Читать книгу The Ice People 10 - Winter Storm - Margit Sandemo - Страница 6
ОглавлениеChapter 1
Villemo, Gabriella and Kaleb’s only child, woke up at daybreak when somebody threw a stone at the window pane.
She got out of bed, but immediately staggered and had to hold on to the wall. She was used to feeling light-headed. It was because of the hunger that was eating her away inside and taxing her strength. Villemo had grown up to become an extremely strong-willed young woman.
In 1673, the village was ravaged by a terrible famine following several years of the crop failure. Elistrand, where Villemo lived, was better off than most of the other farms in the parish because the farm had had great resources to draw on. But Villemo was stubborn. She shared what she had with others as much as she could and found a kind of sickening, ascetic joy in torturing herself.
It was beginning to show. She was seventeen years old, with a peculiarly fascinating appearance, but now she was beginning to look emaciated. Her glossy red hair had turned dull, her golden-green eyes were hollow and her complexion had turned sallow.
Yet her disposition shone with an inner glow which was quite frightening. It showed in her impatient movements, as if she was holding back something powerful within her, in her impetuous way of talking, and in her intense eyes. In her whole demeanour, you sensed that terrible force, like a volcano filled with pent-up lava.
She walked over to the window. Niklas and Irmelin, her cousins, who were one year older than her and from Linden Avenue and Graastensholm, were outside. Villemo signalled that she would join them.
She got dressed quickly and casually. Villemo wasn’t very particular about how she looked. She was clean and that was enough. Gabriella had often been exasperated by her unruly daughter.
The young girl was plagued by her zest for life. There was a yearning in her for something which she knew was hidden in the future, something wonderful which she longed to experience. When others spoke of love, she knew that she didn’t have the same conception of it as they did. Love to her was something uncompromising, something where you gave everything of yourself, something that was so entirely all-consuming that you became love itself. She had never experienced it – but she was waiting ...
She was out in the courtyard. It was cold and the air was nippy. The first autumn nights had come creeping in with thin ice on the puddles of water and frozen blades of grass.
“Hi,” she said, realising once again that Niklas had turned into a very charming young man. She found him fascinating with his slanted, yellow eyes. “What’s the matter? Why are you up and about so early?”
“Thieves visited Graastensholm last night,” he said.
“I’m not surprised. Was it for food?”
“That was probably what they hoped to find,” Irmelin said. “But they didn’t have time to take anything.”
“What a bunch of fools,” Villemo said. “They know your dad shares what he has with all the farms. Did you see who they were?”
“They think they were from the Black Forest.”
“I can well imagine! What sort of twisted pride do those people have? They refuse to accept any help from us, but they can steal alright! Anyway, why are you here?”
“Dad’s visiting patients,” Irmelin said. “And Mum was up so late last night that I didn’t want to disturb her. So I thought we could do something.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you see, our men shot at the thieves and hit them. We can see traces of blood right up to the forest.”
“My God! Wait and I’ll fetch a few small items. Irmelin, have you got something we can use to dress a wound?”
“Yes, I brought some things from Dad’s supplies. But I think that both the thieves were wounded. Do hurry up!”
Villemo quickly returned with a basket and they all ran towards Graastensholm. She was the weakest of the three, but she grit her teeth and tried not to lag behind.
Irmelin from Graastensholm was a gentle and beautiful girl, who was strongly built like her paternal grandmother, Yrja, but with a quiet, engaging disposition. She was extremely strong and so was Niklas since he was of Are’s kin.
“Have you heard anything from Dominic?” panted Villemo as they slowed down the pace slightly – for her sake, which she knew although they were nice enough not to say anything.
“Yes,” answered Niklas. “He wrote that he’ll be back sometime next autumn.”
“Good. It’ll be nice to see him again. It’s been three years since I saw him last.”
Actually, she wasn’t so sure that it would be nice. Dominic always managed to rub her up the wrong way.
Niklas went on. “He’ll be on his own this time. You’ll remember that Uncle Mikael and Aunt Anette took it very badly when Marca Christiana passed away last year. And now Gabriel Oxenstierna’s also gone. They’re very depressed and don’t want to travel anywhere right now.”
Villemo nodded. She knew that Uncle Mikael’s best friend, the sweet-natured Marca Christiana, had suffered a bitter death. She’d given birth to eight children, three of which she’d lost. The youngest child was only two years old when Marca Christiana had become sick. She was a patient for three years at the Royal Palace in Stockholm before she was released from her sufferings.
