Читать книгу The Ice People 35 - The Flute - Margit Sandemo - Страница 7

Chapter 2

They had come from Belgrade and were on their way to Sarajevo.

They were a group of rebellious students and other Serbs. The group was part of a national organization called “Narodna Odbrana”, which sought to overthrow the monarchy of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and its reign over their country. This small terrorist group, which was acting on its own initiative, called itself “The Black Hand”. Among them was a nineteen-year old Bosnian student called Gavrilo Princip. His name would go down in history.

Tension had been rising around the world for a long time, and in this region events were moving very rapidly. In 1908 Austria-Hungary had annexed Bosnia and Herzegovina, where Serbs formed the majority of the population. Simultaneously, the Germans had proclaimed themselves the protectors of Turkey. Russia watched the German initiative with increasing trepidation, while the British feared for their Suez Canal and the passage to India. In Vienna, the concern was that the Serbs, who were backed by the Russians, would gain too much influence, because so many South Slavs were seeking refuge in Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina.

The mood was charged.

The Black Hand was on its way to Bosnia’s old capital, Sarajevo, close to the Serbian border. The group was heading there to witness the grandiose visit of the crown prince of Austria-Hungary, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, and his wife. The terrorists were coming out of hate and to see “whether they could do anything”.

Their aim was to inspire all Serbs to form a single national state. Archduke Franz Ferdinand’s aim was the exact opposite. He wanted the entire region under the rule of Austria-Hungary.

Narodna Odbrana was headed by a Serbian general staff officer, and the group was associated with the army. The officer had supplied the Black Hand with weapons – bombs, rifles and pistols – for, secretly, individuals in high places in Serbia and Bosnia supported the little terrorist group’s ideas, though this was, of course, never stated openly.

The members themselves were more fanatical than they were sensible. Their ideas amounted to little more than “hate” and that “something had to be done”. That was as far as their plans went. For now. They were experts in hating, but they didn’t know all the details of the royal visit.

Now was the time for them to focus on a plan.

They set up camp on a mountainside on that quiet night in June. The setting was peaceful and drenched in the warmth of summer. In their hearts there was an increasing sense of indignation and despair on behalf of their homeland, which was suffering under the oppression of others.

The extremists in the Black Hand didn’t know how closely the central organization, Narodna Odbrana, was following their journey to Sarajevo. Only in thought, of course, for, as much as it supported the little groups of fanatics, it was careful not to be directly associated with any events that might take place during the Archduke’s visit.

The Black Hand perceived Franz Ferdinand to be an enemy of the Slavs. The Archduke was generally not considered a sympathetic sort of man – he was underhanded and simple-minded – so the group didn’t have the slightest scruple as they now grappled with the wildest of plans.

But until now their thoughts had been more fleeting than considered, and they didn’t have a conscious plan. Their ideas were unclear and fumbling, but their loathing and their wish to act was intense.

They were sitting in a circle, wrapped in their own thoughts, a gloomy group who felt that the entire responsibility for their country rested on their shoulders.

But not only that! Responsibility for the entire world.

But they didn’t know that yet.

Tengel the Evil slowly turned his wrinkled bird-head from side to side. He listened, sensed and registered things.

He wasn’t concerned with the Ice People right now. There was someone else who was preoccupying his thoughts.

The one who had played the incomplete signal.

Where, where in the world could that human creature be?

His abominable mouth exhibited a grimace of uncompromising hate. In his nasty, yellow eye slits there wasn’t a trace of compassion. Only a sickly glow, indicating revenge and destruction.

Tengel was a raw and unschooled creature. He had no grasp of geography or foreign places, he didn’t even know where he was himself, and had never heard of a country called Spain. He had never bothered to keep track of irrelevant things like that. But his instincts far exceeded all human knowledge and his head, atop his short neck that could extend like that of a wrinkled, spotted, carrion-eating bird, was now turned towards the west.

That was where ... that was where the notes had come from, he was quite certain. The sound had originated far, far away, which was bad because he was moving so slowly that it would take him forever to get there.

But ... he had other resources.

He focused all his tremendous power of thought on “capturing” whoever had been playing that flute, to get an impression of the person.

A marsh. He saw a huge area of marshland, with swaying grass, twisted, waterlogged trees and huge flocks of seabirds. He saw tall mounds and crags rising out of the marsh. And crowning one of them, a castle.

There!

