Читать книгу The Ice People 19 - Dragon´s Teeth - Margit Sandemo - Страница 6

Chapter 1

Dragon seed, Ulvhedin had predicted in a moment of gloominess. The Ice People are like dragon seed.

He was thinking of the legendary Greek hero who slew a dragon and sowed its teeth, whereupon an army of soldiers immediately sprang from the ground.

Everyone assumed that the Ice People had managed to shed their curse after Shira’s amazing feat. No children in the subsequent generation had been born with the curse – Elisabet, Sölve, Ingela and Arv – so perhaps that meant they were just four perfectly splendid young people?

Ulvhedin knew better.

He knew that Shira had merely laid the groundwork for the obliteration of the curse. She had discovered the clear waters of life that had the capacity to dissolve the effect of the water of evil that Tengel the Evil had buried. Now they needed to find the place where he had hidden the water, and they had to do that before he was resuscitated.

It had been a sobering realization for Ulvhedin and all his kin.

Except that the others didn’t take it very seriously, because they assumed that the curse had been lifted.

Ulvhedin was the only one who knew that the dragon’s teeth had borne fruit.

This is the story of the cursed one whose fate most closely resembled that of Trond, Are’s son, long, long before. Trond had not displayed any external signs of being cursed. He was a perfectly ordinary young man who had not even suspected anything himself at first. But Tengel the Good, his grandfather, had noticed it. Now and then he had seen a yellow glint in Trond’s eyes, had seen fragments of the cursed legacy of the Ice People deep in the boy’s soul.

It had been war, murders and bloodshed that awakened his evil disposition.

The fate of his kinsman, many years later, was to unravel quite differently. But they had one thing in common: no one in their immediate circle had any suspicion of what they were concealing in their souls.

Daniel’s children, Sölve and Ingela, were two good-looking siblings. They were dark, with lively colouring and deep brown eyes, quick-witted, happy and sociable. Their grandmother Ingrid was proud of them, and rightly so.

When they were children they had heard the story of the Ice People and their curse. But it did not interest them all that much. They lived a sheltered life with their mother and father, not far from the beautiful estate of Skenäs in Vingaaker in Sweden, to which Göran Oxenstierna had moved in his old age. They lived in a perfect idyll of peace.

Göran Oxenstierna, who – together with Dan and Daniel – had fought in the battle of Villmanstrand in Finland and had been injured there, lived to be a very old man. He had married Countess Sara Gyllenborg, who was twenty-seven years his junior and the daughter of one of the members of the State Council. Together they had four sons, two of whom would come to play a role in the lives of Sölve and Ingela, the children of Daniel Lind of the Ice People. One was Axel Frederik, but when this story begins he was still too young to have any influence on what happened. The other was his oldest brother, Johan Gabriel, who at an early age was already displaying exceptional talents.

Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna, who to this day is celebrated in Swedish literary history, was a dreamer. He was unusually sensitive and gifted. In his youth he began to write short poems, which he would read aloud to his friends Sölve and Ingela but otherwise kept to himself.

He also kept a diary that was just as romantically composed as the poems, and both soon began to concentrate on a central theme: a certain Themir, who was actually the housekeeper at Skenäs and whose real name was Anna Kinvall. Johan Gabriel was fifteen years old; she was twenty-three. At this point both the diary and the poems overflowed with joyful love and sheer bliss. And they were filled with secrets to which only Sölve, who was a year older than his friend, was privy.

Ingela, who was two years younger than Johan Gabriel, was upset by his infatuation with Anna Kinvall, because Ingela herself was a little in love with him. But there was no way that Ingela was ever going to let him know about it! She was a very proud girl, and she could never hope to marry Johan Gabriel Oxenstierna because she was not of noble birth. Her feelings grew into a bittersweet love from a distance, and she refused to know the extent to which Johan Gabriel’s infatuation with Anna Kinvall remained mere infatuation and nothing more.

Sölve had a completely different nature. Carefree and outspoken, he made friends easily, out-going and straightforward as he was.