Dominic had promised never to let down that youngest son, who he had watched over. Marca Christiana had been concerned for the boy. He wasn’t disposed to become anything great like his father and grandfather. That in itself was insignificant but he was alarmingly indecisive.
Marca Christiana had been given a splendid funeral in the Stockholm Cathedral where she now rested together with her husband. Mikael was deeply saddened by her death.
But now Dominic wanted to come all by himself! Exciting, very exciting! Everything was exciting for Villemo. Just like this adventure they were now experiencing: tracking down injured thieves from the Black Forest. If only she hadn’t been so dreadfully tired! Her legs were giving in and her heart was palpitating.
Now they had reached Graastensholm and took up the pursuit, following the traces of blood up towards the forest. The trail wasn’t difficult to follow, and it wasn’t long before they found one of the thieves lying underneath a tree where he had made himself comfortable.
“He’s dead,” said Niklas frightened. “That’s not good!”
They stood silently, all three of them thinking the same thing: the constant struggle between Graastensholm and the Black Forest had turned into a blood feud. The hatred towards the Ice People would now be twice as strong.
They knew the man, who was about 40 years old. He was a wretch, a scumbag, but none of them had wished him dead.
“We’ll have to let him lie there for the time being,” said Villemo. “The trail of blood seems to continue, so we’d better hurry if we don’t want any more lives on our conscience.”
“Surely we can’t be blamed for this,” said Niklas.
“No,” said Irmelin as they were walking. “But our two farmhands are far too trigger-happy. They’re sure to be reprimanded for this. They’ll probably also appear before the court.”
“I suppose they just wanted to defend the farm,” said Niklas. “But this is definitely going too far.”
The forest was an oppressively calm pine forest carpeted with fungus and moss. Their voices sounded strangely hollow. The only other sound that reached them was the slight, occasional rustling of a frightened squirrel or a bird.
Villemo stole a sideways glance at Niklas as he searched for traces in the moss. With a hidden smile she was reminded of Midsummer Night’s Eve this past summer. Niklas had stood by the bonfire on the mound between Linden Avenue and Graastensholm, gazing into the flames, fascinated by the unique play of colours. She suddenly felt mischievous and had asked Niklas whether he’d follow her home because she was so afraid of the dark. He had looked at her, puzzled, because Villemo was certainly not known to be afraid of the dark. He was even more shocked when they reached the juniper hills above Elistrand.
“Kiss me, Niklas” she’d said laughingly.
“Why in heaven’s name would I do that?” he’d retorted, angry and shocked.
“Not for any particular reason,” she’d replied. “It’s only because I’d love to experience what it feels like.”
“You’re crazy, Villemo!”
“Well, don’t then!”
She’d turned on her heel and walked away.
“Villemo wait!”
“Yeess,” she’d replied, hesitating. He began to stutter.
“Maybe ... maybe I’d also like to experience what it feels like.”
“Splendid!”
“Anyway, it won’t mean anything.”
“Of course not, Niklas!”
They had experienced their first kiss fumblingly and cautiously, like youth has been doing for time immemorial. They acted, pretending as if they were in love with each other, touching each other’s skin with their lips.
“Mmm ... I love you, love you,” she had murmured against his neck.
He’d looked at her in horror. “Are you serious?”
“Oh, you fool. Now you broke the spell.” He seemed slightly offended, but then he was back in the game and when he whispered, “I love you,” to her, she had realised why he had reacted as he had to her words, because she’d almost come to believe that he meant it. She had felt both shocked that he’d used such precious words and disappointed that it was merely a game. And she felt a slight ticklish sensation.
“What emotions you put in the game!” she’d whispered. “Who are you thinking of?”
“It’s none of your business. And you? You’re pretty passionate yourself. Who are you thinking of?”
“I’m not thinking of anybody,” Villemo had said in a sweeping remark. “I just feel wonderful.”
“Mmm,” Niklas said. And then, all of a sudden, “No, this is such a stupid game. We’ll never do it again!”
He let go of her so abruptly that she almost fell.
“But it was lovely,” she giggled.
“Absolutely lovely,” he admitted. “But now it’s forgotten. We’ll have to find our way home on our own.” Then he was gone.
And with a newly awakened thrill quivering in her body, Villemo had hurried home.
“Here’s a new lead,” said Irmelin. Villemo concentrated on the search once more.
