December 12
It was getting dark, and Maja Seter made the sign of the cross over the doors. She said the Lord’s Prayer as she polished
the glass in the lanterns she’d be setting outside. Ingrid knew the chef would also be putting a knife in the wall above her
bed. She’d explained that when dark forces were near, you needed to protect yourself in every way possible.
“And the dark forces are coming, whether you believe in them or not,” Maja claimed.
To be honest, it wasn’t all that hard to believe that evil forces were approaching at this time of year, when the sun hardly
showed itself and the shadows were long and deep. They were coming from all sides, said Maja, since the distinctions between
the world of the spirits and the world of humans became less defined during the dark winter months. And especially tonight.
It was Lussi langnatt , Saint Lucia’s Day—the scariest, most dangerous night of the year. That was why Maja was so busy; there was a lot that needed to be done before nightfall.
“How do you know all this?” Sunny asked. She and Ingrid were sitting on the bench, watching Maja’s preparations.
“I’ve always known about these kinds of things,” Maja replied. “I learned them from my mother, who learned them from her mother.”
It was knowledge passed down from a time when everyone knew such things. Knowledge or superstition—whatever you chose to call
it—that had long since been forgotten by most people. But not by Maja Seter.
“I remember, and I take care of what needs doing,” Maja continued. “I’m sure I’ve prevented all kinds of evil by using what
I know.”
“But not everything can be prevented,” Ingrid objected.
“No! For example, this morning I had to make lussekatter with Freya Wilkins,” Maja replied with a grimace.
Ingrid laughed. She knew that Maja hadn’t wanted to bake today; the Christmas baking had really been finished long before
Saint Lucia’s Day, as it should be. She’d always taken pride in that, and this year, the Christmas treats were once again
neatly stacked in their own boxes in the pantry according to tradition: goro and bordstabler , sandkaker and krumkaker , sirupsnipper , hjortetakk and fattigmann .
“But now there will also be lussekatter,” Maja said. “Even though that particular Saint Lucia’s convention is best suited
for children and Swedes.”
“But Freya wants to take part in that beautiful Nordic tradition ,” Ingrid said with a smile.
“Yes, and Sunny and Vegard, too,” Maja replied.
“Yeah, it’ll look great on socials,” Sunny said.
“Socials! It took me a while before I understood that’s supposed to mean social media ,” Maja scoffed. “My goodness. It’s not a real job, this posting pictures on Instagram and Snapchat.”
“Sure it is. Just look at Pia,” Sunny objected. “She makes her living being an influencer.”
“An influencer !” Maja repeated with the exact same contempt as she’d said the word socials . “I guess she does look like she’s doing pretty well with it, that Pia. Great clothes, always looking like she came straight
from the hairdresser. But she’s sickly, the poor thing.”
“Sickly?” Sunny asked.
“Yes, I heard she isn’t feeling well,” Maja replied. “But it wasn’t so bad that she couldn’t come down to breakfast this morning
and eat three rolls while taking pictures of her food and tapping around on her phone.”
Sunny beamed.
“But that’s awesome! She has like a million followers!” she chirped. “I mean, it’s just soooooo cool that she’s here, you know? And tomorrow she’s gonna post stories from the Saint Lucia’s celebration. Imagine that, Maja.
Your lussekatter will be famous.”
“Famous! Yeah, yeah. I won’t stand in the way of that,” Maja said. “If you want lussekatter, you’ll get them, buckets of them.
They’re ready in the pantry.”
She set down the last lantern, its glass now perfectly shiny. “But now I need to run an errand down in the valley. There’s
something I have to pick up.”
“What?” Sunny asked curiously.
The chef gave her an inscrutable look. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
***
“There’s a lot that needs to be done with the equipment here,” the electrician said. It turned out that he wasn’t actually the young and thin one who wore a beanie indoors, but rather the older fellow in blue overalls. “I’m writing a preliminary
report since there are some things you need to get fixed.” He’d been at it all day, first with the wiring in the floor they
had to break open after the flooding, then with checking out other things “since he was already here,” as he said.
He beckoned her into the back room. “Look,” he said, shining a light into the fuse box by the stairs. “Nobody has this kind
of thing anymore, with fuses that need changing. When you replace the box, you can also change the circuits. They’re not rated
for the current usage. It’s not so urgent that it needs to be changed immediately, but you should definitely do it within
the next year. And there are some connections here and there that weren’t done by a registered electrician. I’ve fixed the
ones I’ve come across.”
