Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 35 - The Flute

“I’m sure you can retreat, Grandfather, if you prefer. We can handle the wake on our own. Ugh! How I’m going to miss Malin!”

“Me too,” Henning sighed. “Me too!”

Six months later, when autumn had begun to blow the leaves off the trees and the garden furniture had been moved inside, Vetle Volden received a visit ...

It happened during the night. His parents, Marit and Christoffer, had gone to Christiania to visit the theatre, and since Vetle hadn’t behaved very well that day he had had to stay at home. His parents were staying the night in the capital.

At first it was very amusing being home alone. The now fourteen-year-old Vetle walked around the house trying to think of something amusing to do. Should he send for the other members of the rather wild gang he belonged to? No, he sensed that his parents wouldn’t appreciate having their furniture and other things ruined while they were away. He thoughtlessly lit the big stove, because watching fire was so much fun and you could burn so many interesting things with it. But he forgot to open the damper and had to air the place for a few hours. Then it was suddenly not so much fun anymore.

Actually, being home alone wasn’t fun.

Vetle wasn’t nearly as much of a problem as many of the neighbours insisted. He just had far too much energy, that was all. He could never seem to settle down; he looked for excitement everywhere, and when there wasn’t any to be found, he would seek an outlet for his colossal sense of vitality in pranks that weren’t always very successful.

Vetle was really rather lonely. The other boys in the gang didn’t have the same sense of imagination or intelligence that he did. He would often get irritated by their lack of sophistication in their antics and would return home disappointed or go out on his own. He wished he had a friend who understood him and thought the way he did.

But friends like that don’t grow on trees.

Suddenly he shuddered slightly. It had grown dark outside! Houses always feel completely different when you are alone in them at night. For it was almost night now. The living room, which was always so cosy when Mother and Father were at home, was now shrouded in a depressing gloom.

It was really dark in the corners, and the room beyond the open door was pitch black.

The best thing would be to go and lie down.

But the staircase was completely dark. A door slammed shut somewhere.

Vetle hadn’t thought about his fear of the dark before, as there had always been other people in the house. If Mother and Father were away, Grandmother Malin used to always be there, and earlier Grandfather Per too. Now there was no one. The dog had died, to Vetle’s great sorrow. He was the only one left, and all sorts of ghosts seemed to be watching him from outside the windows.

Or, even worse, inside the dark rooms.

He didn’t have to go upstairs. He could sleep in the living room on the sofa.

But there were no blinds at the windows. Was that something scurrying across the floor?

If only he had been at Linden Avenue! But he certainly didn’t dare go there now! Could he call them?

No, they would have gone to bed a long time ago.

He was all alone in a world of utter darkness.

“Vetle!”

He sensed all his blood rushing through his veins. It was a deep voice, so deep that it didn’t seem human, and it came from the room he was standing in. It was right behind him.

Vetle had never fainted before, but now he knew what it must feel like. He suppressed a frightened whimper. Did he dare turn around?

Not on his life!

But run and hide? That would be too disgraceful. He stood still, his heart pounding so much that he could feel it through his skin, his mouth dry and his eyes as big as dinner plates.

A gust of wind shook the poplars by the gate outside. The window panes rattled.

It was as though time had stopped.

Then the voice came again. It made him jerk violently. “Don’t be afraid, Vetle of the Ice People! You must have heard of your ancestors? Your helpers and protectors?”

Vetle of the Ice People! That sounded so impressive! Much better than Vetle Volden or Vetle Volden of the Ice People.

And what a language he spoke, this stranger! Though Vetle understood it, it seemed both familiar and alien, completely different.

“Yes,” he tried to answer, but only managed to bring forth a croaky whisper. He cleared his throat and managed to utter a proper “yes”.

“You can safely turn around. I’m not dangerous.”

He swallowed. Took a deep breath and slowly turned around. Hardly dared look.

A shadow. No, more than a shadow. It was a towering figure in a dark robe with a hood that concealed the face.

“You have heard of me, have you not?” the creature asked.

Vetle had finally gained control of his voice, but not of himself in the least. He had a sudden urge to run up the stairs and barricade the door to his room.

But this creature was probably above such material things as doors and locks.

Vetle couldn’t escape, so he just needed to get out of the situation as well as he could. Be courageous.

“You have heard about me?” the creature asked.

“I think so,” Vetle murmured.

He had the impression that the man was smiling crookedly to himself. Then he heard the strange voice once more.

“We need your help, Vetle.”

The boy gasped. “My help?”

That sounded incredible. But also wonderful. He felt a little braver. “I didn’t think that the ordinary members of the Ice People could get into contact with you, not normally,” he said in a trembling voice, bowing instinctively before this tall man. God how stupid that sounded – “not normally!” There was nothing normal about this particular situation!

“We had no choice,” the guest answered. “We had no one else to turn to. The situation is very dangerous for everyone, not just for the Ice People.”

“I know. The war.”

“The war is taking its normal, destructive course. But if your ancestor interferes again, the consequences may be unthinkable.”

That language! Now that Vetle was no longer dizzy with shock he was able to recognize it. It was old Norwegian. Not the most ancient, which was more like Icelandic. No, it was ... something in between. He guessed from somewhere between the eleventh and fourteenth centuries.

Despite his youth and uncontrollable nature, Vetle had a voracious hunger for knowledge. On top of that he had a retentive memory. Whatever he had learned in the past remained in his memory.

With his hollow voice the visitor spoke again. “We can’t ask Benedikte, who is the only stricken one now. A woman of her age can’t handle such hardships. Your father, Christoffer, isn’t strong enough either, and André is too heavily built. Also, they aren’t courageous enough and might hesitate to take action in crucial situations. And that simply won’t do. We need a small, skinny person and, more importantly, one who isn’t afraid. And you’re just that kind of person, Vetle.”

The boy thought of the undeniable fear of the dark he had experienced at that very moment. But of course that was completely different, he believed.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” he said with a slightly insecure note in his voice. “At least when it comes to physical danger. But why don’t you ask Imre?”

“Imre is not to appear in this particular situation.”

“Oh,” he said as calmly as possible. “In other words, it has something to do with Tengel the Evil.”

“Yes.”

“That isn’t exactly a physical danger ...”

The man answered in a voice as calm as Vetle’s. “It’s precisely the kind of danger that you are afraid of. Everything that belongs to the dark world and the occult. So I am going to ask you once more. Do you dare?”