Читать книгу The Ice People 11 - Blood Feud - Margit Sandemo - Страница 8

Chapter 3

Ever since the day Martha was thrown over the precipice, the trees that had clung to it had grown tall. There were a handful of birch and fir trees which leaned out towards the water. Villemo landed on a small birch tree that stretched out right over the river. Her hands instinctively reached out, holding on in despair.

The birch tree gave a strong creak under the sudden weight, but it didn’t give way. Only five seconds after she had been pushed over the edge, Villemo lay on her stomach, balancing along a birch trunk as thin as an arm, as she stared down into rushing water that lay far below her.

Villemo felt dizzy and her arms ached from the effort of having to balance and cling to the trunk. She was scared stiff as she gently reached out one toe. She could just touch the earth beneath the tree.

She ventured a quick glance from the corner of her eye and saw a vertical slate cliff behind her. There was also a narrow ledge on which stood a birch tree and one single fir tree. If only she could pull herself backward and upward ... And exactly how was she meant to do that? The branch she clung to was bending down to the water and she was slowly slipping down it, headfirst.

“Good grief,” she whispered to herself. “Give me strength! Let me not give way to panic!”

Very carefully, she moved the grip she had closer to her body, first one hand and then the other, so that she was able to push herself backward.

The birch tree swayed and Villemo rocked up and down, clinging onto the branch with her arms and legs. She realised what the alternative was: if she lost her grip, she might not fall down in the first attempt, but she would be hanging from the branches of a tree that was already on the verge of reaching its breaking point. How long would she have the strength to remain hanging there? And how would the birch be able to withstand the burden? What was worse, who would think of searching for her here? Nobody knew where she had been walking.

Ever so slowly and cautiously, Villemo pushed herself backward and upward until her knees bent. Then she kept her arms still and began moving her legs. Her feet touched the earth on the small ledge. She had to gain a foothold. But there was nothing she could dig her feet into. She could feel that the small birch tree had moved a fraction as she moved backward.

Once again, she moved her hands closer to herself. At that moment the tree gave a warning creak, shaking so terribly that Villemo froze. It took forever before she dared to move once more. The minutes trickled by slowly as if they were made of sap from the birch tree.

The water roared below her. It roared in her ears and in her head as if she had never listened to anything but this infernal noise. She was drenched from the spray or perhaps it was her own sweat? Villemo didn’t know. All she knew was that her heart was beating so hard that it was bound to suffer permanent injury.

Permanent? Goodness, wasn’t she naïve. How on earth did she imagine that she would ever get out of this place? Even if, against all odds, she actually managed to reach the small ledge, how would she ever get up the cliff?

Finally, the seriousness of the situation dawned on Villemo, who let out a heartrending scream in her distress. She cried for help, she yelled her head off even though she knew that she was much too remote for anyone to hear her.

All except for maybe one single person, who was not supposed to hear her. Because then he (or she) would simply return and finish off the job. It would be very easy for that person to give the birch tree a simple push with a long pole or branch. That was all it would take for Villemo to lose her balance.

Without knowing it, she had been lying on top of the birch branch for almost an hour. Time no longer existed for her. She was unable to determine whether only a few minutes or several hundred years had passed.

Her muscles hurt but she didn’t dare move her body any more. She had managed to gain a better foothold, though. The tips of her toes touched firm ground, only she was unable to see how firm. She dug them down into the grass, earnestly praying that the earth wouldn’t begin to give way.

Her only chance of being rescued was to cry for help no matter how futile this might seem. She couldn’t do any more to save herself. Another half-hearted attempt at getting on her feet had only caused more creaking. It would be best not to further challenge the birch tree which was her only friend at that point.

It was getting dark in the forest as twilight fell. Villemo realised that she must have been lying there for several hours. How would things turn out when she was no longer able to keep her sleepiness at bay?

She shouted a new, long and exhausted cry for help. Something was rustling in the grass above her. She had become accustomed to the boom of the water, so other sounds now registered more clearly in her ears.