But deep within him other features of his character lay hidden.

He was twelve years old when he first became aware of them ...

He and Ingela had been up at Skenäs playing with the boys. There had been a party. It was Johan Gabriel’s eleventh birthday and many people had been gathered there, both young and old.

Sölve had seen Göran Oxenstierna’s weaponry collection for the first time. There had been, among other things, a pistol with silver mounts that deeply fascinated him. “Imagine owning that,” he had sighed, and the others had smiled at the twelve-year-old’s eagerness.

He thought about that pistol with longing for the rest of the evening. He dreamed about it at night. But when he woke the next morning, to his great surprise there was the pistol lying on the table in his bedroom.

He knew that he would never have received it as a gift – it was much too precious to Göran Oxenstierna. There were too many memories associated with it.

Sölve’s cheeks were burning. Who? And how?

The bedroom window was open, but who would have willingly waded through the vicious stinging nettles below? There weren’t any tracks to be seen either.

Sölve was an honest soul, at least while he was still a child. So he resolutely picked up the pistol and ran with it up to Skenäs.

He knew he couldn’t simply put it back in its place – he was not allowed to enter the premises without permission. Instead, with a trembling voice, he asked to speak to Major-General Göran Oxenstierna, Johan Gabriel’s father.

He was admitted. Agitatedly, he explained how he had just discovered the pistol on his bedside table, and insisted that it had not been there the evening before.

“I don’t understand this,” said Göran Oxenstierna, puzzled. “No one has been in here since I replaced the pistol in the case. The window is open, of course, but this is the second floor!”

“I don’t understand it either,” Sölve said. “Because who would climb into my room in the middle of the night? At any rate, I want to return it to you now. Please don’t think badly of me because of this! I am not a thief.”

“I know that, Sölve. Someone must have wanted to play a trick on you. Or wanted you to be accused of stealing. I will examine the case further.”

But they never did find an explanation for it. Not until Sölve had turned sixteen and Johan Gabriel’s infatuation with Themir – Anna Kinvall – had reached its peak.

Inspired by Johan Gabriel’s love story, Sölve himself found that he was starting to become infatuated with one of the servant girls at Skenäs. She was practically a grown woman; her name was Stina, and she was robust and not particularly maidenly.

Sölve, puberty raging through his body, started having forbidden, exciting dreams about her at night.

One day he saw her doing the laundry down by the bridge. She had rolled up her skirt, so that her lush thighs shone in the sun. That night Sölve had some pretty intense fantasies. He imagined her thighs before him, water droplets glistening on her shimmering skin; he imagined that he was stroking them with his hands. Not down towards her knees – no, upwards to unknown secret places.

“Stina,” he whispered. “Stina, come to me! I want you!”

A little while later his door creaked. Someone was coming in. Sölve sat up in surprise.

It was Stina.

She gave him an insecure smile in the light summer evening. With fumbling fingers she began to remove her apron.

Sölve, who had just been staring, came to with a start.

“Yes, well, something told me that the young master wanted me to come,” she said, giggling shyly.

“How did you know?” he asked happily. “How did you know?”

But at that moment his brain was unable to focus on how it had actually happened. At that point he consisted purely of his senses. Vibrating senses that were wide awake. Because she seemed so utterly willing, he dared to carefully lift her sturdy skirt, which was clearly homespun. He glanced at her wrists and ankles ... Oh, heavens, how little you mean to me now, he was thinking rather blasphemously. Nothing could be more gorgeous than this particular sight.

His idol had, of course, always been Johan Gabriel. But he did not know exactly how carnal Johan Gabriel’s relationship with Anna Kinvall was. Sölve had his suspicions that the infatuation remained chaste, but he was not entirely certain; and if not it would probably have been Anna – that is, Johan Gabriel’s Themir – who would have taken the initiative, since she was older and more experienced. Sölve wanted to do everything that Johan Gabriel did. And he imagined that Anna Kinvall had led the noble Johan Gabriel astray. They met every now and then, Sölve knew. Down by the river where no one could see them. In the park or in the woods. At this moment, Sölve closed his eyes to the fact that Johan Gabriel would never violate a woman’s chastity: his rendezvous with Anna Kinvall most likely consisted of high-minded strolls during which Johan Gabriel would speak to her seriously and worship her like the Madonna.

