Читать книгу The Ice People 13 - The Devil´s Footprint - Margit Sandemo - Страница 6

Chapter 1

The first sightings of the Devil’s footprints happened a long time ago, after Villemo had finally returned home from her roamings and settled down with Dominic and her newborn son.

But at that time none of the Ice People knew anything about these occurrences. They had never heard of the Devil’s footprints, because the very few who had seen the footprints hadn’t lived long enough to be able to tell people about them.

It was a long time before the people of Norway began to notice that something inexplicable was taking place in their country.

Once the first omens came, they were so far away that not even an echo of them reached Graastensholm. High in a mountain valley in the interior of the country, far to the north of the main Parish of Akershus, something mysterious came down from the mountains ...

This was in 1684. Villemo’s son and his two cousins had all turned seven.

The strange thing that occurred at that time was something only very few people noticed or came to know of. They certainly didn’t include anyone among the Ice People.

Two women were walking along a muddy road in a remote valley. The wind rustled in the dry heather; it was an icy cold, windy day. They wrapped their shawls more tightly about themselves as they shouted to each other, holding their bodies almost horizontal against the wind as they fought their way home.

Then one of them bent down towards the ground and pointed.

“Do you see that? We’ve been following those footprints for quite some time now.”

The other, who had been talking about her rheumatic pain, hadn’t noticed anything, so she also bent down. With a voice betraying a certain unease, she said: “It looks like ... Do you think it’s an animal or a human being that has walked here?”

“Both, I’d say,” the first one said. She felt a strange sensation come over her.

“But it’s only one, after all!”

“Yes, that’s why it’s so strange.”

They turned around to take a closer look at the footprints, only to discover that they had erased them with their own feet.

“The first time I noticed them was right there where the trail comes down from the mountain,” one of them said somewhat helplessly.

Just where they stood the road happened to be firmer and the footprints disappeared. The women had only three pairs of footprints that they could study. Even so they were clear enough: the prints of a naked foot, human – or something that they couldn’t properly identify.

“Barefoot at this time of the year?” the first woman said nervously.

“It resembles ...” the other one muttered. “Heavenly Father, Creator of Heaven and Earth, free us from the Evil.”

Then they both began to run so that their black skirts fluttered about them. With long, frightened strides, they dashed off towards the village.

They reached the first woman’s house, quite out of breath, and dragged her husband back with them. He was sceptical and rather grumpy at having been woken up from his after-dinner nap.

He paled when he came to the spot and saw the footprints. He broke off a spruce twig and wiped out the tracks with it.

Then he drew deep crosses in the mud with the other end of the twig.

“Don’t mention anything about this to anybody,” he whispered. “We can’t have a mass exodus from the village during the spring sowing. Paint tar crosses on your house and outhouse, bar the doors and light candles tonight. We’re off to church to pray!”

These three were the first witnesses to have seen the footprints and survived.

Some years passed.

Then it dawned on the inhabitants of a small valley farther south that someone in their midst was committing evil deeds. They remembered strange deaths that had occurred from time to time over the past two years ... There had to be a connection.

It wasn’t anybody from the village. It was some stranger who came down from the mountain at night to steal food, and if one of the villagers got in the way of the thief, it would always end with a sudden death.

They saw the prints of lumpen footwear, probably made of bark – peculiar footprints that frightened and confused them. One looked normal, even if it was exceptionally large. The other one, the right foot ... they couldn’t decide what it was. It was much shorter, as if part of it had been chopped off ...

Then strong, brave men would lie in wait to catch the thief and the killer. But it was as if he – admittedly, it was a strange expression, but they felt that it was natural – it was as if he scented them. That scenting – such an eerie sensation, which made you think of an animal. They could sense him nearby ... and then he was gone, never to be seen in the village again.

Nevertheless, there was scattered evidence of a being that hid itself from humans but stole from their larders at night. A being that not even the dogs would bark at but slunk away from, whining. You could follow its journey through the country. It travelled southward, albeit not in a beeline, so that its strange footprints appeared here and there. They were dubbed “the Devil’s footprints” – and death and destruction followed in the Devil’s footprints.

Occasionally, the creature would be gone for a long time, vanishing into thin air, and people would heave a sigh of relief. But then suddenly the footprints would appear again.

