Margit Sandemo: The Ice People 36 -Troll Moon

Troll Moon

The Legend of the Ice People 36 - Troll Moon

© Margit Sandemo 1986

© eBook in English: Jentas A/S, 2018

Series: The Legend of The Ice People

Title: Troll Moon

Title number: 36

Original title:Trollmåne

Translator: Nina Sokol

© Translation: Jentas A/S

ISBN: 978-87-7107-676-9

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, translation, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas A/S.

Acknowledgement

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.

Margit Sandemo

The Ice People - Reviews

‘Margit Sandemo is, simply, quite wonderful.’

- 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.’

- 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.’

- 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...’

- Scanorama magazine

The Legend of the Ice People

The legend of the Ice People begins many centuries ago with Tengel the Evil. He was ruthless and greedy, and there was only one way to get everything that he wanted: he had to make a pact with the devil. He travelled far into the wilderness and summoned the devil with a magic potion that he had brewed in a pot. Tengel the Evil gained unlimited wealth and power but in exchange, he cursed his own family. One of his descendants in every generation would serve the Devil with evil deeds. When it was done, Tengel buried the pot. If anyone found it, the curse would be broken.

So the curse was passed down through Tengel’s descendants, the Ice People. One person in every generation was born with yellow cat’s eyes, a sign of the curse, and magical powers which they used to serve the Devil. One day the most powerful of all the cursed Ice People would be born.

This is what the legend says. Nobody knows whether it is true, but in the 16th century, a cursed child of the Ice People was born. He tried to turn evil into good, which is why they called him Tengel the Good. This legend is about his family. Actually, it is mostly about the women in his family – the women who held the fate of the Ice People in their hands.

Chapter 1

The darkness had fallen too quickly. It had taken him by surprise.

He no longer knew where he was. It must have been the rain clouds that had caused the sudden complete darkness. The rain and the wind, that had arisen just as unexpectedly, were now whipping the back of his neck.

He should have put on his sou’wester, but who could have predicted this? The evening had been like any other autumn evening, and he had been much too absorbed in his own affairs to notice any change in the weather.

It would be no use shouting. No one would hear him: he was too far away from home.

An intense feeling of discomfort gripped him. But it wasn’t from fear of the weather, as bad as it was. No, there was something else that scared him.

“Is anyone there?” he shouted uncertainly.

There was no answer. How stupid of him to think that anyone would respond. He forced out a somewhat hysterical laugh.

But still ...

Still, there was something in front of him. Someone was sitting before him.

Impossible!

A cold chill ran down his spine. I can’t bear this, he thought. I’m too old, my heart can’t take such things. Wind and weather and ... now this!

He swallowed. He felt helplessly caught between the fury of the elements and whatever was facing him.

“Get thee hence, Satan!” he cried, but his voice drowned in the wind. “Who are you? What do you want?”

He hadn’t expected an answer and didn’t get one, either.

He had to escape! He knew what was behind him. The deep. The great abyss. And before him was this creature standing in his way. But there was nothing on either side.

He felt fear overpower all his senses. His breathing grew strained.

“I am a good Christian man,” he shouted as the wind hurled a shower of rain against his cheeks and neck. “I say grace and evening prayers and go to church every Sunday, and I make a contribution to the church collection. So you have no business with me, spirit of the abyss! I have led a better life than most people. I’m no sinner!”

Silence. The gusts of wind almost tipped him off balance.

This darkness! It was as dark as inside a bag. He sensed, rather than really seeing, that there was someone right in front of him.

And that it had a human form.

Impossible! Impossible! There couldn’t be anyone here.

He had to hold on with both hands in order not to become a victim of the storm’s rage. He felt nauseous and near death.

But what if it were death itself that was with him now?

No, that was rubbish. Though he wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore, he wasn’t ancient either. Everyone thought of him as a man of steel whom nothing in the world could break.

“Make yourself known,” he shouted brusquely, but immediately regretted it.

A shadow emerged before him. It towered over him. He tried to walk backwards but that was the direction of the abyss, of course.

“No!” he gasped hoarsely. “You? No, no, not you!”

He fumbled with his hands behind him but there was nothing there to support him. “Lord Jesus Christ, save me from this ... abomination!”

He was forced back as the apparition came closer. The abyss awaited him ...

But that was all a long time ago.

“What a moon!” Christa whispered, euphoric, her eyes shining. “Magic, sorcery, and all evil powers conspiring.”

She was standing by the window, watching the natural phenomenon of a perfect lunar corona. A diffuse, glowing ring in all the colours of the rainbow surrounded a pale and mysterious moon disk.

Of all the Ice People, Christa was probably the most romantic. She lived in a world of myths and in real life knew only good and kind people. She could never see evil in anyone. In her mind, evil was the preserve of those mysterious creatures that populate that world we humans never see.

There was a steady line in the family of surprisingly similar women, from Anna Maria, her daughter Saga and Saga’s grandchild Vanja, to Vanja’s daughter Christa. Gentle, beautiful and tender women, with lovely hair, lithe figures and wistful thoughts. Christa was, aside from being the most romantic, also the most beautiful among them. And the most naive. If she didn’t watch her step she might easily become prey to unscrupulous individuals.

For they were the kind of women that attract hard, strong men.

“Christa?”

The weak voice of the old man gently and innocently seeped into her consciousness.

It took a moment for her to shift her attention away from the sky. The moon seemed sick and tremulous this evening. The veils in front of it almost made it seem bewitched. It had a look of foreboding, she thought.

A magical night.

It’s as though the moon wants to tell me something, she thought in her usual way of romanticizing nature. Meanwhile, yet another humble but persistent cry, “Christa,” came from the next room.