No, at this particular moment Sölve wanted to believe that his friend had gone all the way with Anna’s full consent.

In which case, Sölve could do the same thing!

His hand had carefully pulled the skirt up even higher. Stina had nice legs, even though they were stout and nubbly. But it was most probably his touch that was making her skin contract. It felt wonderful to close his hand around her knee: it made him tremble; it felt so terribly wonderful.

Stina sat silently on the side of his bed. Her breathing was tremulous, and she was smiling.

“So, the young man would like to taste a bit of adult life,” she finally whispered when he daringly wrapped his hand around her thigh.

Sölve was unable to answer that. His pulse was throbbing in his throat and his head was spinning. His body was in a commotion, it was aching and pounding; he felt that he was getting wet down there, but it was too dark for him to see. But Stina had done this before. And this youth, who was still wet behind the ears, was a little too slow for her. Not that she would ever understand what exactly got into her when she had barged into his bedroom! Sölve Lind of the Ice People belonged to one of the finer families on the estate. Not as fine as the Oxenstiernas, the master and mistress, of course. But the Linds of the Ice People were never considered to be part of the servant class: they had a position of their own. It was said that the father, Daniel, was a researcher in addition to being Göran Oxenstierna’s adjutant. And his wife was terribly dignified!

But they were away from home at the moment. And the young man’s sister, Ingela, was travelling with her parents.

Perhaps that was why Stina had dared to go into Sölve’s room? No, what rubbish! What would she want with a puppy like him when she could have any grown man she desired? But this was what she had wanted! Anyway, perhaps it was fun to taste a young cock every now and then.

But goodness how that young boy fumbled. It was clear to her that she would have to help him a little.

Without much fuss she lifted her skirts all the way up to her waist. Of course, she wasn’t wearing anything underneath because it was summertime and hot. The poor boy – how he gasped. She hoped he wouldn’t faint.

No, Sölve did not faint. But the blood was throbbing in his lips and sizzling in his body, and his eyes flickered as he stared at the dark triangle before him. Without his being fully aware of it, his hand had closed itself around that wonderful place with such intensity that she became angry, but only for a second. Sölve, who was very confused, heard her whisper, “Not so fast, my little friend. Shouldn’t you undress us first?”

He woke out of his stupor and stared at her lying there as if she had been thrown down on the bed.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he stammered.

Pulling himself together, he managed to focus on untying her blouse, but once again he fell into a trance over the beauties that were now revealed to him. Poor Sölve, no sooner had he touched them than his first attempt at lovemaking was completely over!

How embarrassing! What would she say now?

“Now, now, that is not a catastrophe,” she babbled. “There will be other opportunities. Now take off those sticky pants and let Stina get to work to make our friend come back to life again!”

And that’s how it went. He had no idea how he managed it, but she was very experienced and played and caressed and sat on him and let him touch, and then he was simply there and the only thing he was aware of was that he was lying in the warm embrace of a woman and that he had apparently managed to give her pleasure too, because she had started to writhe and moan and cling to him, and everything was just so heavenly and he wanted his life to be like this always!

Stina was all friendly smiles and promised to come back whenever the young man wished her to.

He gazed dreamily at her rather plump, rustic-looking face. The dreaminess was mostly due to his own pride in the fact that he had actually managed it. He was now a man: he had passed the test of manhood.

Yes, of course, there was a good chance that he would send for her again if the occasion arose and no one discovered them. But she was definitely not his ideal woman! The world lay at his feet now: all the women in the world could be his if he wanted them. That was how confident he felt, and in his frenzied joy he pulled her to him and hugged her wildly and without restraint.

Stina, who assumed that he was madly in love with her, let out a maternal laugh as the experienced woman that she was. What an impressive amount of energy he had displayed, that little boy!

