Winter storm, p.1
Winter Storm, page 1
Winter Storm
The Legend of The Ice People 10 - Winter Storm
© Margit Sandemo 1982
© eBook in English: Jentas A/S, 2017
Series: The Legend of The Ice People
Title: Winter Storm
Title number: 10
Original title: Vinterstorm
Translator: Anna Halager
© Translation: Jentas A/S
ISBN: 978-87-7107-444-4
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.
All contracts and agreements regarding the work, translation, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas A/S.
Acknowledgement
The Legend of the Ice People is dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of my dear late husband, Asbjorn Sandemo, who made my life a fairy tale.
Margit Sandemo
The Ice People - Reviews
‘Margit Sandemo is, simply, quite wonderful.’
- The Guardian
‘Full of convincing characters, well established in time and place, and enlightening ... will get your eyes popping, and quite possibly groins twitching ... these are graphic novels without pictures ... I want to know what happens next.’
- The Times
‘A mixture of myth and legend interwoven with historical events, this is imaginative creation that involves the reader from the first page to the last.’
- Historical Novels Review
‘Loved by the masses, the prolific Margit Sandemo has written over 172 novels to date and is Scandinavia's most widely read author...’
- Scanorama magazine
The Legend of the Ice People
The legend of the Ice People begins many centuries ago with Tengel the Evil. He was ruthless and greedy, and there was only one way to get everything that he wanted: he had to make a pact with the Devil. He travelled far into the wilderness and summoned the Devil with a magic potion that he had brewed in a pot. Tengel the Evil gained unlimited wealth and power but in exchange, he cursed his own family. One of his descendants in every generation would serve the Devil with evil deeds. When it was done, Tengel buried the pot. If anyone found it, the curse would be broken.
So the curse was passed down through Tengel’s descendants, the Ice People. One person in every generation was born with yellow cat’s eyes, a sign of the curse, and magical powers which they used to serve the Devil. One day the most powerful of all the cursed Ice People would be born.
This is what the legend says. Nobody knows whether it is true, but in the 16th century, a cursed child of the Ice People was born. He tried to turn evil into good, which is why they called him Tengel the Good. This legend is about his family. Actually, it is mostly about the women in his family – the women who held the fate of the Ice People in their hands.
Chapter 1
Villemo, Gabriella and Kaleb’s only child, woke up at daybreak when somebody threw a stone at the window pane.
She got out of bed, but immediately staggered and had to hold on to the wall. She was used to feeling light-headed. It was because of the hunger that was eating her away inside and taxing her strength. Villemo had grown up to become an extremely strong-willed young woman.
In 1673, the village was ravaged by a terrible famine following several years of the crop failure. Elistrand, where Villemo lived, was better off than most of the other farms in the parish because the farm had had great resources to draw on. But Villemo was stubborn. She shared what she had with others as much as she could and found a kind of sickening, ascetic joy in torturing herself.
It was beginning to show. She was seventeen years old, with a peculiarly fascinating appearance, but now she was beginning to look emaciated. Her glossy red hair had turned dull, her golden-green eyes were hollow and her complexion had turned sallow.
Yet her disposition shone with an inner glow which was quite frightening. It showed in her impatient movements, as if she was holding back something powerful within her, in her impetuous way of talking, and in her intense eyes. In her whole demeanour, you sensed that terrible force, like a volcano filled with pent-up lava.
She walked over to the window. Niklas and Irmelin, her cousins, who were one year older than her and from Linden Avenue and Graastensholm, were outside. Villemo signalled that she would join them.
She got dressed quickly and casually. Villemo wasn’t very particular about how she looked. She was clean and that was enough. Gabriella had often been exasperated by her unruly daughter.
The young girl was plagued by her zest for life. There was a yearning in her for something which she knew was hidden in the future, something wonderful which she longed to experience. When others spoke of love, she knew that she didn’t have the same conception of it as they did. Love to her was something uncompromising, something where you gave everything of yourself, something that was so entirely all-consuming that you became love itself. She had never experienced it – but she was waiting ...
She was out in the courtyard. It was cold and the air was nippy. The first autumn nights had come creeping in with thin ice on the puddles of water and frozen blades of grass.
“Hi,” she said, realising once again that Niklas had turned into a very charming young man. She found him fascinating with his slanted, yellow eyes. “What’s the matter? Why are you up and about so early?”
“Thieves visited Graastensholm last night,” he said.
“I’m not surprised. Was it for food?”
“That was probably what they hoped to find,” Irmelin said. “But they didn’t have time to take anything.”
“What a bunch of fools,” Villemo said. “They know your dad shares what he has with all the farms. Did you see who they were?”
“They think they were from the Black Forest.”
“I can well imagine! What sort of twisted pride do those people have? They refuse to accept any help from us, but they can steal alright! Anyway, why are you here?”