Ugh. Yet another expensive project. Shouldn’t Alfred have dealt with this a long time ago? Had he tried to repair the defects by doing the electrical work himself? While she was abroad, Ingrid had believed—or chosen to believe—that Alfred and Nana Borghild had been taking care of hotel maintenance. But . . . with the mice and flooding and poor electrical work, she wasn’t so sure of anything anymore. Admittedly, people had always been handy up here at Glitter Peak, herself included. She could replace rotten trim and change a water trap. But electrical work wasn’t something you could do yourself. Everyone knew that. You got professionals to check the system at regular intervals and fix what needed to be fixed. Right? She needed to have a chat with Alfred. She just had to hope that things kept going well for a little while longer so they could manage to make a bit of money in between all the expenses.
***
It was already getting dark when Hussein came home from school, and now it was evening. He sat in his nook in the attic and
thought he could hear them outside. The dark forces. ?sg?rdsreien —the Wild Hunt. At least he thought it was them. The wind howled around the corners, and something slammed against the wall.
Was it just the storm, or was it the jinn Lussi and her entourage? Hussein had heard Miss Maja talking about them. The night
between the twelfth and thirteenth of December was the darkest and most dangerous of the year, she’d said. That was when Lussi
came to check whether the work that needed to be done before Christmas was on schedule. If you hadn’t cleaned, baked, and
brewed, you might see her scary white face pressed against the windowpane. In the worst-case scenario, she might take the
Wild Hunt down the chimney with her. They could even destroy the whole house in their fury!
But that wasn’t the only thing that was special about this night, Lussi langnatt. No, Miss Maja had also said it was the only
night of the year when animals could talk. Could that really be true? That was why Hussein was in the attic now. He hoped that Speedy would show up tonight so he could find out whether Miss Maja had been telling the truth. He’d put a piece of a lussekatt in his pocket and scattered crumbs in the corner of the attic. He didn’t want to let his little friend starve, even though he knew it was wrong to defy what both Miss Maja and Auntie Ingrid had told him. In any case, Speedy had stayed away for now. He wondered what the little mouse would say if it came. Hussein was pretty sure it would thank him for the food.
What was worse was the thought that the people of the underworld could also come out tonight—and they might already have one
in the hotel! That weird American lady with green clothes and yellow hair and a smile that was way too big. Hussein shuddered.
What Miss Maja had told him had been exciting earlier today, when Hussein was sitting on the bench in the nice, warm kitchen,
surrounded by grown-ups and the smell of baking, a delicious saffron lussekatt in his hand. Up here in the attic, though,
he really wished he hadn’t ever heard it at all. It was a little too easy to believe in dark forces now that he was all alone.
He stood up and shone the light around. You had to light candles against the dark forces and let them burn all night, Miss
Maja had said. But he wasn’t allowed to bring candles up to the attic. Then the whole hotel could burn down! Auntie Ingrid
had told him that. But he wasn’t sure whether flashlights worked against the dark forces...
There was no Speedy to be seen. After a while, Hussein folded the wool blanket he’d been sitting on and put it and his Donald
Duck comic neatly in the corner. It was probably best to go down to his mother now. He hoped she was finished working for
the day.
As he made his way downstairs, he heard something—a deep rumbling coming from outside. Music. Voices. It sounded more like people and cars than dark forces, but these weren’t regular cars. These cars kind of roared sometimes. They had a completely different energy from his mother’s and Nana Borghild’s electric cars, which were small and cheerful, or Auntie Ingrid’s SUV, which was big and safe. He’d heard these kinds of car sounds before, down in Dalen. He thought about the big boys who drove around with girls riding along. Both the boys and the cars were scary. They revved their engines and made lots of noise on purpose. Sometimes they said things that weren’t that nice, too. The big boys, that is.
He didn’t know any big boys who had their own car, but his cousin Ahmed in Aqaba had been allowed to drive Uncle Abdel’s Hyundai
when he turned eighteen. Hussein remembered that well, even though he’d been only four at the time. Ahmed had been so proud
when he skidded into the courtyard and got out of the car, proudly dangling the car keys in one hand and pushing his sunglasses
into place. Hussein had never seen anything so cool. From that moment on, he’d looked forward to turning eighteen and driving
his father’s red Land Cruiser. But then he and his mom had moved abroad, first to Nepal and then to Norway, while his dad
stayed at home. He had things to take care of. He would come to Norway when he could—at least that’s what Mama said.
