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SATURDAY, JULY 3

Morning light seeped through the thin curtains. It was very quiet. Johan was sitting in an armchair next to the window with his newborn daughter in his arms, a little bundle in the soft cotton blanket that had been wrapped around her. Her face was tiny and flushed; her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly open.

He thought she was breathing very fast-her heart was beating in her breast like a baby bird's. He held her without moving, feeling the warmth and weight of her body. He couldn't get his fill of looking at her.

Johan didn't know how long he'd been sitting in this position, staring at the baby. His legs had fallen asleep long ago. It was incomprehensible that this little person in his arms was his daughter, that she was going to call him Pappa.

Emma lay in bed, sleeping on her side. Her face was smooth and peaceful. She had been through so much pain only a few hours ago. He had tried to help her as best he could. He had never imagined that a birth could be so dramatic. In the middle of everything, as he held Emma's hand and the midwife issued orders and guided her through the delivery, he was suddenly seized with the enormity of the event. Emma was producing life with her body; another human being was going to come out of it and continue the cycle. That was nature's proper order. He had never felt so close to life before-and yet it was actually a fight between life and death.

For several terrifying moments he was afraid that Emma might die. She seemed to lose consciousness, and the midwife's worried expression didn't bode well. The problem was that vaginal swelling had formed an obstruction so that the baby couldn't come out. That was why Emma wasn't supposed to push, even though she was wide open, because then the vagina swelled up even more. It was turning out to be a difficult delivery until Knutas's wife, Lina, showed up and managed to move the obstruction aside.

After that everything went fine, and it was all over in less than a minute. The second the baby started to cry, Emma relaxed. The first thing Johan did was kiss her. At that moment he admired her more than he had ever admired anyone else.

Johan looked down at his daughter again. Her chin quivered, and she spread out the tiny fingers of her hand like a fan, then curled them up again. He already knew that he would love her all his life, no matter what happened.

On Saturday morning, as Knutas took the turnoff to Lickershamn, he heaved a sigh of relief. A weekend at the summer house was just what he needed after spending the whole week sweating in overcrowded Visby.

Their summer place was no more than fifteen miles from the city, yet out there he felt as if his daily life back home were far away. On the way into Lickershamn proper was an area of erosional rock remnants called rauks where he usually stopped. There were a dozen large rauks and a number of smaller ones. Some were eighteen to twenty feet high, and a number were covered with ivy, the official plant of Gotland. An informational sign posted by the county commission explained that these rauks had been formed by the Littorine Sea seven thousand years ago. Knutas was fascinated by the rauks, which looked like some sort of clumsily shaped stone sculptures. The story of their origin was quite interesting, too.

The Gotland bedrock was largely made up of coral reefs that were created in a tropical sea four hundred million years ago. Between the reefs were layers of limestone, and when the ice that covered Gotland during the last ice age retreated ten thousand years ago, uplift began to occur. Where land and sea met, the waves eroded the bedrock. The reefs withstood the wear and tear of the waves better than the various kinds of rock surrounding them, so that was what remained as isolated stone pillars.

The most impressive rauk was called the Virgin, and it towered up from a plateau eighty-five feet above the sea, right next to the inlet forming the harbor. With its height of forty feet, the Virgin was Gotland's tallest rauk, and for that reason it had become the symbol of Lickershamn. It was a peaceful area with a cluster of houses around the little bay and two docks jutting out into the sea where fishing boats and pleasure craft were moored.

The family's summer place, half a mile away, was a two-story house made of gray-plastered limestone with the window frames, doorframes, and other trim painted burgundy. The surrounding landscape was barren, with stunted and windblown pine trees and juniper bushes. The property was enclosed by a stone fence. There were plenty of stones on this side of Gotland. The stretch of land from Lummelunda all the way up to Farosund in the north was called the Stone Coast.

Petra and Nils had reluctantly agreed to come along. Knutas had enticed them by promising they would go out in the boat to fish that evening. Lina got out of the car and let out a delighted shout.

"Oh, how lovely," she said, taking in a deep breath. "Feel the air. Look at the sea."

They all helped to bring in the bags of food. Lina and the children were eager to go down to the beach and swim, but Knutas chose to stay behind and mow the grass, even though the summer had been so dry that it was hardly necessary.