They didn’t have to walk far before they found the other man. He lay on the ground, white in the face, teeth clenched, and hair stuck to his sweaty forehead.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It’s Eldar,” murmured Niklas. “Now we’re in a tight spot!”
“It would seem that he’s in more of a tight spot than we are,” Villemo said.
He was the boy from the Black Forest they had met many years ago on the road outside Graastensholm. They knew that he and his sister, Gudrun, formed the core of the family’s hatred for the Ice People. The dead man was the father’s cousin or something along those lines. The history of the kin in the Black Forest was complicated, but all of them were extremely aggressive. It was many years since Villemo had seen Eldar, and never at close quarters.
‘And I’m so skinny,’ she thought, but without knowing why.
Eldar was now a sinewy, grown man, about 25 years of age, with ash-blonde hair and narrow, greyish eyes. There had always been something wild about the Black Forest people and Eldar was no exception. There was a suggestive, predator-like twinkle in his eyes, which both attracted and repelled Villemo. He was damned good-looking, with the emphasis on damned.
When Eldar caught sight of them, he tried to crawl away. His wild face showed indignation.
The gentle Irmelin said: “Why did you do this? We could have helped you if only you’d asked!”
“Do you think we’d accept help from Satan’s brood?” he hissed between clenched teeth.
“But you can steal from us,” Villemo blurted out.
“Our people are left to die,” he hissed in return. “And you’ve kept food for yourselves and your lot.”
“No, we have not,” said Niklas sharply. “And you know that perfectly well. Just ask any of the farmers. You’re just pigheaded. You refuse to accept what you’re rightly entitled to as part of the Graastensholm farm.”
The man could hardly speak because of his severe pain and exhaustion, but even so his eyes flashed with anger.
“How come you’re the only ones that still have food then? I suppose you’ve entered a pact with Satan, eh? You’ll be punished for that, after death!”
“Rubbish,” said Niklas as he squatted to take a closer look at him.
Eldar immediately pulled back. “Just look at your eyes,” he said with scorn. “At hers,” he added, pointing at Villemo. “Are those eyes normal?”
“Yes, they are, in our kin.”
“Precisely. We all know where the Ice People belong.”
Villemo couldn’t even be bothered to listen. She was thrilled to be able to look at the sinewy body’s slow, painful movements. “His leg seems to be injured. The boot is completely torn.”
“Keep your dirty fingers away! I’ll manage on my own.”
“Yes, I can see that,” she said dryly. “How bad are things at your place?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“What if you forgot your own stupid pride for a moment and spared a thought for others? We’re not interested in you. We just want to know how things are in the Black Forest.”
He jumped up. “Wasn’t it for their sake that we did this?”
“How are we to know?” provoked Villemo.
He closed his eyes. “They’re dying. I just told you so. They’re scraping the bark off the trees to get some food. They even eat the larvae underneath the bark.”
“They’re not the only ones in the village doing that,” said Villemo. “Niklas and Irmelin, take this basket of food and go up to the Black Forest. In the meantime, I’ll take care of this bawler.”
Eldar tried to get up. “Don’t go up there! You have no business there!”
“Okay, then we’ll wait for you. Now, lie down quietly so that we can remove your boot!”
“Stop touching me! Haven’t you done us enough evil already?”
“We truly feel sorry for the loss of your relative. We found him in the forest. The farmhands at Graastensholm had no right to shoot at you.”
“He was lucky,” hissed Eldar. “I’ll lose my hand because of this. Nothing but evil has come from you.”
Villemo suddenly looked determined. “You listen to me, you pigheaded fool! My great-granddad sentenced your great-granddad to death for incest. That was fifty years ago! Do you think it’s something worth brooding over now?”
“He did more than that. He also took the farm from us.”
“No, he didn’t. And you know perfectly well that he didn’t. Your great-granddad had mismanaged the farm so badly that it had to be sold at an auction, and my great-granddad wasn’t involved in that. Didn’t he give you the Black Forest instead – because he felt sorry for your great-granddad’s innocent family? You certainly didn’t seem to mind accepting the Black Forest!”
“That was the least he could have done. But we came under Graastensholm. Don’t forget that – we who had been free farmers before. So he knew how to humiliate us.”
“That’s just so unreasonable that I can’t even be bothered to answer you. Lift your leg, for heaven’s sake!”
“I’m damned if I will. You just stay away!”