Now, Hussein was absolutely sure that it was the roar of car engines he was hearing outside, and music that seemed to be pumping
out into the air. Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump . Hussein didn’t know whether the big boys in Dalen were mean to all of the younger kids or just him. Did adults think they
were scary, too? In any case, he avoided them as best he could, and he’d never heard them up here before.
Hussein walked toward the window at the end of the hallway but quickly retreated. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing a white face pressed against the windowpane. He hurried into the apartment, slammed the door behind him, and felt his heart hammering in his chest. Thump thump thump. Thump thump thump .
***
What was all this racket? When Ingrid ran down the stairs and flung open the front door, she saw Alfred was already outside.
The caretaker was leaning toward the rolled-down window of an old, orange Volvo 240 with the word J?germeister written in Gothic letters on one side and what looked like deer antlers attached to the hood. Alfred looked gruff, and before
Ingrid had even managed to cross the square, the car was already moving toward the road. Three other cars that had been parked
next to the hotel with music playing at full blast revved their engines before following.
“What in the world is going on? Were those boys from the village? What did they want?” Ingrid was full of questions, but Alfred
just grunted.
“Kids. Messing around. Just trying to show off.”
“But why? Why now? They’ve never come up here before.”
“I guess they’ll have to find something else to do now, then,” Alfred said, heading back inside.
Ingrid didn’t move, though. What was the reason behind this noisy visit? Was it meant to frighten the guests?
Speaking of guests, here came Freya Wilkins, striding out of the dining room in a long teal dress and gold Skechers. She was
heading straight for Ingrid. Her blond hair hung down her back, and her eyes shone with delight—perhaps combined with a bit
of fear, but mostly just excitement.
“Oh, dear me!” Freya exclaimed. “What was all that about? Was it a gang from the neighborhood? Is there some kind of feud
brewing?”
Feud . What a strange choice of words. As if they were in the middle of a gangster film! The West Side Story of rural Norway! Gang loyalty, love, passion, knives, and death. No, Ingrid didn’t think the boys from Dalen were out to
kill anyone, but she didn’t doubt for a moment that they were capable of stirring up some trouble.
She put on what she hoped was a reassuring tone. “No, no. Just some local boys who wanted to come up and say hi.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. She forced out a smile as she took Freya by the elbow and led her back toward the dining hall.
“Have you finished eating? I hope you’ve gotten to taste Maja’s delicious caramel pudding. No? Then you must treat yourself. On the house, of course! And you’ll have a second helping, too. Nope, no protests, no one can stop at just
one when they’ve tasted Maja’s desserts.”
It took Ingrid a while to make her way out of the dining room again. When the manager first makes an appearance, she has to
take the time to chat with everyone, something Nana Borghild had been careful to instill in her granddaughter. First, Ingrid
sat with Freya and John Wilkins to make sure they hadn’t been too upset by the visit from the village boys. They hadn’t been,
and they also agreed that Maja’s caramel pudding was “marvelous.” Vegard and Pia at the neighboring table were also enthusiastic,
and it was nice to exchange a few words with them after she hadn’t seen them all day.
She was so lost in her thoughts on her way up to the apartment that she didn’t see the dark shape in the shadowy corridor
until she stepped on it. Something soft scurried away, a shadow that disappeared down the hallway. She heard a sharp hiss
and her own startled gasp. Shit! What the heck was that? She thought she spotted a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the darkness before the shape merged with the shadows once again. Ingrid felt her heart pounding, and she stopped by the wall for a moment to regain her composure.
It was too dark here; no one had turned on the lamps in the corridor. Ingrid found the switch and pressed it, and the shadows
in the hallway vanished—as did the dark shape.
***
Thor turned off the main road, swung in toward the workshop, and looked at his watch. Yes, they should still be open. They
often worked pretty late, and there was a light on inside. He could pop in and see whether he could chat with the Muskox Calf
in private.
He didn’t know what Karl would be able to tell him, but he’d obviously had something on his mind the day he’d come to visit.
The Muskox gang was up to something—Thor was sure of that. Did it have something to do with the farm? Had Thor’s father gotten
them tangled up in even more sticky financial situations Thor didn’t know about? His gut feeling told him it had something
to do with the new initiatives at Glitter Peak. Karl had asked whether Thor was spending more time up there these days, and Hallgrim Dalen was usually quick to get involved if there
was talk of money and property. But what were they up to? And how much did Karl know about it?
Thor parked his pickup by the old building. A couple of old lowriders drove past and idled on the other side of the lot. They
were the kind of cars that only had two speeds: 10 or 100 miles per hour. Then two Volvo 240s came along with music blasting:
one blue and the other bright orange with antlers on the hood. Talk about needing to show off!
