Last Rituals (37 page)

 

 

"Gylfi. This is Matthew, who's working with me. I invited him round for dinner. We'll talk things over quietly together when he's gone." She swallowed a lump that suddenly appeared in her throat. She was going to be a grandmother, thirty-six years old. Jesus, Mary, the Holy Ghost, and the other one from the Trinity whose name escaped her—may the child be healthy and its parents' lives a bed of roses in spite of this mistake. She fought back the tears that pressed forth uninvited. She was swamped with old signals she should have figured out.
It's no fun being alone with Gylfi
—
he's always jumping on the bed and howling…

 

 

"Thóra." Matthew pulled her out of her thoughts. "I had a phone call from the museum of sorcery just now. It seems there's an explanation for the state Harald's body was in."

 

 

 

CHAPTER 28

Thóra was determined not to cancel the dinner invitation. As if in a trance she threw some food from the refrigerator and freezer into a pot, not paying much attention to the outcome.

 

 

"Dinner is served," she called, trying to sound cheerful. Matthew sat down at the kitchen table straightaway and watched wide-eyed as a succession of bowls appeared. When the table was set, the meal consisted of peas, chips, rice, couscous, soup, jam, and traditional Icelandic flatbread.

 

 

"Looks delicious," he said politely when they were all seated. He reached for some canned peas.

 

 

Thóra surveyed the table and groaned. "I forgot the main course," she said resignedly. "I knew there was something wrong." She began to stand up to look for something to make the best of a bad job: frozen lasagna, pasta, meat, or fish. But she knew she had nothing—she had planned to go shopping but had been swept along by events. Matthew grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back to her seat.

 

 

"It's fine. It's an unconventional dinner but so is the timing, so it's all right." He smiled at the children poking at the mixture on their plates.

 

 

Thóra looked at the clock and saw it was only three—she had certainly gone off the rails. She forced a smile. "I'm still in a state of shock. I'll invite you for dinner again next year if I've recovered by then."

 

 

"No, there's no need. I'd rather invite you out," Matthew said, taking a bite of plain Icelandic flatbread. "Exquisite." He grinned.

 

 

None of them cleared their plates, and the trash can was filled with leftovers at the end of the meal. Sóley asked to go round to see her friend Kristín, and Thóra agreed without a word. Gylfi disappeared into his room, said he was going on the Internet. Thóra hoped he would not visit any sites about baby care. He would give up in despair if he saw in black-and-white what that entailed. When they were left by themselves, Thóra and Matthew sat down in the living room. She had made coffee that they took with them.

 

 

"Well, well," he said awkwardly. "I won't stay long, given the circumstances. Don't grannies need to take a nap after every meal?"

 

 

Thóra snorted. "This granny fancies a gin and tonic," she said as she sipped her coffee. "But we both know the consequences so I'll pass for now." She smiled at him and blushed a little. "Anyway, I'm ready to hear what the man from the sorcery museum said." She leaned back in the sofa and curled up her legs.

 

 

Matthew took out a piece of paper and unfolded it on the coffee table. "Thorgrímur phoned. He got in touch with that walking encyclopedia called Páll. He could reel straight off all that's known about that magic symbol—do you know why?"

 

 

Thóra shook her head. Matthew had clearly expected a more active response, so she ventured: "I don't know—because he's a walking encyclopedia?"

 

 

"No. Or yes, he may well be. But he knew all about the symbol because he remembered how incredibly excited Harald was to hear about it."

 

 

"So Harald talked to him about that particular symbol?" asked Thóra.

 

 

"Yes and no. Harald originally contacted Páll in connection with magic symbols in general and asked him about some that weren't in the standard reference books. Then he asked about the Icelandic book of spells we saw at the exhibition. Páll described the main spells in it and said one in particular had aroused Harald's interest—a fairly nasty spell, although it belongs to the cycle of love charms. Apparently Páll asked Thorgrímur if we'd noticed it. The leaf we saw at the exhibition is the opening passage—there's a lot more on the next page which is not on show. Guess what the spell involved."

