Last Rituals

by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

  Thóra shook her head. Matthew had clearly expected a more active response, so she ventured: “I don’t know—because he’s a walking encyclopedia?”

  “No. Or yes, he may well be. But he knew all about the symbol because he remembered how incredibly excited Harald was to hear about it.”

  “So Harald talked to him about that particular symbol?” asked Thóra.

  “Yes and no. Harald originally contacted Páll in connection with magic symbols in general and asked him about some that weren’t in the standard reference books. Then he asked about the Icelandic book of spells we saw at the exhibition. Páll described the main spells in it and said one in particular had aroused Harald’s interest—a fairly nasty spell, although it belongs to the cycle of love charms. Apparently Páll asked Thorgrímur if we’d noticed it. The leaf we saw at the exhibition is the opening passage—there’s a lot more on the next page which is not on show. Guess what the spell involved.”

  “You take a dead man’s eyes and do something with them?” Thóra guessed.

  “No, but that’s still important. If I understood it right, this charm is supposed to make a woman fall in love with you. You have to dig a hole in the floor that the woman walks over, put snake’s blood in the hole, and write her name with some magic symbols. Finally you recite a charm—the very charm that was sent to Harald’s mother.” Matthew gave a proud smile.

  “You mean the poem?” asked Thóra.

  “You got it,” Matthew replied. “That’s not all. Páll said Harald was profoundly interested in the charm and they discussed it in depth—whether it only worked on a lover or could apply to a different form of love, whether the hole had to be in the floor, and so on. Then they discussed the symbol scrawled in the margin of the charm.” Matthew paused.

  “And?” Thóra asked impatiently.

  “It turns out that the symbol in the margin is unknown, but resembles a Nordic symbol for a revenge charm. The only difference is one branch missing from the arm at the top. The Nordic spell is found in one manuscript fragment without the poem. All that has been preserved is a description of how to perform the spell and the first line of the charm, which is ‘I look at you’—the same opening as the love charm. Páll infers that the owner of the book drew the symbol beside the spell because he either knew for sure or just assumed that the same poem applied to both. The book was apparently the work of four different people, three Icelanders and a Dane, and the last scribe could well have drawn the symbol beside the charm for the same reason. He said this Nordic spell was much darker than the others and of uncertain origin, although the text with it in the manuscript was in Danish. The manuscript is privately owned and has been dated to the late sixteenth century, while the Icelandic book of spells is thought to have been written around 1650.”

  “What do you mean, a darker spell?” Thóra asked.

  “‘Blacker magic’ may be a better term. Shadier. What he meant was that it was specifically designed to cause harm. A person who has it carved on his body after death can haunt someone who failed him in life—as in watch from the grave and make them regret the way they treated him. And in the end that regret brings doom. And wait for this—to perform the spell you need a certain body part, and you can guess what that is.”

  “Eyes,” Thóra said with conviction.

  Matthew nodded. “But hold your horses. When Páll described the spell to Harald he became incredibly excited and demanded to hear in detail how to perform it. Páll gave him a full account over the phone, then sent him scanned copies of the book and the manuscript.”

  “Yes. And?” muttered Thóra eagerly.

  “Well, the way it works is that the seeker of revenge makes an agreement with someone else to perform the spell after his death. Not unlike the corpse breeches. They draw the symbol together on a patch of animal skin using their own blood and raven’s blood. It takes a lot more than a few drops, because under the symbol they are supposed to write that X promises to perform the spell for Y, then X and Y confirm this by signing their names.” Matthew sipped his coffee before continuing. “Here comes the punch line. When Y is dead, X carves the symbol on the body, lets out enough blood to write with, and—thank you very much—removes the eyes from the body.”

  “Jesus.” Thóra shuddered. “Why on earth—isn’t it enough to write in blood and carve up the body?”

  Matthew smiled. “Clearly not. Páll said the symbol should be carved into the body to remind the dead person that his eyes were removed at his own request. Otherwise he would rise from the grave and search for his eyes—and presumably kill the friend who took them. But the blood is used to write the now forgotten curse that goes with the symbol. It has to be mixed with raven’s blood too.”