Villemo spluttered like a powder keg. “Lift your leg, you damned idiot,” she bellowed so that it echoed in the forest. At the same time she lifted his leg and pulled off his boot in one single go. Eldar screamed with pain and anger.
Blood poured out of his boot. His whole leg was covered in brown-red, clotted blood. Irmelin brought water from a small stream and washed the leg so that they could see where the wound was. Eldar no longer fought against them. He didn’t have the strength to do so. He lay weak and in pain on his back but still managed to swear like mad at them.
All through the years, Niklas had been careful not to show anybody his healing hands because he didn’t want people to come flocking to him or treating him like a saint. Not even now would he place his hands on Eldar’s scarred, muscular leg as the girls dressed his wound as well as they could. That sourpuss over there had to manage without Niklas’s healing powers.
When the bleeding had stopped and the wound was dressed, they got Eldar on his legs.
“Now, lean against Niklas and me,” said Villemo.
“I’m damned if I will!”
Villemo immediately let go of him and he collapsed and showered her with curses. While the two others pulled him up again, Irmelin said gently, “It’s a long time since I’ve seen you.”
His anger seethed like drops of water on a fire. “No wonder. I’ve been away for several years.”
“In prison, maybe?” said Villemo acidly.
His narrow eyes squinted at her. “No, actually I haven’t. But don’t the younger siblings tend to leave home when they’re almost grown up? I suppose you haven’t heard of that, you spoiled brats! I came home because the suffering was so great where I was working and they didn’t have enough food for everybody. And what did I find? A dying home! That nobody cared about!”
“And so you felt that this justified stealing? Wouldn’t it have been easier to speak to somebody about the terrible state of affairs?”
Eldar had stopped on the slow walk towards his home. He straightened his back and looked down at her. “You don’t understand what it means to be from the Black Forest.”
“Oh, yes we do,” retorted Villemo. “Pride and arrogance and down with everybody else.”
For a short moment she saw something else in his eyes – tired bitterness and resignation. “No,” he said quietly. “No, you haven’t understood anything.”
To her own amazement, she was at a loss for an answer.
Shortly afterwards they could see the small forest farm, The Black Forest, among the trees. Villemo had never been there, she had only seen it at a distance from the top of the mountainous ridge. It was quite a good size, bigger than some of the other farms, but it still belonged to Graastensholm. That meant that the people there had to carry out work on the big farm now and then. But the Black Forest family didn’t turn up very often and the Meidens had had every right to throw them out if they wanted to – but they didn’t. The Meidens didn’t want to make people destitute.
Villemo would shudder every time she had seen this forest farm from some of the vantage points on the ridge. There was an atmosphere of secretive, sickening unpleasantness over the Black Forest. It was of the kind that you don’t speak about in the open.
Everybody knew of the old, appalling story about the ancestor who had abused two of his daughters and lost his head for that reason. The dead man in the forest was the result of the old man’s atrocities against one of the daughters. But that wasn’t the case with Eldar. He was a great-grandchild of the old knave.
Villemo had no idea how many there were in the Black Forest and how the family had branched out. They said that the old sinner’s children were a bit peculiar. But then again, Villemo felt that they were all a bit strange.
The ancestor had owned a large farm in the neighbouring village, so he was equal to the Ice People on Linden Avenue. However, he’d let the farm fall into decay so that it had slipped out of the hands of the kin, and now they were merely called the Black Forest people.
Villemo had always thought that they were all scum. Now she was no longer so sure. Had she had any right to judge them? Eldar’s words just now had made her doubt herself. Did he think that she, just like everybody else in the village, was both appalled and fascinated at the great-grandfather’s awful crime? His family had had to suffer for it – just as the Ice People suffered because of their ancestors.
In a fit of sympathy and some sort of solidarity, she turned towards Eldar. She was met with nothing but hostility. Well, maybe that was to be expected. He was used to reacting defensively against the condemnation of the parish.
She remembered meeting the two siblings, Eldar and Gudrun, many years ago. Irmelin had kindly invited them to go with them to Graastensholm and have some lemonade and cakes. It was Eldar who had hesitated, who had almost given in. His sister was the tough one. She was the one who had immediately severed all possibilities of contact. And now Eldar had become just as aggressive as her. Was that so strange, come to think of it?
But she couldn’t deny that Eldar had also turned into an extremely handsome man. He had triggered a feeling of recklessness in her, the trait which her sweet parents had tried to curb incessantly. They knew that it was always a warning sign of some dirty trick on her part.
