Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 22 - The Demon and the Virgin

He began to slowly ride down, uncertain of what he ought to do first. He hadn’t gone far when he met an old man with a cart coming towards him on the road. He reined in the horse and considered fleeing into the forest, but thought better of it. He just had to learn to face whatever might happen. The people here would have to get used to him and he had to begin somewhere.

The old man screwed up his eyes to look at the strange rider.

Heike prepared for the worst. “Peace be with you,” he began.

Things didn’t turn out the way he had expected. The old man’s toothless mouth trembled and so did his voice. “Peace be with you ... Heavens ... aren’t you ...? No, I must be imagining things.”

Heike was about to say “No, I’m not the devil,” but thought better of it when he realized that the old man’s voice and eyes were full of hope.

“Pardon?”

“Well, for a moment I thought that you must be old Paladin. But of course you can’t be.”

“Paladin?”

“Yes, they used to call him Ulvhedin. But he’s not a ghost. He was a nice man.”

Heike smiled and got down from his horse. “I’m not Ulvhedin but his relative. I’m Heike, grandson of Daniel – the son of Ingrid and Dan Lind of the Ice People.”

The old man’s chin trembled more eagerly than ever. He had tears in his eyes as he walked up to Heike and took his hands in his.

“Daniel’s grandson? Young Mr Daniel’s grandson? Are you really? Oh, what a shame that Mrs Ingrid isn’t living at this moment.”

“Yes, it makes me sad too,” Heike replied.

“Fancy having one of the Ice People in the parish again. We thought it was all over. My dear friend, you’re most welcome! I can see that you’re cursed?”

“That’s true, but I’m not one of the evil ones.”

“No, nor was Paladin; perhaps at the beginning but later on he became good. Now I can see that you’re someone else. In fact, you’re not terribly like him.”

“Only in our grotesque appearance,” Heike smiled. “And the shoulders.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Heike asked: “Who are you?”

“I’m Eirik,” the old man replied, “and I served at Elistrand in Jon’s time and also when Mr Ulf was there, but Mrs Tora was a real bitch so we didn’t get along so well. Now that I’m old, I have my own smallholding.”

Heike said: “I see. Who lives in Elistrand now?”

The old man became serious. “Oh, dear. Nothing is as it used to be in the parish. Not since Mrs Ingrid, then Vemund Tark and his wife, the noble Elisabet, passed away. One of the henchmen of the state resides at Elistrand at the moment. He wants to give the impression of being jovial but he’s quite the opposite! He thinks he owns the farm. And at Gråstensholm ...” Eirik lowered his voice. “That’s where the evil one himself lives. He acquired the estate unlawfully; the whole village is whispering about it. But there was nobody of the Ice People to take it over.”

“Well, I’m here now,” Heike said, casting a glowering glance at Gråstensholm. “Do you mean to say that there are no descendants of the Ice People here in Norway?”

The old man leaned forward and whispered: “Nobody knows. Mr and Mrs Tark had a daughter but she disappeared.”

“What do you mean?” Heike asked.

Eirik replied: “They say that she was seen up on the ridge a couple of years ago.”

He pointed discreetly in case anyone saw. Heike followed his gaze towards the huge mountainside behind Gråstensholm.

Then Heike said: “I would like to hear more. Can I come with you to your smallholding? I don’t think I want to appear too intrusive at Gråstensholm and Elistrand just yet, and I need to know all the details.”

“You’re welcome in my humble abode,” Eirik said solemnly. “But it’s very poor.”

Heike gave Eirik a warm smile. “Believe me, I know what it means to be poor. Before I do anything about the farms, I need to see to the most important thing of all: I have to find out whether Elisabet and Vemund’s daughter is alive.”

Eirik beamed: “Now I can tell that you’re a true son of the Ice People. People first and then possessions! If you could find young Miss Tark, you would make everybody in the village happy. It’s terrible when somebody just disappears.”

Heike, who knew a lot about this, said: “Yes, it’s the worst thing possible.”

Her name was Vinga. She was named after Villemo, one of the Ice People’s strongest characters. Her home was Elistrand but she didn’t live there anymore. Nobody knew where she lived now: it was her secret. She had sought refuge on a derelict smallholding up on the mountain. It was a place that Tengel and Silje had given Klaus and Rosa two hundred years before. Nobody had lived there since their great-grandchild, Elisa, married Ulvhedin and moved to Elistrand. It had been empty for a hundred years.

The place was falling down, but Vinga had managed to make just one room habitable. She had worked very hard, clearing away the rotten timbers that had fallen down, the ruined furniture and kitchen utensils and other junk. She had supported the crumbling ceiling with fresh birch trunks that she had felled with an axe she had found. Unfortunately, she was having to limit her living space more and more as parts of the ceiling collapsed or leaked. More than half of the room was now uninhabitable.

Food was another matter. She had brought two big hams with her from Elistrand. They were hanging from the ceiling, notably smaller than when she took them, wrapped up to protect them from flies and mice. She had taken a goat from the farm on the night she ran away. It had once been her pet kid. Now the goat lived in the room with her, providing her with milk and cheese in return for the hay Vinga gathered and stored in the barn for winter.

There must be someone living on the farm by now. All she knew was that they were not her relatives.

Both her parents had passed away. She couldn’t believe it! Her strict but kind father, Vemund, and her sweet mother, Elisabet, were both dead.

Why did they have to die? She gazed at the sky and asked what evil they had committed that meant they had to die in the epidemic that nobody knew the name of. At their funeral, a well-meaning woman had said to her: “You mustn’t be sad, Vinga. Your mother and father were such good people. The Lord loved them so much that He wanted them to be with Him.” But were they ready to leave this life? Did Vinga want to part with them? Clearly, the Lord didn’t seem to ask such questions. Vinga was obviously not good enough, because He couldn’t care less about how she was managing.

The strict man had come ...

“The farm must be confiscated, Vinga. It’s mortgaged and you haven’t met the repayments.”

“I didn’t know ... I can sell the barley...”

“Times are tough, Vinga, and you’ve no barley to sell. Too many years of austerity meant that your father had to borrow money to make ends meet. That won’t work any more!”

He looked at her with cold, greedy eyes, the sly old toad. Mr Snivel was his name, and he was a civil servant of some kind.

“The farmhand and I can work.”

“The farmhand tells me he hasn’t been paid since your parents died. He’s found a job elsewhere.” The tall Mr Snivel might have added “with me”, but didn’t. “Now the whole of Elistrand will come under the hammer.”

Elistrand! Dear Elistrand, adored by Villemo and everyone else.

“Then I’ll move to Gråstensholm!”

Mr Snivel smiled forbearingly but contemptuously at Vinga. “Since Mrs Ingrid died, nobody has put in a claim for Gråstensholm. The Crown has other plans for the farm.”

He could have told Vinga: “Gråstensholm has been promised to me now that there’s no owner, and my nephew will get Elistrand, so the auction will be a sham.” But Mr Snivel was cunning and kept his mouth shut.