  “Which explains the passerine DNA found when the blood was analyzed!” exclaimed Thóra. “The raven is the largest passerine bird native to Iceland.” Her school biology never failed her when she really needed it.

  “Anyway, the survivor does not need to add his blood. The eyes are wrapped in the skin with the curse on it and both are then presented to the one who failed the dead person, the object of his revenge. After that the victim is never safe; the dead person will haunt him and constantly remind him of his misdeeds until he cracks and dies a terrible death.”

  “And the curse that was sent to Harald’s mother…” Thóra said sadly. Her voice trailed off as her thoughts took over. How appalling. What could have caused Harald to feel such deep-rooted hatred toward his mother? What on earth had she done to him? Perhaps it was merely a figment of his imagination; he could just have been mad and blamed his mother for it.

  A sudden idea pulled her out of her reverie. “Wait a minute—were the eyes sent to her?”

  “No,” Matthew said. “They weren’t included. I have no idea why. Maybe they got lost or damaged; I simply don’t know.”

  Thóra sat in thought for a while. “Halldór, the medical student. It must have been him who took care of the body,” Thóra said. “So he killed Harald.”

  “It looks that way,” Matthew replied. “Unless Harald caused his own death and Halldór took over.”

  “How?” Thóra asked. “He was strangled.”

  “Maybe doing his erotic asphyxiation? We have to consider that possibility at least. Or that one of the others killed Harald or made the contract with him. They all looked equally sheepish when we showed them the magic symbol. So Hugi could just as easily have been involved.”

  “We have to talk to Halldór again—that’s for sure. All of them if we can. Good luck arranging that.”

  Matthew smiled. “So we’re not total idiots. We’ve made a lot of progress. All that’s missing from the picture is the money. What happened to that?”

  Thóra shrugged. “Maybe Harald managed to buy that repulsive sorcery manuscript. It would be in character.”

  Matthew mulled the idea. “Maybe. But I doubt it because Páll said it was in the national library of Norway. That’s also why the police couldn’t identify the symbol—it’s very unfamiliar, there’s really no one in Iceland who knows it apart from Páll, who’s studying abroad. He was never consulted about its origin.”

  “Maybe Harald transferred the money here to pay Páll for the information and then buy the manuscript from the library, but then he was killed for it by one of his so-called friends. They could have taken the money, couldn’t they? People have killed for less.”

  Matthew agreed. He looked at the clock and then at Thóra, thoughtfully. “The plane from Frankfurt landed at half past three.”

  “Damn it!” Thóra swore. “I can’t talk to his mother now—I simply can’t. What if she asks me about my children? What am I supposed to say? ‘Yes, Frau, my son is a precocious boy—didn’t I tell you, he’s going to be a father?’”

  “Believe me, she won’t have much interest in your children,” Matthew said calmly.

  “It won’t be any better discussing her own son. How can I look her in the face and tell her that Harald struck a bargai
n with the devil, or as good as, to make her life sheer hell and eventually kill her?” Thóra looked at Matthew, hoping for a constructive answer.

  “I’ll tell her the news, don’t you worry. But you can’t get out of talking to her. If you don’t do it today, it will have to be tomorrow. She’s come all this way for the express purpose of talking to you, remember. When she told me she wanted to meet you in person and alone, she sounded more relaxed than I’ve ever heard her. You have nothing to fear.”

  Matthew did not sound quite convincing enough for Thóra. “Will they phone, or what are the arrangements?”

  “They’ll phone when they get to the hotel.” He looked at the clock. “Very soon, I expect. I could call them, if you want.”

  Ow. Catch–22. Thóra could not decide. “Yes, call them,” she said suddenly, then immediately shouted: “No, don’t!”

  Before she could change her mind again, Matthew’s phone rang. Thóra groaned when he took it out, checked the display, and said: “It’s them.” He pressed the talk button and said: “Hello, Matthew here.”

