He was ecstatic for totally different reasons.
He, Kolgrim Meiden of the Ice People, was on his way to fulfil the prophesy – the prophesy that decreed a man would come who possessed greater supernatural gifts than any other man on earth. But that would need extraordinary power – power that Kolgrim was determined to acquire.
He would no longer call himself Meiden. Both Meiden and Lind were weak names. Kolgrim of the Ice People – that would be his name. No one had more right to the name than he, someone who carried the bloodline from both his mother and his father. After all, hadn’t his grandmother been a witch and his great-grandfather an outright wizard? No, much more than that, his great-grandfather had been a master sorcerer.
He was already due to inherit the title ‘baron’ – and what a load of drivel that was! Barons were weak degenerate snobs. He’d never asked for that title in the first place. Furthermore, he couldn’t set foot in Graastensholm ever again. He didn’t have to. That precious little Mattias had come back and ruined everything. Anyway, he had no desire to live there, not in a hundred lifetimes. He was man enough to conquer the whole world and, with the power of magic, he’d enslave his rivals and enemies. After that he’d go to Graastensholm and take revenge on all those who had offended him.
Catching his breath in mid-thought, he stopped abruptly.
Without realising it, he’d been following the old track across the heath that was barely visible to the uninitiated. What power had guided his way was only to be guessed at because although he knew of its existence, his thoughts had been a long way from the empty countryside he was riding through.
Now, in front of him, was a gaping hole in the side of the glacier.
This, he decided, must be the secret entrance to the Valley of the Ice People.
It had been fifty years since people last lived there. In those days the ice tunnel had been kept open, but now nature had taken charge of her territory once more. The spring thaw was well under way and the river was flowing high and fast, violently coursing along beneath the ceiling of ice.
“I’ll never get through this way,” said Kolgrim. “I’ll be swept away like a withered leaf!”
Although he couldn’t have known it, none of the Ice People would ever have dreamed of going through the tunnel at that time of year.
But he could just about make out the remains of the old path that ran along the banks of the river, and he decided that it was worth a try. Besides, if he wanted to reach his destination, he had no other choice – and he was very determined to reach his destination.
Kolgrim dug his heels harshly into his horse’s sides to urge it forward along the riverside path, but the animal instinctively refused to obey. Kolgrim screamed and raged at the horse for a long time, swearing and brutally kicking the terrified creature.
In the end, he had no choice but to leave it on the heath and proceed on foot.
When he entered the blue-green tunnel, Kolgrim suddenly began to feel tense and it became darker and darker as he walked further on. Soon he had no idea where the path was any more. But the river roared in his ears, ready to devour him if he happened to step too close. It seemed as if the frantic waters were aching to suck him down into their depths. In places the river splashed so high up on the banks that he was forced to crawl on his stomach under the ice to avoid the cascades of water. From time to time, great blocks of ice would come crashing along the tunnel, scraping its sides. All he could do was to press his back hard against the cold walls and hope for the best.
Unbelievably, he made it through unharmed, and as soon as he saw the arch of the tunnel roof take on a lighter, more translucent, blue-green hue, he knew he was almost at the other end.
On emerging from the tunnel, he found himself standing in broad daylight, looking at the same view that had greeted Silje’s gaze there so long ago. He was by then shaking with cold, his clothes soaked by a thousand splashes of water, but he convinced himself rather optimistically that the air would soon dry him.
Despite all the adversity of the situation, he felt unassailable. Fanatical self-belief can sometimes drive a person to perform almost unfathomable feats. “I am the Supreme One,” he told himself. “Nobody else could have done this!”
Slowly he began to make his way up the Ice People’s deserted valley. The overgrown foundations of cottages bore silent witness to the disaster that had struck half a century earlier, and the wind whistled through the branches of dry mountain birches. The south-facing slopes were almost free from snow while drifts still lay undisturbed on the other side of the lonely lake. The ice on the lake itself was growling and groaning as it thawed.
Kolgrim knew which way to go. Over there was the gatekeeper’s cottage, or, more precisely, its ruins, and further away was where the home of the Brattengs had once stood.
And there – yes, just there ... that was the spot where Hanna and Grimar had lived. He could feel that a sense of the supernatural still haunted the overgrown area. For a brief moment, Kolgrim considered going closer, but the wind in the bushes whispered a warning. The world’s ‘greatest wizard’, by his own estimation, shivered and hurried quickly on his way.
He had never imagined that this place would be so utterly and frighteningly empty. It wasn’t that he’d expected to find any people still living there – far from it. But he could never, in a thousand years, have anticipated the silent cry of desolation that still rose tangibly from every acre of the devastated region. It remained a living testament to the wretched fate of all those who’d once lived there. This strange sensation touched the emotions of even the cold-hearted Kolgrim.
Eventually, he reached the remains of Tengel and Silje’s cottage. As he stood there looking all about him in the unending silence of the very place where his grandmother was born, Kolgrim thought how strange it was that she’d become such a refined lady. This was a one-sided opinion of Liv, of course, but he had his own unique way of judging his fellow humans.
