Spellbound

by Margit Sandemo

  ‘Is it ...’

  ‘One of the evil Tengel’s descendants? Yes. Two, in fact. My mother’s cousin and my grandfather’s sister.’ The last few words were in a whisper, as though they were difficult for him to utter.

  ‘Your grandfathers sister?’ Silje’s tone was one of disbelief ‘She must be awfully old.’

  ‘Yes. She is, very.’

  Somehow that simple reply filled her with untold dread.

  ‘Stay with me, Tengel,’ she pleaded in a hurried whisper. ‘I dare not be alone, not this first night. Everything is new ...’

  ‘You will be all right, you’ll see.’

  ‘But are there many descendants of ... Tengel.’

  ‘No not many. Not now. Only very few can trace their line directly to him. The Black Death took many of them and nearly all the rest fell to the plague of 1565. There are those two down there – they are not mother and son, neither have they had offspring. No one will marry kin of Tengel the Evil, as you know. His kinsmen take the women they desire and force them to live with them. The women of my family are raped and then cast aside, with their children, to care for themselves. Only my sister was properly wed, but she never revealed where she came from. Because of this there are not many children in our family – and that is not a bad thing.’

  ‘Please do not be so bitter, Tengel. It saddens me so.’

  ‘I’m sorry Let me tell you more about my kin. There are two old men, unmarried and very amiable with no terrifying powers. There is also a disagreeable old woman living in that hovel over by the lake, but she keeps herself to herself and you won’t meet her. Finally, of course, there is Sol. So now you see that, until we found her, I was the last one who could carry our evil line forward.’

  ‘Yes, but you knew that your sister had two daughters in Trondheim, so the line would not have died with you.’

  ‘I only found out about the daughters last autumn, when my brother-in-law, whom I had never met, died from the plague. I rode out at once to see if I could find my sister, Sunniva, and be of help. But, may God forgive me, Silje, I wish the plague had taken the little girls too!’

  She said nothing for a moment, then asked, ‘Do you still wish it?’

  He sighed deeply. ‘No, I know the whole thing is very confused, but Sol fills me with a tenderness I cannot put into words. I am responsible for her now.’

  Softly she said, ‘I do understand? Then she paused. ‘So you are descended from the first Tengel on your mother’s side?’

  ‘Yes. She was never wed. My sister and I had different fathers and they both left our mother to fend for herself.’

  ‘So what became of you both after she died giving birth to you?’

  ‘Her father took care of us. It is his farm, I have inherited.’

  ‘Oh, Tengel!’ she said gently. ‘It hurts me so to hear this. If only I could … help you somehow. Show you the tenderness you have missed!’

  ‘Don’t say that!’ he exclaimed savagely. ‘No one need concern themselves over me, and you should know that!’

  A pitiful ‘I’m sorry’ was all she could say.

  They had emerged onto a plain above the valley. It was lighter here and the anxiety she had felt a little earlier left her. Nevertheless, Silje held resolutely fast to Tengel’s hand, pulling him to her, but with practised ease he rode close alongside the wagon. He was her tower of strength and, if he had asked, she would gladly have placed her whole life in his hands.

  By now she had grown tired of this difficult and long journey – pummelled by the incessant shaking of the wagon, aching for food, warmth and rest – and she longed to wash herself and tidy her hair. She could not help feeling a little despondent at not knowing what she had let herself in for. Then she let out a short harsh chuckle.

  His keen senses did not miss it.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked sternly.

  ‘All about the dreams for the future that I had as a child.’

  ‘I do not expect they’ve come true, have they?’

  ‘No, but I did have one great desire.’

  ‘What was that? Tell me,’ he urged.