Tengel the Evil continued his search inside the castle. It was very distinguished, a really magnificent dwelling with arched doorways and cloisters, all of which were decorated with Islamic patterns. Tengel didn’t know that word, of course, he just observed the building and thought it strange. Why did humans waste their time creating such things when they could have been spending it committing murder or torturing others?

Well, perhaps the castle’s former owners had had time for both. And they probably hadn’t done any of it themselves. They had had slaves to do that kind of work. Art and mutilation. All pre-ordered. Tengel the Evil’s far-reaching gaze located the lord of the castle. He was lying in a big canopy bed with black carved bedposts and thick silk hangings.

Tengel had enough power to destroy this man. But why would he want to? He simply couldn’t fathom how this human creature had managed to play his notes – and where was the flute? But he had to spare the man. Make him play again.

After that the poor wretch could be killed. Killed for the presumptuous act of mocking Tengel by not playing the tune to its conclusion.

Tengel couldn’t understand why this man had been playing his melody! He wasn’t a member of the Ice People, that was clear. So who was he?

And how could he be compelled to go on playing?

In the deep night of Slovenia the evil creature turned his head again.

Something was disturbing his concentration on the distant castle.

Something evil. Thoughts of death.

Delicious thoughts of crime.

His own area of expertise.

The impressions pleased him. They nourished him as blood nourishes a vampire. They gave him strength. They were energizing and joyfully wonderful.

He could deal with the flute player later. First, he wanted to find out what was going on in his own vicinity. He felt that in order for him to regain his power it was important that he should get closer to the source of the malicious impulses that were reaching him at an increasing rate. There might be something worthwhile for him in this? He might gain more strength from the evil source?

But “closer” was a relative concept. It wasn’t just a matter of going down a hill or around a mountain, he realized, as he continued to absorb the signals with his acute senses.

But ... on the other hand he had always been able to move faster if he didn’t touch the ground. And things had gone well when he had jumped up from the bedrock down in the cave. He had to give it a try.

Tengel the Evil lifted himself slightly off the ground. His feet were no more than half a metre off the surface, nevertheless in that position he was able to move at dizzying speeds. He didn’t have to move his feet, he could just glide wherever he wanted.

Yes! That was better. He hadn’t lost his old abilities: he was the great one again.

Small yet terrifying, with devilishly malicious eyes, he made his way forward with determination in the direction of the alluring signals that promised crimes, grief and death. Although he himself was not exceptionally strong, he could make use of others and ensure that they caused as much harm as possible.

He was looking forward to it. Finally to have the chance to do something! And to inflict the maximum havoc and tragedy on others!

How wonderful it was all going to be!

Everyone in the group was awake. Their spirits were much too high for them to sleep.

They conversed eagerly as they sat in a little circle on the dry grass of the hillside.

So they didn’t notice when a grotesque little creature that was neither human nor animal landed on the ground above them. It watched its step, making sure that its silhouette wasn’t visible against the sky and that its background was just as dark as itself. It half closed its eyes so that the yellow slits couldn’t be discerned.

The creature listened.

“No, we can’t do that,” one of the men was saying impatiently. “We can’t reveal ourselves and shout slogans. We just want to make our mark. But how?”

“I think it was a good suggestion,” said another. “Just throw a bomb or a grenade in front of the horses – that’s really the only way to do it! That will make them rear and if we’re lucky the royal couple will fall out of the carriage.”

“We must not be seen, I’ve said! Our organization is not to be revealed! God, what a stink there is here! Like rotten fish!”

The others sniffed the air and made faces.

“No, I don’t recognize that smell. It’s like nothing on earth.”

A few of them shuddered slightly, as though something evil and sinister had entered their little group.

“Well, it was probably just on the wind. Is there anything we can do indoors?”

“No, no, it’s got to take place out on the street.”

Tengel the Evil observed them one by one. Their language was no barrier to him since he understood all the languages in the world.

His sluggish brain tried desperately to overcome the haze that was preventing it from thinking clearly. They were so immature, the boys sitting there. Their hatred was strong and genuine enough, but they lacked the ability to conceive plans of real evil.

“You!” he whispered to himself finally, pointing with his claw at one young man. “You are thinking about it. You want to do it and you are fanatical enough. But you don’t quite dare yet. Say it! Say it now!”

“I’ll do it!” said Gavrilo Princip.

“What will you do?”

