Connie waited a moment for him to answer. When he didn’t, she looked at him again.
“Are you sleeping?”
He began to stir.
“I was thinking . . .”
A big yawn.
“About another spectacular prank?”
“No. I was thinking . . . about how working in the picture business might be a little more, um, restful.”
She smiled.
“Good. You’ve come to your senses, then?”
Sam didn’t answer. After a few seconds, she nudged him with her elbow.
“Sam . . . remember? A deal’s a deal.”
She looked at him again. Asleep. Another nudge didn’t do any good, either.
Copyright © 2011 Douglas Grant Johnson
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FICTION
THE WITCH-COUPLE
MIKE CULPEPPER
Art by Tim Foley
In those days, many people in Iceland knew some magic. Some had learned the Sami art of finding lost things. There were those who knew words that kept away elves and trolls and others who used enchanted serpent-stones to help prevent disaster. But there were also people who used magic for evil purposes.
There was a couple east of the Trollfarm, near Helgafeld, who were said to practice night-magic. Their names were Ogmund and Agdis. They were old and bent and ugly to look at. Their faces were covered with warts and growths. They both had long noses and few teeth so, when their mouths were closed, their noses almost touched their chins. People avoided this couple and tried not to go near their house.
The year after the berserk feud, when the snow melted in the spring as elsewhere, dead horses were discovered. Then some cows dried up all at once. A young man was killed in a rockfall and his mother died soon after without a mark on her. People said it was a very unlucky year and spoke of uncanny events—lights moving out on the lavafield and the birth of deformed lambs and a two-headed calf. There was a great deal of talk about these matters and eventually someone said these happenings might be the result of curses or night-magic. Many thought of the witch-couple but no one spoke their name aloud. Finally, though, Ketil went to Thorolf to tell him what people were thinking. He had a peg-leg now, to replace the one the berserk had cut off, so people called him Ketil Tree-foot. Ketil took some others with him. They all thought someone had cursed them.
Thorolf brought them all into his house and ordered skyr and beer served to them. He noticed that many of them were wearing their best clothes, the ones usually reserved for Althing, so he knew they thought this an important matter. The men were agitated and ate little, but they drank all the beer that was served. They shifted about on the benches, muttering nervously to one another. Ketil looked around at them, and they quieted while he spoke. “It isn’t right that these things are allowed to happen and we do nothing about it. A young man and his mother dead, not to mention the horses!”
“Why do you think this bad luck is caused by night-magic?” asked Thorolf.
“Well, what else could it be?” said Ketil, and others murmured assent.
“A hard winter, perhaps, and a late spring. A careless lad, a woman struck by grief.”
“And the lights? The two-headed calf?”
Thorolf shrugged. “These are things we have seen before.”
“Perhaps we were cursed then, too,” said Ketil. People nodded. “Perhaps we should have done something about it then.”
“Perhaps we should quit spreading this kind of talk and tend to our farms,” said Thorolf. “I have often noticed that hard work leads to luck and good fortune.”
Ketil said, “Perhaps you should be more attentive to our needs.” He meant to suggest that he and the others might leave Thorolf’s godord and follow some other godi. The other men nodded. Their faces were hard as they looked at Thorolf, but he looked closely at each man and saw the lack of resolve there.
“There is no one harming you but yourselves,” said Thorolf. “If it were otherwise, I would certainly be defending you.”
So Ketil and the others left Thorolf, but they were unhappy and continued to grumble amongst themselves. Thorolf knew that he had to do something to quiet the gossip.
Thorolf called on Bjorn and Colm. “You are levelheaded men. Let’s ride out to this couple’s place and see what’s going on.”
They rode east toward Helgafeld for a ways. South, the land sloped gently upward into meadows that became divided where streams formed and flowed down to the river on the other side. North the land rose to the desolate lavafields. After they had been riding a while Colm said, “Haven’t we been here before?”
They looked around and thought they might be riding in circles. “How can that be?” said Thorolf. “We kept between the ridges always.”
So they marked the place where they were and rode east again. By and by they came upon the marker they had left. Bjorn began to be fearful. It was a bright sunlit day and warm, but Thorolf shivered. “Perhaps we should go back. It will be dark soon.”
