The Ice People 43 - A Glimpse of Tenderness. Margit Sandemo

Rune answered quickly, not wanting to tell her what had happened at the river. “Help me lift the man up.”

      They lifted Morahan on to Rune’s back and started to make their way out to the road.

      “Can Halkatla be allowed to show herself?” Tova wanted to know. “It’s so hard not knowing which side she’s on.”

      “Yes, of course,” said Rune, smiling. “Then she can help us carry him.”

      Halkatla appeared with a gentle smile on her lips – she appeared to Tova’s left instead of her right, as would have been expected.

      “Welcome back,” said Tova who always felt very comfortable in Halkatla’s company. They were two spirits who understood one another without having to communicate in words.

      “We have to get him to a hospital,” said Rune, referring to Morahan.

      “To Lillehammer?” said Tova. “That’s the only hospital in this area, and then we’d have to get back. There’s no time for that!”

      “No, but we could send him in an ambulance.”

      Every cell in Tova’s body resisted that suggestion. “I feel personally responsible for him.”

      “In which case you should stop dragging him around like this. The man is dying, can’t you see that?”

      Tova couldn’t think of an answer. But she felt sorrowful and uneasy.

      Just like his relative, Christa, who had once experienced this, Marco felt his fall suddenly come to a halt.

      When the rope from which he was hanging had been cut and he began tumbling down to the seething river, his thought had been: I am no longer a black angel, I am mostly human, I’ll never survive this. But Christa hadn’t been one of the chosen, yet still she had been able, if not to fly, at least to keep herself afloat in the air longer than ordinary people. So why shouldn’t he, who was much closer to Lucifer than her, be able to do it too?

      He knew how she had done it: pushed back the air with her hands and fingers. This would slow her fall. And as he neared the rumbling cascades of water in the Gudbrandsdals River, another thought struck him. The cliff, the rock, gave him no protection, but the water – what was it that Taran-gai water spirit had said that time? “The water must carry you and not close itself around you.”

      But what if the water in which he landed was too shallow? What if he immediately hit the bottom?

      But his thoughts, which were faster than lightning, didn’t get much further before he was surrounded by spitting waves and engulfed by the river. He was swept into a hole at the base of the thundering waterfall, beaten black and blue, but nevertheless still alive.

      Three things saved me, he thought as he struggled to get back on land before the current dragged him back again: the same skill that Christa possessed, which was to slow down the fall by using air resistance; the protection that he had received from the water spirit in the Demon’s Mountain; and finally the fact that he was, after all, a black angel. Because even though he hadn’t kept all their characteristics he was still immortal.

      The last factor was immutable. He could injure himself like any ordinary human. But Lucifer’s only son could not die.

      His hand found something to grab hold of – a birch sapling that was hanging above the water. And soon he was back on land, even though it was quite far from the spot where he had originally fallen into the water. And he had only been moderately injured. He was limping from a hard blow to his hip, and his arm on the same side burnt like fire after the impact with the water, but otherwise he was fine.

      Marco didn’t have his own protector. But he had all the black angels, and one of them was standing on the bank.

      “Don’t go back up there,” said the black angel. “Rune has been watching over it and will fetch the boy now. Go towards Tova instead – she needs you more. And ... on your way there it is best if you take Ellen’s bottle with you. We’ll show you where it is hidden.”

      “But what about Ellen herself? Why can’t she ...?”

      “Ellen is no longer with us.”

      The black angel explained how she had been swallowed up by the Great Abyss, or the Shaft. Marco was speechless with sorrow. For a long time they stood there without saying anything.

      “And ... Nataniel?” Marco asked finally.

      “He was hit by the same hand grenade as Ellen. We’re working on him, but I don’t know.”

      “So there’s been a total breakdown? Through every line?”

      “Yes, and Tengel the Evil has forced his way into the stronghold, Linden Avenue.”

      Marco took a couple of deep breaths. “Take me to Tova immediately! Even though I am mostly human now, you can still assist me, can’t you?”

      “No. I’m sorry, Marco, but the source of life only applies to humans, not to demons or black angels. As the son of our ruler you would be considered worthless in the Valley of the Ice People, you wouldn’t be able to locate the jar containing the water of evil. Only a living mortal can do that. That’s why I am unable to help you now. I’ll escort you, but you’ll have to make your own way out of this deep hollow.”

      Marco looked searchingly up the bare walls of the cliff. “Shama’s Kingdom,” he muttered. “How am I to ...?”

      His gaze followed the wild path of the river along the base of the cliff. At the very bottom it became wider and flatter.

      “But the water and the ground won’t harm me,” he muttered. “Come, my friend.”

      Fearlessly he hurled himself back into the river.

      The sound of howling sirens could be heard coming from somewhere. Was it a police car? No, more likely an ambulance. Everything was rocking pleasantly back and forth as though he was in a boat ...

      Nataniel woke up to painful reality.

      “Ellen,” he said hazily.

      “There, there, lie still,” said a kind and persuasive voice.

      Nataniel shouted out in fear and despair: “Ellen!”

      Somebody gave him an injection in his arm. The sirens howled, the ambulance made a sharp turn and he was fastened with a seat belt to keep him from sliding around. He opened his eyes.

      A male nurse sat there. There wasn’t room for anyone else in the back with the stretcher.

      “I’ve lost Ellen,” Nataniel whispered.

      As the anaesthesia spread a gentle fog over his pain and bewilderment he heard the response: “I don’t know who Ellen is. You were alone in the hangar. Had she been with you before that?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then she probably managed to get out in time.”

      “But one of us had to die. I know, I could feel the vibrations of death: they filled the entire hangar.”

      The nurse didn’t know, of course, what Nataniel was talking about; he thought he was delirious.

      “There were cement bags close to you in the hangar,” the young man explained. “They split when the grenade exploded, the airport staff said, throwing up a big cloud of dust. Everything was enveloped in a layer of grey-white dust. You were the only one there, lying on your stomach with bleeding wounds on your shoulder blades and ribs. Had there been even one more casualty we would have seen some traces of blood or footprints. But there was actually nothing ...”

      The young man’s voice sounded distant to Nataniel, the anaesthetic was beginning to take effect. His last thought was that no one could possibly disappear so completely as she had.

      But he and Ellen had always been able to communicate telepathically ...

      He