But Villemo had decided that now she would behave. She decided to be friendly towards Eldar no matter how belligerent he’d been before.
Eldar stopped by the edge of the forest. The low houses of the Black Forest lay before them. With a firm grip on a branch to keep upright, he said:
“Now you can go to hell. I can manage on my own.”
Villemo immediately forgot her noble intentions of being friendly.
“As you wish,” she said in a slightly spiteful tone of voice because she could see that he wouldn’t be able to walk far. “Here’s the basket of food for your family.”
“We don’t want any of your rotten food,” he said sharply.
“Maybe we should have turned our backs so that you could steal the basket,” she replied. “Maybe that would make you feel better?”
“You damn bitch,” he said slowly with clenched teeth. “It’ll be a poor devil who marries you!”
“Don’t worry, because I have no intention of marrying you.”
“Heaven forbid! That ...” He paled visibly. The hand that held the branch shook from exertion and Niklas stopped him from falling. For a while, Eldar was lost to the cruelty of this world. “He’s lost too much blood,” said Niklas. “And he’s probably not eaten enough.”
“What are we to do?” asked Irmelin.
“Let him alone! Now we have a chance to help the others.”
“Do we dare walk in?”
“I think we should. From what Eldar said, it sounds like they’re utterly exhausted. Come on, let’s go!”
“What a shame that we didn’t bring along more food,” said Irmelin. “That never occurred to me.”
“We can bring along some corn tomorrow,” said Niklas. “So that they can at least bake some bread.”
They approached the houses hesitantly. None of them were looking forward to it. Villemo had some crazy idea that they would come across terribly deformed creatures and blithering idiots inside. It was absolutely unjustified to think like that – she knew that – but the village gossip had tinged her thoughts.
The door to the first house was unlocked and they entered a dark room. Nobody was on their feet in there. Only rats scurried about. They knew that there was great poverty in the village, but this was the worst they’d ever seen.
They stayed there for an hour. They made porridge of barley flour on the fireplace. They gave the children milk and tried to make the grown-ups eat a couple of bites of bread. Exhausted, despondent, resigned glances met them. Nobody asked them to get lost. They could hardly move their lips.
Gudrun was there, but the only sign of hostility she managed was to turn her face towards the wall. Villemo simply turned her round again, forcing her to swallow the porridge. Once Gudrun had gotten a taste for the food, she gave up her resistance.
They put clean linen on the beds where necessary. Niklas saw a little boy with huge, puzzled eyes who was covered in sores all over his body. He deviated from his principles and caressed the poor mite with warm, cautious hands.
Villemo nodded calmly as she watched Niklas. Then she turned and saw that Eldar was in the doorway, clinging to the door frame. He must have been standing there for a while because she recalled that she had heard the door creak without having thought anything of it.
He looked at Irmelin, who gently and lovingly helped the family members settle down. It didn’t seem to surprise him in the least to see Irmelin acting like that, but he was surprised to see Villemo doing the same. Her compassion for the sick wasn’t nearly as tender and compassionate. That wasn’t her nature. But then, you didn’t have to be a genius to understand that behind her short words and rough treatment, there was compassion and empathy for the suffering of other people.
Eldar wasn’t able to lend a helping hand since all his strength had been spent. All he could do was watch, whether disapprovingly or not, they weren’t able to tell. Probably a mixture of both. Then he saw how Villemo staggered and sat down at the edge of a bed, shaking all over.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said bluntly. “Can’t you stand seeing poverty?”
Niklas lifted his head. “Villemo hardly eats anything in order to share Elistrand’s supply with others. She gives away to others what she needs herself.”
“Well, I never!” said Eldar, cutting a grimace, yet still he gazed at her with surprise and wonder.
When they were finished, Irmelin told Eldar sternly: “I’ll send a farmhand up here tomorrow with rye and barley flour. Please accept it – for the sake of your family.”
Eldar kept gazing at her, then he nodded grumpily.
They left. Not a word of thanks had been said to them. But then again, that wasn’t the reason why they had come.
Villemo took leave of her two friends down by the road. She was suddenly very eager to be on her way home. Actually, to begin eating again. On her way home, she passed the church. She slowed, then turned round and went into the churchyard. Lost in her own thoughts, she walked past the stone which showed that this was where Tengel and Silje were buried. Villemo had never known them. Instead she stopped by another stone. Great-grandmother Liv ...
