Laughing Ingibjörg

Laughing Ingibjörg

Long ago, on a distant island in a cold sea, there lived a king, a queen, and their two children: Thorvald and his younger sister Ingibjörg.

Ingibjörg had a special gift: she laughed often, and with all her heart. She laughed when a gull stole a fish from the cook’s basket, or when wind puffed Thorvald’s cloak like a sail. She even laughed when she tripped over a rug, then stood up and bowed as though she had meant to do it.

“One day your laughter will save the whole castle,” her brother joked.

"Or maybe even the kingdom," Ingibjörg answered and laughed even louder.

When the children grew up, their mother died after a serious illness. The palace was quiet for a long time. The king was very sad, and later, thinking both about the children and the affairs of the country, he married a second time.

The new queen was called Guda. She had come from afar. At first she was gentle, but from time to time a strange fear appeared in her eyes, as if she had listened to orders that no one else had heard.

Soon the king had to sail away to help a neighboring country. Before the journey, he took Guda by the hand and said:

“Take care of Thorvald and Ingibjörg. They are the dearest to me in the world.”

“I will,” the queen replied softly.

For several days everything was fine. And then Guda became restless. At night she would go to the window, look towards the sea and whisper:

“I don’t want to... Don’t force me...”

One morning she called the children to the shore.

“Let’s look for shells,” she said.

The day was clear. The sea was sparkling, and the waves were rolling pink and white shells across the wet sand.

Ingibjörg gathered a whole armful of seaweed and put it on her head.

“Look, Thorvald! I am the sea queen!”

“Then I am your chief advisor,” her brother answered.

Ingibjörg laughed so hard that even Guda smiled for a moment.

But a few steps away, a large square stone lay on the sand.

The queen went up to it and whispered:

“Open up, stone.”

The stone moved apart like a chest, and a spacious cavity was revealed inside.

“What is this?” Thorvald was surprised.

But there was no answer. Suddenly an invisible force picked up the children, put them inside, and the stone closed.

“Guda!” Ingibjörg shouted.

But the stone had already rolled into the water and floated on the waves like a small boat.

At first the children were frightened. Inside it was dark, and all they could hear was the sea outside: boom… shhh… boom… shhh…

“We’ll get out,” said Thorvald. “Did you hear what Guda said?”

“Open up, stone.”

“Remember those words.”

They floated for a long time. At last, the stone stopped rocking.

Thorvald listened.

“It seems we’re near the shore.”

Ingibjörg took a deep breath and said loudly:

“Open up, stone!”

The lid slid open.

Before them lay an unfamiliar island.

They climbed out onto the sand, gathered dry branches, and built a little shelter among the rocks. A clear stream gave them water, and berries grew on the slope. Thorvald knew how to weave simple fish traps. Fire was the hardest thing to find.

One day Thorvald saw smoke far away in the valley.

“Wait here,” he said to his sister. “I’ll go and ask for fire.”

Behind the hill stood an old hut. A lonely witch lived in it. Thorvald did not dare to go in, because he heard her mumbling:

“Where are those children? They should have been sent to me a long time ago…”

Thorvald guessed: this woman knew about them.

He quietly took a few coals from the brazier by the door and returned to his sister.

Several days passed. Each morning, Thorvald brought glowing coals, and Ingibjörg kept their fire alive until night. Then one evening, rain put it out.

“Tomorrow I will go with you,” said Ingibjörg.

“No way. That witch is dangerous.”

“I will sit very quietly.”

“You?”

“Me!”

“And you won’t laugh?”

Ingibjörg covered her mouth with both hands.

“Even if you see something funny?”

The girl nodded solemnly.

The next morning they went together. They went up to the hut and looked out from behind the stone wall.

The witch was trying to put the ashes in a bucket. But the wind was whirling around the hut and every time it blew the ashes right into her nose. She sneezed angrily:

“Achoo! What is going on? Achoo!”