“We have pistols, don’t we?”

“Gavrilo, you can’t! Not in the street like that!”

“Shut up,” Tengel thought, turning his gaze on the one who had just objected.

The man fell silent.

Another one jumped up. “I saw a pair of eyes flash up there, then they disappeared!”

Tengel shut his eyes tightly. Unluckily he had become too eager. And too careless!

“It’s probably that animal that stinks so badly,” muttered one of the youths. “Let’s light a fire.”

They fiddled with that for a moment.

Meanwhile Tengel’s thoughts were churning. Slowly and with great effort, but nevertheless efficiently. By the time they sat down again they had all fallen under the spell of his willpower.

“How do you plan to do it, Gavrilo?”

He explained it to them, his eagerness having grown under the influence of Tengel the Evil.

“You’re mad,” said one of the men when he had finished explaining. “You’ll never get away with it!”

“Of course I will. I’ll just melt into the crowd.”

Tengel chuckled quietly to himself. “Oh, is that what you think? Well, your fate means nothing to me. I just want you to create as much havoc as possible. A catastrophe! I’ll take command of that! Of the catastrophe. You are merely a tool.”

They were all in agreement down there by the nasty campfire. They had taken out their weapons and were talking about them, weighing them and taking aim. Gavrilo Princip was extremely excited and so eager that he could barely wait. The risk of his own death was no longer of any concern to him.

Tengel the Evil didn’t like the fire, he didn’t want to stay there any longer. He got up and stretched his arms towards the men with a commanding gesture. They subconsciously registered it, and he watched them cower as though in fear without knowing what had caused this sudden anxiety.

“May your actions have unfathomable consequences for the world,” Tengel ordered. “May they create such chaos that humans will destroy one another, and only the strongest and vilest survive to serve as my tools! For Tan-ghil will now return to his promised power: he will be with you to the end of time and beyond. His life and his power are eternal!”

He took off from the ground and flew in an upright position over the mountain until he was no longer visible to them.

Then he stopped. He squatted down in the strange sitting position that primitive people tend to use.

He felt empowered after having performed his first evil action. But his body and mind lagged behind and were unable to keep up with his will.

That confounded flute player who hadn’t completed the tune!

He was now going to focus his attention on that pathetic wretch, the lord of the castle in the marshy delta.

Tengel would force him to play the melody to its conclusion.

It probably wouldn’t be difficult to compel the man. But Tengel wasn’t sure how to tackle the situation. His brain was working so slowly, he felt completely exhausted after having had to use so much concentration just now.

First he would have to rest a little, and do some thinking.

He sank into a position with his head bent over his knees and his cape wrapped around him. Had anyone seen him now, they would have taken him for an ugly little greyish black stone or stump, covered in filthy brown and green mould.

Tengel the Evil suddenly froze.

Something was entering his brain ... something terrible, catastrophic!

No! It couldn’t be possible!

He could hear music so crisp and sharp and delicate that it made him tremble from head to toe, made him nauseous and sick and shake as though he had a fever.

No! No, no, no! Not now! Oh, spirits of the abyss, why did this have to happen?

He lifted his head. Sheer terror and a wild sense of fury radiated from his narrow eyes.

On the crest of the hill opposite he saw the contours of a distinguished figure dressed in a long, black monkish robe. He was holding a flute, barely the size of a penny whistle, to his mouth, and that was where the notes were coming from.

The Wanderer of the Darkness.

“No!” cried Tengel hoarsely. “Go back to your shadow world! You, the greatest traitor the world has ever seen! You had my confidence, I trusted you: you were to lull me into slumber with your flute playing, but you were also supposed to play the flute again to wake me!”

The Wanderer removed the flute from his lips. “It was stolen ...”

“I know!” Tengel howled in terror. “That confounded Jolin! But it was rediscovered in Eldafjord. And you were there. Don’t you know that I was there too – I know everything, everything! But you let it be destroyed by that bastard of my own blood!”

“One flute for slumber, one flute for reawakening,” said the Wanderer calmly. “It was your own choice.”

“I’m going to destroy you, you ...”

“You can’t,” the Wanderer interjected. “And you know it. You yourself gave me the status of eternal wanderer and ghost. To ensure that I could reawaken you one day.”

“And you betrayed me!”

