C2 Chapter 2

One day, many years later, a young girl walked steadily up the avenue of linden trees towards the farm. She didn’t walk very elegantly and although she wore long skirts, it was obvious that she was very bow-legged. Visitors to her parents’ home had often entertained themselves by trying to guess out loud what her uncovered legs might look like. She’d never been able to give a witty or sharp reply to such taunts – it wasn’t in her nature.

Her face always radiated kindness and her eyes showed compassion towards everybody. She had incredible stamina and she seemed not to know the meaning of the word ‘no’ when anybody asked for help. It didn’t seem to bother her that her body was cumbersome and unattractive and that her face was not beautiful.

Yrja was now nineteen years of age – the ‘uncultivated thistle’ had grown up.

At this moment, on a late August day, she was about to celebrate her birthday together with Tarald and Sunniva. Silje had decided to combine the three birthdays into one big party and all the children would be coming.

Sunniva, of course, had always been graceful and delicate but now she was also like an elf! Yrja admired her immensely, and in lonely moments, when she was deep in her own thoughts, she’d often wished that she was also just as nimble and had the same fragile body. It never occurred to her that she, too, possessed a charm that was less easy to define, and that even a thistle has beautiful flowers.

She would also be seeing Cecilie today – the forthright and happy Cecilie Meiden whose personality held all the world’s confidence and humour. The things she had the courage to say sometimes! Just thinking of them made Yrja chuckle.

Cecilie, ‘the crazy one,’ was one year younger than the others and maybe because of this, she would sometimes make a play of feeling inferior, complaining that she was being treated unfairly. Yet no one knew better than she did how to assert herself.

Suddenly, as she was walking towards Graastensholm, Yrja began to blush. She was too scared to put into words how she felt.

Only two months ago, she discovered that she’d fallen in love with the young heir to Graastensholm, Tarald – but nobody must ever find out! Never! Ever!

For what was she? She was an ugly, clumsy nobody from a poor smallholding. She was very well aware that often, behind her back, she was called ‘The Thistle.’

Yrja reckoned that she would never marry. This was something her parents had prepared her for, and she’d come to terms with the idea. But then wasn’t it brutal of God to give her a heart that wouldn’t obey these rules? Yrja was walking along the top part of Linden Avenue. She knew there was a story about the first eight trees that said how they’d each been planted in honour of some individual that lived on the estate and that when that person died, so would the tree. Two trees so far had fallen and been replaced with new saplings. One had been planted for the old dowager Baroness Meiden, whom Yrja had never known, and the other for Sunniva’s beautiful mother, Sol. Both had been dead for a long time, and strong new lindens now stood in their place. Yrja noticed absentmindedly that one of the trees looked a little withered – but she didn’t know the name of the man or woman to whom it was linked.

Dag Meiden, the judge, also had a tree here and so did his wonderful, charming wife, Liv. They were the parents of Tarald and Cecilie.

As she was absently thinking about all this, Yrja found that she’d reached the end of the avenue. For a moment, she stood still in the yard. Did she look tidy and elegant? She knew only too well that nothing ever fitted her twisted body properly.

The freshly laundered wide-sleeved blouse had the clean smell of sun and fresh air. Her hair was freshly washed and combed, and she’d brushed from her dark skirt the sheep’s wool and cat hairs that covered everything in her parents’ cottage at Eikeby. Nobody would have dreamed of describing her as beautiful, but she’d done the very best with what she had.

***

Silje sat at the window, looking out into the yard where Are’s three boys were playing. All three boys were so different in character. As she watched, the middle one, Trond, was standing on top of the big stone that was the centre-piece of the farmyard. He had the agility of a lizard and was now shouting his victory, playing at being king and teasing the others below him. Silje was sure that Trond would one day hold a position of authority. He certainly had the drive and leadership for it.

Brand, the youngest, was tall and sober-minded and very much like his dad in so many ways. He kept trying to grapple his way up the stony surface of the stone but slipped back every time.

The oldest had been named Torgeir but everyone called him Tarjei. He wasn’t taking part in the ‘battle’ with his brothers. He had the sharpest mind of them all and right now it looked as if he was solving one of the great mysteries of the world.