He was finding the atmosphere of the Valley of the Ice People overwhelming and distracting, and he suddenly realised that the hours were passing quickly and that this was no time for useless emotional thoughts.
But what was he to do first? Should he mix the terrible witches’ brew or look for the secret place?
His heart pounded with excitement as he considered his options. He was certain that he was the only human being who knew where it was.
Then Kolgrim decided it was time to examine the contents of the sack he’d carried so far. It was simple curiosity, nothing more, because he’d already made up his mind to empty the entire contents into a cauldron. He had no formula for invoking Satan – only Tengel the Evil knew that – but if he used everything he had, then he was sure it couldn’t fail. More importantly, he knew the exact spot where the event had taken place so long ago.
He spread out the contents of the sack on the same grassy mound where Liv and Dag had played as children. Some of the objects surprised him and others he found amusing. But nothing weakened his determination to mix everything together in his one great potion. He was certain he was destined to possess it all, and he’d leave nothing to the world.
He’d gathered that the most valuable items were in the small leather bags and pillboxes, each one with text or inscriptions. Kolgrim lacked any understanding of the ancient lettering, and he was unable to decipher the swirling writing on some thick, half ruined bark scrolls.
If only he’d taken the time to try and interpret these, he might have become a passable wizard. But he regarded them as junk, and they were destined for the cauldron along with everything else.
He retrieved a few small boxes that were inscribed with words he knew. Were these not powders or medicines to make the spirits rise and induce a trance? He’d have to find out and try these very soon!
Except for the trance-inducing powders, which he tucked inside his shirt, he returned everything to the sack, t
hrew it over his shoulder and walked on.
It was a long climb up from the old ruins of the cottages and barns, and he followed meandering paths left by generations of cows on their way to summer grazing, paths worn so deep that they’d be hard to wipe out.
After a while, he paused and gazed upwards. Somewhere above him, beneath a cliff with two mast-like peaks, was where he needed to go. The path seemed to be leading in the right direction towards the edge of a cliff.
Since Kolgrim was unfamiliar with this kind of extreme exertion, he grew hot as he walked. His clothes soon dried and he was sweating profusely. But in the valley a light drizzle started and as he climbed higher, he encountered occasional flurries of snow.
The climb was hard work and his breathing was becoming forced and irregular. Solitude surrounded him like an invisible cloak of fog, pierced only by the screeching call of a bird of prey circling far away above the lake, and the sound echoed along the silent valley. Close by, he heard the anxious, quivering call of a golden plover.
The wind tore at him as he reached the top of the rise, almost knocking him backwards. He crawled up on hands and knees to peer down over the edge and immediately felt dizzy and light-headed. His gaze was drawn to the pile of rocks far below – evidence of the crumbling cliff face on which he lay.
Slowly, he looked around, and in the distance below he could again see the Ice People’s ruined dwellings, some still blackened by soot from the terrible fires that had raged through the entire valley. Others were hardly visible, no more than stones covered with vegetation. At Tengel’s farm, the leafless branches of a single large tree shivered in the breeze.
With an effort, he hauled himself to his feet. Suddenly he wanted, more than anything else, to see living people in the cottages and farms. He wanted desperately to see live witches and wizards – people just like himself. Wallowing in self-pity, surrounded by such emptiness, he was blissfully unaware of the fact that his own grandfather, the despicable Heming the bailiff-killer, had been the cause of all this destruction. How would he have reacted if he’d known?
All this was beyond contemplation, but what he knew more clearly than ever was that he’d need all the courage he possessed to carry out his plans. He was determined to be strong as Tengel the Evil had been strong – that was his greatest wish. But it had all been so easy for Tengel the Evil, Kolgrim thought. The valley had been filled with people then. But now he was alone – completely, absolutely alone and nobody knew where he was.
He was tired of carrying the sack for now and decided to leave it where it was, on the cliff edge, and come back for it once he’d found the place he was looking for – the place where his evil ancestor had come face to face with Satan. Now, to his great merit, only he knew the whereabouts of that place.
Then Kolgrim, not usually known for being timid, shuddered. This quest wasn’t something he undertook every day and he wondered if he should give himself some special assistance, suited to the occasion? Shouldn’t he help himself by boosting his courage a bit?
Acting impulsively on the thought, he pulled out a small sachet from beneath his shirt and fingered it thoughtfully, weighing it in his hand. The name embossed on the leather meant nothing to him. The sachet contained a powder – a dried, crushed herb. But what was he to do with it? In truth, the world’s ‘greatest ever wizard’ hadn’t the faintest idea.
Then Kolgrim noticed a tiny stream that emerged from a fissure in some rocks a little further up the escarpment. Clutching some of the powder in his fist, he clambered up to it.
One way and another, he managed to get the powder into his body with the aid of a few handfuls of water, choking on some flakes that got caught in his throat.
Now there was nothing more to do than set off for his planned destination.
He’d only gone a few paces when he stopped abruptly.
‘Damn it all,’ he thought. ‘I should have destroyed the evidence that I left back in the attic at Graastensholm so that nobody would ever find it even after my death! Ah well, I’ll take care of that later somehow!’
