Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 41 - Demon's Mountain

My son, Christa thought. My dear son, you’re the one who must take the lead in this unknown struggle that awaits us.

Gand woke Tova. She had gone to bed early that evening, and was woken by somebody gently stroking her cheek.

It used to be her mother or father that caressed her so tenderly and gently. When she saw that it was Gand she reacted unexpectedly, because she had no control of her emotions in his presence.

“What the hell are you doing?” she hissed, blushing. “Why are you here, what’s happened?”

Gand smiled, but his eyes had a serious look in them. “We’re gathering now, and you know that this is very important.”

Tova was so eager that she wanted to rush out of bed straightaway and get dressed, but she thought better of it. Her short nightdress wasn’t suitable to be seen in, especially not when men were present, and least of all the idolized Gand.

“You could at least ...” she said hotly, but then stopped herself. She needed to behave with dignity because this was an important occasion. “Will my parents be joining us?”

“Rikard, your father, is a member of the Ice People so he has already been brought here. He and Trond are waiting outside. But your mother is sleeping soundly. I’ve seen to it that she won’t notice anything until you’re back home again. Now I’ll wait outside with the others, so you can get dressed in peace and quiet. Put some warm clothes on: we’ll be away all night and the cold might be a challenge.”

She didn’t dare to ask where they would be going. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Jonathan’s children had tried to ask the Wanderer, but he hadn’t given them an answer.

When Tova was standing on the steps outside, she said: “Ugh, I don’t like this thick fog. It’s nasty. It must have come down very suddenly ...”

She avoided looking in Gand’s direction, because he was so irresistibly charming and what could she offer him in return? After all, she wasn’t even able to answer him sensibly.

It was asking too much, when you also had to conceal your agonizing emotions.

Far up in Tröndelag, Ingrid, the red-haired witch, collected Mari and her five children. Mari was probably the most remote member of the Ice People. She had settled down as a farmer’s wife and mother, and she was satisfied with that. Her daily concerns – her children and how they were to make ends meet – were sufficient for her. There was always something to worry about. She didn’t often mention that she was related to the Ice People: that was something that she wanted to keep to herself.

She asked Ingrid many times what this was all about, but she never got an exhaustive reply. Only that all the blood relations of the Ice People were to be gathered in order to discuss the struggle against Tengel the Evil.

Mari bit her lip. Her five children were now grown up. Christel was already eighteen and her youngest boy was fourteen. She had relented after Ingrid assured her that nothing bad would happen to any of them. She was the only member of the clan who had had misgivings. Her children, on the other hand, were enthusiastic. Previously, they had listened with delight when Grandpa Vetle had told them about the Ice People, and they were proud to belong to this family.

Christel was probably the only one of the children who was slightly apprehensive. All this was certainly exciting, but she was only the half-sister of the other children. She was Abel Gard’s grandchild. She didn’t think that all this business of spirits and demons and Tengel the Evil sounded quite right. She wasn’t sure what God would think about it all. Besides, she had a boyfriend and was afraid of losing him if she was away for too long. After all, they didn’t know what would happen.

The second oldest daughter was seventeen, and probably just as keen on boys as her mother, Mari, had been when she was young.

Mari had once complained that the Ice People lacked imagination because they had children called Mari and Matti, Mali and Malin in the family. So she had baptised her second daughter Mariana. As if that was more distinctive.

Mariana gazed with admiration at Ingrid, the beautiful witch, and remarked on her wild, curly hair. Almost like Rita Hayworth. She would have loved to copy it. If only she had red curly hair ... Her own was just medium blonde, straight and thin.

Sigh!

Mari looked at her husband, who was sound asleep. His mouth was slightly open and he was snoring lightly. She bent down to stroke his cheek, sincerely afraid that she wouldn’t return to him. He was fond of her! This was the simple reason why he was worth all the love in the world!

Mari had always had a slightly twisted view of love.

Her three boys were so excited at what was about to happen that they were hardly able to get dressed. But at last they were all ready to leave, and Ingrid smiled her deadly, slightly devilish smile and invited them to follow her.

They left their sleeping father, the farmer Ole Jørgen, and walked into the thick fog surrounding the medium-sized farm in Tröndelag.

God, what am I doing? thought Mari, and she prayed to the Lord and meant it.

Soon their shoes were clattering with a metallic sound on the invisible earth. The children looked enquiringly and somewhat fearfully at each other. The main road had never sounded like that!

Mari, who had been unsure of herself all her life, turned around to seek support from Ole Jørgen, but she could no longer see the safe farm. She felt that the earth was opening up before her feet. They were enveloped in wet, raw fog, and the beautiful woman with swaying hips who was leading the way could just as well have been an elf. Mari had to grit her teeth in order not to scream and run away. She had the children to think of, and they didn’t seem to want to turn back.

They flocked around her so that she tripped on their heels.

This is death, she thought. We’re dead, all of us; perhaps we’ve been poisoned by carbon monoxide, and now we’re on our way to the land of the dead. Oh, poor Ole Jørgen, when he wakes up, all his loved ones will be dead.

At that moment, Ingrid turned towards them and gave them a comforting smile. “Take it easy, we’ll soon be out of the fog.”

Mari wasn’t so sure that she wanted to see what was under them and around them once they reached their destination – wherever that was.

Ellen Skogsrud had recently returned from Western Norway. She hadn’t dared to get in touch with Nataniel. All the time, she worried that he would find another girl.

Nataniel went about with the same sense of unease. There were so many men in the world and Ellen was such a charming girl.

She was sitting with her parents on their little balcony, admiring the sunset, when Villemo appeared. She came walking through the open door from the living room.

They got to their feet, shocked. Ellen’s mother immediately thought they were being burgled, but why was this beautiful woman dressed in such unusual clothes?

Ellen and her father, Knut, immediately understood that this must be one of the Ice People’s ancestors. But who? And why were they, of all people, receiving a visit? Their small family that had lived on the fringe of the clan for so many centuries!

Knut, who had studied all the legends of the ancestors very carefully, said: “Welcome. Are you Ingrid or Villemo?”

The young woman smiled. “Villemo. I have come to borrow Ellen for a little while.”

Knut felt the disappointment like a heavy burden. But at that very moment, another woman appeared. She walked slowly up to them. Now they sensed that they were standing facing someone they should bow to. Suddenly, they found themselves greeting the woman as if she were a queen!

She was certainly a fantastic sight! Tall, dark-haired, dressed completely in black and with a dignity the like of which they had never seen before. And yet ... the strangest thing of all was that, although they could see every single detail clear as day, she was so diffuse. So Knut concluded that she must have lived many centuries ago.