  Thóra heard only one side of the conversation but could vaguely discern the voice on the other end while Matthew listened. The conversation seemed very superficial: “Did you have a good trip?” “What a pity.” “You know the name of the hotel, don’t you?” and so on. The conversation ended when he said: “Auf Wiedersehen. Good-bye.” He looked at Thóra and smiled. “You’re in luck, Granny.”

  “What?” Thóra asked excitedly. “Didn’t she come?”

  “Oh, yes, she came. But she has a migraine and wants to postpone meeting you until tomorrow. It was Elisa who called—they’re in a taxi on their way down to Hótel Borg. She wants to meet us there in half an hour.”

  CHAPTER 29

  The young woman bore no resemblance to her mother, but was good-looking nonetheless. She was dark like her father and seemed to take after him, judging from the family photographs Thóra had seen. Her whole air was unpretentious; her long, straight hair kept away from her face in a ponytail, and she wore nice black slacks and a black shirt that looked like silk. The only visible jewelry was a diamond ring on the ring finger of her right hand, the one Thóra had seen on the photograph from the kitchen. Thóra was struck by how slim she was, and when she shook her hand she thought the girl was probably even skinnier than these clothes made her look. Matthew received a much warmer welcome—Elisa hugged him and they kissed each other on both cheeks.

  “How are you doing?” he asked after releasing his grip on Elisa’s shoulder. Thóra noticed that he did not address her formally, as she would have expected from an employee of the family. Matthew was clearly close to these people, or ranked higher in the firm than she had presumed.

  Elisa shrugged and forced a faint smile. “Not too good,” she said. “It’s been difficult.” She turned to Thóra. “I would have come much sooner if I’d known you wanted to talk to me. I had no idea my visit to Harald would matter.”

  Thóra found this strange, given that the girl had been with her brother immediately prior to his murder, but said only: “Well, you’re here now and that’s what matters.”

  “Yes, I bought a ticket as soon as Matthew phoned. I want to help,” she said, apparently sincere. Then she added: “And so does Mother.”

  “Good,” said Matthew in an uncharacteristically loud voice. Thóra wondered whether he did so from a fear that she would say something inappropriate.

  “Yes, good,” Thóra parroted, to convince him she had no such intention.

  “Shouldn’t we sit down?” asked Elisa. “Can I get you a coffee or a glass of wine?” Thóra had quit drinking for life so she ordered a cup of coffee. The others ordered glasses of white wine.

  “Well,” Matthew said, settling back in the armchair. “What can you tell us about your visit, then?”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for the wine? I think I need that first,” Elisa said with a pleading look at Matthew.

  “Of course,” he answered, and leaned forward to pat her hand where it rested on the arm of the sofa.

  Elisa looked at Thóra apologetically. “I can’t quite explain it but I find that visit so uncomfortable to recall. My feelings are still in a tangle; in retrospect it’s as if I was really self-absorbed and only talked to him about myself. If only I’d known it was the last time I’d ever see him I would have told him so much about my feelings for him.” She bit her lower lip. “But I didn’t, and now I never can.”

  The waiter brought the drinks and they toasted nothing in particular. Thóra regretted having given up drinking when she sipped her coffee and watched them take their first swallows of wine. She decided to fall off the wagon at the earliest opportunity—but was embarrassed to ask for a glass after making her choice.

  “Maybe I should tell you why I came to see Harald,” Elisa said, putting down her glass. Thóra and Matthew nodded. “As you know, Matthew, I’m going through a bit of a crisis with Mother and Father. They want me to study business and join the bank, as do most people I know, in fact. Harald was the only one who told me always to do what I wanted—play the cello. Everyone thinks I should do business and keep the cello as a hobby. But Harald knew it’s not like that, although he was not a musician. He understood that once you’ve achieved a certain level of skill and potential, it’s either/or.”

  “I understand,” Thóra said, not really understanding.

  “That’s why we mainly talked about me when I came,” Elisa continued. “I went to him for encouragement and that’s exactly what I got. He told me to defy them and keep on playing. He said faceless suits who could run a bank were a dime a dozen but brilliant musicians were so much rarer.” She hastened to add: “‘Faceless suits’ were his words—that’s what he said.”

  “If I may ask, what did you decide to do?” Thóra said, out of curiosity.

