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Cover and illustrations by David Covenant
david.h.covenant@gmail.com
1st edition 2025
Publisher: BoD ·Books on Demand, Östermalmstorg1,114 42 Stockholm, Sweden, bod@bod.se
Printing house: Libri Plureos GmbH, Friedensallee 273, 22763
Hamburg, Germany
ISBN: 978-91-8097-094-5
“Altogether
elsewhere, vast/ Herds of reindeer move across/ Miles and miles of golden moss,/ Silently and very fast.”
The Fall of Rome by WHAuden
PROLOGUE
Norwegian-Swedish border in western Lapland, April 1, 1945.
The airplane appeared out of nowhere. Like agreat bird of prey it soaredover the northern ridge with roaring engines. Its black belly was outlined like adark shadow against the night sky.The plane had almost disappeared from sight before the first villagers emerged from their tents and wooden houses. Those who caught aglimpse of the big bird saw it veer offtothe west and over Norway.From the fuselage there were flashes of light.
In the midst of the commotion, atall figure stood on alarge rock, silentlywatching the plane.
“Sáhkár! We are under attack!”
Ahalf-naked and bearded man came running up to the rock. His eyes were wide open and shining in the moonlight. “Sáhkár!” he repeated. “What was that?”
The tall figure stood calmly watching the airplane as it disappeared behind the western mountain plateau. Some ten seconds later,the sky lit up with abright flash of light followed by adull thud. The plane had crashed and exploded. All was quiet and still in the small valley.Those who had come out of their tents said nothing, but just stared in the direction of the flickering light.
“Sáhkár,” the bearded man finally said. “What really happened?”
“I don't know,” replied the figure on the stone, finally averting its gaze from the spectacle in the distance. “But we have to find out.”
He then grabbed alarge horn hanging from arope around his neck, put it to his mouth and blew it with all his might. Adark and powerful roar resounded throughout the valley.The last of the villagers emerged from their tents and houses and gathered around the big rock as they had always done. Soon after,afew hundred dazed souls stood looking at the light and at the man on the rock.
“See that light over there?” He swept his arm and paused briefly while all eyes turned to the west.
“A few minutes ago, an airplane flew over the village. Some of you managed to see it. The plane was on fire and lost altitude. It must have crashed just afew hundred meters into the Norwegian side.”
“Where did it come from? What kind of plane was it?” Several voices were heard from the crowd.
“It seems to have come from the north. The aircraft was twin-engined and quite large. That was all Icould see.”
“Theyare Germans!” someone shouted.
“I don't know more than you do, but it could well be another
German military transport heading south from Narvik. There have been afew of those before, but never this close.”
“What do we do now?” said awoman's voice that seemed to come from somewhere very close to the rock. The answers came immediately and from different directions at the same time. Aheated discussion ensued. Some felt that an attempt should be made to reach the crashed plane, others warned of German units that had been spotted at regular intervals some way into the Norwegian side. Sáhkár raised the horn again and silenced the debate.
“Wehave to get to the plane. There may be survivors and it is not certain thatthey are Germans. We need to know if it is acoincidence that brought them here or if they came to spy on the village. We leave immediately.Iwant ten men with rifles and searchlights.”
❃❃❃
The armed troops moved swiftly across the plateau that cut offthe valley on the western side from the outside world. On the other side, a long, narrow valley opened up with an equally long, ice-covered lake in the middle. In the middle of the illuminated lake, they could see the remains of the plane wreckage. The closer they got, the clearer it became what had happened. The right wing was torn from the fuselage during the impact, together with the engine, fuel tank and landing gear on that side. The engine, which had apparently burned even before the plane passed over the village, had caused the fuel tank to explode and it was this powerful fire that still lit up the night sky. The rest of the plane had continued afew hundred meters outonto the ice, where the second landing gear had finally cut through the ice crust, causing the whole craft to rotate half aturn.
On the ice next to what remained of the fuselage were three
people, one of whom was lying motionless on his back. The distance was too great to determine what they were doing, but it wasclear that at least one of them was injured. Perhaps someone was also still in the wreckage.
Sáhkár ordered his men to continue along the left bank where they were sheltered by large rocks and mountain birches. When they were less than ahundred meters from the site of the accident, they crouched behind acairn and looked at the wreck. The swastika was clearly visibleonthe tail fin.
“A German bomber,” Sáhkár concluded briefly.Maybe it was on its way from Narvik to Trondheim or Stavanger.Something caused the engine to catch fire and they took aim at the only flat surface they could find. It is not impossible that they were fired upon by our own people.
He looked out over the ice and saw that only one of the three men was still standing. The fire at the eastern end of the lake had died down and it was harder to make out anything but the silhouettes of the threefigures. Sáhkár and his men lay quietly for afew minutes, listening for sounds. Perhaps the Germans had already called for help or there were more planes on their way with the same mission? Just as they had agreed to start moving towards the injured crewmen, they heard voices in the distance.