  ‘Well, on the estate where I lived, and where my father worked, the owners had a painting in the hall that portrayed an avenue lined with linden trees. It was the most elegant thing I had ever set eyes on. There was a real avenue up to the manor of course, but it was lined with maples. I would follow the changing seasons by it. The misty light-green leaves of spring that became so tightly packed together in the summer. Come the autumn, the sticky touch of their fruit. I saw the leaves changing colour and the naked boughs of winter that turned bluish-lilac as they began to bud once more. Then one day they chopped them all down. They said they were too old and took too much out of the earth. But oh, how I missed them. I was still most fond of the linden trees in the picture, though. Naturally I did not know what trees they were at the time, but I found out later, and then I promised myself that when I was grown up I should have an avenue of lindens leading to my home. Yes, a childish dream for one of my position in society, of course, especially as linden trees will not grow in Trondelag.’

  Tengel was silent for a while. ‘No, I’m afraid you will probably never have your avenue.’

  ‘No.’ she replied. Then, shaking off her reverie, she tried to catch his eye in the dim light. ‘But I have something of greater worth – the tenderness and trust of another. Thank you, Tengel, I do not know if I can find the words to tell you how I feel. Such words of affection do not exist.’

  He let go of her hand gently and spurred his horse forward. He neither spoke nor turned to look at her as he rode on ahead again.

  Chapter 11

  Silje lay awake for a long time during that first night in the valley of the Ice People, listening for noises outside – but all was quiet. Yet, because she was so on edge, even the silence felt sinister. Was there something on the other side of the wall, something unutterably awful, waiting for her almost to fall asleep, so that it could bang on the wall and frighten her to death?

  These fears gripped her even though, as soon as they arrived, she had secretly blessed the house in every way she knew. She had placed the wooden spoons on the bench in a cross, drawn a cross above the door and then formed one more cross from some kindling to put beside the fire – any evil spirit trying to enter through the flue would be blinded by it straight away.

  The children had been given food and dry clothes. They lay asleep close to her, warmed by the fire in the main room, its embers still aglow on the hearth in the middle of the floor. Sol’s rapid breathing was easy to hear, but Dag always slept so quietly that, just like any natural mother, she listened all the time to make sure he was still alive.

  What did she know about this cottage? How many people had died here and had any souls remained to haunt it? She was still frightened. Quite simply, she was scared of the darkness and all it hid in this cottage and the valley. All these people she did not know – how would they welcome her, an outsider? There was the penetrating cold of the mountains and the children’s uncertain future – all these concerns and more whirled around in her exhausted mind, making her restless and unable to sleep.

  How she wished that Tengel was with her now! He had told her that he would have to leave for the sake of her honour. Oh, what did she care that people should gossip? She needed him close to her – to feel safe, as a child needs the comforting embrace of its father. Then she allowed herself a little embarrassed smile. Perhaps it had been better that he had gone, after all. She knew how he made her feel and that she could not hide these emotions from him. Were he to put his arms around her, he would release passions that a daughter would never have for her father. Nonetheless, her loneliness bore down on her. She was homesick for Benedikt’s farm, as it had been before Abelone arrived and Benedikt had come to her room – before so much had gone wrong.

  Heming had gone back to his home, where he would no doubt have been greeted with great disapproval by his father, the chieftain.
She thought that Tengel had sent him on his way, for he had shown no eagerness to leave them. The wagon-driver had remained behind for a while, helping Tengel to arrange things as best they could in the chilly deserted rooms. At first Silje had been unable to do much more than stand in the middle of the floor, frozen and awkward, just watching, while they lit a fire and prepared the beds. Then the children began to whine, dragging her slowly back to her senses, and she started to help.

  It was an old farm, nowhere near as large as Benedikt’s, but it certainly appeared now to be warm and well built. The single storey cottage had a room at one end that was used for preparing food and eating meals, beyond which lay the dairy and a barn, all connected in one row. At the other end of the cottage were two small rooms, and it was in one of these that Silje and the children now lay, leaving the door to the main room open. There was no glass in the windows of course, and Silje thought briefly of the leaded light that Benedikt had given her. No, she decided, it would not find its rightful place in this house.