It would seem that he was extremely strong. The manner in which his various victims met their ends varied greatly. Sometimes a death was unfathomable, and now and then he was bound to be blamed for things he hadn’t done. A scapegoat could come in handy when, say, sheep disappeared while they were grazing. Then people would become hysterical and rage about a grizzly bear or a wolf. Or maybe you had accidentally killed a neighbour in a dispute about a field boundary: you could say it was all because the beast had been on the prowl ...

However, everybody could tell that there was an evil being living hidden in their midst.

Finally the rumours reached Graastensholm. But Niklas, who was now running the large estate, didn’t spare them a thought. You heard this kind of superstitious nonsense all the time.

Big changes had taken place on the farms in recent years.

Niklas’s father, Andreas, continued to manage Linden Avenue. But Eli had gone and old Brand had been caught in a winter storm, fighting consumption until eventually he had to give up. Mattias at Graastensholm had also become a widower. It was the usual thing – the Ice People were a tough race and therefore doomed to live alone in old age. But Mattias was absolutely delighted that his daughter, Irmelin, and his son-in-law had chosen to live with him, because he had never been cut out for working on the farm. And as long as Andreas ran Linden Avenue, everything was fine. Kaleb was an exception to the rule that only the Ice People lived long lives. He and Gabriella were alone at Elistrand once Villemo had moved to Sweden with her small family.

The clan had held a formal meeting at which they had discussed the future. There were no heirs to two of the farms. So they reached the decision that Alv, the son of Irmelin and Niklas, would end up being a rich man. He was to take over Graastensholm and Linden Avenue and he was to administer Elistrand for Villemo’s son, Tengel, while the latter was in Sweden. All this would, of course, not happen until the older generation retired.

Mikael in Sweden had also become a widower. Of course, he grieved for his Anette, but he got along splendidly with his son, Dominic, and daughter-in-law, Villemo, and not least his grandson, Tengel III. They had become a close-knit family now that the neurotic Anette’s admonitions had died away.

Matters were considerably worse in Denmark. While Lene was happy with her Örjan and daughter in Scania, at Gabrielshus Tristan walked about like a restless soul, alone in the frighteningly empty rooms. Cecilie had finally succumbed at the age of 90. To everybody’s despair, Tancred, always happy and witty, had lost his life in the Scanian War, and his wife, Jessica, had died during an epidemic.

Tristan was the only one left and it didn’t seem like he planned to get married. What was the point of that, anyway? He couldn’t have children and he wasn’t suited for marriage. Tristan .... His name meant “born to sorrow”: never had a name been more appropriate!

There was another large estate without an heir here, for Lene’s daughter, Christiana, had her father’s house in Scania, which was enough for her.

Two clans were heading for extinction: the Meiden clan would die out with Mattias and the Paladin clan with Tristan. The fact that the newly coined family name, Elistrand, would also disappear with Kaleb and Gabriella might be less tragic. Paladin was the oldest and proudest name, and Tristan was pleased that Grandpa Alexander wouldn’t be there to see how things were going to turn out for his old family name.

Mikael, who was now head of the Ice People, was extremely concerned about the state of affairs. The new generation had only three members: Alv, Christiana and Tengel III. He hoped they would marry and have a great many children. But this was probably asking too much of the descendants of the Ice People, who never had large families.

Nobody was bothered by rumours of a peculiar, invisible being somewhere in Norway.

Not until something very odd occurred. It galvanized the entire race of the Ice People, leaving them frightened, confused, incredulous.

The creature was seen for the first time in the year of Our Lord 1695.

One blue moonlit night somewhere north of Christiania a notorious drunkard rolled home from the inn. Halfway home he fell in the ditch and landed among oxeye daisies and bluebells, where he fell asleep.

He was in a miserable state when he woke up. He thought that life was a bad thing altogether and his own life was far more miserable than everybody else’s.

“To hell with it all,” he drawled angrily. “May the Devil take it all!”

Then he heard steps.

Strange, uneven steps. Thump-drag, thump-drag ...

The drunkard felt that he was just beginning to sober up again. His heart started to pound but he wasn’t yet quite clear about the situation. His intoxication still lay like a veil between him and the surrounding world.

“Here he comes, him with the hoof, to fetch me,” he thought, half scared, half bleakly humorous.

Invoking him was dangerous, that was something they had always said at home.