It worried Colm to see how shaken Bjorn had become. He thought that they needed to do something now to put an end to witch talk before people became too frightened to move. He said, “I will ride up the hillside there ahead of us. You watch and see that I do not go wrong. Then when I am high up the slope, I will stop and watch you while you travel east and see what happens.” Thorolf gave his vigorous assent and Bjorn shut up and went along.
So Bjorn and Thorolf traveled east a long way without difficulty. Then they stopped and Colm rode along the crest of the hill south of them and watched as they rode. They traveled this way without any more problems and soon reached Helgafeld.
Ogmund and Agdis had built their house into the side of the hill. That was unusual, and dangerous, too, since a slide might bury the house or falling rocks crash through the roof that stuck out from the hillside. The farm seemed deserted. Long grass grew in the yard and the homefield was choked with weeds and dead grass. No dogs barked at the riders nor did anyone come outside to greet them. The place seemed lifeless. Thorolf dismounted and called out. He called twice before a voice came from inside the house. “Who is it?”
“It’s Thorolf, the godi.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to speak with you.”
After a few silent minutes, Ogmund came out into the yard. His eyes were unfriendly. Agdis followed him. The two old people looked much alike; they even had the same amount of wispy beard on their chins. If not for their clothing, you could not say who was Ogmund and who was Agdis.
“I’ll be frank,” said Thorolf. “There are some rumors going around about you, and I want to hear what you have to say about them.”
“We know about that,” said Ogmund. “Some fools say we practice night-magic and do harm to others, but we do nothing except keep to ourselves.”
“Perhaps that is the problem,” said Thorolf. “Why don’t you visit up at my farm so that people can see that you are ordinary folk?”
Colm thought that a poor notion since there was nothing ordinary about this couple’s appearance. He had often spoken to ugly or disfigured people and he noticed that, after a time, he became used to their faces, no matter how terrible they seemed at first. But he did not become accustomed to these two—in fact, their appearance became more frightful the longer he watched them. Ogmund’s voice was frightening, too, a low, droning moan that sometimes broke into a high screech.
“I don’t care what people think,” said Ogmund, “and I don’t want to go visiting.”
“We are all neighbors,” said Thorolf, “and we should get to know one another.”
“I don’t care to know the fools gossiping about me.”
“Perhaps, if you met them, the gossip would end. Anyway, some day you might need their help.”
“I will never ask for their aid.”
“The world can be a harsh place for those who are alone.”
“The wor
ld suits me well enough,” said Ogmund. And that was that. No words of Thorolf could move him. After a while, Thorolf gave up and they rode away.
“There are fools and then there are great fools,” muttered Thorolf.
Bjorn shuddered. “Did you feel it?”
“What?”
“The wind was from the west, now it is at our backs.”
“So the wind has shifted, so what?”
“No. I think it is we who have shifted.” Bjorn shuddered again.
Thorolf made a face and galloped on. The wind pushed at their backs all the way. Soon they were in familiar country not far from the river. Now the wind came from the west again. Bjorn was white and shaking. Thorolf said, “These are unpleasant folk but we have nothing to fear from them.” Colm nodded, but Bjorn wouldn’t answer him.
People kept talking about the couple, and Bjorn added to their talk. Now people began saying that they were weather-witches and blamed them when it rained too much or too little.
Gwyneth asked Colm, “Are these people hurting us?”
“No. They are ugly and unfriendly, but I think they are just people. They have grown old away from others and never developed cordial ways.”
Gwyneth nodded. “Perhaps they should be offered cordiality then, so that they may return it.”
“Thorolf tried.”
“Perhaps a woman should speak to Agdis.” Gwyneth set her mouth and Colm could see that she was determined to do something. He said nothing, but he felt afraid for her all at once.
Gwyneth went to see the widow Ingveld, who was a kind and thoughtful person. Together they put together a little basket of berries and cheese, a small gift that would not shame someone too poor to reciprocate. They gathered wildflowers to decorate the basket and set off east in a wagon.
Late in the day, the two women returned to the Trollfarm. Colm could see that they were very troubled. “Did you find the place all right?”