Oh, God, what if it’s the person who pushed me? Villemo fell silent. Then she heard a voice.

“Martha?”

There was a certain power behind the shout from up above.

“No, I’m not Martha,” she shouted back with a whimper. “I’m Villemo. Please come and help me, I won’t be able to hang here much longer!”

“Good God! Hold on, miss, hold on for just a little bit. I’ll bring help.”

Villemo could only see the terrifying cliff and the water down below. She didn’t even dare to raise her head enough to look at the slope above her. All she could see was the lowest part, which was very steep and not exactly inviting.

The minutes ticked away and each of them felt like an aeon to Villemo. All her muscles and limbs were beginning to shake violently from the great, drawn-out effort.

Just as she was beginning to think that the tiny flicker of hope that had been instilled in her was mere folly, a delusion created by her brain’s wishful thinking, she heard new voices. They were a man’s and a woman’s.

“Miss Villemo?”

“Can you hear us?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“We have a rope,” the man shouted. “I’ll tie it to a tree and then I’ll lower myself down.”

“Please be careful,” she managed to say.

“Don’t worry. My wife is keeping an eye on things from up here.”

It was a simple and unschooled voice. But Villemo loved it. Never before had she heard a lovelier voice say lovelier words!

Time passed at a snail’s pace. She could hear the two of them murmuring to each other, heard them struggle and carry on. Her arms were aching as if they were burning up from within. She had cramps in her legs which she had had for longer than she could remember. Had there really been a time before this? A life before she was hanging here, face down above a whirlpool in the abyss?

The birch cut into her skin. Small flakes of slate began to shower over her. The man up there was on his way down.

‘Good God,’ Villemo prayed silently. ‘Protect him and don’t let him fall because that would be my fault, and I can’t bear the thought. I’ve already caused one person’s death, which I’ll never be able to forget. Good God, I know I haven’t prayed enough to you, and it’s cowardly to start now when I can’t fend for myself, but at least I’m honest enough to admit it! Please let it count for something! I now beseech you to let this man get through this alive. And – if it so pleases you – let me also be allowed to see the earth, the grass, the forest, the sky and my beloved home again. Let me tell my dear, sweet parents how much I love them! Please allow me to be nice towards them and not just a nuisance! Please allow me to be useful in this life! I haven’t done so well in that respect so far. I’m afraid I haven’t spoken as many nice words as I should have, either. I have so many things to say to my parents! Good God, please help me for their sake!”

Something swayed downward before Villemo’s eyes. First, she flinched in the belief that it was a reptile, but then she saw that it was the one end of a rope. It was a clumsy piece of rope with tangled fibres that stuck out in all directions and was held together with plenty of osier shoots.

‘Oh, God, is the rope strong enough?’ she thought, frightened.

Before she had time to ask whether she should seize it, the man shouted, rather close to her,

“Don’t touch it! Stay completely still!”

Villemo could feel that he had managed to put his feet on the narrow ledge. Then he shouted something up to his wife, which she was unable to catch.

“Careful,” Villemo warned one more. “Don’t fall down. I’m only just holding on myself.”

“I can see that,” the man answered in a trembling voice. Villemo was full of admiration for his bravery.

“Now I’ll try to place the rope around you, miss.”

How is he going to do that? Villemo thought. He can’t reach that far, and I’m completely unable to help. After a fumbling, nerve-racking attempt the man realised that it would be impossible.

“Tie the rope around my ankles,” Villemo suggested.

The man reflected on this for a short while.

“So that you’ll be lifted upside down?”

“It’s the only way. After all, I’ve been hanging with my head down for a long time now, so I’m used to it. Provided the rope is flexible enough?”

“Yeah, it’ll be alright, I think. But what if it manages to slip off?”

The mere thought made Villemo feel queasy. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself that now was not the time to faint.

“I suppose I’ll have to flex my feet stick my toes out.”

It sounded as if the man was chuckling slightly. A desperate laughter. He hesitated for a long time but then he said, “I think it’s our only chance. But ... well, if I may say something, miss?”

