Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 35 - The Flute

The car came – but it passed by much too quickly. The Archduke must have had a scare.

Which he had. His wife cried in horror: “But Franz, the poor man was bleeding!”

He growled back, his voice subdued so that no one outside the car could hear it: “Quiet! We’ll continue as though nothing has happened!”

But he was very upset during the ceremony at the city hall. Everyone advised him to take a different route back. But he refused to do so, insisting on visiting the wounded officer at the garrison hospital.

Young Princip was shaking all over. He had wasted his chance. His only hope now was that they would take the same route back, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to guess which way they would go.

His friends had wondered about it, of course. One of them had gone over to him and hissed: “Why didn’t you shoot?” And he had tried to explain. Everything was hectic, tense and in disarray.

Then the car came by again!

Gavrilo took a deep breath and turned completely cold. He rushed out, jumped up on the car’s running board and shot several rounds, one after the other.

They didn’t even have a chance to scream: they died on the spot, both the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his consort.

Princip was seized immediately, but he didn’t care. He had accomplished his mission for his country and for the Black Hand. The one who had thrown the bomb was also caught, but the others managed to get away.

The murder had the same effect as throwing a match into a barrel of gunpowder. Austria-Hungary’s days were numbered. The German Austrians were gripped by a sense of nationalism and no longer wished to be oppressed; the Magyars in Hungary saw an opportunity to liberate their country, as did the Romanians; and the Serbs no longer wanted anything to do with Vienna.

On 23 July, Austria-Hungary sent a cut-throat ultimatum to Serbia. That day began the so-called “Black Week”. The Austrians were in no way satisfied with the response they received and on 28 July they declared war on Serbia.

The Russians couldn’t accept that, since they had far too many Slavic people and far too many interests in the Balkans, so they began to mobilize, whereupon the Germans declared war on Russia.

When the Germans heard that the French planned to support the Russians, they also declared war on France on 3 August and invaded Belgium. The British couldn’t just stand by and watch, so they declared war on Germany the following day.

In October, Turkey became an ally of the Central Powers and Italy was also drawn into the conflict. On 7 May the following year, the vessel Lusitania was sunk with one hundred and twenty-five American passengers on board, which led to America being drawn into the war as well.

The first world war in history was now a fact.

Tengel the Evil could be proud of his work.

But he hadn’t been alone in starting everything.

Human beings themselves were also fully capable when it came to lust for power, war and blood.

Chapter 3

André Brink had never given up trying to locate the missing branch of the Ice People.

Knut Skogsrud, born in 1850, had left Trondhjem in 1870 at the age of twenty, in order to travel to the capital.

And the trail stopped there.

He might have settled down somewhere on the way, or travelled on to some other destination, or he might already be dead.

Skogsrud was quite a common name. André investigated all those he discovered. But to no avail. No one had a Knut from Trondhjem in their family.

If he was still alive he would be ... sixty-five, which was no age to speak of.

But it was only by chance that André happened to come upon a clue.

It was at Malin Volden’s funeral, in 1916. Malin had lived to the age of seventy-four and everyone in the family had loved her: she was sorely missed. Her husband, Per, had died two years earlier, but everyone else was there at the cemetery one early morning in March.

Old Henning Lind of the Ice People stood silent in his own thoughts as the priest said prayers over the grave. He thought of the first time he ever saw Malin. How she came and saved him, the little boy who had suddenly lost his parents and his best friend Saga, and was now left with responsibility for Saga’s twin sons, Marco and Ulvar. Back then Malin hadn’t been much more than a child herself. But she had been as firm as a rock, an anchor for him, and had continued to be so throughout his life.

It was very difficult to imagine that she was now gone.

Henning’s own wife, Agnes, was also dead. But he knew that he himself would grow old. He came from the resilient Ice People lineage, like his daughter Benedikte and her son André. They were of Heike’s branch, the most vibrant of all.

He looked around. They were all there, those who were still living. Malin’s son Christoffer and his wife Marit. Christoffer did not have that same iron constitution: he was more ordinary. Their son Vetle stood there squirming, looking in every direction except at Grandmother Malin’s grave.

Goodness, that boy – what would become of him? He was neither stricken nor chosen, but wilder than all of them, with ants in his pants and impossible to control.

Sander Brink, now nearly sixty, stood next to Benedikte. He was starting to grow old, thought Henning, who felt fairly youthful himself despite his sixty-six years. And young André had his Mali with him, of course. That girl had really turned out well, and their son Rikard had given her a maternal dignity.

Malin, Mali, Marit ... It was sometimes difficult to tell their names apart, but it had merely been the whims of fortune that they all happened to be part of the family at the same time. Marit had married into the family, and Mali had come from far away, even though she too was one of the Ice People.

Little Rikard was not present at the cemetery, as he was only three years old. But he would most likely have behaved much better than the young Vetle, who at that very moment was busy fiddling with a lady’s fur coat. Luckily the fur was long-haired, so the lady probably hadn’t noticed anything – hopefully. As long as he didn’t start pulling out any of the hairs! Henning tried to catch his eye with a stern gaze, but the boy didn’t look in his direction and wasn’t susceptible .

Rikard ... Henning’s gaze immediately softened at the thought of that boy, now at home at Linden Avenue where a young girl was looking after him. Rikard, his great-grandchild! It was incredible how quickly time had passed! He wondered whether the boy had also inherited that tenacious vitality. It seemed likely: he was an unusually powerfully built child. He had been angry about being left at home when everyone else had gone.

Little Christa, on the other hand, who was now six years old, had been brought to the funeral. She was very, very sweet, with a uniquely fascinating appearance. That wasn’t so strange, if you considered her background: the Ice People, Lucifer, Tamlin ... Her mother, Vanja, had been an exceptional beauty.

Christa’s “father” Frank had brought her. He looked terribly fragile, like an old man. But he worshipped his daughter.

God forbid he should ever discover the truth, Henning thought. That he wasn’t Christa’s real father. That it was Tamlin, the demon of the night, the great and only love of her mother’s life. But then, Vanja’s life hadn’t been very long.

Henning sighed. He was the last of his generation now. It felt lonely. But Benedikte and her family were a great support to him. He was certainly treated as one of the family at Linden Avenue.

André had a perplexed look on his face. Why was that? When the ceremony was over and everyone had conveyed their condolences and the big gathering was about to disperse, Henning went over to his daughter’s son. They had always understood one another; they had similar ways of thinking.