He struggled to open his eyes. He saw a foggy moon up over the mountain ridge where the road disappeared.

That was where the steps came from.

The drunkard blinked to try to see more clearly. He shook his head, but stopped immediately as a wave of nausea hit him.

There was something there. Something big, something huge that was coming up over the mountain ridge and down towards him ...

He crouched in the ditch, trying to make himself invisible.

“I’ll never touch the bottle again,” he thought. “Dear Jesus, if you preserve me now, I promise to keep to the straight and narrow from now on. I do, I do ...”

His prayer wasn’t answered. Maybe it was too late for him to promise to mend his ways. “It” had stopped up on the mountain ridge. There it stood, slowly turning its head back and forth, as if it was scenting something nearby. The man in the ditch stared dumbfounded at the creature, his teeth rattling, and a small, frightened, trembling sound could be heard coming from him.

The creature’s eyes began to glow. It stood stock-still for a moment and then the uneven steps were heard again, approaching nearer and faster than seemed possible.

The terrible creature bent down over him. It seemed to hide the moon and the entire firmament.

The man in the ditch yelled helplessly.

They found him the next morning. The pathetic remains of a human being. With eyes that stared up at them as if terrified, petrified; rusty, strained breathing; making miserable attempts to say something ...

He lived just long enough to be able to speak about what he had seen. If you could call it speaking ... They had to force the words out of him and in between he would scream pathetically when he was reminded of the terrible moment when the creature had bent over him.

He gave the first testimony about who had left the strange footprints on the ground. As he heaved his last sigh, still lying miserably in the ditch, the men rose and looked at one another, silent, sceptical and stunned.

They gazed at the dead drunkard. He was not a sight to forget. Torn, bruised – and with horrific marks on his throat from something that most resembled a huge hand with claws.

What were they to believe?

It was a while before they could bring themselves to report what they had heard. It seemed as if they were afraid of being laughed at.

But then the rumour spread like wildfire, and since the threat was no longer so distant from Graastensholm, it wasn’t long before the clan met at Linden Avenue to discuss it.

Niklas was the one who had summoned the men of the clan for a serious talk. They would keep the women out of it for the time being.

“A rumour soon gets distorted,” his dad, Andreas, objected thoughtfully, after Niklas had spoken of his misgivings.

“Yes,” Mattias added. “It’s bound to get worse each time it’s repeated until it becomes quite grotesque. They even say that only very few victims show signs of violence. That they simply ... die!”

“Nevertheless, there are things about this that make me uneasy,” old Kaleb muttered from his seat in the big armchair. His wrinkled face looked pensive.

“Couldn’t agree more, Uncle Kaleb,” Niklas said. “Certain things are absolutely alarming.”

Alv, who was 18, entered the room. Although the blood of the Ice People flowed in his veins, there wasn’t much about him that revealed this relationship. Like his maternal grandfather, Mattias, he was quite short, slight and fair. He had the slanted eyes and high cheekbones of his father Niklas; these and the elf-like expression around his mouth, slightly arched, jolly and full of mischief, were his most characteristic features.

“Excuse me for being late,” he said, panting. “I just needed to repair a broken tool. The farmhands didn’t really know what to do. I heard the last bit of what you said. What did this creature really look like?”

“Oh, it’s nothing but wild rumours,” Andreas said. “We don’t want to believe in such nonsense.”

“All right, but I’d like to hear it nevertheless,” Alv insisted. “You all look so concerned, so there’s bound to be something up, isn’t there.”

Although Niklas lived at Graastensholm and ran the farm there, his son, Alv, preferred to be with his grandfather, and the others agreed. Soon enough he would be in charge of all three farms.

Kaleb straightened his back. “Yes, we’re worried. There’s something alarming about this story that everybody’s talking about. The drunkard in the ditch didn’t manage to explain it properly but from what we’ve gathered the creature was frighteningly big.”

“A human being?” Alv asked swiftly.

“Er ... well, it certainly seemed to have features like those of a human being ...”

“Well, it’s called the Devil. Was it the Devil?”

The others squirmed under the young man’s direct gaze.

“How are we to know what the Devil himself looks like?” Kaleb asked. “Now listen: the man saw a silhouette standing out against the moon, with wild hair hanging in wisps down over his shoulders. It seems that the monster was dressed in a kind of armour with steel gloves and bands on his arms and legs. The drunkard found it difficult to explain. But ...”