“Yes?”

“This birch has taken all it can withstand. Just one tiny movement will make it break.”

“I know. I love this birch.”

“I can well understand.”

The man then managed to very carefully tie the end of the rope around her ankles and finally tie a knot which was stiff and clumsy because of the osier shoots.

“All we had was one single piece of rope,” he said. “And I can’t hold onto the ledge without it. We must be towed up together.”

“With this piece of rope? Is it strong enough for that?”

“We’ll have to pray to God that it is, miss,” the main said in a serious tone of voice.

“Surely your wife can’t pull the two of us up?”

“I asked her to bring some neighbours along.”

“So there’s nobody up there right now?”

“No, not just now. We’ll have to wait.”

Villemo moaned to herself. But things didn’t seem quite as desperate anymore. She was now tightly secured to the world and she had company.

“How are you tied, then?” she shouted. “I can’t see anything.”

“I’ve tied the rope under my arms so I’m alright. Don’t worry, I have a good amount of rope but made sure there’s some left for you, miss.”

“Thank you for doing this! I’m sure you can understand how much it means to me that you are here.”

“Yes, I suppose I do,” he said calmly.

They both fell silent while they waited.

“Are you Martha’s Dad?” Villemo asked down towards the rushing river.

“Yes.”

She couldn’t think of anything else to say. There was no point in saying that she could identify with his daughter now. That would just cause him pain and therefore serve no purpose.

Martha’s dad hesitated and then said, “Did you do this all by yourself, miss?”

“Oh no, not at all!”

“Oh?”

He was probably waiting for an explanation but Villemo wasn’t sure what to say. At that very moment they heard voices.

“They’re here!” the peasant exclaimed, somewhat relieved.

Several voices shouted down. They were men and they sounded reassuringly strong. Thankfully, another rope was lowered. Villemo heaved a sigh of relief and shut her eyes. Now her nerves were giving way to the strain. Her whole body was trembling impatiently while she felt Martha’s Dad tried to tie the second rope around her as well.

The tree trunk and the branches were cutting so horribly into her flesh that she feared that the marks would be there forever. Forever? She was not yet on solid ground.

Villemo opened her eyes and once again cold horror shot through her at the sight of the churning water below. She managed to control a panicked urge to scream, to throw up, to make a move that would spoil it all. She quickly closed her eyes again.

Then there was shouting and answering. Everything was ready. The undignified hoisting began. For a long time, she hesitated to loosen her grip on the birch, but finally she had to do so. She whispered a thank you. By this time her feet were already far up in the air.

Martha’s Dad had a firm grip around her waist so that the strain on her ankles wouldn’t be too intense, but even so she felt a horrible pain. She flexed her feet so that the rope wouldn’t slip off.

They swayed back and forth as they were pulled up, hit the mountain wall then swung outward again. Villemo was very much aware of the fact that her skirts didn’t cover her legs. She felt the man’s face against her knees and his legs against her face. What did it matter? She was on her way up, assuming the ropes could carry them both. Once more she said one of her extremely rare prayers to a God she didn’t believe in except when she really needed him.

She would see all her loved ones again, and she would tell them how much they meant to her. She had her life back again.

The ropes were making terrible creaking sounds.

“Careful now!” Martha’s Dad shouted.

Villemo felt hands grabbing her poor, painful ankles, and her rescuer was being pulled up too. Both were pulled up and over the edge. Men who she didn’t know were crouching on the horribly steep edge where nobody was able to stand firmly, risking their lives for her sake. She was so touched that she almost burst into tears from gratitude.

Slowly, she was pulled over the prickly grass, then she lay with her face down in the grass without having the strength to even lift her head. A few of the women quickly straightened her clothes as they turned her around.

Villemo looked up at the black tree tops of the fir trees, and the dark sky behind them. She looked at the serious, worried faces gazing down at her.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you all, thank you for my life. You see, I want so much to live.”