Silje’s gaze wandered dreamily back and forth among the boys. Tarjei ... was Tengel’s favourite and she remembered how the boy had grown and how, through him, Tengel had seemed gradually to have discovered an unaccustomed serenity – as if a long, long wait was finally over. Her dreamy memories were brought to an end when Meta walked out to the yard and shouted at the boys, scolding them for climbing on the big stone. Weren’t they supposed to be going to a birthday party? Were they wearing their best clothes? Would she have to be ashamed of them in front of the Meidens?

“In you go, you naughty boys!”

Silje smiled. Her thoughts went back to when Meta had taken over as housewife at Linden Avenue. It was probably thirteen or fourteen years ago now? Yes, because Tarjei was born between Christmas of that year and New Year and he would soon be thirteen. How funny that one could keep track of the years by remembering the children’s ages on different occasions. It certainly made it easier to remember.

On the other hand, it was an unwelcome reminder that one was growing older as well. It was through the children that one realised how quickly the years were passing, thought Silje with a twinge of sadness. Then she quickly shrugged off the thought.

Now Meta was in charge of the farmhouse while Tengel and Silje had ‘retired.’ Both had been very happy to hand over the household responsibilities and do a bit less. Are, energetic and hardworking as ever, had added more rooms to the house, doubling its length in order to make it big enough for his growing family. Tengel and Silje stayed in the older part that to them had once seemed too big but which now looked worn and tiny by comparison. Even so, Silje still adored it - and judging by the time they spent there, so did everyone else in the family.

How history repeats itself, she thought. She’d also arrived at Linden Avenue just like Meta – almost as lost, poor and ostracized with a low status in society. A non-entity. A blacksmith’s daughter who’d been of such lowly birth as to be seemingly worthless. Yet poor Meta had started further down the social ladder: she was born to a mother who’d been one of society’s most downtrodden people. In spite of this, Meta had shown that she was a worthy housekeeper, something Silje couldn’t deny. Meta was gifted and determined to live her life to the best of her ability, and she had so much energy that it sometimes left one quite breathless.

Silje sighed with satisfaction, still sitting comfortably at the window. She now had six grandchildren – she counted Sunniva among them although they weren’t related by blood. It was sad that she hadn’t been able to care for the lovely little girl herself but Dag and Liv had brought her up well. A grown woman now, she would often stay overnight at Linden Avenue and lend Silje a helping hand in the studio.

Counting them off on her fingers, Silje spoke softly to herself: there’s Sunniva, Sol’s daughter; Tarald and Cecilie, Liv and Dag’s children; and then there were Are’s three boys, Tarjei, Trond and Brand. Tarald’s personality had still not developed but that would come as he grew older. They were certainly fine grandchildren, every single one of them.

Raising her gaze to look out through the window, there was Yrja just entering the yard – another young girl who came from a very humble background. Silje was pleased as always to see her but she couldn’t help thinking as she looked at her: That poor, hopeless child – isn’t there at least somebody who could help her arrange her hair properly? Her clothes were old-fashioned and they sat so badly on her awkward figure.

Yrja’s mother obviously didn’t care about how her daughter looked and didn’t help her.

Yrja met Sunniva in the middle of the yard. What a contrast they presented, Silje thought. What a huge difference there was between them! Yrja was a heavy, shapeless lump, rocking from side to side, when compared to the graceful, slender Sunniva.

Silje stretched out and straightened her aching leg. It had been troubling her lately but Tengel had said it was just rheumatism. “Don’t worry about it,” he’d said. She hoped he was right.

At that moment somebody entered the room behind her and she didn’t need to turn to know that it was Tengel. But she turned anyway because she still always liked to look at him.

His hair and beard had turned grey, but he still looked straight and tall. He was now seventy-two years old and he bore every one of his years with true dignity. He lovingly placed his crooked hands on Silje’s shoulders. Silje closed her eyes briefly, warming as always to his touch. But she knew, although she wasn’t allowed to say so, that he was worn out. He’d tried to stop seeing patients and most people respected his wishes. There were a few patients he would still attend to from time to time, though. They would ask for his healing powers when they were in great pain or need and when everything else failed.

