Archangel

Author's Note on extract from novel

This book is an attempt to piece together the story of Christina Nott, variously known by a multiplicity of other names in her past.
...
She's changed identity again now, so there's no direct way to pin her to this and I've been asked by lawyers to describe the whole thing as a work of fiction, which gets around several matters, which will be resolved as the story unfolds

Agnes Örnólfsdóttir

We are in Iceland at the start. Agnes was born to the Örnólfs and gained the name Agnes Örnólfsdóttir. On Iceland, the last names of everyone reflect their family and so Örnólfsdóttir literally means Örnólf's daughter.
...
Christina continues:
I was not an immigrant in Iceland. It is where I'm from, but I've moved so many times I feel like an immigrant everywhere now. At least I do not feel of the place. More like an outside observer.

I can only remember a few events from my time in Iceland. We lived on a smallholding with a selection of sheep and horses. If it sounds in any way glamorous, it was not. My Pabbi worked the land and managed the animals. The horses were the typical Icelandic type, which sometimes people mistake for ponies. They taught me to ride from an early age and have memories of being on a horse, helping Pabbi bring in the sheep.

I am sure that's what has toughened me to the elements too, Iceland was cold and very snowy. When the winds blew it could be icy, yet the overall climate was well-tempered. Mamma used to put me outside when I was a little elskan, in all weathers. I have since heard that this was considered cruel by some people, but the culture in Iceland is to do this and ensure the baby gets fresh air.

Our place was about three hours outside of Reykjavík on the F35, sandwiched between two glaciers. There was always a view out towards ice both to the east and to the west, although Pabbi said that the eastern ice was melting quickly.

It meant that in my early years I learned from the land. How to read the skies, of animals and their ways and their tracks. We had a small local school, but I was told that I would need, at some point, to go to a big city for my education.

In the evening, indoors, we would sing songs, and I learned to play the piano, except I could not reach down to the pedals on the old upright piano that we had.

I discovered that my other source of learning was television. The Americans had an Air Force base at Keflavik, and they'd installed a huge aerial that transmitted American television to the whole of Iceland. I think it was to make the Americans feel at home when they transferred to Iceland, but it also meant that most of Iceland learned English from the broadcasts. We also learned about a lot of American products which we could not get in Iceland, but that the Americans had flown in on their transport planes.

I could play many of the jingles from the television on the piano. At one time, as children, we even formed a small band who practiced together in one of the bedrooms of the farm-house. I think it was a subtle way that Mamma ensure we had music lessons.

I had not accounted for Pabbi's other job. As well as his business as a smallholder, unknown to me he was paid to watch the sky. One of our farm sheds was off-limits to me. When I had friends around to play, we were told never to go into the Ullarverslun - the wool store. I was told I was allergic and that it would make me ill.

The threat of illness was enough to keep me away until one day when we were playing some kind of hide-and-seek game. Hekla - my best friend - had run towards the Ullarverslun and made as if she was going to hide somewhere near it. We were past the window weather and into the warm summer months with bright sunshine.

There was a sudden crack, and a piece of timber fell from the store. It turned out Hekla was trying to climb over the top of the door to a flat area of roof, where she could both hide and catch some sunlight.

Instead, she fell through the roof and into the building. It wasn't much of a drop, maybe two metres in total, and she knew to lower herself through the gap so she'd only need to drop about a metre. No problem for a nine-year-old.

Then she came back to the door and opened it. I was expecting to see wool piled up from floor to ceiling. I'd never really thought about it being any different.

Sure, we had sheep. Proper Icelandic sheep which did get woolly in the winter months. They were sheared by Pabbi and Kristján, who used to come up from the town to help. I'd never really thought about where the wool went, except that it was in the wool store.

So, it was a surprise to finally see inside the store. It looked electrical. There were several boxes with lights flashing, a desk and a computer terminal.

There was also what looked like a huge satellite dish, pointing upwards, although there was a roof above it.

Hekla was as surprised as me.