He looked thoughtfully at her, not wanting to laugh at her ignorance. ‘It’s been a long while since you have refused me for womanly reasons, has it not?’
She considered this, ‘Yes, yes it was a while ago. I’ve had so many things to do that I have given it no thought. Oh, Tengel!’ she sat up, panic-stricken. ‘Of course – naturally! When nothing happened straight away last spring, I thought maybe it never would. I put it from my mind, you see?’
Tengel was looking resolute. ‘I have been wondering about this for some time, but I haven’t had the courage to speak to you. When do you think?’
Silje started to count, but it wasn’t easy because she had not been paying any heed to herself, no longer expecting anything to happen, not considering the possibility of motherhood. ‘In April,’ she said hesitantly.
Now he looked at her sombrely for a long, long time. ‘I have the power to stop it – a potion ...’
She shot to her feet, angry and confused. ‘You wouldn’t dare!’
‘But what if it is a monstrosity?’
Tears welled up in her eyes.
‘Monstrosity!’ she sniffed. Are you a monstrosity? Is Sol? Is Eldrid? Or was your sister, Sunniva? I have seen others of your kin in this valley, yes I have, and do you think I’m afraid of them? If you take away my child, you will never see me again.’
She exaggerated, of course, but she wanted to make sure he was in no doubt about how she felt.
Tengel closed his eyes and sighed.
‘It will be as you wish,’ he said, but he seemed far from happy about it.
Tengel in fact, as the days passed, was distinctly apprehensive about the baby they were expecting. He lay awake with worry, heaving great aching sighs and making Silje feel so guilty that she began to doubt she had done the right thing. However, when she examined her own heart, she knew quite clearly – she was sure that she wanted this baby.
In the days leading to Christmas, she went to Hanna and Grimar’s cottage with some bits of food that they barely were able to spare. She simply knocked at the door and placed the basket on the step, then left, but not before she turned to see Grimar picking up the food. He stared at her, she thought, as if noticing suddenly that she was with child.
Throughout this period, Tengel became withdrawn and quiet and, to make things worse, Silje’s health continued to wane. He knew that she was suffering a great deal, although she never complained. She liked him to rest his warming hands on the small of her back – it soothed the constant nagging pains. This is the price I must pay for not being pear-shaped, she thought, smiling at how indignant she had been when Benedikt drew his picture of her on the church wall. She imagined that women with broad hips must have a much easier time when carrying a child.
On top of all else, a harsh winter brought bitter weather. The snows came early and remained throughout Christmas season. Everyone stayed inside their homes, as the drifts piled up as high as the roofs. The only way out was to dig tunnels through the packed snow to reach outhouses and barns. The cold caused a great deal of suffering – one old man was discovered frozen to death just outside his house. They could not bury him, but kept his corpse on a litter in the woodshed to wait for spring. A young lad who had been out hunting suffered frostbite on both legs and Tengel was sent for. He was very upset when he returned from the lad’s home, but never revealed what he had done there.
Their stocks of food did not seem enough to last until spring, so Tengel and Silje used them as sparingly as they could. This was bad news, because Silje now needed good nourishment. Dag had started to crawl and, by holding on to walls and furniture, he was able to get everywhere. Although he was not as lively as Sol, he was very clever at pulling things to the floor wherever and whenever they came within reach. Silje felt she could no longer leave the children with Eldrid, as they were too difficult for her to watch now. Despite the swaddling, Dag’s legs had not grown completely straight and Silje blamed herself for this, because she had so often loosened his covering. Tengel, knowing more than most people, said that it was caused at birth or by a lack of some vital life-giving element.
Silje found it hard to hide the fact that she was beginning to grow tired of the valley. It was not because of their hardships – she and her beloved Tengel shared them all – but she became overwhelmed by a frightening sense of helplessness when faced by the forces of nature. This was increased by the isolation and the cold, together with that intangible something in the valley that always troubled her, yet she was not able to define.
She had shared her feelings with Tengel on one occasion, explaining that it seemed as though the will to live was being drained out of her.
