Forty Days Without Shadow: An Arctic Thriller

by Olivier Truc

  “So Niils Labba had the gift, too?”

  “Mattis’s grandfather? Yes, as I said. And for generations back. Their family, and two or three others in Sápmi, took it upon themselves to pass on the knowledge. I’m talking about a very little-known aspect of the Sami tradition. And one that many people would find disturbing, if it was made public. But some families saw themselves as the guardians of traditions that had become secret, due to the campaigns of persecution carried out by the royal Scandinavian armies and the pastors, beginning in the seventeenth century.”

  “And this drum?”

  “One of the things that was handed down in secret over the generations, I suspect. For its own protection, quite simply.”

  “What about the symbols?”

  Hurri Manker nodded. “The separation between the two worlds places great importance on the underworld, the realm of the dead. Very great importance.”

  “But with a hunting scene, and village life, with lots of people and healthy, bushy trees as a sign of abundance, up at the top. And the same village, empty, underneath,” said Nina.

  “Exactly. You don’t need me—you’ve read it all perfectly yourselves!”

  “I’m afraid that’s as far as it goes,” said Nina.

  “Well, yes, the abandoned village is the first rather disturbing sign, though natural symbols like these are very common. Sami religion in the pre-Christian era was based on an extensive pantheon—gods of nature and natural phenomena. For the Sami, everything has a soul. Nature itself has a soul; it is a living thing. The power expressed through natural phenomena was the object of a very particular cult. This large cross with a lozenge shape in the center represents the sun—a classic symbol on many drums, known as the Beaivi. Highly effective for driving out evil spirits and sickness. Now, look at what the sun bears in its branches. At the top, we have a deity.”

  “So it’s not a tent?”

  Manker smiled patiently. “A deity. Like these two here, on the left, but I’ll come back to them later. The goddess in the sun is called Madderakka. Very important. She is the origin of all things, the great ancestor, the woman-chief. She receives mortal souls, and she has a particular faculty: she forms unborn infants in her own body. But there’s one thing I find very disturbing: these little dots on her head.”

  “Are they unusual?”

  “No—but they can have only one meaning, sadly. Sorrow. Misfortune. What we see here is a malevolent Madderakka. The dots are an indicator of how dangerous she is. And that casts a very dark shadow over the kingdom of the dead, here. Unsurprising, really, when we read the rest.”

  “What in particular?”

  “Well, let’s look at the two other goddesses I mentioned, these two here on the left. Their positioning varies in different Sami regions and traditions. Most often, there are three of them. They are the daughters of Madderakka, the woman-chief. The Sami believed a person’s soul traveled through life in stages, from goddess to goddess. The figure furthest to the right is Sarakka. She is the eldest daughter. She’s also said to be the most accomplished of the three. Sarakka is the first to receive the souls presented to her by her mother. Sarakka enables the soul to become an unborn fetus. In bygone days, Sami women gave birth in tents, or peat huts, with an open hearth in the middle.”

  “I’ve seen those,” said Nina.

  Hurri was in full flow. He seemed not to hear her and continued with his explanation. “And Sarakka lived in the hearth, inside the tent. Which is why she was known as the fire-mother. She was the guardian of all Sami women. Even after the Samis’ forced Christianization, children baptized in church were sometimes brought home and baptized again with a new name, in honor of Sarakka.”

  “Which goddess takes care of the soul next?” asked Nina.

  “You have the goddess to Sarakka’s left. She is called Juksakka. The goddess of the bow, which makes her easily recognizable. I have rather a soft spot for Juksakka, in fact—she turns girls into boys.”

  Nina eyes widened in astonishment.

  “Yes, the Sami believe all children are girls to begin with, in their mother’s belly. Those who become boys do so thanks to the good offices of Juksakka. We owe her a great deal, you and I, officer,” said Hurri, addressing Klemet.

  “I’ll remember that,” Klemet promised. “But you mentioned three goddesses.”