After bending to kiss her hair gently in greeting, Tengel glanced out into the yard. They watched Are’s three boys who were playing outside again.

“When will the birthday party begin?” he asked.

“There’s another hour. They’ll have plenty of time to get themselves dirty again.”

Tengel smiled. “Then I’ll call in Tarjei first.”

When Tengel went down and asked Tarjei to come, the boy came immediately and accompanied him to the sickroom.

Tarjei was a most unusual boy. He had something of Tengel and Are’s cheekbones and the same thick, black hair. But there was another kind of glow in the slanted eyes. Are had never been very clever when it came to reading and writing, but he had the same sharp intellect of Tengel, Silje, Liv and Sol. He hardly would have inherited much from Meta, for while she was kind, sweet, hardworking and capable of understanding everyday things, she didn’t set her sights very high. Indeed, she was often frightened by Tarjei’s brilliant mind.

However, what was far more important than anything else, Tarjei had Tengel’s unswerving determination to do only good in this life.

“Tarjei,” Tengel began, “you’ve heard the legend of the Ice People, haven’t you? You’ve heard us speak of Tengel the Evil, who swore a pact with the Devil 400 years ago. It placed a heavy burden on his descendants, but it also gave them knowledge and power far beyond those of other human beings.”

Tarjei nodded calmly. In contrast to the other children, he didn’t just think of rushing out to play as soon as the opportunity arose. He really listened to what his grandfather had to say.

“You might not yet fully understand how much pain has been brought upon us by this legacy,” continued Tengel, “but something good has also come out of it, and we’re pledged to hold on to this. Here before you, Tarjei, is my collection of healing herbs and objects – and these are Sol’s. She used to call them her ‘treasures.’ They are things that she inherited from Hanna – and Hanna was one of the earlier, true inheritors of the powers.”

Tarjei nodded again without speaking.

“Actually, I’d thought of speaking with you about all this on your birthday in four months’ time, but I think it’s right to begin it now.” He paused again to choose his words with the utmost care.

“You have an awful lot you must learn and nobody knows just how much time we may have. Right now I’m healthy and strong but, as you know, I’m no longer a young man. From today, I want you to be my apprentice. All this will be yours, and it will fall to you to pass it on when your turn comes. You’re not one of those unfortunate ones who’ve inherited the evil qualities of the first Tengel. But I know you’re the only one of my kin who’s able to be guardian of all this. I’m sure there’s still something of that spark within you which is impossible to define.”

“I understand,” said Tarjei quietly. “I’m ready to start learning.”

“Good, good!” said Tengel. “That’s wonderful. I know instinctively that you’re too sensible to misuse the items that I’m now handing over to you. They have unimaginable power and many who have held these objects in their hands have used them unwisely – because they’ve also had the evil of the first Tengel – also known as Tengel the Evil – within them. He believed that these objects were to be used in the service of Satan. But you don’t have evil within you – and when you reach my age, you’ll choose someone new from among the Ice People’s kin, who can take over from you. But you must promise me to be very careful to choose your successor! Don’t forget that all these things you see here can bring danger.”

“I promise to be very careful, grandfather.”

“What would you like to be when you’re older, Tarjei?”

“I want to study. I really do!”

“And so you shall!”

“Most of all I’d love to be taught by one of the great men of science, like the astronomer, Tycho Brahe – only he’s dead. Or I’d like to study with Kepler, who knew both astronomy and astrology – or Johannes Rudbeckius, who translated the Bible. But this will probably be very difficult.”

“We must do what we can for you, my boy. But now we must get ready to welcome the guests because they’ll be here in a moment. So we’ll continue or conversation tomorrow.”

“Grandfather ...” Tarjei remained standing in the doorway and there was a faraway expression in his brown eyes. “Grandfather,” he said quietly, “although it’s not my birthday, I think that this is the very finest gift I could ever receive.”