“Yes,” said Gwyneth, “we found it.” She said that Agdis had received them with harsh words, and when they offered her the basket, she slapped it from their hands. The berries flew from the basket and Agdis stamped on them, smashing them into jam. They picked up the basket and returned.
Ingveld asked to spend the night. She was afraid to be alone at her farm. Gwyneth made her up a place, and they sat around the fire, talking softly of pleasant things. The flowers in the basket had withered and turned brown, but no one spoke of it, since that sometimes happens with wildflowers.
Some days later, a yellow cloud blew along the river valley. It drifted uphill behind Ketil Tree-foot’s farm. Soon after, Ketil’s sheep began dying.
Colm went to Ketil’s place to see what was going on. Other men, including Bjorn and Thorolf, were already gathered there. A few dead sheep lay around; some had blood on their muzzles. The grass seemed to glitter, and Colm pulled some of it up. Tiny, needle-sharp crystals clung to the grass. Ketil led them over to a nearby pool where some small streams emptied. The water was a strange yellowish color; dead fish floated belly-up in the pool.
“It is time we did something about this!” said Ketil. Bjorn and some others agreed, and they began talking among themselves, working themselves up.
“You know what this is,” said Thorolf. “The yellow gas rises from volcanoes and condenses on the grass. Animals are poisoned by it.”
“And where did the gas come from?” yelled Ketil.
“From a volcano . . .” But Thorolf could not make himself heard over the shouting.
“There is no volcano doing this! It is sorcery!”
Thorolf motioned to Colm. “Ride to Helgafeld—if you can—and warn Ogmund and Agdis that there is trouble coming.”
Colm rode along the river, and when he got to a place opposite the lavafields, he spotted a yellow mist rising out over the rocks. He rode toward it and saw several fissures, long gaping slashes in the earth. Lava had poured out of the rifts and they still glowed red in places. Yellow smoke roiled up the gaps in the earth. All around, the bare rock was littered with dead birds. Colm did not ride any closer but continued on east.
He reached Helgafeld without any problem and rode up to the house.
“Go away!” someone shouted. Colm could not tell if it was the man or the woman.
“I have to tell you—”
“Go away!” They both shouted at once, but their voices broke at different times and it sounded to Colm like a cacophony of birds. He was going to call out again when Agdis backed out of the doorway. She walked backwards a few paces, then bent over and threw her dress over her head. She looked at Colm from between her legs. Her eyes stared wide and her lips were turned up in a huge toothless grin that, upside down, was an awful frown. Agdis came toward him quickly and Colm could not say if she was walking backwards or had somehow turned her feet on her ankles or her legs on her hips and was striding forward. The earth seemed to spin about him, and he felt himself hang upside down. His horse whinnied; Colm pulled at the bridle, but his horse went in a circle, and he still faced Agdis who was almost on him. He bolted forward, past her, and away.
Colm stopped fifty yards from the house and looked back. Agdis stood watching him. He saw her, a shrunken old woman, and was ashamed of his fear. “People are coming!” he shouted. “You should hide!” But Agdis went back inside.
Colm rode back along the way and waited. It was almost dusk when he saw the mounted men approaching. Thorolf rode up to him. “Are they inside?”
“Yes. They wouldn’t listen.”
Thorolf nodded. “We got lost again coming down here but this time I saw what happened. There’s a place that gets you turned around.”
Colm told Thorolf about Agdis. “It seemed to me that everything ran backwards and that she caused it.”
Thorolf said, “Well, I can’t say I’ve seen many people standing on their heads lately.”
“Even so, I think that is what she meant to do.”
“Do you believe she has that power?”
“No,” said Colm, “but perhaps she believes that she does.”
Thorolf nodded. “Well, perhaps she can make others believe in her power, too, but she is foolish to try.”
Colm said, “Did you see the yellow mist above the fissures?”
Thorolf nodded. “Oh yes. But these say that it isn’t natural, that Ogmund and Agdis must have done it somehow. It doesn’t matter that they have seen such things before.” He sighed. “Nothing now I can do. Sometimes a tooth must be pulled to save the jaw.”