“How long have you been down there, miss?” Martha’s mother asked, rubbing Villemo’s frozen hands between her own. While the men loosened the ropes around her legs, Villemo could feel how drenched she had become from the damp air above the waterfall and how cold it actually had been. She had hardly noticed the cold in her agony of fear.

“How long?” she whispered, her face stiff from the cold. “I don’t know. Since noon I think.”

“Good heavens,” one of the men mumbled. She recognised him; he was from one of the farms that belonged to Graastensholm and lived next door to Martha’s parents. “Do you think you can stand?”

“I think so,” Villemo answered, getting up clumsily. But the next moment, her legs gave way under her.

“I’ll bring the horse,” the neighbour decided. Then he turned toward his sons. “Off you run, then, to Elistrand and tell them. No, to Linden Avenue, it’s closer.”

“That’s not necessary,” Villemo began, but the boys were already on their way.

The only ones left were Martha’s parents and herself, who sat helplessly on the grass. Villemo felt so strangely numb. By her feet lay a small bouquet of autumn flowers intended for Martha’s memorial cross.

The dead girl’s mother followed Villemo’s glance. “We usually come here a few times a week to honour Martha. After all, she doesn’t have a grave. They called it ‘suicide’ and wouldn’t give her a resting place in the churchyard. She was never found, so this has become her resting place,” she said.

“She was never found?”

“No, the river never let her go. And nobody can get down there to fetch her.”

Martha left down there? Villemo was overcome by sorrow and nausea.

“How do people know what happened?”

Martha’s Dad sighed heavily and said, “Two men from another village saw her fall. They were fishing in the river some distance away. She screamed for her life. How did it happen to you, miss?” the father asked. “Did you just fall down?”

“No, not at all,” she blurted before she had time to think.

The dead girl’s parents exchanged glances.

“Just like Martha?” the father asked slowly. “But he’s dead and gone. They say he was killed at Romerike.”

Villemo blushed.

“Are you thinking of Eldar Black Forest? No, he wasn’t the one! He didn’t do any harm to your Martha. That’s nothing but evil gossip.”

The girl’s parents were ill at ease and the father answered,

“The fishermen saw Martha fall because they looked up when they heard her scream. They ran up here to the edge and saw a man making his way toward the forest. They saw him among the trees. They said that he was exceptionally blonde and had wolf’s eyes.”

Eldar. Villemo’s stomach tightened.

“And it was his child that Martha was carrying,” the mother added. “We know that for a fact.”

Villemo curled up with her knees to her chest, motionless, struggling with all the complex emotions inside her. Martha’s parents waited tactfully.

Finally, she got up, her legs trembling as she breathed heavily to get rid of the suffocating feeling she had in her chest. She hesitated for a while and then walked over to the fir trees in the forest. A cluster of half-frozen autumn flowers were still growing below them. Villemo picked them slowly and carefully, making a beautiful bouquet and keeping one big single flower for herself.

She placed the bouquet by Martha’s grave, sinking for a moment to her knees in quiet tribute. Then she got up, tossing the big flower over the edge and out into the river. As she turned towards Martha’s parents, they could hear that she was hardly able to speak due to her emotional state.

“I threw the flower into the water to bury a needless love. A needless, useless love of one year.”

Martha’s mother said quietly, “Love is never in vain, Miss Villemo. Love makes you strong and pure even if you love a wretch. We all knew that you had a soft spot for Eldar Black Forest, and in our hearts we suffered so much for your sake, because our Martha had also had a weak spot for him. But we didn’t feel that we were the ones to say anything to you.”

“But now it’s all over!” she said in agitated triumph. “Now it’s over. I’m free. My eyes are open and I’m seeing clearly once more. I believed him, you see, because I wanted to believe him. I stubbornly defied all warnings and ignored all the gossip, as I called it then. Oh, God!”

She hid her face in her hands and fell on her knees in front of the cross in deep and fervent compassion with her sister.