At home in the city, Lina was usually the one who took care of the yard. The difference was that out here in the country he was left in peace. It was calm and quiet, with no neighbors to disturb him. He opened the door to the tool shed, and musty air came billowing out. He dragged out the cumbersome lawn mower and filled it with gasoline. It started up nicely after two tries.

He enjoyed making one lap after another, listening to the clattering of the mower and not thinking about anything in particular. Everyone heard the racket and refrained from bothering him while he was at it. That was why he didn't hurry. He mowed the whole lawn with great care.

The house stood off by itself; there were no neighbors within sight. Outside the fence at the back there was a protected beach cove that was used only by his family, a few neighbors, and occasionally a tourist who had gone astray. The large beach near Lickershamn was far enough away so that they weren't disturbed by any other swimmers, yet it was close enough that the children could walk there on their own if they liked. Knutas thought it was a perfect location.

By the time he was done, his shirt was soaked with sweat, even though the task really didn't require any great physical strength; the lawn mower practically ran itself.

He quickly changed into bathing trunks, grabbed a towel, and went down to the beach, where his family's towels and bathrobes were piled up in a heap. He smiled to himself, studying his family as he waded into the water.

Lina had her long, curly red hair pinned up with a barrette on top of her head. Her swimsuit was brightly colored, with big and little polka dots in various shades of pink against a light blue background. Her fair skin was covered with freckles. She often complained about her weight, and once he had taken her complaints seriously-a mistake that he would never make again. For her birthday he had bought her workout equipment, a gym membership, and an introductory package at Weight Watchers. It was an understatement to say that his wife did not appreciate the gift.

After more than fifteen years together, Knutas could still find himself surprised that they were married when he looked at her. He loved her and her boldness. She cleaned house and cooked with equal frenzy-everything was on a grand scale with Lina. Big carrots, sweeping gestures, lots of noise and commotion. She liked to be seen and heard. She took up a lot of room. Like now, as she splashed around in the water.

After their swim, they had coffee on the porch.

When Knutas saw Lina kick off her wooden clogs and gracefully stretch out her feet, he noticed that even her white ankles had freckles. She closed her eyes and tilted her face toward the sun. He decided not to talk about his job during the weekend.

Smoke from browning meat and the smell of strong spices wafted out of the kitchen and found its way into every nook and cranny. The archaeology students were cooking dinner together. Chili con carne was simmering in a giant pot on the stove, and everyone was pitching in.

They had kept the menu simple so that they'd have time to make Eldkvarn's concert at the hotel's outdoor stage at nine o'clock.

Martina was standing at the counter with Steven and Eva. They were peeling onions, and tears were running down their faces-not just from the onions. After having downed a number of shots of tequila, they were in high spirits and kept laughing at each other's bad jokes.

Twenty students were staying at the youth hostel, and right now they were all in the kitchen. Other guests who popped their heads up the spiral staircase saw at a glance that it would be better to come back later. The three tables were being set, and the coffee table in one corner was littered with bottles and glasses. Someone had brought in a boom box; the volume on the old tape player was obviously turned up too loud and was starting to distort the sound. The heat had prompted someone to open all the windows, and the festivities in the kitchen could be heard far and wide.

Martina was wearing low-cut jeans and a black camisole. Her blond hair hung loose. She rarely used much makeup, well aware that it wasn't necessary. A little mascara and lip gloss, nothing more. She was looking forward to seeing him, and she didn't think that anyone else in the group knew what was going on between them. Occasionally she flirted with someone else, just for the pleasure and amusement of seeing his frustration. They trudged around the excavation site, casting stolen glances at each other. Sometimes he happened to stroke her arm or leg with his hand.

"Come on and help me taste this," said Eva, giving her a poke in the side and holding out a spoon. "Is it spicy enough?"

"It needs a little more," said Martina, adding more chili powder. "It shouldn't be bland."

The concert evening couldn't have been more magnificent. The fiery red ball of the sun balanced on the horizon, turning the sea into a gleaming carpet. The aroma of newly grilled lamb still hovered over the concert area from the dinner that had been served at the hotel, and a diverse audience had gathered in front of the stage. Children ran around playing between the blankets; others were swimming in the mirror-smooth water. A group of older motorcyclists had settled down with beer cans in their hands, waiting to enjoy the music. The soft pop-rock tones of Eldkvarn grabbed hold of the listeners and eventually induced nearly everyone to get up and dance.