* * *
Men gathered around the house set into the hillside at Helgafeld. Ketil Tree-foot stumped about on his new wooden leg. Anyone who gave him the opportunity soon heard a complete description of the berserk fight near Ketil’s sauna. He gestured at his leg and mimicked Svart’s moans and Snaekulf’s howls. He had quite the story now. Ketil didn’t speak of the berserk’s fate; that was for Gwyneth or Colm to do, and they kept quiet. People might find the notion of a killer-woman difficult to accept. Colm did not want to see Gwyneth the subject of gossip. People might say she upset the order of things and blame her in times of trouble. Colm looked about at the milling crowd and shuddered to think of it coming after Gwyneth.
Bjorn was over with Ketil now, waving his hands about as he described the fight and the killing of the twins who had come to the village to avenge the death of their cousin. He made certain to quote the witty dialogue he had with Thorolf about the well-struck blow. People laughed and he recited it again. He was very excited and jumped about like a young sheep at first grass. Thorolf came up to Colm. “Bjorn is getting very frisky,” he said.
Gerda thinks so, thought Colm, but he didn’t say it aloud for Gerda was Thorolf’s daughter. Still he smiled and Thorolf caught it. “Yes,” he said, “Gerda thinks so.”
“She looks good these days.”
“Yes. But I am a little concerned about Bjorn. I think he is losing his balance. Some days he is moody and other days like this.” He nodded at the man. Bjorn was ges
turing wildly and shouting as he performed. “I don’t think Gerda can calm him.” He looked at Colm. “Perhaps he needs the words of a quiet friend.”
“Perhaps.” Colm nodded. “I don’t know what I can do, but I will try. I can’t stop this, though.” He waved at the crowd of excited people.
“No,” said Thorolf, “this is beyond helping.”
Colm heard a racket and looked west to see wagons approaching. Women from the area led by Gerda, Bjorn’s wife. A great shouting rose from some of the wagons, but one was quiet. Gwyneth was in it and Ingveld and Thorolf’s Marta. Colm rode over.
“Are they inside?” asked Gwyneth.
“Yes.”
“These people mean to kill them.”
“I know,” said Colm.
Gerda was pregnant and it took several people to help her down from her wagon. She looked about with shining eyes and stroked her great belly. She shouted commands at the other women; it was obvious she thought herself in charge of them.
People had arrived from other godords now. Many of them said that they, too, had suffered difficulties and had seen strange things in the last while. They all said Ogmund and Agdis were responsible.
A group of slaves stood off to one side. It was not for them either to interfere or to take part, unless told otherwise. For a moment, Colm envied them: They had no cares or responsibilities. He felt a harsh judgment forming in his mind, but then he saw the way the slaves were standing, tense and uneasy, eyes darting about. Once blood began to flow who could say where the killing would stop? After all, these slaves were no more part of the community than this old couple now being cast out.
Once Colm himself had been a slave and the boundaries of his world were the clothes on his back. Now he was a freedman of some stature, a farm owner and man of property expected to do his part in the community, asked to aid a friend who was struggling, looked to for advice and assistance. Colm looked at his neighbors rushing about, eyes wide with excitement. There were times he felt very much apart from these others.
The crowd swarmed about the doorway, but no one had the courage to go in. People yelled for the couple to come out but there was no sound from inside the house. It was getting dark and people began lighting torches and stone vessels of fat for light. Soon enough someone got the idea of tossing a torch onto the roof where it jutted from the hillside. It burned for a moment, then went out. People pointed at it, shouting that this was more sorcery! Someone poked a torch under the eaves and the thin rafters and brush that supported the turf began to catch. Soon the roof was smoking. People shouted and ran about, gathering fuel that they piled against the walls or throwing pitch and fat onto the roof. Smoke billowed from the smoldering house. Finally it began to blaze. The crowd cheered. Ogmund stumbled out of the doorway. Agdis was close behind. They were coughing. The crowd fell back, afraid of them, and watched them silently. The old couple’s eyes were full of smoke and they rubbed their faces. They bent over and spat on the ground.
Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine 04/01/11 Page 12