Thor knew what this was all about. Racing, doing donuts, sitting in the car, blasting music, driving to the closest fast-food restaurant. The way young people in Dalen spent their free time hadn’t changed much since he was their age. He couldn’t make out who was in the cars, but it was probably the gang of Muskox grandchildren. They drove around a lot, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to get into mischief from time to time. There were a lot of people in the village who were afraid of them—and some with good reason.
When he entered the workshop, he saw Gunnhild Dalen, Karl’s mother, behind the counter. She was small and thin and had short
brown hair with a bit of gray. She was knitting something purple and barely even looked up when the bell rang and Thor came
through the door. Even more wizened and grumpy than before , Thor thought, then felt a bit ashamed of himself. He’d probably also be wizened and grumpy if he was married to Arthur Dalen
and had the Muskox as a father-in-law. There wasn’t much space for other people around that kind of person. It seemed as though
that space had gotten tighter and tighter over the years, and Gunnhild Dalen had gotten smaller and smaller and drier and
drier. Now, she’d probably catch fire like a bundle of twigs if she got close to an open flame. Maybe that was why they kept
her in here.
Thor greeted her as cheerfully as he could—which was pretty cheerfully, to be honest. Gunnhild barely dignified him with a
glance and a nod before she turned her attention back to her knitting.
He cleared his throat. “Is Karl here?”
Gunnhild shook her head. “No, Karl... he... has the day off.”
She was concentrating intently on a stitch that was apparently quite obstinate.
The day off? Thor couldn’t quite believe that Karl had time off. Maybe they didn’t want him to speak with Thor? He was on his way out
when Gunnhild spoke again.
“Someone from Glitter Peak was here and asking lots of questions. An American woman. And her husband. They had something they
wanted checked on a Range Rover. But she practically wanted the whole history of the village, too.”
She laughed a small, dry laugh that sounded like sticks breaking. “She was asking about old things from the ’60s and who was
related to whom here. Arthur’s English isn’t that good so he came and got me. But I didn’t have much to tell them.”
“No...” Thor shook his head, not really knowing what to say.
“She should probably talk to Hallgrim, I guess, but he’s not interested in being a tour guide.”
Gunnhild clearly had nothing more to say after that because she focused her attention back on her knitting once again. Thor
was deep in thought as he walked out the door toward his pickup.
“There, there. Come here, Grete.”
Thor gave his favorite ewe a handful of oats and scratched her neck. He’d already removed the old straw, brought in new hay,
and changed the water in the troughs.
Thor had spent a lot of money rebuilding the barn so the sheep had access to a yard. His father had thought that was nonsense, but everything indicated that the sheep’s health was better if they were allowed outside a bit even during the winter, when they were fed indoors. This kept them in better shape, and the lambing in the spring also went more smoothly. He could see they en joyed their time outside. “How would you like to be locked up for months?” Thor had asked the last time they’d discussed the matter, but his father had just grumbled
and turned up the sound on the TV. He wasn’t fond of change, so Thor had to do this on his own. He’d been to a couple of farming
conferences before, and it had been nice to talk with other sheep farmers about how to run things as effectively as possible.
But he had neither the time nor the money to do this too often. His father considered himself done with farm work. He stepped
in only if there was an emergency, and it was expensive to use temporary workers. So for the most part, Thor just stayed at
home and went about his business.
But he also enjoyed trying out new production methods and working on new meat products with the butcher. They were able to
sell to some local customers and a bit to Glitter Peak. Everything that was happening up there was a nice change. A joy to
see, actually! Ingrid’s return had brought new life to the place. He was happy she wanted to continue running the hotel, even
though it seemed as though it might take a miracle for it to be financially viable given the way things were now. They needed
a lot more guests. That went without saying. And some of the guests they had now were quite strange, to be honest—especially this
American couple. Why were they so interested in the history of the village?
He also had his own history projects going on. The newspaper page he and Ingrid had found in the library had renewed his interest
in local history, and in a few days, he had an appointment with the old editor in chief of the Dalen Daily . Thor was looking forward to telling Ingrid about what he’d found out, both about the disappearance and about the history
of Dalen and Glitter Peak in general.
“Maybe I should have been a historian, Grete,” he said to the ewe. “But I can’t deny that I’m mostly doing this for Ingrid now.”
The ewe had nothing to say about that—at least not out loud. She just stared at him enigmatically and kept chewing on her
oats.