Blackwater by Kerstin Ekman Page B

the cottages he called Nirsbuan. On the map they were called Nilsbodarna. She realised now they were outfield farm buildings. The path ran on eastwards across the marshes and towards a river called Mountain River on the map, but which Ola called the Lobber. They had to cross that. There was a ford there and it was easy to find because it was just before the river ran into the Klöppen, a large mountain lake. The path went on up to Starhill. But for their part, they had to turn east towards the little black square marked Nirsbuan.
    ‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said, feeling she had to, but not daring to offer to pay. She was quite simply afraid his answer might be indecent.
    ‘Why doesn’t Dan come?’ said Mia, as soon as they were alone.
    ‘I don’t know. He’s probably got the wrong day.’
    She couldn’t hear the sound of Ola’s car, but he must have gone. Now there were only birds and even they sounded hesitant. Perhaps most of them were asleep, although it was so light. It was past midnight. A bird kept calling on the same monotonous note and there was strong scent of birch leaves all around them, the leaves not as far out as down in the village. The grass in the pastures was also shorter than on the slopes down below.
    The homestead consisted of a modern red building and a barn, a couple of dog runs and a group of small grey cottages on a slope. The light was so uncertain now that the houses furthest down by the lake seemed to be moving. Mia held Annie’s hand as they trudged along, listening attentively in towards the forest.
    ‘The way he goes on,’ she said. Annie realised she meant the capercaillie whistling on its one note. The pasture sloped down to a stream, and in the dip the path divided where there was a small building with a collapsed shingle roof.
    ‘We go left here.’
    The path curved, then climbed again. After a while they could see the woodshed again and the house from the back. Annie was uncertain. The map told her nothing about the network of paths across the pasture, nor about the numerous small wooden buildings gleaming in the night light. To make sure, they plodded back to the stream, and at the little house they set off in the other direction.
    The path seemed larger now, apparently leading somewhere and taking them away from the little grey timber houses. They came into forest consisting almost entirely of twisted birches hung with lichen. Some had fallen and were slowly rotting; grey fungus grew like tumours out of them. Ferns protruded from the ground beneath the birches, their hairy brown tips still curled up. The forest with its hanging black lichen and fallen trees was full of bird calls, whistles, clicks and flutings. But they saw no birds.
    They had come up into upland terrain and she thought this odd, for they ought to have been nearing the lake. Now they seemed to be going up to a ridge and the path had joined a much larger and more used one. She suddenly realised they were going in the wrong direction. Ola had said to be careful not to get on to the path from Blackwater. That would take them down into the village again if they went on.
    ‘We must turn back,’ she said. Mia gave her a look which made her seem adult.
    ‘Or . . . hang on. We’ve probably come on to the right path from the village. But we’re on our way down. We must turn round, not go down the way we came, but take this big path to the lake. Wait, and I’ll show you.’
    She sat Mia down on a tree trunk and started unfolding the map. It was difficult to see the details for the light was grey under the trees, and she realised she needed a compass. But when they had left Ola’s car, she had had no idea the landscape was so full of paths branching off and dissolving into long wet streaks of marshland, diffuse grey buildings and human installations where there should have been wilderness, heights and hollows she had not expected. Not even the names matched those on the map.
    She had been in a hurry to get