Kaleb fell silent.

“Yes, what more did you want to say?” Alv persisted.

“The ... creature had immensely broad shoulders that extended to a point at the front almost like a Chinese collar, if you know what that’s like.”

They all bent their heads uneasily. This was a description that they recognized only too well ...

Alv didn’t say anything for a while. Then he said: “I suppose that was the armour?”

“Well, that was what we thought too. But then the creature came closer. He limped badly but the drunkard couldn’t see his feet from down in the ditch.”

When Kaleb fell silent once more, Alv asked: “Well, what about the face? Did he see the face of whatever it is?”

“Yes, he saw the face,” Kaleb replied after a deep sigh. “He saw the eyes. The moon was behind the monster so that its face was in shadow. However, its eyes glowed like yellow fire, the man said. As if it was filled with fire that shone from the eye sockets. And the monster was dreadfully furious as it seized the man and dragged him out of the ditch. Then he didn’t remember anything else.”

“But he saw no facial features?”

“Well, er ... he asserted that the eyes seemed slightly slanted ...”

Alv looked glum, knowing only too well that his own eyes were slanted.

“The man also said that it seemed as if this creature had ... smelled him,” Kaleb said thoughtfully.

“Like an animal?”

“Surely that goes without saying,” Andreas broke in. “The drunkard was bound to reek of booze! Now, let’s not exaggerate. We must remember that this is only a rumour. It may have grown enormously since the attack occurred.”

“Precisely,” Mattias said. “There’s no need to paint things blacker than they are before we know more. But where did the beast disappear to afterwards? Do we know anything about that?”

“It would seem that he’s heading for Christiania.”

“In that case he’s bound to be arrested there.”

“Time will tell,” Niklas muttered.

Kaleb, who was 77 but still full of good sense, said matter-of-factly: “Anyway, we needn’t pay attention to a drunkard’s fantasies.”

“I don’t know about that,” Andreas replied. “I don’t like that he comes from a small, northern mountain valley ...”

“Ugh,” Mattias said.

Alv, who knew that he was greatly loved in his capacity as the family’s only hope here in Norway and therefore could take quite a lot of liberties, blurted: “Well, for heaven’s sake, who is he then?”

Nobody spoke. Not until Grandpa Andreas slowly said: “I don’t think we should get heaven involved in this. Let’s just forget it all.”

“No,” Niklas interrupted. “I haven’t summoned you all here to discuss superstition. I’ve waited to show you this, and I think we’d be wise to take the matter seriously.”

He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket.

“What do you have there?” Andreas wanted to know.

“A letter. From Villemo.”

“From Villemo?” Kaleb exclaimed. “Why has she written to you and not to us?”

“I received it a few days ago and I didn’t understand much of it. Not until now, when we’ve heard what the drunkard experienced.”

After a short pause, Kaleb went on: “Well then, read it to us, for heaven’s sake!”

The summer weather outside was grey. They sat in the old part of Linden Avenue, with the door to the hall open so that they could see Benedikt’s glass painting and Silje’s portraits of her four children and foster children. From where Niklas sat he could see Sol’s arched smile and he didn’t know how he was supposed to interpret that smile – whether it was encouraging or foreboding ...

He began to read:

Dear Niklas,

How are you all getting on at Graastensholm and Linden Avenue and Elistrand? I can tell you that you’re all very much in our thoughts. The wild relative, the undersigned, has settled down here and is doing very well but even so I dream of seeing the old places once more. Isn’t it awful how old we’ve all become! You and Irmelin will be 40 this year and I’ll turn the same age next year. Dominic is 43, believe it or not! It’s crazy – am I supposed to pretend to be 39, I, who feel so young? Inside I’m just as crazy as I was when I was 17. Well, almost. And my son, Tengel ...! 18! This is surely impossible! You should see him now, he’s so fascinating to look at. He resembles nobody else, he’s very much his own man. Everybody is fine here. They all send their greetings.

But this wasn’t what I wanted to write about.