  She wondered what Tengel was doing at that moment. Was he now heating and tidying up in another cottage, or some run-down hovel? He must surely have been as tired as she was. She had wanted to suggest that he stayed the night at the home of the wagon-driver, but as there seemed to be no hinting of this from the man himself, she suspected that Tengel was not welcome in the dwellings of others. Once again the pain of sadness and compassion for him lay heavy on her heart.

  He had stayed behind until long after the driver had left, putting things in their place – almost not wanting to go. Silje had carried on talking feverishly to keep him there longer. She had asked him again to stay, for his own sake, not wanting him to suffer any discomfort now that she had taken over his home. He had merely shaken his head and, finally, there was nothing more left to do and no more left to say.

  Her arms felt empty. Could this be just because she had been holding Dag for so many long hours? Restlessly she turned onto her side and tried to sleep once more, still filled with worry about the day to come, when she would stand face to face with the others of the Ice People. Sleep would not come, however hard she tried. Instead, thoughts and images that she had tried to banish assailed her mind – memories of the unbearable days when the plague reached the manor.

  Fear and anxiety had taken hold of everyone when one of the servants was the first to fall ill. There had been silence at mealtimes, the watchful eyes of the others looking all the time for the signs and symptoms. She remembered her brother, sweating with fever, and her mother’s hysterical screams; his funeral, when her youngest sister stood weakly, leaning on her at the graveside, before collapsing; then the sister’s own funeral – there were many more dead by then.

  On that occasion the pastor held the burial service in front of four coffins. One of them contained the master’s own son, the boy she had looked after and through whom she had received so much education. Silje had grieved for him, but she was so numbed by the death of her siblings that she had been in a daze. She could still hear the anguished cry of the master, ‘Why me, why me?’ Did he not see that the plague had no respect for social boundaries, taking the highest and the lowest as it pleased? That the servants should die was perfectly normal and nothing for him to concern himself over, but one of his own family, well!

  Then her mother and father fell sick, almost at the same time, and Silje cared for them on her own. No one had the courage to enter the homes of the sick and offer succour any longer. She remembered how she had fumbled around in a haze of tears – and how her prayers begging that they should not leave her had finally gone unanswered. Her baby brother had been coughing, choking, crying. She was all alone with him. That had been the worst day of all.

  There had been three coffins on that day, the last ones from the blacksmith’s little cottage. The foreman had come to the door that very same day, not daring to enter. A curt ‘You are to clear out, Silje. The master needs the cottage for the new blacksmith’ was all that was said. Nobody gave a thought to where she would go.

  A sound from across the lake brought her back from her sad contemplation. Was it the bark of a fox – or was it the scream of a tormented soul echoing down the valley? No, there it was again and it did sound more like a fox. But still she prayed it was nothing worse. In any case the interruption was welcome, because she was starting to feel her sadness take over again. She must stop reflecting on the past before it sapped all her strength – especially now that she needed all the energy she could muster.

  She relaxed slowly, and took long deep breaths of the strange smells and aromas of the cottage: birch-wood smoke, the dry straw of the mattresses, branches of juniper on the floor. Nothing nasty at all, she decided.

  Tengel had been so different when he left them and had told her to fasten the door. He had not wanted to see the desperate pleading expression on her face, her fear of being left on her own – and yes, her deep-felt desire for him to stay close to her.

  He had waited, holding the latch before he said, awkwardly, ‘It’s good that you are here, Silje – you and the children. It is easier for me.’ Then just as he closed the door, he added softly, ‘But also more difficult.’

  Tengel … Silje was trying to imagine his face close to hers, but couldn’t. Instead she saw an image of him outlined in the doorway, just as she had last seen him, his wolf-skin hood thrown back and his straight black hair reaching to his shoulders. This giant figure, with his broad upper body and shoulders, seemed so out of proportion that he resembled a proud forest animal, more like a stag or great bear with a large black mane. The wolf-skin did nothing to lessen this image. His legs were long and hips narrow; she had glimpsed beneath his shirt and noticed a profusion of chest hair, exactly like an animal’s. ‘Beast-man’ is what she had called him when she first saw him, and she was not the only person to use that description.