 

 

"You take a dead man's eyes and do something with them?" Thóra guessed.

 

 

"No, but that's still important. If I understood it right, this charm is supposed to make a woman fall in love with you. You have to dig a hole in the floor that the woman walks over, put snake's blood in the hole, and write her name with some magic symbols. Finally you recite a charm—the very charm that was sent to Harald's mother." Matthew gave a proud smile.

 

 

"You mean the poem?" asked Thóra.

 

 

"You got it," Matthew replied. "That's not all. Páll said Harald was profoundly interested in the charm and they discussed it in depth—whether it only worked on a lover or could apply to a different form of love, whether the hole had to be in the floor, and so on. Then they discussed the symbol scrawled in the margin of the charm." Matthew paused.

 

 

"And?" Thóra asked impatiently.

 

 

"It turns out that the symbol in the margin is unknown, but resembles a Nordic symbol for a revenge charm. The only difference is one branch missing from the arm at the top. The Nordic spell is found in one manuscript fragment without the poem. All that has been preserved is a description of how to perform the spell and the first line of the charm, which is 'I look at you'—the same opening as the love charm. Páll infers that the owner of the book drew the symbol beside the spell because he either knew for sure or just assumed that the same poem applied to both. The book was apparently the work of four different people, three Icelanders and a Dane, and the last scribe could well have drawn the symbol beside the charm for the same reason. He said this Nordic spell was much darker than the others and of uncertain origin, although the text with it in the manuscript was in Danish. The manuscript is privately owned and has been dated to the late sixteenth century, while the Icelandic book of spells is thought to have been written around 1650."

 

 

"What do you mean, a darker spell?" Thóra asked.

 

 

"'Blacker magic' may be a better term. Shadier. What he meant was that it was specifically designed to cause harm. A person who has it carved on his body after death can haunt someone who failed him in life—as in watch from the grave and make them regret the way they treated him. And in the end that regret brings doom. And wait for this—to perform the spell you need a certain body part, and you can guess what that is."

 

 

"Eyes," Thóra said with conviction.

 

 

Matthew nodded. "But hold your horses. When Páll described the spell to Harald he became incredibly excited and demanded to hear in detail how to perform it. Páll gave him a full account over the phone, then sent him scanned copies of the book and the manuscript."

 

 

"Yes. And?" muttered Thóra eagerly.

 

 

"Well, the way it works is that the seeker of revenge makes an agreement with someone else to perform the spell after his death. Not unlike the corpse breeches. They draw the symbol together on a patch of animal skin using their own blood and raven's blood. It takes a lot more than a few drops, because under the symbol they are supposed to write that X promises to perform the spell for Y, then X and Y confirm this by signing their names." Matthew sipped his coffee before continuing. "Here comes the punch line. When Y is dead, X carves the symbol on the body, lets out enough blood to write with, and—thank you very much—removes the eyes from the body."

 

 

"Jesus." Thóra shuddered. "Why on earth—isn't it enough to write in blood and carve up the body?"

 

 

Matthew smiled. "Clearly not. Páll said the symbol should be carved into the body to remind the dead person that his eyes were removed at his own request. Otherwise he would rise from the grave and search for his eyes—and presumably kill the friend who took them. But the blood is used to write the now forgotten curse that goes with the symbol. It has to be mixed with raven's blood too."

 

 

"Which explains the passerine DNA found when the blood was analyzed!" exclaimed Thóra. "The raven is the largest passerine bird native to Iceland." Her school biology never failed her when she really needed it.

 

 

"Anyway, the survivor does not need to add his blood. The eyes are wrapped in the skin with the curse on it and both are then presented to the one who failed the dead person, the object of his revenge. After that the victim is never safe; the dead person will haunt him and constantly remind him of his misdeeds until he cracks and dies a terrible death."