Ingibjörg clamped her mouth shut tightly.

The witch swung her broom again.

Ash rose in a cloud, forming a great grey ‘crown’ on her white-haired head.

Ingibjörg could stand it no longer.

“Hee-hee… ha-ha-ha!”

The witch turned sharply.

“There you are!”

In a moment she was standing in front of the children. Thorvald tried to lead his sister back, but the witch waved her handkerchief, and the children’s legs seemed to be entangled in invisible ropes.

“Finally,” she said. “You will live with me until I decide what to do with you.”

She locked them in a small closet. She brought food regularly, but kept the door locked.

“It’s all because of my laughter,” Ingibjörg said sadly.

“No,” Thorvald replied. “It’s because of the witch. We may still need your laughter.”

That night, her brother found an old wooden peg in the wall. He worked it loose until he could pull it out. Behind it lay a narrow hole through which he could reach the door’s bolt.

Click!

The door opened.

The children got out and ran to the sea.

But behind them the witch's voice was already heard:

“Stop!”

Thorvald spotted a narrow ditch they had just jumped across.

“Ingibjörg, get behind that rock!”

The witch ran towards them, waving her old magic wand.

And then the wind caught her long scarf and twisted it around her head.

“Where have you gone? I can't see anything!”

Ingibjörg peeped around the rock. The witch stamped about beside the ditch, struggling to remove her scarf, while her wand kept knocking against her own shoes.

The girl snorted.

“Hee-hee!”

“Be quiet!” Thorvald whispered.

But it was too late.

"Ah! I hear you!" cried the witch, and rushed to the sound.

She stepped onto a soft heap of moss at the edge of the ditch and slid down. She was unhurt, but sat in the damp grass looking so cross that Ingibjörg laughed again.

The witch swung her stick, but it hit a stone and cracked in half.

At that moment thunder rumbled over the island.

The witch's hut shook. The smoke disappeared. The invisible spell that hung over the island melted away like mist in the sun.

And the witch herself suddenly became an ordinary old woman.

"My witchcraft!" she gasped.

"And we're going home," said Thorvald.

The children returned to the shore.

A few more weeks passed. They learned to keep their fire burning, picked berries, caught fish, and wove grass baskets. In the evenings, Thorvald played the pipe he always carried, and Ingibjörg sang along.

One morning, ships appeared on the horizon.

“Play louder!” cried Ingibjörg.

Thorvald played.

The melody flew over the water.

One ship turned toward the island.

Their father stood on the deck.

In a few minutes the children were in his arms.

The king listened to their story in silence. When he heard about the magic stone, the witch, and Guda, his face became stern.

But Thorvald said:

“I think Guda was afraid of someone herself.”

“She seemed not herself all the time,” added Ingibjörg.

When the ships returned home, the king did not immediately accuse the queen. He asked her to tell the truth.

Guda was silent for a long time, and then she cried.

“That old witch has kept me under her spell since I was young,” she confessed. “I tried to resist, but every time she gave orders, fear became stronger than me. I did a terrible thing and regretted it every day.”

“Her wand broke,” said Thorvald. “The spell is over.”

Guda looked at the children.

“I do not ask you to forget. Only let me prove that I can do the right thing now.”

The hall fell silent.

And then Ingibjörg remembered the witch in the moss, her crooked scarf crown, her cracked wand... and suddenly she laughed softly.

At first, Thorvald looked at her in surprise. Then he smiled, and their father smiled too.

And Ingibjörg went up to Guda and said:

“I’m still a little angry with you. But we can make a fresh start.”

From then on, laughter often resounded in the palace again. Not the kind that makes fun of someone, but the kind that makes it easier to breathe.

Many years later, Thorvald liked to repeat:

“I said that her laughter would one day save the kingdom.”

“No,” Ingibjörg replied. “The truth saved the kingdom.”

And, after thinking for a moment, she added:

“But laughter also helped a little.”

May this story leave a little light in your heart ✨