Tengel gave him a broad and happy smile. “I look forward very much to our longer talk tomorrow.”

“So do I, grandfather. So do I!”

Everyone from Graastensholm came together for the birthday party. As the crowd of guests grew, a happy buzz of good humour filled the house and the yard. Yrja was delighted when she saw the dark-haired Tarald arrive with his sister, Cecilie. Yrja found that she was rarely able to take her eyes off him.

Cecilie immediately became the centre of attraction. Like her mother, Liv, Cecilie had auburn hair although it was a slightly deeper colour. She might not be as strikingly beautiful as Liv, but she had a sparkling loveliness and zest for life that was all her own. With her neat, trim figure she made sure that she always dressed in the very latest fashion. She was so quick at repartee that nobody dared to argue with her. Many young men had been broken hearted because of her. In short, she was the image of Sol in every way except that she didn’t suffer from the dark shadows of past generations.

When they saw Cecilie, many older members of the family couldn’t help experiencing a slight inner twinge of mental pain and loss as they thought of Sol because she still lived in their hearts and would always do so.

Liv and Dag were also there. Dag bore the look of a distinguished lawyer, still youthful despite his thinning hair. Liv had grown into the role as his wife and had become the strong, main figure at Graastensholm, always remaining firmly in control of the estate while he was away on official duties. Both of them would soon be forty.

With them stood Charlotte and her husband, Jacob Skille, whose arm supported her. Charlotte had shrunk in stature and bent forward at the waist like an old woman. Yet her eyes radiated her kindheartedness and she always seemed happy when she was together with her Jacob.

For his part, Jacob was more than content with life at Graastensholm and he was the one who managed the estate in practical terms on a day-to-day basis. Although he was fully aware that his stepson, Dag, would inherit it all one day, he was happy to enjoy sitting in front of the fireplace in the evenings and playing cards with Charlotte. He would be ‘Lord of the manor’ for as long as he lived – and that was far more than a poor soldier could ever have dreamed of.

These then were the main members of this large and happy family, who had come together for a birthday celebration in the great hall.

***

The year was 1620. In Bohemia, the rumbling sounds of war were beginning to reverberate as fighting between Protestants and Catholics had already broken out. It was a war that would stretch its long, threatening fingers and would reach out and touch Norway as well, peaceful and small though it was. Even the parish of Graastensholm wouldn’t escape the shadows of war.

However, Silje couldn’t predict any of this as she looked around at her family – a family that had grown to a considerable size over the years.

Ah, and what good years they had been, she thought as she presided over them at the table. Was it possible for anyone to be happier than she was?

Yrja on the other hand wasn’t feeling quite so happy because no matter how hard she tried, it was impossible for her to attract Tarald’s attention. Unfortunately for her, it was all too obvious where his interest lay.

The lovely Sunniva hardly looked up from the table at all, not daring to glance at Tarald, her second cousin. In her state of yearning, Yrja couldn’t help sensing the tension and connection between them and she felt as though, unnoticed and in silence, her heart was being crushed.

‘But what more could I expect’, she asked herself grimly? ‘If only it didn’t hurt so much!’

It was certainly a very pleasant and enjoyable birthday party. There was quick repartee between the lively Cecilie and Tarjei, the young prodigy. Now there, thought Yrja, is an example of two people in harmony. Trond was being playful and saucy, babbling away, but failed to equal them in wit and humour. Meanwhile, the four members of the older generation were enjoying a murmured discussion, the kind that would lead everywhere and nowhere. Are’s other son, the portly Brand, was steadily munching his way through a whole plate of cakes until Meta stepped in and rapped his knuckles. Dag, Liv and Are were discussing the merits, or otherwise, of a legal conflict that affected some of their neighbours.

Yrja felt that she didn’t belong among them all. Despite being one of the birthday children and always treated as one of the family, she felt a deep sense of loneliness and unease. Of course, this was because of the desperation that was gnawing at her foolish heart – a heart that wouldn’t listen to common sense or accept that its downfall in love was an unavoidable defeat. She imagined that she saw her shortcomings reflected in the eyes of everyone around her – her crooked shoulders, her lack of a discernible waist, her gnarled hands ... which were wet from perspiration. Her nose was bound to be red, she thought bitterly. This was very often the case when she was together with others. Her nose and her chin were always a source of embarrassment to her – as well as those hectic, red blemishes on her cheeks. Just like the flowers of thistles, she thought bitterly.