“Dad’s visiting patients,” Irmelin said. “And Mum was up so late last night that I didn’t want to disturb her. So I thought we could do something.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you see, our men shot at the thieves and hit them. We can see traces of blood right up to the forest.”
“My God! Wait and I’ll fetch a few small items. Irmelin, have you got something we can use to dress a wound?”
“Yes, I brought some things from Dad’s supplies. But I think that both the thieves were wounded. Do hurry up!”
Villemo quickly returned with a basket and they all ran towards Graastensholm. She was the weakest of the three, but she grit her teeth and tried not to lag behind.
Irmelin from Graastensholm was a gentle and beautiful girl, who was strongly built like her paternal grandmother, Yrja, but with a quiet, engaging disposition. She was extremely strong and so was Niklas since he was of Are’s kin.
“Have you heard anything from Dominic?” panted Villemo as they slowed down the pace slightly – for her sake, which she knew although they were nice enough not to say anything.
“Yes,” answered Niklas. “He wrote that he’ll be back sometime next autumn.”
“Good. It’ll be nice to see him again. It’s been three years since I saw him last.”
Actually, she wasn’t so sure that it would be nice. Dominic always managed to rub her up the wrong way.
Niklas went on. “He’ll be on his own this time. You’ll remember that Uncle Mikael and Aunt Anette took it very badly when Marca Christiana passed away last year. And now Gabriel Oxenstierna’s also gone. They’re very depressed and don’t want to travel anywhere right now.”
Villemo nodded. She knew that Uncle Mikael’s best friend, the sweet-natured Marca Christiana, had suffered a bitter death. She’d given birth to eight children, three of which she’d lost. The youngest child was only two years old when Marca Christiana had become sick. She was a patient for three years at the Royal Palace in Stockholm before she was released from her sufferings.
Dominic had promised never to let down that youngest son, who he had watched over. Marca Christiana had been concerned for the boy. He wasn’t disposed to become anything great like his father and grandfather. That in itself was insignificant but he was alarmingly indecisive.
Marca Christiana had been given a splendid funeral in the Stockholm Cathedral where she now rested together with her husband. Mikael was deeply saddened by her death.
But now Dominic wanted to come all by himself! Exciting, very exciting! Everything was exciting for Villemo. Just like this adventure they were now experiencing: tracking down injured thieves from the Black Forest. If only she hadn’t been so dreadfully tired! Her legs were giving in and her heart was palpitating.
Now they had reached Graastensholm and took up the pursuit, following the traces of blood up towards the forest. The trail wasn’t difficult to follow, and it wasn’t long before they found one of the thieves lying underneath a tree where he had made himself comfortable.
“He’s dead,” said Niklas frightened. “That’s not good!”
They stood silently, all three of them thinking the same thing: t he constant struggle between Graastensholm and the Black Forest had turned into a blood feud. The hatred towards the Ice People would now be twice as strong.
They knew the man, who was about 40 years old. He was a wretch, a scumbag, but none of them had wished him dead.
“We’ll have to let him lie there for the time being,” said Villemo. “The trail of blood seems to continue, so we’d better hurry if we don’t want any more lives on our conscience.”
“Surely we can’t be blamed for this,” said Niklas.
“No,” said Irmelin as they were walking. “But our two farmhands are far too trigger-happy. They’re sure to be reprimanded for this. They’ll probably also appear before the court.”
“I suppose they just wanted to defend the farm,” said Niklas. “But this is definitely going too far.”
The forest was an oppressively calm pine forest carpeted with fungus and moss. Their voices sounded strangely hollow. The only other sound that reached them was the slight, occasional rustling of a frightened squirrel or a bird.
Villemo stole a sideways glance at Niklas as he searched for traces in the moss. With a hidden smile she was reminded of Midsummer Night’s Eve this past summer. Niklas had stood by the bonfire on the mound between Linden Avenue and Graastensholm, gazing into the flames, fascinated by the unique play of colours. She suddenly felt mischievous and had asked Niklas whether he’d follow her home because she was so afraid of the dark. He had looked at her, puzzled, because Villemo was certainly not known to be afraid of the dark. He was even more shocked when they reached the juniper hills above Elistrand.
“Kiss me, Niklas” she’d said laughingly.
“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?” he’d retorted, angry and shocked.
“Not for any particular reason,” she’d replied. “It’s only because I’d love to experience what it feels like.”
“You’re crazy, Villemo!”
“Well, don’t then!”
She’d turned on her heel and walked away.
“Villemo wait!”
“Yeess,” she’d replied, hesitating. He began to stutter.
“Maybe ... maybe I’d also like to experience what it feels like.”
“Splendid!”
“Anyway, it won’t mean anything.”
“Of course not, Niklas!”