And he was certainly handsome, young master Sölve. Brown, almost black eyes and luxuriant eyelashes that she herself would have liked to possess. A mass of dark brown curls that fell across his brow and a mouth hungry for life. There was something blunt and careless about the boy! He was still perplexed and childish, but once he became an adult he might turn truly dangerous! She thought he could actually become anything he wanted. He had a look of adventurous recklessness in his eyes, which she may have been the first one to glimpse. Only now, in his moment of victory, was it possible to vaguely discern it.

That madman, he had jumped out of bed and started doing cartwheels out of sheer joy! Goodness, it looked crazy, particularly because he wasn’t wearing any clothes! Stina had to laugh. Then he threw himself on top of her again and kissed and hugged her in a frenzy, but it was as though he wasn’t fully aware that she was there. He could have been dancing around with any girl. This could have been a little humiliating, but Stina wasn’t the type to take offence at such things. She had enough men to choose from!

“You fool,” she smiled. “And now I thank you for the entertainment.”

After she had left, Sölve lay in bed in a daze. His dreamy state lasted for a long time, but when it began to wear off, he started to ponder things ...

Memories from his childhood, as fleeting as the whispers of spirits from the past, flashed before him. A kitten that he had wanted more than anything in the world ... he had acquired it contrary to all common sense, because his mother loathed cats.

A boy whom he had fervently hated, so much that he had wished him to burn in hell. That very same day the boy had stumbled and fallen into a bonfire in the park where they were burning wood. He had been so badly burned that Sölve had a guilty conscience and feared that it was his fault because he had wished for it.

But imagine if that had been the case. He tried to recall other episodes, but it was all too vague. Because he had never considered the possibility ... Sölve got up quickly and sat down at the table. The summer night was receding – outside it was light as day.

On the other side of the table there was a plate with a loaf of bread: his breakfast, since everyone else was away.

He clenched and opened his hands, clenched and opened them, while he ceaselessly licked his lips and beads of sweat trickled down his face.

Thoughts were racing around his head like a whirlwind, as though they refused to come out clearly into the open. Thoughts about the Ice People. About his generation, the one that had been spared. No one in it was cursed! Brown eyes, I have dark brown eyes. I look good, I have no defects. No one has ever uttered a word about me being special in any way, never ...

He took a deep breath, as though he were sitting in a room without oxygen, slow, tortured and trembling. An inexplicable dread made his chest ache. Then he said loudly and clearly: “I want that bread. Now!”

His whole body was shaking with excitement. His chin quivered so that his teeth clattered. What am I doing? What am I doing?

Grandmother Ingrid ... who had once claimed that Ulvhedin ... that Ulvhedin ... that old beast, had talked about dragon seed?

Sölve was well read. He was familiar with the Greek myths. The ones about Cadmus and Jason who had planted dragon’s teeth. Ulvhedin had insinuated that the Ice People were by no means rid of the curse.

Ulvhedin, that monster from the underworld, that friendly man with the glowing eyes who knew so much.

New memories flashed before Sölve.

He had not always been a good boy, no! On the outside he seemed a perfect son, of whom his parents had every reason to be proud. But how had he actually managed to get away with maintaining that image, when every now and then he had wanted to use the benefits that came with having special abilities?

“You lucky duck,” his father Daniel had laughed many times. “Fortune is certainly on your side, Sölve. You seem to be able to manage everything!”

Now Sölve was seeing it in a completely different light. Yes, it was easy for him to get his way, but then he had always considered it to be perfectly natural for everything to go his way.

But what if it really wasn’t so natural after all?

It was hard to tell, because it had mostly been to do with small things, small occurrences that could just as well have been due to coincidence as anything else.

Coincidences?

The pistol with the silver mounts? Stina?

Good God, save me from this evil!

No, what rubbish, it was just a game!

“I want that bread, now!”

He stared intently at the bread plate on the far side of the table. Madness, madness, have I lost my mind? What am I thinking?

“I want that bread now!” he said with clenched teeth, stressing each syllable.