Nevertheless, she felt no jealousy towards the lovely Sunniva, who was so dainty. She was so vulnerable and brought out the best in everybody about her. This was especially the case with kind-hearted Yrja. Just imagine being left motherless as a little baby and in such terrible circumstances. Yrja had heard the stories that were whispered about it at home in Eikeby, but she didn’t know the whole truth. Maybe this was because nobody in the parish or outside could really be sure what had happened!

Suddenly Tengel rose to speak and as soon as he stood up, the chattering in the hall ceased. “Now that we’re all gathered here today, there’s something I’d like to discuss with you,” he said in a thoughtful tone. “It’s something that’s been on my mind for quite a long time: We need to take a proper family name.”

“That’s been on my mind as well,” said Are. “I’m simply Are Tengelsson – not much of an inheritance to give one’s sons, Tarjei Aresson, Trond and Brand Aresson.”

Tengel nodded in agreement. “You realise, I believe, that we’ve now become two families? Dag and Liv and their children, Tarald and Cecilie. They all carry the noble name of Meiden. But what about the rest of us? I’m Tengel of the Ice People but that’s a clan name that should never be spoken outside our kin ...” Tengel broke off suddenly, looking fondly at the simple farm girl from Eikeby. “Is all this very boring for you, Yrja?”

Yrja shook her head. She was both grateful for his concern and embarrassed that she’d suddenly become the centre of attention.

“I for my part will never speak of the Ice People,” she assured him. “Never.”

“Very well. You all know that most people are given their names after the name of the farms they live on – just like Yrja here! You’re called Yrja Matthiasdotter Eikeby – daughter of Matthias from Eikeby – isn’t that so?”

“Yes.”

“But you see that we can’t very well call ourselves Linden Avenue. It sounds so ... well, it doesn’t sound like a name. What´s more, nobody in the parish would know us by that name. I’ve thought about this for a long time but nothing has come to me. And so I’d like to hear your suggestions.”

After a few moments of silence, a number of proposals were murmured from around the tables. One or two were quick off the mark but Cecilie and Tarjei were unable to resist treating this as an opportunity to have fun. Very soon, many wild and wonderful ideas were being yelled out.

“I propose ‘Lindane’”, announced Charlotte.

“Or why not ‘Iceane’”? asked Silje. “Then something from the Ice People will be there.”

Cecilie proposed: “How about ‘Icelindane’”?

This was the start of a cannonade of suggestions from Tarjei, Trond and Cecilie.

“Let’s make it ‘Ice Avenue,’” called one. “No, ‘Lindice’,” shouted another. “I think ‘Icylindens’ is better,” suggested a third voice. “What about ‘Lindicles’”? called another.

“No, I’ve got an idea,” said Cecilie. “We’ll start with what people call us. We’ll be ‘Up-there-where-that-strange-doctor-lives.’”

Tarjei quickly added: “And-his-cheeky-children.”

“That’s enough now,” ordered Tengel, laughing as loud as everybody else. “Let’s try to be serious for a moment.”

Yrja was speechless. All these youngsters around her were speaking with such disregard for good manners and yet Tengel had just laughed! This sort of thing would never happen in her home. They might be nothing more than a small farming family at Eikeby but Heaven help anyone who dared to speak at table – or even worse, take part in conversations with one’s parents! What was more: She knew that it was the same at all the farms in the area. Strict rules, beatings and the fear of God were the order of the day everywhere.

Yrja couldn’t help feeling a bit envious of this unusual family. Why, even the distinguished Baroness Charlotte Meiden didn’t object to the informal behavior at table.

The mere fact that they celebrated birthdays with a party was something almost unheard of. Her family only observed the religious holidays such as Christmas, Easter, Whitsun, Michaelmas, Pentecost, Epiphany and the Assumption of Mary. These events always meant devout prayer, church services and solemn obedience.

