The Voices Beyond: (Oland Quartet Series 4) Read Online Free PDF Page A

couple of years, then you’ll come home with money.’
    And Sven says the same thing, but more concisely.
    ‘The new country. That’s where we’re going. Away from all this.’
    They head north, across the Kloss family’s extensive land, almost all the way up to the cairn. It’s on top of the ridge in the west and it looks like a harmless pile of stones, but Sven spits anyway, just to be on the safe side.
    ‘I hope it falls into the sea!’
    Then they turn to the east, moving inland past several tall windmills, standing on their thick wooden feet with their sails in the air, ready to catch the wind from all directions. Sven glares at the windmills, too.
    ‘We won’t have to look at those damned things where we’re going either!’
    He lopes along, addressing the horizon as if he is giving a speech: ‘Free at last – free from all those filthy jobs! As white as a ghost every time I come out of the mill – never again!’ He looks at Aron. ‘Where we’re going, they have machines that take care of everything. They have huge agricultural factories, where the grain goes in at one end and sacks of flour come out at the other. They just press a button, and hey presto!’
    Aron listens, but he has just one question: ‘When are we coming home?’
    Sven slows down, then he turns around and wallops Aron across the back of the head.
    ‘Don’t ask me that question! We’re not going to think that way! We’re going to the new country – forget about home!’
    It’s not the hardest blow Aron has ever received, it’s just making a point, so he feels brave enough to carry on: ‘But
when
are we coming home?’
    ‘Impossible to say,’ Sven replies.
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because not everyone comes home.’
    The summer air feels colder when Aron hears those words. He doesn’t say any more – he doesn’t want to provoke any further blows, but even before they reach the train he makes his mind up that he will do what his mother told him to do, and that he will come back home.
    Home to the island.
    Home to the croft.

Jonas
    ‘What’s going on, Officer?’ asked Uncle Kent. ‘Has there been an accident?’
    ‘No,’ replied the policeman, who had just got off his motorbike. ‘It’s just you.’
    ‘Me? What have I done?’
    ‘You were driving too fast.’
    ‘
Me?
’
    Uncle Kent had lowered the window with the press of a button so that he could speak to the police officer, and the faint smell of flowers drifted into the car from the ditches along the roadside, reaching Jonas in the back seat. He could see a profusion of yellow and purple flowers swaying in the breeze. Their scent mingled with the aroma of his uncle’s aftershave and a hint of perspiration from his father, who had arrived late and had to run to catch the train. Mum had told him off on the platform, and Mats and Jonas had just looked at one another.
    His father sat in silence next to Kent; he seemed tense in the presence of the police officer. But Jonas had a clear view of his uncle’s profile and could see a slight smile playing around the corner of his mouth.
    ‘Driving too
fast
?’
    ‘Much too fast.’
    The Öland sunshine was bright, dazzling Jonas when he looked out of his own window. The traffic cop was no more than a dark shape next to the car, dressed in a blue uniform.
    ‘Could you tell me how fast?’ Uncle Kent said.
    ‘Twenty-two kilometres over the speed limit.’
    Kent sighed and leaned back in his seat.
    ‘It’s all down to this bloody car. A Corvette only runs really smoothly when you take her up above a hundred.’
    Jonas had encountered the police on only one occasion previously, when two officers came to talk to his class in Huskvarna about traffic awareness for cyclists. They had been really nice, but he still felt a bit nervous.
    Uncle Kent’s car was red with black stripes, and it looked a bit like a spaceship. It felt like a rocket inside, too, low and narrow, particularly in the back seat. Jonas still had some growing to