“Oh, Martha, Martha,” she exclaimed with big sobs. “How could you and I have been so blind? And yet I got away from it all while you ... But now he’s gone and can no longer cause us any pain.”

The grief rushed over her. The sorrow over Martha, her own sorrow over Eldar and the shock of her near-death experience culminated all at once.

Martha’s parents understood perfectly well why Miss Villemo had finally broken down. They touched her clumsily to show their sympathy, but other than that they left her alone.

Finally, she managed to regain her composure. She wiped away her tears as she sniffled and got up, forcing a smile. Then the other smallholder came with the horse.

She was helped up onto it and they all set off. Martha’s Dad walked beside the horse through the forest and said:

“Do you know what, miss? Somehow, I feel lighter at heart this evening. We’ll never be able to recover from losing our daughter in such a cruel way. However, for us it’s a blessing that we’ve been able to save another girl’s life. It heals the soul if you know what I mean.”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Villemo replied warm-heartedly. “But there’s one thing I don’t understand ...”

”Yes?”

“I just don’t understand who pushed me. Not knowing is a heavy burden to bear.”

“I’ve thought about it, too,” the mother added. “I don’t believe in ghosts. Certainly not. But people have been speaking about an evil moose in the neighbouring parish. Could it be that?”

Villemo didn’t believe that. She had felt someone shove her and she had heard rustling in the forest a bit earlier. A moose? Highly unlikely.

“Maybe,” she said softly.

They met the young men who had been sent to Linden Avenue returning on the trail. They were walking with some shocked servants.

“The landlord and his family weren’t at home,” one of the men said. “They were all visiting the vicar.”

“Oh, yes,” Villemo said. “I was also supposed to be over there. I’d forgotten. Then there will be nobody at home at Graastensholm and Elistrand either. If it’s possible for me to borrow the horse just so I can get home, that would be fine.”

The father of the brothers offered to lead the horse the whole way, which she accepted with gratitude. After a touching goodbye with her rescuers, she rode home to Elistrand.

Actually, she was quite relieved that her parents weren’t at home because she wasn’t sure that she should tell them all that had happened, especially now, when there was so much danger around. Evil and sudden death plagued the forests of Graastensholm. Wherever a man from the Black Forest went, he knew that his life was at risk. The Wollers were after them as they had been for half a century. And the Wollers themselves didn’t go out on their own, certainly not without being properly armed. They were prepared to kill and be killed.

One man from the Woller family had ridden into Akershus all by himself, having full confidence in his sharp eyes and his agile horse. The horse returned home with its saddle covered in blood.

A man from the Black Forest was fishing alone in a small lake in the forest, which he should never have done. His corpse floated up to the water’s edge nine days later; there was a knife wound in his back.

Villemo had become involved in this blood feud because of her senseless teenage crush. But Villemo never did anything half-heartedly. If she loved somebody, she loved them with all her heart, preferring to suffer the bitter regret of her decision afterwards. Just as now. Oh, how she regretted that she had fallen in love with Eldar Black Forest. And even more that she had allowed him to see it! It would have been wonderful to show that womaniser that there was someone in the world who could withstand his charm. And she had fallen for him like a fool. How embarrassing! At least he hadn’t persuaded her into bed, to Villemo’s great relief.

She hated him for what he had done to Martha and undoubtedly to many more. She didn’t think she was capable of hating another person so fervently. She thought of Martha, who had met the only love of her life and had trusted him. How must she have felt in that final moment by the river?

Villemo preferred not to think about it. After all, she had experienced the same thing, the difference being that whoever had pushed her over the edge hadn’t been her lover.

‘God help us poor women,’ she thought. ‘Those of us who fall in love with the wrong man and who sacrifice everything, often giving more than we have, only to be treated like old rags.’

Compassion for other women hadn’t been Villemo’s strong point until recently. Her thoughts had been preoccupied with other, more impractical things. But poor Kristine from Tobrønn whose parents had held her captive had opened her eyes and Martha’s fate had ignited her. Angrily she wiped away a tear and plodded into Elistrand.