Free The Ice People 1 - Spellbound (The Legend of the Ice People) by Margit Sandemo Page A

better at drawing than most. But she’d never tried anything like this before. “Yes – yes please! I’d like to give it a try,” she stuttered eagerly. “But what if it isn’t good enough?”
    “Then we’ll paint over it. But I’m quite certain that you can do it.”
    Silje began on the task with all her heart and soul. She would be working on her own now, in the side chapel, and so they could only shout one word to each other every now and then. But she was so absorbed in what she was doing that she would often forget Benedikt and her surroundings.
    As evening was approaching, Benedikt came down. He’d only looked in on her a few times during the middle of the day to make sure that she was alright. She was now so far in her work that all she needed was the devil’s hoof, which was to appear behind the woman’s legs.
    As Benedikt walked over to Silje, he exclaimed: “You haven’t had anything to eat the whole day. And soon it’ll be dark. We’ll call it a day.”
    Then he stopped. Silje had stepped aside so that Benedikt could get a full view.
    He stared.
    “Good heavens,” he mumbled. “What on earth have you done?”
    Now she could see what she’d done. She saw it with Benedikt’s eyes.
    The devil stood behind the woman the way Benedikt had sketched it for her. But she had elaborated because she had placed the claw-like hands around her breasts, and her head was thrown back against the devil’s shoulder. His long tongue stroked her throat, and his face …
    “Oh dear,” Silje exclaimed, putting her hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t noticed it.”
    Nobody who’d ever seen the man in the wolf-skin could be in any doubt as to whom Silje had used as her model.
    “We must get rid of it,” Benedikt said, shocked.
    Silje was about to paint over it but then Benedikt took her hand and said: “No, don’t. It’s far too good to be destroyed. You’re no master painter but this painting has character . Let’s hope the King’s soldiers don’t come in here. Dear Silje,” he said, shocked,” I had no idea that a modest girl like you could create anything like this. Look at the groping hands of the devil! Look at his posture as if you could imagine what’s going on behind the woman’s back.”
    Silje was aghast. “I don’t understand. I had no idea I’d painted it like this. It must’ve created itself!”
    “Either you’re under a spell or you’ve the soul of an artist. You must’ve been transfixed. That’s what happened. Often an artist doesn’t know what he makes once inspiration takes hold. But I’d no idea that you’d lost your heart to young Heming.”
    So he’d discovered her secret.
    “So I have,” Silje said, angry and confused. “That’s who it is. I don’t understand how his face ended on this wall.”
    Then Benedikt began to laugh, first quietly but subsequently louder and louder. “Tell you what! You couldn’t have chosen a better model. My word, what an experience! What an experience! But better not tell anybody about it! Thank goodness, it’s dark in here.”
    Then they set off for the farm. The air had turned warmer and the powdering of snow that had fallen had melted. The sky was heavy and grey. They both knew that this warmth was fleeting and treacherous. Winter had tightened its grip, its frozen claws digging ever deeper, and the sun rose later with each day.
    This had been an evil autumn.

    ***

    Silje had been at Benedikt’s farm for ten days when Sol fell ill. Flushed and crying, the little girl lay in her bed in their bedroom. Silje sat by her bedside all day long, changing her clothes, trying to keep her warm and comfortable.
    The barber, who was one of Benedikt’s drinking companions, came by and passed the verdict: “There’s no doubt. Keep the baby boy away from her! The rest of us will pull through. After all, this is what we’ve done so far. Is the girl baptized? Perhaps the best thing would be to call the priest?”
    “The priest has died,” said