‘I know,’ he had said, ‘it is something that old evil Tengel left behind him as a parting gift.’
But she hadn’t truly believed him.
Then, late in March on a day bright with life-giving spring sunshine, her labour pains started. Eldrid took the children home with her and two of the neighbours’ wives stayed with Silje.
It soon became clear to them all that it would not be an easy birth. Tengel did what he could to comfort Silje, and gave her a hot bitter drink that helped to relieve the pain. In great secrecy he read some of his incantations, but time wore on and, after two days of unyielding agony, everybody was getting anxious.
Silje could tell what Tengel was thinking – it was written all over his face. He had never been able to forget that it was his own deformed shoulders that had cost his mother her very life.
Silje lay exhausted on her bed, sweat glistening at her temples, her tired eyes dark and puffy. She no longer had the strength to sit in the specially built birthing chair. She looked up at everyone who stood at her bedside.
‘May I have some water, please,’ she asked. Her mouth was so dry. Loving hands lifted her head and a wooden cup was held to her lips. She sipped a little water then sank back on the bed. ‘Get Hanna! ’ she whispered at last.
‘Have you lost your mind?’ Tengel exclaimed.
The women both crossed themselves.
‘Is there another who can help my child now?’ she asked.
‘It is dying, Tengel!’
And so are you, was the unspoken feeling in the room.
‘We shall wait a little longer,’ he muttered. ‘Perhaps it will be all right.’
But there was no change, other than Silje growing weaker. As the evening came they lit the rarely used oil lamps and placed them around Silje’s bed. It looked as though she was already dead and Tengel shuddered at the sight. He felt useless – he had done everything he could and nothing helped.
Then suddenly the door opened, startling everybody. There in the room stood the most grotesque likeness of a human that Silje had ever seen. The women screamed and fled into the children’s room, closing and barring the door firmly behind them.
‘Silje called for me,’ said Hanna. Tengel, too, took a step back from her.
‘Go outside, foolish boy, you are of no use here!’ muttered Hanna. ‘And keep those worthless women out as well!’
Tengel walked to the door. Silje lay watching, horrified by the awful figure shuffling towards her on grossly swollen legs. She could never have imagined anything like it and the sight made her understand why Tengel had objected so strongly to having children.
‘Hello again, Mother Hanna,’ she said.
Tengel turned as he reached the door. ‘Again?’ Had Silje been keeping something from him? But his thoughts were interrupted as Hanna waved him away impatiently.
Consumed with regret and anxiety, he left the room, for he did not dare force Hanna to leave. She was the one person nobody would ever want to cross!
If Hanna had been in the world beyond this valley, she would have been burned at the stake long ago, Silje thought to herself, trying to stop trembling. Here was a witch, a sorceress of the worst kind. Her bulging eyes seemed to be on fire beneath matted tufts of dark grey hair and a demonic grin played on the lips of the almost toothless, sunken hollow that
was her mouth. Her clothes were nothing but rags that hung about her, rotted and decayed. Silje could not escape the vile feeling that these were the clothes Hanna had been wearing when she died and was buried, long ago. The skin was a sickly yellow with blotches of grey and black – it had never been washed. Her eyes had the same colour as Tengel’s, but they were rheumy and rimmed with skin that was far older, yet still they shone in a way that seemed to burn right into Silje. Hanna’s head was thrust forward from between her hunched shoulders, giving her the appearance of an ill-tempered predator.
Silje felt a wave of nausea wash over her as Hanna drew nearer. How on earth would she hide her disgust for this woman? How could she remain civil to her?
Then, in that strangely clear voice of hers, Hanna said, ‘Let Hanna have a look. We’ll see if we can’t bring this young lady into the world.’
‘A girl?’ asked Silje, amazed. ‘You know?’
‘Of course I do! No, do not be afraid. You have done favours for me, now I shall do one for you. Besides, we both want this youngster to be born alive, don’t we?’
Silje nodded, but at that moment her body shuddered with a new bout of pain.
