John Lindqvist - Harbour

Anders looked up. Gåvasten lighthouse could no longer be seen. The little island was still out there, but the lighthouse itself had disappeared, swept away by the wave. A shudder ran from the sea through the earth, continued into their bodies through the rock, and the island that had appeared next to Gåvasten began to sink.

The water beneath their feet ebbed away. Above his head, Anders heard Mats say, 'There were people there…'

Anders leaned back and saw that Mats was looking through his telescope. He lowered it and shook his head as he gestured out towards the sinking island. 'There were people out there. On the island. Lots of people. They're gone now.'

Anders hugged Maja and buried his nose in the hollow at the back of her neck. The water sank down, exposing a village that was no longer there. Beneath them lay nothing but a muddy mess of fallen trees and the wreckage of houses and outbuildings. Here and there lay large or small pieces of smashed boats. The only thing that was left was the lump of concrete that formed the steamboat jetty.

It's dangerous. Not only for you. For all those who live here.

This was what Anna-Greta had meant, what she had wanted to prevent. Anders pushed his nose harder into Maja's neck, rubbing his cheek over her back.

'Ouch Daddy, you're all prickly. Stop it.'

Anders smiled and turned her to face him, stroking her cheek gently with one finger. Maja clamped her lips together in a way that meant she was thinking.

'Daddy?'

'Yes.'

'I dreamed I was calling to you. A lot. Was I?'

'Yes, you were.'

Maja nodded grimly, as if this confirmed something she had suspected for a long time.

'What did you do then?'

Anders looked into her serious, worried eyes. He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead.

'I came to find you. Of course.'

In the churchyard in Nåten there is an anchor. An enormous anchor made of cast iron, with a memorial plaque:

IN MEMORY OF THOSE LOST AT SEA

After the incomprehensible storm, the anchor was no longer there. From the spot where the anchor had been, a fresh trench ran down to the shore. As if the anchor had been dragged along by its chain, dragged through the earth like a plough, leaving the furrow behind it before it disappeared into the sea.

Whatever had been fastened to the anchor had torn itself free. Or been set free.