Martina was enjoying the intoxicated and relaxed feeling in her body after a whole day of hard work in the field. She was more than a little pleased with herself. Right before they were going to pack things up for the day, she had found an Arabic silver coin, dated 1012. Everyone had congratulated her, and she had been tempted to slip the coin into her pocket so that she could show it to her father. Instead she had made do with holding the Viking Age coin in her hand for a moment to admire it.

The singer's soft, raspy voice was uttering words that she didn't understand. No matter how hard she tried, she caught only a few disconnected words. She quickly gave up and concentrated on listening to the beat instead as she danced with the others.

Every once in a while during the evening she had looked for him. Several times she thought she caught a glimpse of his face, but the next second she realized that she was mistaken. She wondered why he hadn't shown up. Jonas distracted her by offering her a cold beer, which she gratefully accepted.

Several hours later she was sitting squeezed in between Mark and Jonas, and she realized that she was very drunk. Some of their group had gathered on the hotel porch to continue partying with the bikers. It was still hot, even though it was almost one in the morning. Martina had given up hoping that he would appear. At least he could have called her. She dug around in her bag for her cell phone, only to discover that it was missing. Oh well. It was probably somewhere in the grass. She would look for it later. She downed the rest of her drink and got up to go to the bathroom, which was near the main entrance, around the corner.

She had a craving for a cigarette, but she had run out and the pub didn't sell them. She had a whole carton up in her room, and she decided to go get a pack.

After using the toilet, she headed over to the youth hostel. She could hear everyone merrily laughing and talking on the porch. Someone was strumming on a guitar.

When she came out onto the path that ran along the sea, she realized how deserted the area was. She hadn't noticed before that there were no buildings nearby. The desolation was palpable. Bushes and trees lined the path, and from the darkness that was finally descending, she could hear the crickets' invisible orchestra.

On the other side of the water, machines were screeching from the nightly work going on at the harbor. A truck fully loaded with timber drove along the wharf, past the white wind-power station, whose blades were hesitantly turning in the feeble wind. A monstrous crane with a huge iron claw rose up into the air like some strange beast. The activity down at the harbor never seemed to cease.

Farther along, the vegetation was thicker. The willow trees on either side had been allowed to grow unchecked. Their curving branches stretched over the path and reached for each other like lovers hungry for an embrace. They formed a natural tunnel, which, in the solitude of the night, seemed frightening. Martina had sobered up as she walked, and now she regretted that she had come out here alone.

She turned around and realized that the distance back to the others was farther than it was to her room. She might as well keep going. Besides, she had such a craving for a cigarette. She walked faster, doing her best to shake off the feeling of uneasiness.

After she had gone partway into the tunnel of trees, she discovered a silhouette outlined against the light at the exit, about thirty yards ahead. Fear gripped her, and her mind was suddenly stone-cold sober. The figure was coming straight toward her, getting bigger with every step.

She suppressed her first impulse to turn around, squinting her eyes to see better. At first she wasn't sure if it was a man or a woman. All she could see was a dark figure wearing a cap, a black jacket, and black pants.

No footsteps were audible. The ground was damper here.

The second she realized that it was a man coming toward her, terror lurched in her stomach.

He was walking with his head bowed, and the bill of his cap hid his face.

Mechanically she continued moving forward-as if there were no going back, no alternative. Her thoughts rushed around in her head like frightened sparrows. What was he doing here, in the middle of the night? The concert had ended long ago. Panic shot up inside her, without enabling her to act. Like a robot, she walked forward, rigidly programmed for her own doom.

She didn't dare glance up to see his face now that he was so close. The second they passed each other, she stopped breathing. He was several inches away from touching her arm. She sensed a rank, slightly stale smell that she couldn't place.

To her surprise he walked past and nothing happened.

The distance between them grew. The stranger continued on at the same pace, getting farther and farther away. She cautiously dared to take a breath.

All of a sudden she felt ashamed. It was stupid to scare herself like that. Good Lord, a poor innocent man who probably worked at the hotel and was on his way home. Sometimes she actually felt sorry for men; they were suspected of all sorts of things, just because they were men.

The path widened, and she could see the light from the front door of the youth hostel. Relief made her dizzy. He wasn't dangerous. She had been imagining things. But I'm not going out again, she thought. Now all she longed for was the safety of her bed.

The fact that the man behind her had turned around was something that she noticed only when it was too late.