After more serious discussions, Tarald came up with a simple suggestion: Lind. The family was divided between those who agreed with this and those who preferred Lindane.

‘Lind of the Ice People,’ said Charlotte. “That sounds very noble.”

“We’ll wait before we make our final decision,” said Tengel. “Lind or Lindane – which of these do we feel more comfortable with? The name is more for the benefit of Are and Meta and their boys, Tarjei, Trond and Brand although it’ll serve you, Sunniva, for as long as you remain unmarried. In many ways I wanted this to be decided because you, Sunniva, have no family name other than Solsdotter – daughter of Sol – and it’s uncommon to take a mother’s name.”

The girl looked down at the table with an apologetic smile and said nothing.

“Sol had no proper name either,” continued Tengel. “She was simply called Sol Angelica of the Ice People.”

“She had a dad, didn’t she?”

“Yes, she did but I never found out what his Christian name was,” responded Tengel. “Now, if you’ve all had enough to eat, I suggest we leave the table.”

***

Later that evening when Silje undressed in her room, she said to Tengel: “What a lovely birthday party,” and sighed. “I’m sure everybody had a good time, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” mumbled Tengel, who sat on the edge of the bed, cleaning between his toes with the wetted corner of a cloth. As usual, Silje pretended not to notice. You can’t teach an old dog new tricks, she mused.

“It was so nice for Yrja to be a part of it all. She enjoyed being included and receiving all the small gifts. But otherwise I felt she was kind of absentminded today.”

“Hmmm,” said Tengel, who was hardly paying attention.

“Do you know what, Tengel?”

“No?”

“I think that Tarald and Sunniva are rather taken by each other.”

Tengel let his foot fall from his hands. “That just mustn’t happen!” he exclaimed sharply.

Silje stood with her skirts pulled up half over her head.

“Why not?” she asked, her head peeping out from beneath her clothes. “I think they’ll make a wonderful couple, the two of them.”

“But don’t you understand? They’re kin of the Ice People – both of them!”

Silje, who’d managed to find a way out of her skirt, now crawled along the full length of the bed and snuggled under the covers. “Yes, but think again, Tengel! I’m sure that the evil legacy is dying out. You and Sol were the last ones – and both of you were born with so much goodness in your hearts. I’m sure the evil inheritance slowly weakens and disappears. Mark my words!”

“No, Silje. We mustn’t treat this lightly. Tarald is my grandchild – and I’m afflicted. Sunniva is Sol’s daughter and my sister’s grandchild. It mustn’t be! It would be a disastrous match!”

“Alright then,” said Silje compliantly, placing her arm so that he could rest his head on it. “But surely they’re allowed a little romance? No one has said that they should marry and have children.”

“And if they really fall in love, would you then be able to prevent them from having children? Maybe we should send one of them away?”

“Certainly not Sunniva, that’s for sure,” answered Silje. “She wouldn’t be able to manage on her own in the world.”

“And I shouldn’t think Liv or Charlotte would ever let Tarald go. He’s still too weak and immature. Well, we must wait and see what happens.”

Silje was determined to make her point. “Anyway, I believe you’re wrong. The evil has faded and died. Look at us – we’ve had two children and both are very normal. Sol gave birth to a normal daughter. Now we’ve got six grandchildren – if we include Sunniva – and not one of them has been tainted.”

“Hmm, well, I’m not so sure about that,” said Tengel after a lengthy sigh.

Silje half sat up in bed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really know, Silje. But I’ve seen something that worries me a lot. A glimpse of the yellow cat-like eyes once or twice ...”

“What do you mean? Who is it?”

“No, I can’t tell you that when I’m so uncertain. But sometimes it can break out, just as it can be unseen.”

Silje sank back on the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. The roof needs repairing, she thought distractedly. She’d noticed tell-tale dark streaks of damp along two of the timbers in the corner. It needed to be done soon. But who was it who had the cat-like eyes? Which of the six could it be? Who had a yellow gleam? No, she couldn’t seem to think who it might be.