Niklas, what’s going on with you all? Dominic is completely out of his mind! You know how he can sense things at a long distance. He’s clairvoyant in some way and these days he simply can’t rest. “We must be on our way to Norway, Villemo,” he keeps on repeating. “Niklas needs us!” Then I: “Niklas? What do you mean by that?” Anyway, yesterday Dominic said: “I believe the time has come, Villemo. That for which you and I and Niklas were chosen, now begins. We must be off to Norway!” So please write immediately, dear Niklas, and tell us. I for one think it would be absolutely wonderful to get started on whatever it is. After all this is something we’ve been waiting for ever since we were children. And I, who met Tengel the Good in a vision, I know that we’re needed for something. Please write immediately!

It would be good to get away from life at Court for a while. This may seem boastful but I think I’m too strong for them: all those who intrigue and try to elbow their way into His Majesty’s favour ...

Niklas looked up. “The rest hasn’t anything to do with the matter. I haven’t replied yet because I didn’t link these rumours with the monster that is on its way south towards us. But after the description we’ve heard from the drunkard ...”

Kaleb rose. “And after this letter from those two in Sweden! Dominic isn’t in the habit of imagining things. When he has his visions or whatever we are to call them, we should listen to him. Write immediately, Niklas, and ask them to come!”

“Yes,” the others said in one voice.

“Now we understand the seriousness of the matter,” Andreas said. “What is it that’s happened? Kaleb, you’ve been in the Valley of the Ice People. What can it be?”

All eyes were on Kaleb. He was pensive for a while.

“I wasn’t so old at the time,” he started, “and nobody said anything to me directly. So I can only speak about what I myself perceived.”

“That’ll do,” Alv said. He had great respect for the oldest member of the clan.

A quick smile. “No, I’m afraid it won’t.”

Kaleb imagined himself once more in the windy valley far up in the mountains of Trøndelag. He was with three men he had just met: Tarjei, Baard and Bergfinn. They had got to know each other during the long trek to find Kolgrim. He remembered his admiration of Tarjei and the helpless sorrow that seized him when Kolgrim killed the fine scientist ... He remembered the exchange of words between the two, how fragments of it had been carried on the wind to the spot where he stood.

He said very slowly: “But this I can say for sure: Tarjei and Kolgrim knew something. And Kolgrim yelled to Tarjei that he had seen the Devil himself, and Tarjei said that wasn’t the case but that the description fitted Tengel the Evil.”

Andreas clenched his hands around the arm of the chair. “No, Niklas: you mustn’t go on this trek.”

Niklas silenced his father with a wave of his hand, making a sign to Kaleb to go on with his story.

Mattias broke in: “Niklas, when you write to Villemo, ask them to bring Mikael’s book about the Ice People with them. He wrote everything down.”

“I certainly will. Well, Uncle Kaleb?”

“Well, what can I say?” Kaleb sighed. “This is mere guesswork, but since we returned from the Valley of the Ice People and I heard more about this legend, I think I can honestly say that the spot where Tengel the Evil met the Prince of Darkness is bound to be there in that very valley. I also remember how Kolgrim came running, well, bolting actually, away from there, screaming like a lunatic.”

He was silent. Then he continued: “And then we buried Kolgrim in that valley. And we realized afterwards that we’d accidentally buried the mandrake with him.”

Everybody knew what the mandrake was: a family heirloom that had been in the Ice People’s possession for centuries. The mandrake was considered the most prestigious herb used in witchcraft. It was the root of what in Mediterranean countries was known as mandragora. This root was shaped like a human and was used as a protective charm that could also eliminate enemies, accumulate wealth or improve someone’s love life.

Except the Ice People’s mandrake had never acted as protection for them. On the contrary! And now it had vanished from the face of the earth together with Kolgrim the Unfortunate!

Alv’s face showed disgust. “A mandrake? Surely it can’t turn into a human being then?”

“No, of course not,” Mattias said quickly.

“Kolgrim? Could he ...?” Andreas asked. “That ... no, that’s a horrible thought!”

They were silent. Those among them who had seen Kolgrim wondered whether it could be him. He certainly had the shoulders and the eyes as well, but there had never been anything wrong with his feet and Kolgrim had been nothing but a young lad, a boy of 14, when he died, and not very tall.

“Why on earth would he suddenly return to life?” Mattias asked uneasily.

“Maybe the mandrake has the power to make that happen?” Alv suggested.

The thought was repulsive. That the boy who was buried along with the mandrake root, had woken, grown up and become a man and then sought out his native place – to seek revenge?

