Look,” yelled Sol, trying to make herself heard above the screams. “Look in the pot, see all those dead lice and God knows what that’s been living on you. Now, into the river with you and we’ll rinse you clean!”

  The screams that accompanied the battle to get Meta into the water must have been heard for miles around. But Sol was absolutely determined. Besides, she was also the stronger of the two – although she felt slightly sorry for the girl, having suffered a cruel assault herself only a short while ago – but it couldn’t be avoided.

  When Meta began to discover how wonderful and cool the water felt against her well scrubbed body, she began to relax with a few small sobs. A fleeting, trembling smile lit up her face now and then.

  “The river ghost won’t get me, will he?” she asked cautiously. “Mum always told me not to get too close to the river because this was where the river ghost lived.” Sol understood that the river ghost must be a local name for a water ghost. “Why, are you scared of him? To me, he’s my friend,” said Sol.

  Meta gazed at Sol once more as if trying to understand what sort of person Sol was. Then she let her head fall back into the water so that Sol could rinse her hair properly. She couldn’t help laughing at how strange it was to have one’s ears under water.

  “I can hear the stream bubbling over by the rocks!” she laughed. “It sounds like a storm!”

  At last Sol decided that Meta was clean enough.

  “You’re so beautiful,” said Meta as they stepped out of the water, hand in hand.

  “Yes,” said Sol, “and that’s a great advantage for a girl, believe me. You’ll also look very attractive yourself as long as you get some flesh on your body and let the lice bites heal.”

  “But I’ll never be as beautiful as you,” said Meta admiringly.

  ‘No, that would be asking too much,’ thought Sol, not so modestly.

  Sol had brought along some extra clothes, and lent some to Meta. Shortly afterwards, Meta stood on the bank, now thoroughly clean. Sol had plaited her heavy, straw-coloured hair into two plaits. Sol had also given her a potion to ensure there would be no consequences following the ordeal she’d suffered at the hands of the soldiers.

  Sol took out a mirror to allow Meta to admire herself.

  “Now then, cleanliness isn’t such a bad thing after all, is it?”

  Meta beamed at her own reflection in the mirror.

  “I look ever so nice now,” she said with a blush. “And it’s such a nice feeling to be clean. Thank you, Miss. I never thought such a fine lady as you could be so kind.”

  Sol’s laugh echoed around the place. “Me ... kind? Well, I must say! Remember one thing, Meta. I only do what I think is fun. Nothing else!”

  “Now I want you to stay and wait for me here until I’m back,” said Sol. “I’ve got a few things I need to attend to and I can’t take you along. It will only take two or three days. Build a little shelter of branches. You’ll be alright here. Then we’ll figure out what to do with you. Are there any manors or big farms in the neighbourhood?”

  “Yes, a few: Gyllenstierna’s in Fulltofta; Bosjo Monastery by the sea; and oh, Vittskovle. Mum was known at all of them.”

  Probably notoriously, thought Sol.

  “I rode past Vittskovle – it’s too far away. Then we must enquire whether they can take you on as a maid at Fulltofta or Bosjo Monastery. Would you like that?”

  “Yes, and now that I look so nice, perhaps I’ll dare to ask,” said Meta shyly. “But you must have your dress back.”

  “Oh, that old rag,” said Sol, but immediately regretted her choice of words. Compared to the rags Meta had been wearing, Sol’s dress was very fashionable. “Sorry, Meta. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. What I just said was a slip of the tongue. The dress is yours now.”

  Meta was just about to burst into tears but this time from happiness. Sol felt quite noble. Actually, not a bad feeling, come to think of it.

  Then Meta said quietly “Please don’t leave me, Miss.”

  “I’m afraid I have to.”

  “Promise that you’ll be back!”

  “Are you scared?”

  “A bit. Wild animals and ghosts and spirits ...”

  “There’s none of that here. You can be absolutely sure of that. I promise I’ll be back. Here, take this knife. I’ve brought an extra one with me. You’ll feel safer. And then you mustn’t think any more about what happened to you earlier in the day.”

  “That’s not so easy to forget, Miss.”

  “No, I know it isn’t.” Then, on the spur of the moment, Sol asked: “By the way, do you know where Ansgar’s Klyfta is?”

  “Yes, more or less. But it’s very dangerous there. They say it goes right down into an abyss where you-know-who dwells.”

  Oh, how nice, thought Sol. If only there was an abyss, she’d gladly plunge right into it. It was a tempting thought.

  She smiled wryly. “What a load of rubbish! And do I seem frightened to you?”

  “No.”

  Meta vaguely described how Sol could get to Ansgar’s Klyfta. It seemed as if it wasn’t very far away. Then Sol asked: “Do you know whether I’m likely to find any evening nightshade by the river?”

  “Evening nightshade? What’s that?”

  Sol sighed, said good bye to Meta and went off on her horse.

  ***

  It had finally stopped raining in Oslo, but Liv stood once again by the window because she didn’t have anything else to do. She didn’t dare to try and find something else to do. Her mother-in-law felt well enough and had left to visit some neighbours to hear the latest gossip.