  “Yes, and in fact, you see the trees surrounding them? You will notice that a large space has been left for the third goddess. Look at the position of the left-hand tree.”

  “Exactly.” Nina peered at the drum.

  “We’re missing a goddess. The third daughter. Her name is Uksakka. Uksakka lives in the entrance to the tent or hut, just under the awning. She is sometimes known as the doorkeeper. And do you know what her role is? She keeps watch over everyone entering and leaving. She protects mothers and their infants after a birth. She guards them against sickness and enables the child to grow. Her presence in the doorway, opposite the fire, is symbolic: she prevents children from falling into the fire. And I can find only one interpretation of her absence here.”

  Klemet and Nina listened expectantly.

  “Whoever drew these symbols wants us to understand that people were defenseless in the face of danger. If we add Uksakka’s absence to the evil manifestation of the woman-chief Madderakka, we have the ingredients of a highly unusual story. This drum is unique in that regard—it does seem to tell a story. Now, let’s look at the sun again—the symbols suspended in its branching rays. They are easily read. On the left, you have a soldier, the figure with the bow in each hand. On the right, with two crosses, we have a pastor. And right at the bottom you have the symbol of the king, you see? With his crown. A soldier, a pastor, and a king, all under the sway of the malevolent Madderakka.”

  Nina frowned in concentration. “Would the soldier, the pastor, and the king be the bringers of the great catastrophe?”

  “Well done, not bad!” Hurri was genuinely impressed. “I think you have put your finger on a crucially important element. Yes, absolutely. And for Madderakka, the mother-queen, to be so closely connected to the symbols of earthly power, the catastrophe must have been great indeed. And see here, we have two huge crows just above Madderakka, between her and the goddess daughters. Now, look at the rest. We have the empty village. Something has happened—we are clearly meant to read the image as such, because it’s right underneath the inhabited village. The contrast is striking and intentional. And to the right of the village, you have the sign that I take to be a doorway of some kind. There’s a symbolic aspect to it, though I can’t quite pin it down.”

  The professor looked up at the two police officers, in search of clues. But nothing was forthcoming.

  “Suppose it is indeed a doorway of some kind. Or a building. Or a monument. I’m out of ideas for the moment. Look lower down. These very regular motifs. Strange, aren’t they? Even more surprising in that they clearly represent some sort of hallucination. But I’m in the dark again here. Because the hallucination leads on to a series of coffins. Four coffins. Death. Many deaths. We have the explanation for the empty village. Everyone has died. But why the hallucination? Where does it come from?”

  Hurri looked concerned. “Below the coffins, there is even a funeral ship. You see it there? An upturned ship with a cross. And the people next to the ship are upside down, too. Dead, undoubtedly. They’re the same people that we see standing upright, to the right of the door, or monument. They have moved from life into death. Who are they?”

  “They’re all carrying weapons,” said Nina. “What sort of weapon?”

  “Yes, a weapon. An ax. Or a pistol, perhaps?”

  “A pistol?” Klemet frowned. “Not many of those around here. Especially not in the past.”

  “In which case, perhaps they’re soldiers,” said Nina.

  “But the soldiers are represented with bows, aren’t they?” Klemet looked questioningly at Hurri.

  “True. But there may have been various ways
to represent soldiers. Each drum-painter will have depicted them differently, though individual painters tend to be consistent in the use of their particular symbolism. Each painter would always draw soldiers consistently, for example, in their own way.”

  Hurri Manker helped himself to another cup of hot chocolate and bit into his cinnamon roll. His nose was red with cold, but he was not complaining. Still chewing, he ran a chilled finger over the right-hand section of the drum.

  “A reindeer pulling a sleigh. First time I’ve seen that on a drum. And these dots on the sleigh. A sleigh as an evil omen? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Someone suggested they might be stones,” said Klemet.

  “Ah yes, indeed. A sleigh for transporting stones.”

  Manker nodded slowly. He seemed to be sizing up the different hypotheses, processing the hundreds of symbols he had identified and committed to memory from other drums, finding similarities, connections. He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to change his mind. He sat deep in thought once again.

