He was without feeling. Being inhuman meant that you had no feelings about anything.
'Get up.'
The voice was not menacing. It even held a trace of surprise. Kannick got unsteadily to his feet, keeping his head bowed. The beating would come soon, and he had to take the brunt of it on his forehead and temples. A hard slap on the cheek was the worst thing Kannick could imagine. That kind of blow was so humiliating. But nothing happened.
'Back to the house,' was all Errki said.
There was something threatening about the fact that he didn't raise his voice. That's the way a sadist talks, someone who enjoys causing pain, Kannick thought. The voice was so clear and quiet; it didn't match the rest of him. He was overwhelmingly sinister up close. Kannick didn't dare look at his eyes. That was something he wanted to avoid for as long as possible, because when he saw them he would be utterly lost.
Back to the house. He was hiding out in the old cabin, had been up there the whole time. He wasn't on his way to Sweden as they'd said on the radio. Going inside that house with Errki was like stepping inside the realm of the dead. Once he was inside no-one would hear him scream for help. He started shaking violently, thinking that now he would be punished for everything he had ever done.
If you don't shape up, Kannick, I don't know what's going to become of you in the future.
The future, which had never worried him before, was not just catching up with him, it was about to vanish. Maybe he would die painfully. The only thing Kannick really feared was pain. His body began shaking so much that the rolls of fat quivered and sloshed. Maybe he still had time to faint and disappear, to sink unseen through the heather, anything to escape this nightmare. But there was nowhere for him to go, and he didn't faint. Errki was waiting. He was patient, because he was sure that he would win, sure that Kannick didn't have a chance of getting away.
Then Kannick saw the gun. In the midst of his despair, a thought occurred to him, a thought from a soul that faced death: if only he could get a bullet in the head instead of being tortured. That was Kannick's last hope. Grudgingly, slowly he started through the grass. He had no idea how his legs managed to carry him; they moved against his will, back towards the house, in the direction he didn't want to go, to his end. Errki followed behind him. He had stuck the gun in his belt with the big eagle on the buckle, and was holding one hand over his wound. His leg was bleeding still, but he would be able to staunch the blood by tying something around it; it wasn't more serious than that.
'You're scared,' Errki said.
Kannick stopped and tried to understand what the crazy man meant. Was this part of the torture? To make him feel safe and then deal him a death blow? To enjoy his terror as he realised that he was going to die? He pondered this so long, standing still on the path, that Errki had to give him a little push. Kannick cringed and whimpered softly, but no shot was fired. He started walking again until the house was visible through the trees. He thought they had run for ever, but it was only a few hundred metres. They stopped in what had once been a garden, and Kannick had his second shock. A man with blond hair was in the doorway in brightly coloured shorts.
There were two of them. One to hold him down and one to administer the torture! He tried again to faint, tried to make himself fall forward, but his knees refused to obey. I'm going to die here, he thought, closing his eyes. With bowed head he waited for the shot. Errki gave him another shove in the back.
'That man over there wants to be called Morgan.'
Morgan stared at them, wide-eyed. 'Hey, Errki! Have you been to the butcher to buy some lard?'
He was leaning against the door frame, looking in disbelief at Kannick's impressive double chin and the thighs that were the same width as Errki's waist.
Kannick scowled at his nose.
'He shot me in the thigh,' Errki said.
'Damn it, Errki, you're bleeding like a pig!'
'I said he shot me.' He bent down and picked up the arrow. 'With this.'
Morgan examined it with curiosity, stroking the yellow and red feathers. 'I'll be damned. Were you playing Indians? Is there a cowboy out there too?'
Kannick shook his head vigorously. 'I was j-just out here p-practising.'
'Practising? For what?'
'F-for junior national ch-champion.'
He barely managed to gasp out the words. Errki heard quite clearly the sound of a bagpipe, not quite pitch perfect.
'Take him inside.' Morgan moved aside to let them in. Errki pushed Kannick ahead of him, wondering what he could use to tie around his leg to stop the bleeding.
'I have to go home,' Kannick squeaked.
'Sit down on the sofa,' Morgan said harshly. 'We need to clarify the situation first. Maybe we can use you for something.'
The sight of Morgan's nose made Kannick stare. It looked worse than ever, with the loose part dangling hideously. Its colour reminded him of a rotten potato. He noticed the whisky bottle on the floor, the radio on the mantelpiece, and his arrow sticking out of the wall next to it. The man with the curly hair was obviously drunk. That didn't make him feel any safer. He sank onto the sofa, and sat there feeling dazed, with his hands in his lap. Then came the question he had dreaded.
'Does anyone know where you are?'
No. Nobody knew. They wouldn't even know where to start looking, unless Margunn was sharp enough to check the cabinet, find that the bow was missing and realise that he had gone to the woods. But the woods were huge. It would take for ever for them to find him, and besides, they would wait a long time before they even started looking, and at first she would only send out Karsten and Philip. And they were hopelessly lazy and didn't know their way around very well.
'Answer me!' Morgan said and hiccoughed.
'No,' he whispered. 'No-one knows.'
'Not very pleasant, is it?'
Kannick bowed his head. It was worse than unpleasant, it was the beginning of the end.
'You don't have an ice-cold beer, do you?' Morgan licked his lips. As he asked the question, he was suddenly overwhelmed by a terrible thirst.
This was not what Kannick had expected. 'I've got some lozenges,' he mumbled.
'OK. Let's have them. I haven't got a drop of spit left.'
Kannick stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and took out a box of liquorice lozenges. Morgan grabbed the box, struggled for a moment with the sticky clump of lozenges, and put three in his mouth.
'Allow me to introduce ourselves,' he said, smacking his lips. 'This is Errki. He's possessed by evil spirits that talk to him and harass him. My name's Morgan, and the police are after me for a little show I put on this morning. We've been killing an afternoon together.' And then he added, 'It's that lunatic over there who wrecked my nose. Just so you know what kind of person you are messing with.'
Kannick already knew.
'So now we come to you. Who are you?'
I'm the one who wants to be called Geronimo. The pathfinder. The champion shot.
'Excuse me? What did you say?'
'Kannick.'
'Do you really go by that name?'
'I do the best I can,' he said, trying to catch his breath.
'Aha! The boy has a sense of humour!'
Errki had sunk down on to the floor. He had found his leather jacket and wrapped it around himself, gripping his thigh with both hands. 'I've seen him before,' he said in a low voice.
Morgan looked at him in surprise.
'Where?'
'At the dead woman's farm.'
'What'd you say?'
Morgan turned towards Kannick. 'He saw you?