  Liv heard someone open the front door.

  She recognised the characteristic slam that told her that Laurents had returned from the office.

  Liv pulled back her shoulders. The sensation in her stomach became stronger. Then she pulled herself together and greeted her husband with a smile. “Hallo, Berenius,” she said. “You’re home from the office early today?”

  She wasn’t allowed to call him Laurents because this was too vulgar. Liv believed quite the opposite but, as always, she’d given in.

  He gave Liv a bright smile as soon as he saw her.

  “Oh, there you are my little sweetheart,” he said, putting his arms around her. “That dress suits you! Well, I thought it would since, after all, I was the one who chose the fabric. And how’s my little angel been today?”

  “Alright,” she replied with an awkward smile. “But I’m slightly bored when you’re not at home.”

  He turned away impatiently. “I’ve heard all that before. I do everything for you. You’ve no worries, no sorrows, and you need not lift a finger at all here, and even so you complain.”

  “I’m sorry,” whispered Liv. “I shan’t do so again. Can’t you tell me a bit about what you do at the office, Berenius?”

  “What!” he laughed. “Should I bore you with things that you’re not likely to understand anyway? Stop being stupid, Liv.”

  “I only meant ... all I
meant was that ... a wife should share her husband’s life and difficulties. I’d very much like to do that.”

  “Honestly! We share our life here at home. That which is outside is my affair.”

  “I’m quite clever at counting,” she said eagerly, “and I’ve been told that my handwriting is neat. May I then be allowed to help you at the office? Then we can be together and I can get out among ... Oh, no, sorry.”

  Laurents went pale in the face and with one swift movement he reached out and tore a horsewhip from its place on the wall. Liv, who’d been made to suffer from it once before, whined like a puppy while she ran away from him, fleeing from room to room with her husband at her heels.

  “Stop,” he roared. “Stop, you ungrateful girl!”

  Liv crept into a corner in the farthest room. The horsewhip whistled through the air. It wasn’t a heavy stroke, but it stung horribly.

  “How dare you imply that you could help me in my business?” he hissed, foam dribbling from the corners of his mouth. “You – only a housewife! How dare you be so conceited?”

  Liv sank to the floor. Seeing her so helpless, his fury disappeared in an instant. He let go of the whip and seized her hand. “Now look what I’ve done to my little dove,” he said, full of remorse. “Look, your little hand is bleeding!”

  He kissed away the blood on her hand so that there wasn’t a trace left, then squeezed it as he drew her to him. “Don’t cry any more, my little dove. Your strong husband is here and will take care of everything. You know I love you more than anything else in the world. I only want what is best for you. It hurts me so much to discipline you, but we must get rid of all these delusions, mustn’t we?”

  Liv had managed to bring herself under control and straightened her back. She nodded eagerly, but the look in her eyes was that of a wounded animal.

  “There,” he said. “All is well again, isn’t it? And tonight, my dearest, we’ll make love, won’t we? My little dove wouldn’t deny her husband this, would she?”

  It took all Liv’s willpower to suppress a shiver. She knew all about these amorous interludes. They were only for his pleasure. She was just to be absolutely passive and receive his selfish attentions with gratitude.

  Chapter 7

  The sun had just set but there was still a little daylight left when Sol came to the edge of a cliff that dropped into a deep ravine. It was far, far away from any sign of human habitation deep inside an area of wooded wilderness. She was tired, hungry and despondent after having ridden aimlessly the whole afternoon and evening.

  What exactly was it that she was looking for? She had asked herself this question a hundred times. Was it a forgotten place without any importance that had been deserted a great many years ago?

  She shivered. She’d never felt so spiritually exhausted as she did now. An old legend that witches would gather here many, many years ago? Now she was the last one left, so what was she doing in this place? With a deep, deep sigh, she looked down over the jagged cliff-top and looked straight into the deep abyss. Burnt-out remains of ceremonies were clearly visible far below.

  This must be Ansgar’s Klyfta. She felt sure of that. But it would hardly have been the Ansgar who Christianised the Nordic countries. It wasn’t a bottomless abyss. Sol could see the bottom from where she stood. It was flat and green with grass. The stories that people managed to invent!

  There was a fireplace that had been used many times ... Was it possible that some kind of meetings and rituals were still being held ...? No, she told herself – it was lumberjacks, or people like that, who had been here. She must be careful not to dream things up.

  But feeling so acutely lonely in this foreign country, deep in the forest, Sol was determined to turn up at this spot the next evening at full moon. Maybe she’d feel vibrations or receive messages from the dead, the hunted or the unhappy who had met her in the past? She would try to feel just the smallest bit of fellowship with their spirits as a comfort to herself in this world of ordinary people.

  Still feeling downhearted and despondent, she walked away to find a place where she and the horse could shelter for the night.

