The Ice People 39 - Silent Voices. Margit Sandemo

      

      Silent Voices

      The Legend of the Ice People 39 - Silent Voices

      © Margit Sandemo 1986

      © eBook in English: Jentas A/S, 2019

      Series: The Legend of The Ice People

      Title: Silent Voices

      Title number: 39

      Original title: Rop av stumma röster

      Translator: Nina Sokol

      © Translation: Jentas A/S

      ISBN: 978-87-7107-703-2

      This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchase.

      All contracts and agreements regarding the work, translation, editing, and layout are owned by Jentas A/S.

      Acknowledgement

      The legend of the Ice People is dedicated with love and gratitude to the memory of my dear late husband Asbjorn Sandemo, who made my life a fairy tale.

      Margit Sandemo

      The Ice People - Reviews

      ‘Margit Sandemo is, simply, quite wonderful.’

      - The Guardian

      ‘Full of convincing characters, well estabished in time and place, and enlightening ... will get your eyes popping, and quite possibly groins twitching ... these are graphic novels without pictures ... I want to know what happens next.’

      - The Times

      ‘A mixure of myth and legend interwoven with historical events, this is imaginative creation that involves the reader from the first page to the last.’

      - Historical Novels Review

      ‘Loved by the masses, the prolific Margit Sandemo has written over 172 novels to date and is Scandinavia s most widely read author...’

      - Scanorama magazine

      The Legend of the Ice People

      The legend of the Ice People begins many centuries ago with Tengel the Evil. He was ruthless and greedy, and there was only one way to get everything that he wanted: he had to make a pact with the devil. He travelled far into the wilderness and summoned the devil with a magic potion that he had brewed in a pot. Tengel the Evil gained unlimited wealth and power but in exchange, he cursed his own family. One of his descendants in every generation would serve the Devil with evil deeds. When it was done, Tengel buried the pot. If anyone found it, the curse would be broken.

      So the curse was passed down through Tengel’s descendants, the Ice People. One person in every generation was born with yellow cat’s eyes, a sign of the curse, and magical powers which they used to serve the Devil. One day the most powerful of all the cursed Ice People would be born.

      This is what the legend says. Nobody knows whether it is true, but in the 16th century, a cursed child of the Ice People was born. He tried to turn evil into good, which is why they called him Tengel the Good. This legend is about his family. Actually, it is mostly about the women in his family – the women who held the fate of the Ice People in their hands.

      Part I: The Door That No One Could Open

      Chapter 1

      On the third night at the inn it returned – the anxiety that Ellen hadn’t felt since that frightening event in her childhood.

      She sat up in bed, motionless, ready to jump. Despairing, she looked for a sensible lifeline to hold on to but got the impression that the muffled, heavy breathing was not just her own but was emanating from the entire house.

      The inn sign outside the small leaded windows creaked in the wind. Alone, alone, alone in the house, throbbed her pulse. Alone in a long, low, 250-year-old house full of nooks and crannies, with empty stables and creaking stairs, small misshapen rooms ... and that room!

      Sitting at a table outside the restaurant in Oslo’s Studenterlunden park it had all sounded so quaint – an ideal job for someone who had just graduated and needed to earn a little money during the summer vacation.

      That day, the sun had been shining on the cheerful umbrellas and bright summer clothes, and there had been the buzz of voices and laughter. And Vivi had encouraged Ellen in her overly confident state.

      “We passed that inn last year,” Vivi said eagerly. “It’s a fantastic place, a genuine old-fashioned inn, so ancient and picturesque that you just can’t believe it. You’ve got to answer that ad!”

      Ellen folded the newspaper with the list of 'Situations Vacant'.

      “I can easily handle a receptionist’s job,” she said in a carefree tone, forgetting for a moment her tendency to be impractical and her incurable optimism, which sometimes broke down barriers for her and sometimes landed her in hopeless fixes. “But I expect lots of people will be applying for it.”

      “Not that far out in the wilderness,” said Vivi. “There isn’t another town for miles around. Just forest and then more forest, until all you can dream about is spruce trees for weeks afterwards.”

      “But there can’t possibly be an inn right in the middle of such dense forest, can there?”

      “No, of course there’s a village of sorts nearby. A tourist centre, that kind of thing. The inn was presumably built by an old ferry dock on the river. They serve wonderful food, and there’s a huge fireplace and ...”

      “I’ll apply for the job,” Ellen decided.

      And she applied for it and got it, thanks to her huge innocent blue eyes in her triangular face – perhaps not all that pretty, but friendly and eager to please – and to her cheerful smile and pleasant voice, and her raven black hair that curled just as it pleased, which for the most part was very nicely, except in the rain – then it just got messy, frizzled and chaotic looking.

      But the man in the employment agency only had eyes for her appearance. He didn’t notice all the sensitivity or the sense of bewilderment in the movements of her hands or in the little insecure smile that appeared when she wasn’t laughing cheerfully and showing her bright white teeth. There was such a great sense of loneliness and puzzlement in Ellen – which she preferred to keep to herself.

      The year was 1959, and Ellen’s life hadn’t yet begun to take shape. Like most young people, she had lots of plans; she wanted to do so much and get as much out of her life as possible. Find an occupation where she could test herself, in order to achieve the sense of equilibrium that comes with having found one’s place in the world and knowing what one is destined to do with one’s life. The problem was that she – like so many others –was still looking for that magical job. There was so much to choose from, and what if she chose the wrong path?

      And the quest to do so much often ended up with her not having any money. So instead of aiming for a big career she made do with this little receptionist’s job, which was hardly going to lead to a career.

      But you have to survive somehow. Eat. And live somewhere. And for those things you need money. That was the harsh reality of it.

      But of course, the time spent at the inn wouldn’t be a complete waste. She would probably gain a lot of experience that would make her stronger, she thought with optimism.

      She had never seen such a deserted area before. The bus drove for hours through dense spruce forest, then along a narrow valley scattered with houses that emerged in open clearings, only for the road to be swallowed up by the forest again.

      The number of houses increased as they finally came to a small village, and by the riverbank there lay a quaint little inn, painted white and