He walked on a bit, then he stopped suddenly again. ‘But what am I thinking about, using those words ‘after my death?’ That’s nonsense! I’m going to make myself immortal! I’m going to live for centuries – that’s what I’m going to do! I’ve got the means and the power to do anything I want!’
Reassured by this silent affirmation of his ambitions, Kolgrim continued scrambling upwards and after a long strenuous climb through wild and magnificent terrain – the beauty of which was entirely lost on him – he stood beneath the mountain with the two sentinel peaks, his hair and jacket thoroughly wet from the now persistent drizzle.
The ground was flatter here, like a small open plateau, and there were fewer obstacles.
But which way was it?
Could it be round that jutting rock over there?
Silje must have stood in this place with Tengel and the children at her side.
Sol, off exploring on her own, must have come running back round that same jutting rock, shouting at the top of her voice: “Dangerous man! Dangerous man!”
According to Silje, Sol, who’d never shown fear of anyone, had been scared witless there and something in his bones seemed to tell Kolgrim that this was indeed the place. Even the two straight birch trees, although bare of leaves, were exactly where they should be.
Despite his clumsy attempts to administer it, the drug in the powdered herb was beginning to affect him and he found his courage growing. ‘There’s no reason at all to be afraid,’ he thought to himself. ‘All will be well. I’m brave enough now, no matter what happens.’
Taking a deep breath, which filled his lungs to bursting, he slowly let it out and walked on purposefully towards the jutting rock and the edge of the cliff.
***
Tarjei and his three companions had completed the crossing of the glacier without incident. It had taken longer than they’d thought because they had been forced to make long detours around wide fissures and cracks in the ice. The snow had been so porous in some places that they’d occasionally slipped through the surface and sunk down to their knees.
But now they were in the narrow rocky pass between the two mountain peaks where the wind whined and whipped loose snow up into a constant white mist, all the while lashing their faces with small hard pellets of ice.
At first they saw nothing at all, but the wind died down as they left the pass and there before them lay the Valley of the Ice People, deserted since the 1580s. They couldn’t see the ruins of many buildings – these were hidden behind a mountainous outcrop – but a stretch of the lake and the grubby thawing snow on the far side of the valley were clearly visible.
For a while, Tarjei stood motionless, just staring, as a feeling of hopelessness and despair overwhelmed him. So this, he thought to himself, is the place they’d named the Valley of Evil. He’d rather it was called the Valley of Misery. An unearthly hush gripped the whole vast mountain range and although they exchanged no words, Tarjei and his companions knew that they shared a similar feeling of revulsion at the scene.
The silence was suddenly broken by a scream, which came from somewhere not far below them. It was a long drawn-out scream, hollow, piercing and staccato. It went on and on and was obviously filled with unprecedented shock and fear.
“We’re too late!” thought Tarjei, a new and deep sense of despair rising in his chest. “It's too late!”
And then they saw the source of the scream. It was Kolgrim, plunging headlong down a trail, way off to their right, yelling and screaming in terror as he went.
“Come on!” Tarjei urged his companions, and they all began running down and across the hillside in an attempt to get ahead of the boy. Tarjei’s mind was racing. Had Kolgrim found the secret place and if so, what had happened? He can’t have had enough time to prepare the potion. He must have witnessed the same vision
that Sol had once experienced.
As he ran for all he was worth to get away from the horror he’d just seen, Kolgrim was unaware of the four men sprinting towards him. He carried on recklessly, heading directly for the cliff edge where he’d left the sack.
He had to have some more of the herb that would calm him, he told himself desperately. He had to erase the sight from his mind. He needed to be strong.
He reached the place where the sack lay, and in great agitation he pulled out the small sachet. As he opened it while he ran to the stream he stuffed another handful of powder into his mouth and swallowed it with water. A wave of nausea immediately swept over him, forcing him to wait a little while before he was finally able to swallow the remainder. Then he stretched himself out on his back on the grass.
“Aaah, there now,” he breathed, “that’s just ... wonderful!”
Once again he began to experience that strange elation he’d felt earlier, a feeling of total indifference to everything and extreme self-confidence.
“Dear God, I’m invincible!” he told himself. “I’m really invincible!”
Jumping up, he ran quickly to the cliff edge. His feet suddenly felt as though they had wings – he could fly if he wanted to. He knew he could.
Now at long last, he felt he was ready to perform the extraordinary ritual he’d been looking forward to. Nothing could frighten him any longer.
The entire world was in his grasp. He was overcome with an irresistible urge to spread his arms and take to the air, launching himself from the cliff top like a bird.
But for a moment, he stood motionless.
Had he heard the sound of voices?
Surely that wasn’t possible all the way out here in the wilderness? Could it be that gruesome creature he’d just seen, coming for him?
“Kolgrim!”
No, that was Tarjei’s voice, wasn’t it?
What was happening to him? Tarjei couldn’t possibly be here, could he? No, it had to be the powder – it was making him imagine things. But who were the four men running towards him from further up the hillside?
Evil Legacy Page 13