They had experienced their first kiss fumblingly and cautiously, like youth has been doing for time immemorial. They acted, pretending as if they were in love with each other, touching each other’s skin with their lips.
“Mmm ... I love you, love you,” she had murmured against his neck.
He’d looked at her in horror. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, you fool. Now you broke the spell.” He seemed slightly offended, but then he was back in the game and when he whispered, “I love you,” to her, she had realised why he had reacted as he had to her words, because she’d almost come to believe that he meant it. She had felt both shocked that he’d used such precious words and disappointed that it was merely a game. And she felt a slight ticklish sensation.
“What emotions you put in the game!” she’d whispered. “Who are you thinking of?”
“It’s none of your business. And you? You’re pretty passionate yourself. Who are you thinking of?”
“I’m not thinking of anybody,” Villemo had said in a sweeping remark. “I just feel wonderful.”
“Mmm,” Niklas said. And then, all of a sudden, “No, this is such a stupid game. We’ll never do it again!”
He let go of her so abruptly that she almost fell.
“But it was lovely,” she giggled.
“Absolutely lovely,” he admitted. “But now it’s forgotten. We’ll have to find our way home on our own.” Then he was gone.
And with a newly awakened thrill quivering in her body, Villemo had hurried home.
“Here’s a new lead,” said Irmelin. Villemo concentrated on the search once more.
They didn’t have to walk far before they found the other man. He lay on the ground, white in the face, teeth clenched, and hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s Eldar,” murmured Niklas. “Now we’re in a tight spot!”
“It would seem that he’s in more of a tight spot than we are,” Villemo said.
He was the boy from the Black Forest they had met many years ago on the road outside Graastensholm. They knew that he and his sister, Gudrun, formed the core of the family’s hatred for the Ice People. The dead man was the father’s cousin or something along those lines. The history of the kin in the Black Forest was complicated, but all of them were extremely aggressive. It was many years since Villemo had seen Eldar, and never at close quarters.
‘And I’m so skinny,’ she thought, but without knowing why.
Eldar was now a sinewy, grown man, about 25 years of age, with ash-blonde hair and narrow, greyish eyes. There had always been something wild about the Black Forest people and Eldar was no exception. There was a suggestive, predator-like twinkle in his eyes, which both attracted and repelled Villemo. He was damned good-looking, with the emphasis on damned.
When Eldar caught sight of them, he tried to crawl away. His wild face showed indignation.
The gentle Irmelin said: “Why did you do this? We could have helped you if only you’d asked!”
“Do you think we’d accept help from Satan’s brood?” he hissed between clenched teeth.
“But you can steal from us,” Villemo blurted out.
“Our people are left to die,” he hissed in return. “And you’ve kept food for yourselves and your lot.”
“No, we have not,” said Niklas sharply. “And you know that perfectly well. Just ask any of the farmers. You’re just pigheaded. You refuse to accept what you’re rightly entitled to as part of the Graastensholm farm.”
The man could hardly speak because of his severe pain and exhaustion, but even so his eyes flashed with anger.
“How come you’re the only ones that still have food then? I suppose you’ve entered a pact with Satan, eh? You’ll be punished for that, after death!”
“Rubbish,” said Niklas as he squatted to take a closer look at him.
Eldar immediately pulled back. “Just look at your eyes,” he said with scorn. “At hers,” he added, pointing at Villemo. “Are those eyes normal?”
“Yes, they are, in our kin.”
“Precisely. We all know where the Ice People belong.”
Villemo couldn’t even be bothered to listen. She was thrilled to be able to look at the sinewy body’s slow, painful movements. “His leg seems to be injured. The boot is completely torn.”
“Keep your dirty fingers away! I’ll manage on my own.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said dryly. “How bad are things at your place?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“What if you forgot your own stupid pride for a moment and spared a thought for others? We’re not interested in you. We just want to know how things are in the Black Forest.”
He jumped up. “Wasn’t it for their sake that we did this?”
“How are we to know?” provoked Villemo.
He closed his eyes. “They’re dying. I just told you so. They’re scraping the bark off the trees to get some food. They even eat the larvae underneath the bark.”
“They’re not the only ones in the village doing that,” said Villemo. “Niklas and Irmelin, take this basket of food and go up to the Black Forest. In the meantime, I’ll take care of this bawler.”
Eldar tried to get up. “Don’t go up there! You have no business there!”
“Okay, then we’ll wait for you. Now, lie down quietly so that we can remove your boot!”
“Stop touching me! Haven’t you done us enough evil already?”
“We truly feel sorry for the loss of your relative. We found him in the forest. The farmhands at Graastensholm had no right to shoot at you.”
“He was lucky,” hissed Eldar. “I’ll lose my hand because of this. Nothing but evil has come from you.”