Nothing happened. Of course not, what had he expected?

But back then, when they had played games and he, Sölve, had won them all, even the ones it would have been more natural for the Oxenstierna boys or Ingela to win? How had that really come about?

He recalled that he had been overcome with an overwhelming desire to win. And that was what he had done. Yes, because Sölve was one of those who wanted to assert himself and be the best. To have power – hadn’t that always been a wonderful dream of his? Wonderful until now. Then it had been just a modest, childish dream.

It had all been so insignificant that he had never considered what he had wanted or how he had got it.

But that time with the pistol? And now Stina?

The clear, searching morning sun settled on the deer pasture outside. No one was up yet and he assumed that Stina had crawled into bed in the girls’ chamber on the other side of the courtyard.

The rowanberries glowed intensely in the beautiful trees at the head of the ditch that crossed the field. They could expect another hot August day.

Sölve sensed that he was beginning to feel hungry.

Now I actually do want that bread, he thought. It’s no longer something I am just saying to prove something to myself. I am hungry and I want food, now!

A light shuffling, scraping sound made him flinch. The silence had emphasized it, making it sound very sharp. He felt his cheeks burning and his heart pounding.

The bread plate ... hadn’t it moved? Moved slightly closer?

No, that was impossible. It was ridiculous even to imagine such a thing!

Sölve sat hunched by the table with all eight fingers crammed into his mouth at once, biting his fingernails and trembling. He actually looked terribly childish, like the caricature of a naughty child, but he wasn’t aware of it himself because he was so absorbed in what might happen.

He ought to have said the wish aloud once more, but just at that moment he was unable to do anything at all.

My God, he thought. My God, something happened, but it couldn’t have been the bread plate. I have surely lost my mind!

After he had sat down for ten minutes and gained control of the excitement he was feeling in his body and soul, he managed to calm down so much that he actually began to feel hungry again.

Should I? Dare I?

In a trembling voice he mumbled the words as he focused intently on his wish:

“I ... want that bread. Now. Immediately.”

Swoosh! Suddenly the bread plate shot over at a tremendous speed, knocking against his arms. Sölve was thrown backwards and landed on the floor. For a moment he lay there flailing his arms and trying to get up, in such a state of fear that he almost wet himself. He crawled back to his bed and climbed clumsily into it.

He did not dare to look at the table.

Not for a long time.

Then he looked, cautiously, between his fingers.

All the breath left him. Yes, the bread plate was on his side of the table.

Sölve forgot about his hunger and shrank down under the covers, lying there in steaming, throbbing fear.

He dared not look up. But after a while his brain began to function again.

It is true, he thought, breathless. I am the missing cursed one! So my generation was not spared!

For another long period he lay completely motionless, until he started having difficulty breathing under all the covers. He had to get up and breathe some air.

A rooster crowed: it was a small indicator of life to him and made him feel less lonely. He was no longer alone in the silence of the daybreak.

He even dared to look at the table again.

Sölve was calm now. A smile slowly started to spread across his face, tentatively at first, then gradually more broadly.

The truth was finally dawning on him. The possibilities! My God, they were endless!

Again, he took some time to consider them carefully. What couldn’t he accomplish? As one of the cursed of the Ice People!

And he was in a better position than everyone else.

Because no one else knew what he was capable of. No one had the least suspicion that he was cursed.

Then Sölve did something rather strange. He could have decided that it was not certain that he was cursed because he had none of the outer, grotesque features typical of the cursed ones.

But no! Sölve was immediately aware that he was one of the cursed and not one of the chosen. And therefore he had chosen sides.

He wanted to be one of the cursed. It was a dangerous decision. It did not bode well.

That night many things began to change within him. He became a new person. Not all at once, not in a flash of magic.

No, the change came slowly. Over the course of months and years. But this was the turning point.

And as he lay exhausted in his bed that sunny morning, another realization came to him, exceedingly intense and equally dangerous.

No one was to know that he was one of the cursed ones.

Because that would give him endless possibilities.