Seeing this, Hanna shook her ugly head. ‘That is not good. First we must give you something to build your strength, for this will take all your energy, my girl! Oh – that man Tengel! He cost his mother her life, you know. He is harsh on his womenfolk, that one!’
She fumbled in the pockets of her clothing. Silje breathed out, trying to avoid the choking stench that this witch carried with her, trying not to look at the few crooked teeth, the blackened pores and the wrinkles.
‘Here – do you have any water?’
Silje pointed. Hanna filled the wooden cup and gave Silje a white powder.
‘That is just for your heart.’
Hands shaking, Silje lifted the cup to her lips and managed to swallow the powder. She looked up at Hanna with the eyes of a wounded animal.
‘Help me,’ she whispered.
The aged crone nodded, ‘No one calls on Hanna in vain. We will make this right.’
Silje had begun to harbour doubts, but was reassured by the kind words. After waiting a while, Hanna took out another powder, this time grey-green in colour, with an odour that made Silje’s nostrils twitch. Instinctively she pressed her head back into the pillow.
‘Drink this down, it will soften your hardened bones.’
Silje dared not refuse, even though somewhere in her head a voice was telling her to ask what was in the powder. These would not be simple herbs!
‘There, then!’ said Hanna. ‘Now we wait. You should have been in the chair, but I doubt you are strong enough.’
Silence filled the room.
‘Aaah – no! No!’ Silje’s body was contorted with a terrible stomach pain. It felt as if she had eaten crushed glass or drunk burning acid. Hanna was mouthing words as her hands moved, making circles in the air above Silje’s tortured body. Then there was a stab of pain so fierce that, as she screamed, everything around her went black.
I am going to die, Silje thought. Merciful God, I am dying. This child will be born – dead or alive – but I will die. This loathsome woman, this spawn of Satan, only wants the child. She has sacrificed me!
Then she felt the touch of Hanna’s ghastly hands on her, and heard her muttering terrible incantations.
‘Belial, Athys, Kybele, Reba, Apollyon, Lupos Astaroth, Nema ...’
To Silje’s tired mind it sounded as if she was summoning demons. No, she thought, not demons, not now! I am in the Valley of the Ice People and I have seen the demons rise above the mountains. It is all my doing, this is all my fault and I am to be punished. I have made love with a demon! All this went through her mind – and then, nothing.
****
Slowly, very slowly, Silje climbed back out of a deep black well. She heard noises, faint at first, then more clearly. They were voices.
‘She is so tiny and weak.’ It was one of the farmer’s wives.
‘Slap her backside, you foolish woman, and put your finger in her mouth.’ This was Hanna’s strident voice.
Silje wondered what were they talking about. She felt a warm hand on her brow and heard Tengel’s gentle voice, indistinct but close by. ‘Silje, Silje. Come back to me!’
She fought to tell him that she was alive, but nothing in her body seemed to work. She heard a child’s weak cry. Was that Dag? No, his cries were far louder. The myling in the forest had cried like that. A newborn – a newborn baby? A little girl for her and Tengel?
‘So tiny,’ said the farmer’s wife. ‘That little creature will never survive.’
At last Silje had regained the strength to open her eyes, but everything seemed shrouded in mist.
‘Tengel,’ she whispered.
‘Thanks be to God,’ she heard him whisper in reply. His hand lovingly stroked the hair from her temple. Part of her wanted to see her baby and part of her could not. She ought not to, not before she felt stronger.
‘Hanna gave me something,’ she said. ‘It soon worked.’
‘Well hardly ”soon”,’ whispered Tengel, ‘you were fighting for your life for a long time after that.’
She gave this some thought.
‘It’s very painful – has it torn me wide open?’
‘I think it may have.’
Hanna, who was crouched by the fire like an animal about to pounce, turned to them.
‘Your wife is not a good child-bearer, Tengel.’
‘Do you mean that this will be our only one?’ he asked.
‘It should be,’ the old crone replied with a nasty knowing grin, ‘but you won’t be able to keep away!’
