The Key (11 page)

The dance pavilion in the Kärrgruvan fairground emerges from the mist. Anna-Karin and Minoo sit side by side on the stage. Linnéa and Vanessa stand on the dance floor, facing each other and holding hands. A plastic water bottle is on the floor between them.

Ida looks around, then walks closer to the pavilion.

The trees are in leaf and the blackbirds sing as though they’re possessed. Spring has come. She steps into the pavilion.

A silver cross is lying on the stage near Minoo, who fingers it absentmindedly. It’s the cross that protects the Chosen Ones from being found by their enemies.

It would have been bloody useful for Ida, if only she could have brought it to the Borderland.

‘Go for it,’ Minoo says, looking at Vanessa and Linnéa. ‘See what happens.’

Vanessa and Linnéa nod and Ida watches as they squeeze each other’s hand harder. The bottle begins to wobble. A light gust of wind flows through the pavilion and plays with Vanessa’s freshly blonded hair. And then, suddenly, the water starts flowing out and upwards, becoming a stream that gently twists around itself until the bottle is empty.

Vanessa giggles and the water splashes on the dance floor. The bottle falls over and rolls out of the way.

‘Oh, shit!’ Vanessa exclaims. ‘I couldn’t keep it going any longer.’

‘But you did do it!’ Minoo sounds quite exalted.

Anna-Karin is the only one who isn’t smiling. She just sits there. As Ida watches her, the mist comes drifting back and obscures them all. Ida takes a few steps towards them but realises that she’s already too late. She is back in the Borderland.

This time, she finds a light without looking for it. The source is right in front of her. She takes another step and glimpses tarmac beneath the whirling veils of mist. Another step and the air clears.

Ahead of her stands the scorched, disintegrating skeleton of a large building. It seems familiar and yet isn’t. Then she spots a metal sign. Badly burnt, but a part of the lettering is still readable, enough for her to recognise her own surname in the sloping font she has seen so many times.

It is the sawmill.

Dad’s sawmill.

Dad
.

Ida doesn’t want to think about him. Doesn’t want to think about where he might have been when the mill caught fire.

She hears Vanessa’s voice and turns towards the sound. Vanessa and Linnéa are walking along side by side; they stop a few metres away from Ida.

‘No one will see us here,’ Vanessa says.

She takes Linnéa’s hand. Ida assumes they are trying out some more witchcraft, but instead they kiss.

‘What are you doing?’ Ida asks. ‘What the hell are you up to?’

They carry on snogging. Vanessa’s hands sneak into the back pockets of Linnéa’s jeans.

‘Excuse me, but how long has this been going on?’ Ida demands, her voice going falsetto. ‘Is it, like, common knowledge? To everyone except me?’

Linnéa suddenly backs away.

‘What is it?’ Vanessa asks.

‘Nothing. I have to go home. Some stuff I must fix for school tomorrow.’

Vanessa looks confused. Ida can’t blame her; Linnéa’s behaviour is odder than ever.

‘Fine,’ Vanessa says.

The silence between them is awkward.

‘When are we going to tell the others?’ Vanessa finally asks.

‘Tell them? What’s there to tell?’

Vanessa stares at her.

‘Look, I didn’t mean to put it like that,’ Linnéa says quickly. ‘All I wanted to say was … I guess we don’t really know … what this really is. Maybe we should wait a little. After all, so much is happening …’

‘OK,’ Vanessa replies, but it’s obvious that she doesn’t feel it’s OK in the slightest.

Linnéa reaches out to her and they kiss again. Ida cannot help remembering Gustaf and the one and only time he kissed her.

The
Book of Patterns
had lured her on, promising her that kiss. It would be her reward for doing what the guardians told her. Except they must have known all along that it wasn’t going to be a real kiss, but G trying to save her life with mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

The guardians must have seen ahead and known that she was going to die.

But then, maybe they’re like Mona, Ida thinks. Perhaps they can’t see the whole truth, or perhaps they are bound to misunderstand what they see sometimes.

She watches as Vanessa and Linnéa start walking towards the centre of town.

‘But there’s so much that the guardians haven’t even mentioned,’ Ida says out loud. ‘Why are they hiding things from us? I don’t understand …’

She looks up and down the burnt ruin of the sawmill again. The wind is whistling through the skeleton, making a hollow sound.

