Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 35 - The Flute

His rage threatened to stifle him. He mustn’t waste his energy on things that were irrelevant.

But which members of the Ice People should he attack? Were there any that were dangerous?

The confounded Benedikte. She was still alive. But there were no stricken ones in the next generation. A child who had belonged to the clan had been killed on the bank of a mountain river. No, not killed. It had died of natural causes. What a shame!

The other living members of the family he didn’t care about. They were just waste.

Oh, he knew all about his own descendants!

Except ...

Except for one?

The one who was hiding. Who was it? The one who counteracted him so efficiently time and again and whom he couldn’t get to grips with? It wasn’t one of the ancestors, it was someone who was alive! That wretched creature, where was he to be found? Or was there more than one?

Tengel the Evil sat for a long time in a state of deep hatred, which exhausted him far too rapidly.

Then his abominable face suddenly lit up, if you could refer to light when speaking of him.

He had another one now. A slave, a loyal helper!

Someone about whom the Ice People knew nothing.

Of course, he could call on a host of like-minded subordinates, but he didn’t plan to use them just yet, he was saving them for the day he conquered the world.

No, he would manage just fine with one.

Tengel the Evil hadn’t contacted this helper. But he might have to now. If it became necessary, that is, if he continued to have problems moving as much as he wanted to. He would have to see.

Time passed. It was dark outside. The caves were empty.

With an enormous effort, he managed to get to his feet and stagger slowly towards the opening of his cave.

Oh, he was moving so slowly, and making his brain work was an enormous effort.

Great clouds of stinking dust emanating from himself made it hard for him to see what lay ahead.

Night was his time – this was when he had the strength to wake up ...

He was standing in an archway. In the ceiling he discerned a gap. Although it was pitch black in the caves, his eyes could penetrate the darkness. It was the same gap that the three researchers and their guide had looked down into and which had made them turn back.

They had been so close to Tengel the Evil’s hiding place that it had cost them their lives.

The small, ghastly creature, grey-green with age and evil, looked up and calculated his strength.

It wasn’t impressive, however annoying it was for him to admit that. Would his brain power be able to manage it?

The power he had received at the time when he had reached the black source of evil ... the very source of the power of darkness ...

He crouched and prepared to jump. If he failed now, everything would have been in vain. This was his only chance.

Like a vulture trying to take off, Tengel the Evil ascended laboriously and slowly towards the opening in the ceiling. His cape, which had once been black but was now dusty grey, fluttered about him as he extended his arms with the clawlike hands in order to gain momentum. The terrible stinking dust filled the entire cave, but up he came. He stretched his thin, wrinkled neck towards the opening in his frenetic eagerness to reach it – and then he was there. Triumphant and vindictive, he landed on the level above, where the three researchers had recently stopped.

If only his legs would move a little faster. But his limbs wouldn’t obey him properly as he dragged himself through the passageways, impatient and irritated. At last he reached the opening that the guide had barricaded and where he had put up a sign. Tengel the Evil tore it all away with a single, furious motion of his hand, but he had to stop to catch his breath for his wavering power had been sorely taxed.

Damn, he couldn’t do anything properly! And damn that idiot who hadn’t managed to play that melody all the way through. He would be the first to die: crushing that creature would be an utterly joyful act!

But not until he had played the tune in its entirety, of course!

Tengel had recovered now. He was able to continue. His eyes searched the darkness, he sniffed the night air. There ... that was the direction he had to go in!

What had they done to his mountain? What was all this? Traces of humanity were to be found everywhere!

But then, what did he care about the cave now? He had to get out, his freedom was just outside the door ...

There! Finally, dragging himself along with stiff strides, he was able to see a dim light ahead of him. He dragged himself forward the last part of the way.

He would have to conceal himself once he was safely out, conceal his identity so no one would register his presence. No one!

That was extremely important.

And then ... then ... he was there!

The sky. The stars.

After six hundred and nineteen years Tengel the Evil was out in the world he planned to conquer.

It was already his. Wielding power over humanity had been one of the promises he had been given at the source of evil.

The other promise was eternal life.

Chapter 2

They had come from Belgrade and were on their way to Sarajevo.

They were a group of rebellious students and other Serbs. The group was part of a national organization called “Narodna Odbrana”, which sought to overthrow the monarchy of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and its reign over their country. This small terrorist group, which was acting on its own initiative, called itself “The Black Hand”. Among them was a nineteen-year old Bosnian student called Gavrilo Princip. His name would go down in history.

Tension had been rising around the world for a long time, and in this region events were moving very rapidly. In 1908 Austria-Hungary had annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina, where Serbs formed the majority of the population. Simultaneously, the Germans had proclaimed themselves the protectors of Turkey. Russia watched the German initiative with increasing trepidation, while the British feared for their Suez Canal and the passage to India. In Vienna, the concern was that the Serbs, who were backed by the Russians, would gain too much influence, because so many South Slavs were seeking refuge in Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina.

The mood was charged.

The Black Hand was on its way to Bosnia’s old capital, Sarajevo, close to the Serbian border. The group was heading there to witness the grandiose visit of the crown prince of Austria-Hungary, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and his wife. The terrorists were coming out of hate and to see “whether they could do anything”.

Their aim was to inspire all Serbs to form a single national state. Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s aim was the exact opposite. He wanted the entire region under the rule of Austria-Hungary.

Narodna Odbrana was headed by a Serbian general staff officer, and the group was associated with the army. The officer had supplied the Black Hand with weapons – bombs, rifles and pistols – for, secretly, individuals in high places in Serbia and Bosnia supported the little terrorist group’s ideas, though this was, of course, never stated openly.

The members themselves were more fanatical than they were sensible. Their ideas amounted to little more than “hate” and that “something had to be done”. That was as far as their plans went. For now. They were experts in hating, but they didn’t know all the details of the royal visit.

Now was the time for them to focus on a plan.

They set up camp on a mountainside on that quiet night in June. The setting was peaceful and drenched in the warmth of summer. In their hearts there was an increasing sense of indignation and despair on behalf of their homeland, which was suffering under the oppression of others.