  “If these people are carrying weapons—it doesn’t matter if they’re axes, or pistols, or rifles, or something else—something is clearly happening to them, and they die,” said Klemet. “They are the same people; that seems to fit.”

  “Unless the upside-down ones have lost a battle against the people on the other side,” prompted Nina.

  Still Hurri Manker said nothing. He seemed not to have heard the officers’ suggestions. His eyes narrowed behind his small, round spectacles.

  “I’m fascinated by the mind of this drum painter,” he said at last. “I think the design can be read on several levels. I’m sure he wanted to conceal something, in case the drum fell into the wrong hands. But at the same time, he wanted to deliver an important message.”

  “What do you see in the other symbols?” asked Nina.

  “A process of elimination is what’s required,” said Hurri. “There, the square with two crosses on top—that’s a church. Unquestionably. And we should note that it’s positioned directly opposite from the crows, on the other side of the sun. Do we take that as a sign? I have no idea. At the bottom right, there’s an area differentiated from the rest. These cone shapes down here. At first, I thought they represented a Sami camp. But now I think they’re mountains. And between the two other mountains further to the left, either a high pass, or a sun in the process of rising or setting. And a reindeer, clearly visible, and two fish, and a boat. And in the middle of this section, a cross. Astonishing.”

  “A religious cross, or a cross to mark the location of something?” asked Nina.

  “You’ve hit the nail on the head,” said Manker. “Inspired intuition again, my dear!”

  “Brilliant,” said Klemet drily. “X marks the spot, between two mountains. That narrows it right down—we’ll be there in a flash.”

  “But there are these fish and the boat,” said Manker. “A lake with rich stocks of fish.”

  “Terrific, that narrows it down again to about a hundred possible places. Easy.”

  “And the reindeer indicates pasture, perhaps a migration route,” Hurri went on.

  “You think that gets us any further at all?” Klemet remained unconvinced.

  Nina widened her eyes at him behind the professor’s back. Her partner responded with a deep sigh.

  “Setting that to one side,” Hurri continued, “I believe we’re making progress. We still have this circle, to the bottom left of the sun. Very strange, too. And a figure in the middle, and four other smaller figures standing on its rim. Three of them are human, but one has dots above its head.”

  “Some kind of malevolent being?” said Nina softly.

  “Yes, most certainly. And the animal next to it is a wolf. A wolf alongside the humans, surrounding this other figure.”

  “The Sami sometimes refer to Man as a wolf on two legs,” said Klemet.

  “Well,” said Hurri, “that may be exactly what this drawing means. Men as malevolent as wolves.”

  “And the man in the middle?” asked Nina.

  “He’s wearing skis, as you can see, and carrying a ski stick. The Sami only ever skied with one stick. The ski represents winter and movement. In the other hand, he seems to be carrying the same weapon as everyone else, but upside down.”

  “A deserter!” said Nina. “Or a soldier refusing to shoot. Or to carry out orders, trying to get away.”

  Hurri shot another admiring glance at the policewoman.

  “I don’t know for sure if that’s what we see here, but your interpretation is superb. I’ll have to borrow you from the police for a few weeks to look at my other drums. Now, there are just two symbols left for us to examine. First, the snake. I’m intrigued by this because, as we know, there are no snakes in Sápmi.”

  “Yep,” said Klemet. “So what?”

  “So the absence of snakes in Sápmi does not mean that our drum painter ignores their existence. The snake may symbolize external intervention. Or perhaps we should pay closer attention to the snake’s shape, the direction in which it lies. I would be tempted to interpret it in the context of the drum’s function as a kind of map.”

  “A map?” said Nina.

  “The more we look at it, the more I’m convinced that this drum is indeed authentic and utterly remarkable. Because it does not fulfill the usual functions. I’m absolutely certain—at least, I’m as certain as I can be—that it comprises two drums in one. One telling us a tragic story, and the other pointing to a specific location.”