They lay still and listened, and as the voices came closer,they realized the sounds were coming from the western short end of the lake. Branches snapping, faint flashlights and harsh German consonants. The tramp of boots moving determinedly in the direction of the fading fire. Soon, dozens of dark silhouettes appeared against the light snow in the moonlight. They walked on the ice and approached quickly.Sáhkár estimated that they were between forty and fifty German soldiers. Certainly armed to the teeth.
The soldiers walked up to the only crew member who could still
stand. Words were exchanged in German. It sounded like an interrogation. Asoldier walked up to the airplane and looked through what was left of the cockpit.
Then the unexpected happened. One of the soldiers started shouting while pointing in the direction of the shore where Sáhkár and his men lay.Loud commands and curses rang out across the frozen lake. Then came the gunfire. Bullets flew over the heads of the ten villagers and they all pressed hard against the ground behindthe stone cairn. Soon after,the first explosion followed. It was amortar shell fired at the beach but far from where they lay.Itseemed that most people were shooting blind. Someone had probably registered a movement behind the rocks, fired ashot and the others had followed. Bullets and the occasional grenade whizzed around them until someone called for aceasefire.
Then the same soldier started pointing in their direction again and Sáhkár realized he had to act quickly.Heraised his rifle andtook aim through agap in the rocks. Instead of firing at the soldiers, he fired fivequick shots straight at the aircraft's left wing. The last shot pierced the left undamaged fuel tank, causing the entire wreckage to lift straight up into the air in adeafening explosion. The scene lit up for afew seconds as the burning wreckage sailed through the air and landed on ice that had already broken into athousand pieces around the blast site. The surrounding thin spring ice quickly gaveway and the wake spread so quickly that the entire German unit went down intothe icy mountain water.
Bouncing arms tried to get onto the ice but only madethe hole bigger.The heavy uniforms and the zero-degree water made the fight short. After afew minutes, the small valley was silent again. Only the shining moon could witness that something had happened that night.
CHAPTER 1
TheBlizzard
William cruised through the muck and snow-mixed rain that persistently smacked against the windshield and tried to throw the car offthe road. The snow on the ground and the poor visibility made it almost impossible to tell where the roadside ended and the field began. Guideposts and road signs blended into the background or had simply been blown away.The only visible reference points were the occasional exit signs that were lit up for afew brief seconds by the headlights. Without them, there would have been no chance to stay on the road. It didn’thelp much to adjust the position of his round glasses on his nose, it was more of ahabit than something that would help the situation.
Although the world outside was in achaotic state, the mood in the cabin was rather dull. It didn't help to focus on driving, and thoughts inadvertently drifted elsewhere. Perhaps the storm was adding to his already wobbly state of mind, even though he knew it had nothing to do with it. It was just something that contributed to asuitable framing of the prevailing mood. In the light of the headlights, every shadow became an omen, aharbinger that something ominous was imminent. Every turn of the dark highway seemed like aseries of missed opportunities -arelentless reminder of possibilities missed and decisions never made. The normally peaceful willow tree on the crest before the straight suddenly gave awindswept and ominous impression. Unwavering, mighty and timeless, it used to stand there as areminder that he would soon be home, but now it was just afleeting
shadow against agray-white background.
Life is as unpredictable as atree, he mused as his gaze flickered over the snowy landscape. With each lap around the sun, anew annual ringisadded to the archive, and the branches become more and more sprawling and irregular.Notwo trees are alike and each new branch is apath to explore. But isn't every branch also acrossroads where an active choice must be made? Did he ever make an active choice? A life changing decision? Not that he could recall.
After all, each new branch is narrower than the one you left and all paths are one-way.The inexorable passage of time allows you to change direction but hardly to go back and start over again. Somewhere on the way to the crown, sooner or later,everyone is forced to take their first turn, and eventually you find yourself on a dry branch, waiting for the leaves to fall for the last time. William wondered which branch he'd landed on, and whether it was fate or chance that had brought him there. Whatever it was, it was definitely not aresult of abrave decision.
But the fact that he (once again) found himself in this godforsaken place on aFriday evening in late March, when the snow was falling and darkness had long since set in, was certainly not just a coincidence. He had traveled here many times before. It was the fastest way home, and since the new highway opened, traffic had slowed down considerably.Inaddition, there was aroadside restaurant strategically placed along the winding highway that only a few years ago was the only link between his work location and his home. The run-down restaurant, Night Owl, as it was called, was located in asleepy little town that he could never remember the name of and was the only option at this time of day if you needed something to eat.
Next door to Night Owl was also adisused car repair shop and an old gas station where the service was now replaced by self-service.
Along the frost-damaged stretch of road that ran through the community,there were traces of sanded-down pedestrian crossings, signs that were no longer needed and roadside cameras that were not in use. The homes that could be seen from the car window often had lights out or blinds drawn. Perhaps this was because it was usually late in the evening when he passed, or perhaps it was simply because people had given up and moved away.Inany case, the whole place had adesolate feel -like an abandoned western town. William was always amazed when he approached the Night Owl and discovered that somewhere in this ghost town there were lights in the windows.