  ***

  The next evening was a Thursday and a full moon shone over the sea, the burial mounds at Brosarps Backar and Ansgar’s Klyfta deep in the mysterious woodland far inland. A strengthening breeze caught Sol’s hair. She was dressed all in black and the hair she’d cut off the dead highwayman she’d tied to the top of a stick. The hair of the dead man blew wildly in the wind, flapping against the stick in the strong wind. She was walking through the woodland towards Ansgar’s Klyfta.

  Already from a distance, she could sense it – the smoke from the fireplace. And as she came closer, she saw a thick plume of smoke billowing up from the ravine and spreading lazily into the treetops. Her heart began to beat.

  Lumberjacks, she thought to herself. What were they doing here in the middle of the night? Charcoal burners? But she hadn’t seen any charcoal piles nearby.

  Sol stopped at the edge of the ravine and looked down. She could now see a fire burning below. Three people were sitting around it. Three people in all, but two of them were women. What would women be doing out at this time of the night?

  She could see that they were talking to one another and poking the fire with sticks.

  Sol closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  They were witches! They couldn’t be anything else.

  Sol opened her eyes again, standing where she was without moving for a long while, just watching.

  ‘They’re bound to see me soon,’ she thought. ‘I must look like a very dramatic figure with my skirt and hair waving in the breeze and my lifted seer-staff. I’m silhouetted by the moon as well.’

  Sol had always had a sense for the melodramatic and had barely finished that thought when one of the women looked up, pointing at her excitedly. The two others rose, surprised. They stood quite still while Sol walked down the steep ravine.

  Full of uncertainty, she walked towards them but stopped a short distance from the fire to give them an opportunity to study her.

  For a long moment nobody said a word. Sol noticed absentmindedly how nice it was to come down to the warmth of the fire. Then the woman who had remained seated spoke out in rasping tones.

  “Welcome, daughter of the Ice People.”

  Taken by surprise, Sol asked; “Do you know me?”

  With a gesture, the woman asked Sol to sit down and the others returned to their places.

  “No, you I don’t know,” smiled the old woman with a twisted grin. “But the name of the Ice People means a lot to those in our fellowship. Nobody can mistake the eyes. As far as I remember, they used to live in Trondelag until they were all killed about fifteen years ago. Why is it that you’re here now?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Sol. “My old relative, Hanna, told me about the witches at Brosarps Backar and since I’m one of the few left of the true Ice People, I’ve longed to visit this place my whole life.”

  “Hanna?” muttered the old woman. She was so wrapped up in her dark cloak and shawl that it was practically impossible to see her face. “Hanna? My paternal grandmother had heard of a Hanna of the Ice People who had great powers. Could it have been the same person, do you think?”

  “It’s quite possible. Hanna taught me everything I know.”

  “Well, then. How did you find your way here from Brosarp?” asked the other woman.

  Sol smiled. “She who has only one desire in life will make sure it’s fulfilled. Well, no. An elderly couple helped me because they understood where I belonged. The bailiff’s soldiers will learn nothing from them.”

  “Good,” said the woman.

  Sol was so elated that she felt she was about to die. They offered her food, just a little bread and water, and she had the opportunity to get to know them better while they were eager to put questions to her, which Sol answered.

  The old woman’s complexion was as smooth and fine as that of a young woman
but her hair was white, and she had no teeth any more. The other woman was middle-aged and seemed to be in such poor health that Sol feared she might die at any moment. She was pale and emaciated and neither the shawls nor the fire seemed to be able to give her any warmth. Her hair was split and coarse and turning grey, and the skin on her face was beginning to sag. She was troubled by a persistent dry and rasping cough.

  The man was a strange, silent type who was hard for Sol to understand. He was tall and lean. It was as if his limbs were only loosely attached to his body. His face was long and sad. His wrists bore deep scars that showed that he’d been the bailiff’s prisoner.

  When Sol had finished telling them of her adventures, she was interested in hearing theirs. What she heard about were tales of miserable lives spent in constant fear and anxiety.

  The moon had vanished over their heads. Now the blackness of the night had closed in on them – and it felt much darker outside of the cozy world of the small fire.

  “Ah, there are only very few of us left,” sighed the old woman. “Of course there are, after the way the Church and the authorities have behaved. When they can’t find people like us, they just take anybody indiscriminately. They’re not particular about who they seize, my dear girl. Ordinary, nice women, who haven’t the faintest thing to do with witchcraft, are put in prison because of their neighbour’s vicious gossip. My heart goes out to these unfortunate ones. We, who are truly gifted with these powers that we love so much – in spite of everything – have to become ten times more cautious. Fifty years ago, there were quite a lot of us in Denmark. Now there is only a handful left – most of us are right here before you.”

  ‘That really isn’t many,’ thought Sol. ‘The two women were not likely to survive the winter and the man didn’t seem well either. He wouldn’t have a long life. And then what? What was left then? A world of emptiness!’

  “I’m probably the only one in Norway,” said Sol. “Apart from my uncle, but he doesn’t count. He’ll only use his powers to heal.”