The Wanderer had begun to play again. Tengel’s objections grew increasingly faint. He moaned helplessly as his body obeyed the crisp tones of the flute. Without protest, he followed when the Wanderer led him across mountains and valleys, past sleeping villages and back to the caves in Slovenia.

There Tengel the Evil was forced to re-inhabit his hidden cave, far away from the paths of tourists and researchers.

But by then he was so sluggish that he very willingly collapsed back into his lair of many centuries.

The Wanderer looked at him with a bitter smile and turned back to continue his unrelenting vigil.

Dressed in a uniform that strained about his increasing plumpness and a helmet decorated with waving plumes, the Archduke Franz Ferdinand sat in a motorcar for his triumphal procession through Sarajevo. His consort, dressed in white and also wearing a feathered hat, sat at his side.

He twirled his big, luxuriant moustache, and incessantly removed his white gloves and then put them back on.

The Archduke was nervous, though of course he did not show that to the waving crowds. Well, the crowds weren’t that big, perhaps. There were those who had turned up because they had no choice and others who came out of curiosity to see the royals and the splendour of their entourage. There was no real warmth in the feelings of this country’s population for the crowned heads of Austria-Hungary.

Franz Ferdinand knew that there was some risk of an assassination attempt. But he had not listened to the warnings of the Serbian envoy in Vienna. Whether it was his belief in his own popularity or immortality, or just a sense of duty that led him to make this journey, is hard to say. In any event, he and his wife had come to Sarajevo.

It was 28 June 1914.

The Archduke carried out an inspection of his troops that had been left behind in Bosnia, then he and his wife travelled by car to a reception at the city hall.

In the crowd on the street that day was Gavrilo Princip.

He, too, was nervous, but for different reasons. The revolver slipped in his hand because he was sweating. The royal couple were coming by car instead of a horse-drawn carriage, which made the situation much more difficult.

But it was too late to draw back now.

The procession was well under way. Now he expected ...

Yes!

His friends had done their duty: a bomb had exploded farther down the street. Someone shouted that an officer had been wounded. Now it was Gavrilo’s turn to take action.

The car came – but it passed by much too quickly. The Archduke must have had a scare.

Which he had. His wife cried in horror: “But Franz, the poor man was bleeding!”

He growled back, his voice subdued so that no one outside the car could hear it: “Quiet! We’ll continue as though nothing has happened!”

But he was very upset during the ceremony at the city hall. Everyone advised him to take a different route back. But he refused to do so, insisting on visiting the wounded officer at the garrison hospital.

Young Princip was shaking all over. He had wasted his chance. His only hope now was that they would take the same route back, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to guess which way they would go.

His friends had wondered about it, of course. One of them had gone over to him and hissed: “Why didn’t you shoot?” And he had tried to explain. Everything was hectic, tense and in disarray.

Then the car came by again!

Gavrilo took a deep breath and turned completely cold. He rushed out, jumped up on the car’s running board and shot several rounds, one after the other.

They didn’t even have a chance to scream: they died on the spot, both the Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his consort.

Princip was seized immediately, but he didn’t care. He had accomplished his mission for his country and for the Black Hand. The one who had thrown the bomb was also caught, but the others managed to get away.

The murder had the same effect as throwing a match into a barrel of gunpowder. Austria-Hungary’s days were numbered. The German Austrians were gripped by a sense of nationalism and no longer wished to be oppressed; the Magyars in Hungary saw an opportunity to liberate their country, as did the Romanians; and the Serbs no longer wanted anything to do with Vienna.

On 23 July, Austria-Hungary sent a cut-throat ultimatum to Serbia. That day began the so-called “Black Week”. The Austrians were in no way satisfied with the response they received and on 28 July they declared war on Serbia.

The Russians couldn’t accept that, since they had far too many Slavic people and far too many interests in the Balkans, so they began to mobilize, whereupon the Germans declared war on Russia.

When the Germans heard that the French planned to support the Russians, they also declared war on France on 3 August and invaded Belgium. The British couldn’t just stand by and watch, so they declared war on Germany the following day.

In October, Turkey became an ally of the Central Powers and Italy was also drawn into the conflict. On 7 May the following year, the vessel Lusitania was sunk with one hundred and twenty-five American passengers on board, which led to America being drawn into the war as well.

The first world war in history was now a fact.

Tengel the Evil could be proud of his work.

But he hadn’t been alone in starting everything.

Human beings themselves were also fully capable when it came to lust for power, war and blood.