  How was she able to feel such a strong attraction to one so frightening? What were all these feelings that she had for him – loyalty, tenderness, warmth, belonging, sympathy, shy admiration and a burning, agonising sensual desire. No, she would not dwell on such thoughts again – she knew from experience that she would never get to sleep if she did. She curled up on the crumpled straw-filled mattress and finally fell into a slumber.

  ****

  The woman who lived in the next cottage, Tengel’s relative, was a great help to Silje during her first days in this strange valley. Eldrid was a very down-to-earth sort of person, sharing neither Tengel’s demonic looks, nor his dead sister’s beauty. A farming woman, she was hard-working and reliable. Although she had remained unwed, because nobody dared marry any descendant of the evil Tengel, she knew so much more than Silje about housekeeping and small children. Tengel had allowed her to take over all his livestock and, despite Silje’s protests, she arrived with fresh milk every morning. Although Silje felt that she should be fetching it herself, Eldrid insisted on bringing the milk for them all.

  Silje did her best to keep the cottage in good order and perform all the usual household tasks. She had to do everything herself; fetch water from a nearly frozen well; chop and bring in firewood; build a fire in the icy chill of morning; grind grain for bread-making; wash the children’s clothes; mend the split in Sol’s winter boots; try to fashion a sewing needle from a fishbone, because in their haste they had forgotten to pack the sewing things and she found none in the cottage, and much more besides.

  One thing that Silje had never quite realised was just how much Marie and Grete had done to reduce the burden on her of caring for the children. Now she was left to do everything herself. To her disappointment, she began to see that she would not be able to manage. An infant with a sore bottom after the long journey and a very unruly two year-old were driving her to distraction. She felt completely useless.

  Eldrid saw what was happening. ‘You are only seventeen, lass, and you’ve had two strange children dropped in your lap. I’m not sure you’re the homely sort either, are you? You’ve made it look very prett
y here and you’re working every hour there is, but still the dust piles high in the corners.’

  Disheartened, Silje dried her eyes. ‘I know. I thought I could at least manage the children, but I lack the patience.’

  Sol had been smacked for kicking burning embers over the floor for no other reason than that Silje had told her not to, and she was showing the world how badly she had been treated by screaming from the end room, even drowning out Dag’s continual whining. One by one, the bread cakes Silje had been trying to bake had been burnt to a cinder because of Sol’s unruliness.

  ‘Let me take the children for a few days, until you get settled,’ said Eldrid. ‘There have not been many children in my home, but Sol is my cousin’s daughter.’

  Silje hesitated. She was tempted, but on the other hand, being so fond of them, she wanted to keep them with her.

  ‘Thank you very much,’ she answered, ‘but I think we should talk to Tengel first. He has placed them in my hands and I should seek his advice.’

  ‘I understand, of course, but you are completely worn out and that will do you no good at all. Grown mothers with their own children can despair at times – and many give up for less. Tengel has told me what you have been through, about how you cared for the children and your friendliness towards him – and that is something he is unaccustomed to. You mean so well, Silje, yet you are no more than a young girl.’

  Embarrassed by this praise, Silje grinned. ‘I am so worried about Dag,’ she said. ‘His tiny bottom is red raw and no matter what I do to try to make it better, he screams almost all the time.’

  ‘May I take a look at the boy?’

  Eldrid’s work-worn hands held the babe with easy confidence.

  ‘Goodness me,’ she exclaimed, shocked by what she uncovered. ‘Why have you said nothing to Tengel? He can have this cleared up in a few days.’

  ‘Babies’ sore bottoms?’ Silje grinned in spite of her concerns. ‘I find that hard to believe.’