 

 

"And the curse that was sent to Harald's mother…" Thóra said sadly. Her voice trailed off as her thoughts took over.
How appalling
.
What could have caused Harald to feel such deep-rooted hatred toward his mother? What on earth had she done to him? Perhaps it was merely a figment of his imagination; he could just have been mad and blamed his mother for it
.

 

 

A sudden idea pulled her out of her reverie. "Wait a minute—were the eyes sent to her?"

 

 

"No," Matthew said. "They weren't included. I have no idea why. Maybe they got lost or damaged; I simply don't know."

 

 

Thóra sat in thought for a while. "Halldór, the medical student. It must have been him who took care of the body," Thóra said. "So he killed Harald."

 

 

"It looks that way," Matthew replied. "Unless Harald caused his own death and Halldór took over."

 

 

"How?" Thóra asked. "He was strangled."

 

 

"Maybe doing his erotic asphyxiation? We have to consider that possibility at least. Or that one of the others killed Harald or made the contract with him. They all looked equally sheepish when we showed them the magic symbol. So Hugi could just as easily have been involved."

 

 

"We have to talk to Halldór again—that's for sure. All of them if we can. Good luck arranging that."

 

 

Matthew smiled. "So we're not total idiots. We've made a lot of progress. All that's missing from the picture is the money. What happened to that?"

 

 

Thóra shrugged. "Maybe Harald managed to buy that repulsive sorcery manuscript. It would be in character."

 

 

Matthew mulled the idea. "Maybe. But I doubt it because Páll said it was in the national library of Norway. That's also why the police couldn't identify the symbol—it's very unfamiliar, there's really no one in Iceland who knows it apart from Páll, who's studying abroad. He was never consulted about its origin."

 

 

"Maybe Harald transferred the money here to pay Páll for the information and then buy the manuscript from the library, but then he was killed for it by one of his so-called friends. They could have taken the money, couldn't they? People have killed for less."

 

 

Matthew agreed. He looked at the clock and then at Thóra, thoughtfully. "The plane from Frankfurt landed at half past three."

 

 

"Damn it!" Thóra swore. "I can't talk to his mother now—I simply can't. What if she asks me about my children? What am I supposed to say? 'Yes, Frau, my son is a precocious boy—didn't I tell you, he's going to be a father?'"

 

 

"Believe me, she won't have much interest in your children," Matthew said calmly.

 

 

"It won't be any better discussing her own son. How can I look her in the face and tell her that Harald struck a bargain with the devil, or as good as, to make her life sheer hell and eventually kill her?" Thóra looked at Matthew, hoping for a constructive answer.

 

 

"I'll tell her the news, don't you worry. But you can't get out of talking to her. If you don't do it today, it will have to be tomorrow. She's come all this way for the express purpose of talking to you, remember. When she told me she wanted to meet you in person and alone, she sounded more relaxed than I've ever heard her. You have nothing to fear."

 

 

Matthew did not sound quite convincing enough for Thóra. "Will they phone, or what are the arrangements?"

 

 

"They'll phone when they get to the hotel." He looked at the clock. "Very soon, I expect. I could call them, if you want."

 

 

Ow. Catch–22. Thóra could not decide. "Yes, call them," she said suddenly, then immediately shouted: "No, don't!"

 

 

Before she could change her mind again, Matthew's phone rang. Thóra groaned when he took it out, checked the display, and said: "It's them." He pressed the talk button and said: "Hello, Matthew here."

 

 

Thóra heard only one side of the conversation but could vaguely discern the voice on the other end while Matthew listened. The conversation seemed very superficial: "Did you have a good trip?" "What a pity." "You know the name of the hotel, don't you?" and so on. The conversation ended when he said: "Auf Wiedersehen. Good-bye." He looked at Thóra and smiled. "You're in luck, Granny."

 

 

"What?" Thóra asked excitedly. "Didn't she come?"

 

 

"Oh, yes, she came. But she has a migraine and wants to postpone meeting you until tomorrow. It was Elisa who called—they're in a taxi on their way down to Hótel Borg. She wants to meet us there in half an hour."