Andreas collected his thoughts: “No, I don’t believe in ghosts. I’d rather believe it’s Tengel the Evil!”

“No,” Kaleb brushed him off resolutely. “Because I heard Tarjei and Kolgrim. It was obvious that Tengel the Evil was a small, ugly creature with a beak-like nose.”

Mattias nodded. “Sol’s said to have seen him like that in a drug-induced dream.”

“I see,” Andreas nodded. “This leaves us with two alternatives: either it’s the Devil himself who has come up for a spot of fresh air on earth or else ...”

Niklas finished the sentence for him: “Or this must be about another branch of the Ice People.”

This wasn’t an encouraging thought. They sank back in grim silence.

“No, it can’t be!” Mattias blurted. “All of them died. But this makes me think of something else, another way of getting an answer. Kaleb, unless I’m much mistaken, didn’t you say that Tarjei and Kolgrim had been up in the attic at Graastensholm immediately before they left for the Valley of the Ice People?”

“Yes.”

“No, wait a moment,” Niklas said. “This is what most of us have already tried. Searched without finding anything. Several generations have searched up there. But when Villemo went up there with Irmelin, she sensed a strong opposition from a part of the loft. They felt that Sol was trying to warn them. With her special gifts, Villemo might have found something or other – and it was dangerous for her. The girl believed she would be needed some time in the future, and I agree with her. It would probably have made matters worse if Dominic had gone up there because his intuition is remarkable. It wouldn’t make sense for us to search any more. We won’t find anything. We know this already.”

“I wouldn’t mind giving it a try,” Alv said with all the youthful love of adventure.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Grandpa Andreas warned. “Besides, you don’t possess any of the special gifts of the Ice People, thank goodness,” he added.

“Anyway, whatever it was that Kolgrim and Tarjei found, there’s a dangerous power behind it. They both lost their lives. Please remember that!” Kaleb said.

“Haven’t we moved somewhat away from the topic now?” Andreas asked. “Do you think that this monster is on its way here?”

“There are no signs of that,” Mattias replied. “Only Christiania has been mentioned.”

The servant girl entered and everybody brightened up. You simply couldn’t do otherwise in Elisa’s presence. Elisa was the daughter of Lars and Marit from the smallholding in the forest. She was Jesper’s grandchild and the great-grandchild of Klaus and Rosa. Elisa had been with them on the night when they found Skaktavl beaten and bruised and saved his life. Then she had been a lively one-year-old and now, twenty years later, she was just as bubbly and bright. A mass of blonde curls framed her charming little face, which didn’t seem to consist of much other than bright blue, eager eyes and big, white teeth. A small, freckled snub nose completed the impression of immense zest for life. She was sharply intelligent, her brain power far beyond that of the other inhabitants of the smallholding, but then nobody was looking for that in her. She had a bright, flexible and down-to-earth way of thinking and everyone at Linden Avenue worshipped her. It was she who had taken on the responsibility of managing the household after Eli passed away. The beloved Eli, after whom she was named.

She turned to Andreas. “How many should we reckon on for dinner, Mr Andreas?”

“All those present.”

Elisa counted. “That makes six,” she said, smiling.

“Heavens, Elisa. You’re not very good at counting, are you! Surely we’re no more than five?” Kaleb said.

The girl laughed and it seemed that the whole room was filled with sunshine. “I always count Mr Alv as two, Mr Kaleb, because he has such a hearty appetite.”

“He doesn’t show it,” smiled Andreas, who had a soft spot for his grandson. “But just lay the table for two more – Irmelin and Gabriella are probably on their way.”

When Elisa had left the room, Kaleb said: “So we’ll bide our time until Niklas has received a reply from Villemo and Dominic?”

“Of course,” Mattias said. “And Niklas, you mustn’t forget to emphasize that we’re all united in the wish to see them here – immediately!”

“Yes,” Kaleb said thoughtfully. “I believe it’s urgent now. It’ll be lovely to see them all once more but I’m terribly frightened for them. We’ve been waiting for this all our lives but now I’m scared. I’d no idea that it would turn out to be something so ...”

He shuddered. He was just about to say “deadly” but couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Our poor children,” Andreas murmured.

None of those present knew what to expect. Which of the Ice People would survive the showdown and which wouldn’t?