Dad
. Surely he wasn’t in there when it caught fire? He can’t have … he mustn’t …

The grey curtains wrap themselves around her once more. She starts running, her eyes sweeping across the greyness.

Until she suddenly halts. In front of her feet she sees a strong red light. As bright as a traffic light. As a
stop
light.

No other lights in the distance.

She closes her eyes and jumps.

When she opens her eyes, she sees it in the sky.

The blood-red moon.

Ida hears a stream. She stands in a clearing in a forest, surrounded by spruce and pine trees. The blood-red moon glows in the sky, but its light is so bleak that the world around her looks like a black-and-white film. Frost glitters on the dead grass.

A branch cracks and she flinches. Soon afterwards, she hears heavy splashing. Between the trees, she makes out a stream that reflects the moonlight. Someone is wading in the water and she catches a glimpse of a pale face and light-coloured clothing.

Matilda. Now she steps into the clearing and Ida feels a surge of relief.

‘Matilda!’

Matilda’s light nightdress is wet and makes a sloshing sound as she walks. Her eyes stare blindly. She moves like a sleepwalker. A robot under remote control. And Ida suddenly understands.

This is
Matilda
’s blood-red moon. They are in Engelsfors in the seventeenth century.

‘No,’ Ida says. ‘Please.’

Matilda stops abruptly, kneels and stays in the same position. A black bird flies into the air above them, then lands on Matilda’s shoulder. Is that her familiar?

The wind rustles in the tops of the pine trees. Ida hears whispers, by many voices and a single one at the same time.

Don’t be afraid. We will not harm you. We will help you
.

It is a gentle voice, full of good intent. The language has an odd ring to it but it’s Swedish and Ida feels she could understand it even without her brand-new linguistic brilliance.

Matilda instantly becomes less tense and Ida realises that she has regained control over her body. She crouches, holds the bird in her hands and strokes its feathers.

You are the Chosen One
, the voices say, and seem to merge into a single one.
You will save the world from the evil forces that try to enter our world. The last portal is here in Engelsfors and you are the one who shall close it
.

‘It cannot be,’ Matilda whispers. ‘It cannot be me … that I should be the Chosen One …’

You have felt that your abilities have become less and less predictable. More powerful. Harder to control. You have been fearful
.

‘Yes,’ Matilda whispers, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. ‘It is true.’

You cannot risk harbouring doubts about what fate awaits you. For now, you are hidden from the gaze of your enemies by strong protective magic. But it will not stay strong enough for ever
.

‘The enemy? The demons?’ Matilda sounds terrified.

Yes. If they win, flames will consume the world
.

‘Who are you?’

We are the guardians. We have been watching over mankind since the beginning of time. We founded the Council but the Council have forgotten us. They are too legalistic to understand. Tell them that you are called, but do not tell them about us
.

Ida shuts her eyes tight.

‘I don’t want to be here,’ she says. ‘I want to go home. Back to the present.’

But, then, if one can jump about like this, from one time to the next, what is the real present? Can the past, the present and the future really overlap like this? What was it Adriana said about time being circular? And what the fuck does that mean anyway?

Ida opens her eyes. She sees a room with plain, white-limed walls that seem to pulsate in the fluttering glow from the hearth. A fire with blue flames. Magic fire.

Matilda stands near a table. She is wearing a simple grey dress and her long, reddish-blonde hair is falling loose over her shoulders and back. On the table in front of her lies a silver cross. Light falls on it from a candle in a pewter candlestick. Nicolaus’s silver cross looked exactly like that one. Could it be the same cross? Must be, surely, because Nicolaus himself stands a bit away, near one of the small windows. His dress is clerical, a black dress coat and white collar that looks a little like a bib. His hair is longer and darker than Ida has seen it, and his face less furrowed. The Cat, his familiar, lies curled up at his feet. Its fur is thick and glossy and it still has both its eyes.

There are four men standing close to Nicolaus. Pattern Finders dangle from silver chains around their necks and the fattest of the men holds a copy of the
Book of Patterns
. Ida knows zilch about fashion in the seventeenth century, but no one could miss that these guys are expensively dressed. The colours are strong; long lace cuffs protrude from their sleeves. The fat man’s dark green jacket is covered in gold embroidery. Clearly, he is the boss. Ida also knows nothing about social hierarchy in the 1600s, but she can spot a leader a mile off.