Tengel and Silje exchanged a glance and tried to stifle a smile. He had tears in his eyes, something she had never seen before.
‘These embers tell me strange and remarkable things,’ said Hanna suddenly ‘From your kin there will be ...’ She paused.
‘There will be what?’ Tengel asked at once, ‘This evil we carry, will it continue?’
‘It will – it will. But far stranger are the things of this world. You asked me once if I could see your future, Silje. I see it now. You are the Ice People – you and no others.’
‘But that cannot be,’ argued Tengel. ‘All who live in this valley are the Ice People.’
Hanna smiled the smile of one who holds the oracle.
‘It will be as I say. From the children you bring into this world, Silje, you will have great, great joy – and one great sadness. And then … no, it doesn’t matter. But this I don’t understand. I see a double line of trees ...’
‘An avenue of linden trees?’ asked Silje. ‘That cannot be possible.’
Hanna ignored them and turned her attention back to the embers in the hearth. Tengel stood up to take the swaddled baby from the farmer’s wife.
‘Do you want to see her?’ he asked Silje with genuine fatherly pride.
Silje closed her eyes, ‘Is it ...?’
Before she had finished the question, Hanna, without looking up from the fire, answered, ‘You need not be afraid of that one. She carries no powers.’
Quietly, Silje gave a sigh of relief. Looking up, she was dismayed to see how tiny and blue with cold the poor little thing was. ‘She is pretty,’ she said unconvincingly. ‘But will she have red hair?’
‘No more than you, I expect,’ replied Tengel.
He loves her already, she thought with surprise. He who had never wanted a child – while I, who fought so long for it, do not have the strength in me to feel anything.
Then the other farmer’s wife, who had kept as far away as possible from Hanna, asked, ‘What will you name her?’
Silje noticed that the old hand, which had been clutching a stick and turning the embers of the fire, stopped still. Although not looking towards them, Hanna was obviously listening intently.
Tengel answered, ‘She is such a tiny, poor little thing. I have been thinking about the day you found Dag in the fo
rest. You remember that you said you would have named him Liv, if he had been a girl?’
‘I remember,’ said Silje.
Beside the fire, Hanna’s hunched shoulders dropped slightly.
‘Then I would like her name to be ”Liv”,’ said Tengel.
‘Liv is a good name, but I want her to have a second one, just like the other children,’ whispered Silje.
The fearful creature by the tire held her breath.
‘I want her to be called ”Liv Hanna”,’ added Silje in a stronger voice.
Tengel looked doubtful and a little scared, then he said loudly, ‘Her name is Liv Hanna.’
Now the hideous crone again began to stir the embers excitedly. A strange whining, humming tune came from her lips. Silje didn’t know what it was – spells, chants or tradition? Whatever it was, she could not deny that it held all the pride and joy that this sad, banished old woman now felt. She was obviously singing for the baby, yet there seemed to Silje to be no hint of evil in these strange heathen verses.
The Ice People - Next Book
The Ice People 2 - Witch-Hunt
Summer 1586: Silje, the courageous sixteen-year-old peasant girl orphaned by the Trondheim plague in the opening Ice People Novel, Spellbound, has just come of age in this sequel Witch-hunt. Having fled for her life with her adored ‘wolf-man’ Tengel and two children she rescued from the plague, she is struggling at 21 to come to terms with the harchness of life among witches and warlocks in the high mountain valley of the mysterious Ice People.
Silje has bravely borne Tengel their first child, a daughter Liv. But their life of austere poverty is shattered when savage, witch-hunting troops invade the remote valley to slaughter all its feared inhabitants. Warned in time, Silje, Tengel and the three children flee from the carnage to the lowlands ... But are they unknowingly carrying with them to the rest of Europe the accursed heritage of the Ice People?
The Ice People - Overview
The Ice People 1 – Spellbound
The Ice People 2 – Witch-Hunt
The Ice People 3 – Daughter of Darkness
Spellbound Page 23