As if, amidst all the scenery,there was actually areal saloon with people in cowboy hats. Perhaps it was an irony of fate that William came to make the most important decision of his life on this particular night and in this particular place.
The working week had begun and dragged on like any other week. The sun had climbed behind the horizon and the orbits of the planets in the sky seemed intact, the evening papers reported no new world wars and the working days had dragged on without inspiration for either body or soul. It was not until this Friday evening that the switch to the railroad track that made up William's predictable life began to shift. It had started as usual with wild protests from the stomach region, just before the sign for the Night Owl became visible, and not long after he was sitting at his usual corner table with acup of lukewarm coffee and yesterday's egg sandwich in his hands.
This evening, the Night Owl was unusually quiet. Apart from the waitress, who seemed to be doing her best to keep out of the way, there were two young men in the restaurant area. They were sitting at atable about ten meters away and diagonally in front of William.
There was something about the two men that caught his attention. Maybe it was the fact that there was nothing else to look at, or maybe it was simply the way they looked.
One was slender -bordering on emaciated -with adrawn-out face punished by an unusually pointed nose. His eyebrows ran in acurly V from the root of his nose and outwards. His hair was blond and stood straight up in all directions, as if caught between aconstruction fan and aglue gun.
His friend gave an almost equally comical impression. His hair was brown, greasy and tied up in aponytail. The face was deeply scarred, revealing the aftermath of severe teenage acne. The nose was misshapen like aroot vegetable, with large air intakes on the sides. His lips formed aconstant crooked grin. Like his tablemate, he was scantily clad.
Both men were in their twenties. Their faces, both comical and ravaged, gave acontradictory first impression. He was reminded of the nineties series Beavis and Butthead. The two men seemed deep in conversation, or rather amonologue. It was Beavis who was holding the fort while Butthead tried to fight his way through amountain of reheated jacket potatoes. The presenting party interspersed his monologue with deep throaty gasps and fumed directly onto the floor. William couldn't hear the conversation because they were sitting too far away.Hesoon lost interest in the two cartoon characters and returned to the egg sandwich and the old habit of tinkering with his glasses.
Outside, the snow continued to fall with undiminished intensity and the wind was playing with it, sending it dancing in all directions. It had been dark for an hour or so, and the unmanned gas station's lights blinked nervously with each gust. It was unusual for a snowstorm to make its way into central Sweden at this time of year. William assumed it was the last gasp of arather long and arduous
winter -one of those sneaky and unruly winters that came and went as it pleasedand always seemed to have one last trick up its sleeve. The snow was also heavy and wet, which made things even more unpleasant for ahard-pressed car commuter.Hefleetingly reviewed the past few days, trying to figure out if he'd done anything particularly bad that deserved such an end to the week. Or maybe it was simply the natural law of the devilishness and inherent evil of everything playingtricksonhim.
Less than aweekhad passed since the meteorologists declared in unison andwithabsolute certainty that spring had finally come to stay.The newspapersreported on the thaw and warned of spring floods andbirch pollen.Radio and TV broadcasts tried to outdo each otherinthe artofinterpreting signs of spring. Ornithologists gathered in flocks to await the first crane dance. Motorists queued outside tire shops to change tires, winter clothes were stowed in the closet, and some enthusiastic homeowners even managed to bring out the summer furniture. Then came the blizzard. Like arunaway freight train, it swept in from the Atlantic and shattered all the giddy dreams of spring.
William had been in Stockholm the whole week, spending all his waking hours in the office and thus neglecting the amenitiesofthe big city and anything else that might break the vicious circle. It has become ahabit now for several years. Every other week in Stockholm and every other week in his hometown. Every time he went by car, and during almost everytrip home, he stopped at Night Owl to get something in his stomach. On afew occasions he'd driven past without stopping and aimed directly at the fridge at home. Then his stomach protested wildly,much like alandmine that explodes when you step on the trigger.His stomach was ablast furnace that had to be constantly fed with charcoal.
At least now he wouldn’tbestuck in this dump for awhile, he told
REINDEER’S GOLD
When anew colony is discovered, hiddendeep in the Scandinavian mountains,itisplaced undersurveillance. Unmarked on anymap,the settlement appearstohaveexisted in complete isolationfor generations.Covertinvestigations unveils achillingurban legend of violentmountainpeoplethat don'tseem to ageand avalleythatiswarmand lush allyear round.
Acar accident outside Stockholmforces thecolony's strongman,knownasthe MountainKingbythe locals, to break hisisolationand contact theoutside world. When a mysterious bagstuffed with millions in cashvanishesfromthe crashsite—and, soon after, theinjured victim disappearsfrom thehospital—thesituationbeginstospiralout of control. Meanwhile,William—alistless office drone with nothing to lose—stumblesupon themissing bag. Adrift in lifeand running on apathy,hemakes arecklesschoiceand disappears with themoney. Adecision that will change hislifeforever andlead himfar up north,toa place that shouldn't exist.
