The Old Church 2

The Kingdom of Ice

This story is part of The Old Church series.
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The Kingdom of Ice

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UNNATURAL LIGHT, REDDISH

COW SHIT MADE ME FEEL AT HOME

IN THE END, YOU JUST HAVE TO BE YOURSELF

A DOUBLE DATE

TITS, TITS, TITS

FIVE YEARS

ANOTHER SIGN OF THE APOCALYPSE

ROUGH KIDS

† † †

So, one of the rules I should have learned a long time ago is this: when survival’s on the line, never trust assholes. And I knew Vlad is an asshole, and I trusted him, and so here I am.

Cold, dark, fog seeping into my lungs. There’s an unnatural light, reddish.

Blood.

I’m lost in a fucking swamp because some shitty bastard told me to keep going down this cart track, that it would lead me to the Virtanen farm. That piece of shit Vlad didn’t want to take me all the way because he was afraid his shitty Mercedes Sprinter would get stuck, so here I am.

Is there something here waiting for me? Wolves, coercion. Wasted life.

Darkness.

There, in the distance, I can see two lights. The smell of animals, manure. Too bad you can’t see a fucking thing. Well, I still remember when I lived in Italy, if I went somewhere, coming back the cow shit made me feel at home. I mean the stink. Anyway, maybe we’re here.

The door. An old farmhouse door. Dark wood, the frosted glass windows are protected by two iron serpents, enameled white. Rust is trying to devour them, slowly, it’s in no hurry, like all things that devour you slowly.

A heavy door knocker shaped like an angel. No, there are two, one for each door. I stroke the knocker’s hammer. But what the fuck am I doing here? Oh well, we’re here now. What will happen when he finds out what I’m really like? I was thinking about it, earlier, at home. I thought this: well, in the end you just have to be yourself, then he’ll stop bothering you.

I knock.

I wait a bit, and the door opens. It’s not the fat guy. It’s a woman. A blonde girl, quite tall. She’s dressed in jeans, a light blue sweatshirt, and white sneakers.

- Didrik! You made it!

She smiles as if she knows me, but I don’t know her.

She holds out her hand.

- Nice to meet you. My name is Riikka. I’m a family friend of Pelle’s, more like a relative.

I look at her. Blonde curls, they look like straw. I shake her hand, and close my eyes for a second, just for a second.

Kingdom of Ice, Heart of a Horse. Pride. But what the hell does she do with all that pride? Eh, it’d be nice to be able to borrow some of it. I open my eyes, actually I kept them closed for less than a second, she didn’t notice anything, I think.

I let go of Riikka’s hand.

- Come on in. My sister Elli and I are here for dinner too.

Sister? So the fat guy set me up on a double date with some pussy? This dude is obviously completely crazy. If I wasn’t afraid of getting lost, I’d run for the hills.

I smile at the girl, and she gestures and says: come on in.

- There, let me introduce you to Elli.

Elli is identical to her sister, just a bit shorter and chubbier, and she’s wearing a long green dress, very beautiful, she looks like a postcard from Lapland.

Enormous tits. Tits, tits, tits. How long has it been since I last saw two milkers of this size? I haven’t touched a breast in, what, two, three, five years?

Five years. It’s an easy date to remember.

Ok, red alert. I’m fine with lots of definitions: lazy, indolent, asshole, good-for-nothing. But sleazy, never, i don’t want to be considered a pervert. I have to force myself to use peripheral vision as much as possible.

Did I actually manage to steal some pride from the Kingdom of Ice?

Let’s see what awaits us here. Smile, very white teeth, blue eyes, she extends her hand.

- Nice to meet you, Elli Mattila.

Let’s see what horror awaits us beyond the threshold. Warm cheeks, warm belly. Her hand is soft, it’s not a vise-like grip like her sister’s, there’s a play of forces at work, one step forward and then one back.

Hunger.

Maybe I really should run for the hills.

† † †

Garage. Inventory. Everything polished, looks like a dealership, smells of rubber and wax.

John Deere 3130, dark green, Trelleborg tires, clean and hard, teeth ready to tear into the earth. A Bauer tank, aluminum, rusty but perfectly functioning butterfly valve. Next to it, a Joskin manure spreader, the suction hose coiled like a snake. Further back, two more beasts in the dark, standing there silently, I’ll be introduced to them another time.

Metal shelving, the wooden workbench from the sixties with tools, scattered bolts and nuts in clean, shiny metal jars. Soldiers ready for war against chaos and the unexpected, faithful to Commander Virtanen until the end of their existence.

I’m being shown around the farm like an imperial envoy visiting a vassal’s castle, but did anyone explain to these hicks who I am? What’s with all this respect? Pelle talks, shows me everything: the barns, the milking, the calves, other tractors, this time older and smaller, left to keep the cows company, the hay sticks to the soles of my Converse, as always, shit acts as a glue for everything.

The most incredible thing about the evening so far: I don’t find it boring. Then another sign of the Apocalypse shows up: at one point I ask him a question. The most banal question on this planet, practically the caricature of someone taking an interest in things: “what the fuck do you grow at the Arctic?” Sure, it comes out slightly more articulate, but that’s it.

Grass, hay, bulrush, reedmace. Fodder. Peat used to be harvested as fuel.

Hmm.

Elli says something to her sister in Finnish, who responds by punching her on the shoulder, making her double over in pain. Then she looks at me.

- Elli, maybe you want to repeat what you just said in Norwegian, so our guest can understand too?

The hurt woman rubs her shoulder and looks at us.

- Maybe later, in private.

She smiles. Riikka looks up and slaps her forehead, then she smiles too.

Hmm.

† † †

At one point, while we’re heading towards the dining room, we hear a cell phone ringing in the distance. Elli disappears, then comes back. She apologizes, but she won’t be having dinner with us, Miko, her boyfriend, has arrived to pick her up. She puts on a long, dirty white down jacket, and a small black shoulder bag. From the bag she pulls out a blue Nokia cell phone and then comes over to me.

- Give me your phone number, Didrik.

Like an automaton, I give it to her, then she leaves, and I find myself staring at the other side of the front door, the one with the serpents.

Riikka arrives, stands next to me and puts a hand on my shoulder.

- You do know that part of the local hospitality involves my sister getting her panties taken off by newcomers, right?

As she widens her mouth into a grin, there it is again. The knights have blue armor, and their swords glint in the sun. From me, though, comes a half-witted smile: the idea of thinking about sex, for someone in my condition, is frankly ridiculous.

- You know, there’s only one problem. Miko. How to describe him? Well, when he was young, he was one of those rough kids, the ones bigger than the others, who succeed in sports because they intimidate their opponents.

There’s a moment’s pause, then she adds: I don’t know if I was clear.

I burst out laughing. Well, even for the last time I laughed, I have space-time coordinates: it happened in Kirkenes, months ago, with Viktor.

Pelle calls us, and the Knight and I head towards the dining room.

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