  “To keep playing,” Elisa said with a bitter smile. “But I’ve enrolled in business studies now and the course starts soon. You decide one thing and do something else, that’s the way it goes.”

  “Isn’t your father pleased?” Matthew asked.

  “Yes, but mostly he’s relieved. It’s hard to be happy in this family. Especially now.”

  “Elisa, I know it’s difficult to discuss your own family affairs, but we saw some of the e-mails between Harald and your father. They didn’t seem to be particularly close, as father and son.” Thóra paused, then added: “Just as we have reason to believe he didn’t exactly have a model relationship with your mother.”

  Elisa took a sip of wine before answering. She looked Thóra straight in the eye. “Harald was the best brother you could imagine. He may well have been unconventional, especially recently.” She stuck out the tip of her tongue and pinched it, alluding to Harald’s cleft tongue. “But I would still have stood by his side anywhere. He had a noble character, and not just toward me—he championed our sister; I never saw anyone treat a disabled person so kindly.” She contemplated her wineglass on the table. “Mother and Father, they just…I really don’t know what to say…They never gave Harald his due. My first memories of them are endless hugs, love, and care, but I never saw Harald get much attention. They just…well, they just didn’t seem to like him.” In a flurry of words she interrupted her own train of thought. “They were never exactly bad to him. They just didn’t love him. I don’t know why, if there is any particular reason.”

  Thóra tried to conceal her low opinion of the Guntliebs. She itched to find the person who killed that poor boy. She could not conceive of a more wretched fate than a loveless upbringing. Children have a tangible need for affection and it was downright criminal to deprive them of it. No wonder Harald was strange. Suddenly she looked forward to meeting his mother the next day. “Yes,” she said to break the silence. “This doesn’t sound good, I must say. It might not have anything to do with our speculations, but I do feel it explains a lot about his character. I’m sure you’d prefer not to discuss it with a stranger, though, so maybe we should turn to what hap
pened between you.”

  Elisa smiled, relieved. “As I said, we mostly talked about me and my problems. Harald was great and we didn’t do anything in particular really. He took me to the Blue Lagoon and to see a geyser. Otherwise we just strolled around town or stayed at home watching DVDs, cooking, and chilling out.”

  Thóra tried to visualize Harald swimming at the Blue Lagoon geothermal spa, but could not conjure up a sufficiently convincing image. “What did you watch?” she asked curiously.

  Elisa grinned. “The Lion King, strange as it may sound.”

  Matthew winked at Thóra. So he hadn’t been lying about the disk in the player. “Did he tell you anything about what he was up to?”

  Elisa thought. “Not much. Actually he was in incredibly good spirits and was clearly doing well here. I’d rarely seen him so cheerful. Maybe it was getting away from Mother and Father. Maybe because of a book he found.”

  “A book?” asked Thóra and Matthew in unison. “What book?” said Matthew.

  Their reaction clearly startled Elisa. “That old book. Malleus Maleficarum. Isn’t it at his apartment?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t even know what book you’re talking about exactly,” said Matthew. “Did he show it to you?”

  Elisa shook her head. “No, he hadn’t got it yet.” She paused. “Maybe he didn’t manage to get it before he was murdered. It was just before then.”

  “Do you know if he was going to pick it up from someone?” asked Matthew. “Did he mention that?”

  “No,” replied Elisa. “Actually I didn’t ask about it—maybe I should have.”

  “That doesn’t make any difference,” Matthew said. “But did he tell you anything about this book?”

  Elisa’s face lit up. “Yes. It was quite an awesome story. Let’s see, how did it go again?” She thought for a moment before going on. “You remember his grandfather’s old letters, don’t you?” She addressed Matthew, who nodded in agreement. Thóra did not want to interrupt by asking what letters they were talking about, but assumed she meant the letters from Innsbruck in the leather wallet. “Harald was like Grandfather,” Elisa went on. “Fascinated by them, reading them over and over. He was convinced that the author had done something awful to Kramer in revenge for the way he treated his wife.” She looked at Thóra. “You know who Kramer was, don’t you?”