Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 30 - The Brothers

Marco also had a mind of his own. He was a very quiet and secretive child, and so handsome that it hurt to look at him. He would often give a quiet and gentle smile and his expression was dreamy. He wasn’t as talkative as the aggressive Ulvar, yet the two of them could sit and burble to one another in a childish language the others didn’t understand. Although they were like chalk and cheese, they were very close.

Malin found it extremely difficult every time she had to tend to Ulvar. Grabbing his deformed body with the angular joints and the sharp shoulder blades was something she could never get used to. What would this poor child’s life be like: how much stupidity would he have to face? She and Henning couldn’t always be with him. Besides, Ulvar didn’t seem to care very much for her. Occasionally, his roughness would hurt her. However, she told herself that this was his nature. She knew that if that boy was ever to love anyone it would be Marco who was closest to his heart. Then Henning. She was merely a necessary evil.

Henning baffled her. He was surprisingly efficient and he succeeded at everything. Malin thought about what he had told her about the dark angel, who had laid his hand on him and said that now he was to be chosen in place of Saga ...

He seemed to possess an inner strength that saw him through hardship and sorrow. An inner light. And she? Was it a coincidence that she had arrived at the right moment? Might young Henning’s invisible protectors have had a hand in that? Besides, he had the mandrake. She had no idea how great a role it played in his success.

Malin and Henning certainly didn’t get anything for nothing! But Henning had the strength to cope and manage the tough jobs on the farm. They both had plenty to worry about. Occasionally, she had to write to her parents and ask for help – with money above all, of course, but also with things they needed in the house or on the farm, which Malin knew were available in Sweden but not in neglected Norway. For a century the Danes had looked on Norway as an inferior vassal state, and now the Swedes had taken over the suppressive attitude of the Danes. But in spite of everything, the Norwegians lived their own lives, developing their own culture, their own pride, untroubled by those who despised what they called their provincial habits.

Christer and Magdalene were always ready to help their only daughter, no matter what she asked for.

Many well-to-do people had arrived in Graastensholm parish to live in the new villas. It was the kind of situation that can attract some not quite so nice inhabitants. Burglars had broken into the villas. The bailiff hadn’t succeeded in catching them yet and people had complained.

Malin hadn’t taken much notice of the rumours about this crime wave and hadn’t even had time to think about them. In her subconscious mind, she believed that old Linden Avenue was much too insignificant a place beside all those big modern houses. Surely their farm wouldn’t be of any interest to thieves.

She didn’t discover what thieves would find so appealing about Linden Avenue until they appeared there. At first she thought that the impressive avenue of linden trees might have made them believe that the little farm was full of riches. But that wasn’t the case ...

One autumn evening, Malin was woken by a faint rattling sound. Then she heard whispering voices. She sat up in bed, nervous and tense. It wasn’t until now that she realized how defenceless they were. Henning was asleep and she didn’t want to wake him. Boys of his age were often rash and might attack the culprits without understanding how dangerous they were.

This was something she would have to tackle on her own.

The moon shone into her bedroom with a cool glow, lighting up the place. She checked that the twins were fast asleep in their cot next to her bed. She could hear Henning’s calm breathing from his room. Malin got out of bed and put on her slippers and dressing-gown. She stood quietly for a moment, listening to the sounds coming from the floor below. Then she picked up the poker and went to the top of the stairs.

There were two of them. They had brought along a lantern. Their hoarse, whispered words shocked her.

“Hell, no!” one of them was saying. “This old box. I bet there’s nothing worth having in that, damn it!”

“Yeah, you bet there is! Have you never heard of the Ice People’s great treasure? It’s famous all the way to Christiania.”

“Oh, like hell it is. If they’re so rich, what are they doing living in such a poor place?”

“You’re right,” said Malin, in as cool a voice as she could muster as she walked down the stairs. “It’s true there is something known as the Ice People’s treasure, but I doubt that it would be of any interest to you.”

They stiffened as they heard her voice. Now they stood like statues, staring at her.

“Jeez,” one of them said, as if they hadn’t expected to see anyone.

“What was it you said about the treasure?” asked the other one, who was no angel.

“It’s nothing but worthless old medicines and herbs,” Malin said, hoping that they wouldn’t notice how much her voice was shaking. “It’s only valuable to us. So please leave!”

One of the men screwed up his eyes: “Old medicines, eh? I think you’d better show us this treasure, little lady.”

Oh no, Malin thought, what have I done now? The other culprit, who had a pretty limited vocabulary, said impatiently: “What the hell are we supposed to do with old medicines?”

The first one hissed loudly: “I know a collector who’s willing to cough up the money, so just shut your trap!” Then he said to Malin: “You’ll hand over the old treasure, won’t you? Then we won’t do you any harm.”

“Unfortunately, it’s somewhere else,” Malin replied. “But if you leave now, I won’t tell anybody that you’ve been here.”

The stupid one came closer. “Now you listen, Sis! You don’t decide for us. Understand? We can beat you to a pulp if we feel like it. So we want that treasure now!”

A drowsy Henning appeared on the half-landing behind her. “What’s going on, Malin?”

“Go back to bed,” she replied swiftly.

“Are there more people in the house?” the stupid one asked.

“Only children. You heard there are only children here,” muttered the more intelligent of the two. “Now listen, wimp, come downstairs so that we can talk to you.”

Malin, who immediately grasped that they would take Henning hostage, shouted: “No, don’t! Just stay upstairs!”

The rough one came up the stairs and grabbed Malin by the arm. “You shut up, Sis, or you’ll be in a bad way!”

“Ouch,” cried Malin. “You’re hurting me!”

Before Malin had time to stop him, Henning had rushed past her and begun to hit with his bare fists the thief who was holding her. With her free arm Malin tried to hit the man with the poker, but the other thief managed to twist it out of her hand.

“We’re not playing any more games,” said one of the thieves. He had grabbed Henning and was holding the kicking boy in a firm grip. The other one was holding Malin unpleasantly tightly and had shoved his grinning face right into hers. He dug out a knife and pointed it at her in a way that couldn’t be misunderstood.

“Let go of the boy,” she managed to say.

Henning yelled. “Malin,” he sobbed. “I forgot to put the mandrake around my neck. It’s lying upstairs. Let Malin go, you horrible creature!”

Both men laughed hoarsely. Now they had the upper hand.

Then there was a roaring sound, like an extra loud clap of thunder. The entire hall turned dazzlingly white, and the men yelled helplessly and senselessly, loosening their grip and collapsing on the floor in apparently unbearable pain.