Silje tried to think of something else but her thoughts kept returning to the subject against her will.

Might it be Sunniva? But she was meek, quiet and thoughtful. Like a little dormouse, she tried not to draw attention to herself despite her blossoming beauty.

Tarald, then? He was as handsome as a young god, although he still lacked confidence and his behavior couldn’t be predicted as yet. He combined the finely sculpted features of the Meiden family with the dark eyes of the Ice People. Tarald had vague ideas of himself as a future landowner and precious little else. Therefore, he’d often sought the advice of Jacob Skille and Are, both of whom he got along with splendidly.

Yes, Silje thought. Tarald was probably best suited to farming. She had unpleasant memories of the difficult years they’d all spent working hard, running the timber merchant’s business in Oslo. Dag and Liv had finally sold the business because it took too much of their time to manage, and Tarald showed neither interest nor flair to take it on. Dag’s time was taken up by his official duties as a lawyer. Are had plenty to keep him busy on Linden Avenue, and Liv had been occupied with bringing up the children. More to the point, nobody in the family was experienced in trade – the taxes and charges, the fees to the Crown – all of this infuriated every one of them. When at last they’d been free of what Cecilie called “That whole heap of trouble” there was a collective sigh of relief. But they’d received a tidy sum for the business nonetheless, so they had no right to complain. But no, now she’d got sidetracked again. Where was she?

Oh, yes. Could it be Tarald? No, that was unthinkable. He definitely lacked the spirit.

Cecilie, on the other hand, didn’t lack the spirit, yet she was even less likely. True, she could be spiteful but only in frivolous comments when she had the opportunity to show her sense of irony and clever use of words. Nothing vicious came from her heart. Cecilie would never deliberately hurt anybody. Why, when she was so richly talented in everything would she need to avail herself of sorcery? No, thought Silje. I’ve never seen such tendencies in her.

That left only the three young boys, and any idea that it was one of them was simply ridiculous. Why, Tengel had only just had a life-changing conversation with Tarjei and he’d hardly have done that if he had doubts about the boy.

And surely not the rapid-footed, twelve-year-old Trond? He was always happy running errands for Silje – for which he was invariably rewarded with a tasty treat. And he still very much enjoyed childish games, something he would probably continue to do for a good many years.

Still harder to accept was the thought of Brand as an evil yellow-eyed creature. It was Brand who was passionate about caring for animals – he’d been known to bring home a half-dead bumblebee for Silje to nurse back to life. He’d also stand behind her as she painted, watching her silently for hours at a time. To be quite honest, she found this quite unnerving but she didn’t have the heart to send him on his way. The pair of them shared this love of all nature’s creatures, which was why Brand held a special place in her heart.

No, she thought to herself: Tengel could suspect whoever he wished but she for one was certain that none of her grandchildren had those characteristics that were so hated and feared.

For almost twenty years, they’d lived without experiencing the frightening power of that awful legacy. Silje, however, knew something – something that Tengel had believed he’d managed to keep secret from everyone. She knew that the older he became, the harder it was for him to control the wickedness that had raged within him throughout his life. For as long as he was youthful and strong, he’d been a truly good person. But only now could she begin to see at what cost.

From time to time, when he was very tired and exhausted, she’d seen on his face the sort of expressions that scared her. Given the choice, she’d rather not have seen them. Yet because Tengel had no wish to harm anybody, she could see instinctively that his struggle became harder with every year that passed. This, Silje believed, was the reason for his overwhelming fatigue.

Still distracted by these disturbing thoughts, Silje turned over to find a more comfortable position in the bed.

Noticing this, Tengel looked at her enquiringly.

“How does your leg feel this evening?” he asked.

“Not too bad. It’s just aching all the time.”

Tengel put his warm hand on her knee and she immediately felt its healing warmth. His eyes were black as coal from worry and anxiety, but Silje didn’t notice that.

“You still have great power in you Tengel – I can feel it,” she murmured in a sleepy voice. “The touch of your hand is as wonderful as ever!”