All of them had found it inconceivable that she was no longer in their midst. She had turned eighty-five – an incredible age. Villemo recalled her conversation with great-grandma Liv at her sickbed on one of her very last days. Villemo was twelve years old at the time, but she would never forget the words.
“Villemo,” said Liv. “You know that there are now three of you with the yellow eyes of the Ice People. I’m not afraid of evil because none of you have been given that. But I do know that you’re the one who will have the toughest fate.”
“But why, great-grandma?”
“Because you have the same burning soul as my poor cousin and foster sister, Sol. She was much worse hit than you but you’re still frighteningly similar in personality and disposition. Always think at least five times before you do anything, Villemo. It’s far too easy to act rashly when you’re so intense about everything you do. If you’re able to keep a certain balance, you can have a richer life than most people.”
Villemo had nodded and given her great-grandmother a long, warm hug. When she had left the sickroom, she had heard a sad whisper:
“My poor little girl. May the Lord have mercy upon you!”
Her great-grandmother had been right. But Villemo had discovered how difficult it was to keep her equilibrium, especially since she had such an irrepressible desire to embark on every adventure that she could think of.
Niklas and Dominic wouldn’t have such problems themselves. Niklas had been given a gift with his healing hands. A useful gift for society. Dominic was able to sense what moved in people’s souls. What if she had been given an exciting gift? Then she would have had a lot of fun in life! Instead, she had been given an indomitable yearning and was constantly torn between her will, which tugged at her soul, and acting on it. Villemo sighed and moved on to the next grave.
TARALD MEIDEN, 1601-1660. WIFE YRJA MATTIASDATTER 1601-1669.
Yrja, Irmelin’s grandmother, had also passed away. She left a space at Graastensholm that was painfully empty.
The Lind branch of the Ice People had also been given a new grave recently. Matilda, Brand’s wife, was unable to reach a ripe old age because she was far too heavy for that. Andreas’ little wife, Eli, Niklas’s mother, was now in charge of Linden Avenue.
In Denmark, Villemo’s maternal grandmother, Cecilie, was a widow since her dear Alexander had passed away. She didn’t visit so frequently anymore. She was more than seventy years old and her mother, Lis, was gone. So Gabriella would journey to Denmark instead to visit her mother. Gabriella was in Denmark right now together with her husband, Kaleb, in order to find some corn for Elistrand, so Villemo was responsible for the farm all on her own. Well, actually the farm bailiff was mostly the one who was in charge, but she was there, which was the main thing.
The new generation had taken over the farms. Apart from Cecilie, Brand was the only one left of the old generation. At Linden Avenue, there were plenty of younger family members. There was Brand, his son and his wife, Eli and their son, Niklas. Things were worse at Graastensholm. Everybody could see that the family name, Meiden, was dying out. Mattias and Hilde wouldn’t have any more children than their one daughter, Irmelin. She would be the last Baroness Meiden because all the other relations in Norway and Denmark had passed away a long time ago. In a few years’ time, a Baron lineage would no longer exist.
Villemo turned towards Linden Avenue. All the linden trees which Tengel had planted were gone now. All that was left now were some new, innocent trees.
An epoch disappeared with Liv. An epoch that had begun in a quiet, remote mountain valley in Trondelag. But Villemo felt that the legacy went on. She carried it herself. Threads that had been spun from the unfortunate mountain valley now spread far and wide. Right up to the village, to Gabrielshus in Denmark and to the Swedish court in Stockholm. The family had travelled far, by strange routes. And in them all, the seed of the evil legacy grew. Villemo had given the same promise as Tengel had done a long time ago not to marry, and not to carry the evil legacy any further.
She knew it was wrong of her to think like that. She had another legacy to continue. Silje, whom everybody considered to be the ancestral mother of all the kin, had only had one daughter, Liv. Liv also had one daughter only, Cecilie, and she in turn had her only daughter, Gabriella, who was Villemo’s mother. So it was Villemo’s duty to try to have a daughter. Silje’s granddaughter’s granddaughter’s daughter.
But she didn’t want to. Firstly because of the curse and secondly because she was too childish to care about the thought of having children herself. It sounded horrible, ugly and disgusting. No, she didn’t want that at all!
And what about the yellow eyes which confused everybody in the family? It would soon be revealed precisely why these three – Niklas, Dominic and Villemo – had such eyes.