‘Make haste, man,’ the fatso commands. ‘We cannot wait all night.’

‘Indeed so, Master,’ a man says.

At first, Ida hadn’t noticed him, as he was hidden among the shadows. Now he takes centre stage. He has the same type of moustache as the rest of them and blond, shoulder-length hair. Unlike the rest of them, he carries off his swanky clothes with style. Actually, he’s quite good-looking.

‘Matilda.’ He turns to her. ‘Are you able to state the three laws of the Council?’

She answers unhesitatingly.

‘I must not use magic without the permission of the Council. I must not use magic in order to disobey the laws of the ordinary world. I must not reveal to the uninitiated that I am a witch.’

The man who questioned her nods and looks pleasantly at her.

‘Good. Now, can you explain the difference between a natural witch and one who has been trained?’

Nicolaus looks nervously at his daughter.

‘All human beings can learn to control magic,’ she replies. ‘But most people will never acquire magic abilities unless prepared to teach themselves with much devoted work. If they do, they become trained witches. Their abilities may or may not flourish, according to each person’s nature and talents.’

Matilda lifts her head and meets the man’s eyes.

‘A natural witch, be it a man or a woman, has no choice,’ she continues. ‘They carry within them abilities that will awaken, sooner or later. A trained witch chooses magic, but a natural witch is afflicted by it.’

There is nothing cocky in what she is saying, but she still manages to make it sound cocky. Ida can see that Nicolaus is even more nervous now.

‘You chose the word “afflict”, although most would regard such a talent as a great blessing.’

‘Naturally, my lord Baron Ehrenskiöld,’ Matilda says mechanically.

Baron Ehrenskiöld. One of Alexander’s forefathers. He is paler, not as tall, and not even dark-haired. But the biggest difference is that this Ehrenskiöld looks kind.

‘You have answered well,’ he tells her. ‘We will proceed to the practical examination. Are you ready?’

Matilda nods.

‘Yes, I am.’

She looks at the candle on the table, which is burning strongly, takes a deep breath and reaches out for it. Slowly, she moves her hand closer to the flame. When Ida was younger, she used to impress Lotta and Rasmus by prodding candle flames with her finger. What Matilda does is different, slower. Far too slow. And then she holds her hand completely still, in the middle of the flame. There is a hissing sound but her hand looks unharmed.

Nicolaus relaxes, and so does Baron Ehrenskiöld.

‘The fire does not hurt her,’ he says.

‘Nothing is proved by this,’ Fatso – also known as ‘Master’ – pronounces.

The mist rolls in just ahead of Ida but vanishes almost as swiftly.

A perfectly normal, white full moon is lighting the scene. Matilda and Baron Ehrenskiöld are walking along a narrow path. Ida follows them. They arrive at a lake. The surroundings look different, and there is no beach, but Ida instantly recognises Dammsjön Lake.

‘You must not worry,’ Baron Ehrenskiöld says quietly. ‘I believe that you spoke the truth about what happened during the night of the blood-red moon. You are the Chosen One and the element of water will protect you.’

Matilda doesn’t reply; though she tries to appear calm, Ida can see how fearful she is. Her familiar is circling in the air near her.

A rowing boat is pulled up on the side of the lake. In it, a man in grey clothes sits waiting. Another man in grey stands at the water’s edge, brandishing a torch. The fat boss and his mates have arrived, and so has Nicolaus. He stands very still, but Cat is pacing anxiously up and down along the lakeside, watching Matilda.

Matilda stops near the boat and puts her hands behind her back.

Ehrenskiöld picks up a rope from the ground and ties her hands.

‘Now, pull it tight,’ Fatso orders.

‘This will do, Master,’ Ehrenskiöld says calmly.

He bends over to tighten a loop of rope around Matilda’s feet. Then he carries her in his arms to the boat. Matilda tries to catch Nicolaus’s eye, but he doesn’t look her way.

A huge bank of fog drifts past.

Now, they are all back in the room with the lime-washed walls. Matilda is tied to a chair, slumped helplessly against ropes that are bound tightly around her. Her head is drooping; every part of her is coated with soil and her hair is plastered with clay. She seems barely alive.