  “Where the catastrophe took place?”

  “I’d stake my last flask of hot chocolate on it, yes.”

  “The signs down the right-hand edge, these rippling waves,” said Klemet. “A chain of mountains, perhaps, the Swedish-Norwegian border? That might help us to pinpoint the spot marked by the X.”

  “Yes, but I think the author is consistent in his use of symbols,” said Hurri. “All his other mountains straddle the rim of the drum. That’s no accident. When you talk about rippling waves, you’re nearer to the truth than you think––”

  “The aurora borealis!” said Nina.

  Hurri Manker looked at her with the satisfaction of a schoolmaster who knows his favorite pupil will not disappoint. “We may wonder why the Lights have been included here,” he said. “Especially given that they take up so much space around the edge of the design. I don’t think they are here merely for decoration. Everything in this design has a meaning. Should we connect them to the hallucination? I don’t think so. It’s tempting, but the Lights are too remote from it.”

  Nina noticed Klemet’s faraway look in the candlelight.

  “My grandfather told me some extraordinary things about the Lights,” he said. “He had to…give up breeding reindeer when I was very small. But he said the breeders used the Lights as a kind of compass during the migration.”

  “Now that’s interesting,” said Hurri.

  “Yes, he said the Lights always unfurled from east to west.”

  Hurri raised a hand for silence. He had just had an idea. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “The Lights are here to point out a direction. North, quite simply.” And he laughed delightedly at his discovery. “The cunning of this shaman! We might have taken the drum, held it in front of us and decided that the top was north. But no! To find north, we have to turn it through ninety degrees. Bravo! The aurora tells us how to hold the drum, and the east-west movement tells us how to locate east and west on the drum. And hence north, too. Our map is beginning to take shape. But, of course, it remains altogether too vague for me.”

  “Not for us, perhaps,” said Klemet quietly.

  He was remembering the geographical characteristics they had identified, with Eva Nilsdotter’s help, at the Nordic Geological Institute. Eva made a great Madderakka, in a funny kind of way.

  * * *

  Highway 93

  Patrol P9 headed north in Klemet’s aging Volvo. The drum had been carefully wrapped in its blanket once again. />
  “You were thinking the same as me, weren’t you?” said Klemet.

  “The curse Niils Labba talked about when he handed the drum to Henri Mons in 1939?”

  “Yes. It fits the images of death and evil. I wonder if Niils actually made the drum, or one of his ancestors.”

  “We’ll have to wait for Hurri’s other test results.”

  “Yes. Though I don’t think the drum’s exact age is crucial for our purposes. Eva Nilsdotter talked about the legendary seam that had brought bad luck, but which no one had managed to identify.”

  “And Flüger’s field book. The seam he was looking for: ‘The entrance is on the drum.’ And ‘Niils has the key.’”

  “Yes. Shame—I rather liked your drowned village. Or the flooded mine.”

  “The drum tells the story of the curse. Think about the reindeer transporting the stones on sledges. Mineral ore. People were using reindeer to transport mineral ores.”

  “The mine…” Klemet thought hard. “This doorway. It could be the mine entrance, not a building at all. Nina, the doorway represents the mine. That must be it. And the reindeer are transporting the mineral ore through the doorway, with the little figures of men carrying weapons. Guards, perhaps.”

  “Or miners. With axes—those aren’t weapons, Klemet! Remember what Hurri said: the drum painter was consistent in his use of symbols. On this drum, the soldier carries two bows, like the symbol on one of the branches of the sun, not axes. I’m sure the other figures are miners. And the upside-down figures are the same miners, but dead. And inside the circle, another miner, trying to escape on skis, but who has been caught.”

  Nina’s face shone with intense excitement. Klemet had never seen her like this before. She took the drum out of its blanket and held it in front of her, turning it to catch the faint glow from the ceiling light in the car. Klemet concentrated on the dark road ahead, shooting quick, sidelong glances at his colleague.