West of the Moon (32 page)

Astrid gave her a conspiratorial smile. “What I say.” She leaned close and whispered, “My mother's mother was the daughter of Thorodd Half-Troll, and his mother was a troll out of the Dovrefell. My mother's dead now. But she passed down all kinds of tricks to me.” She patted her big goatskin bag. “Gunnar thinks this is just herbs and medicines. Well, some of it is, and some of it isn't.”

Hilde drew back in sudden suspicion. “You're making it up.”

“Oh, am I?” Astrid looked around, but their low conversation was easily drowned by loud laughter from the men chatting by the fire. “All right then.” She unbuckled the flap and plunged her arm into the bag. “Hold this.”

She handed Hilde a little square box, yellowish in the firelight. Hilde rubbed her fingers over it. It was made of smooth bone, or ivory, but there were some scratchings on the lid, runes or patterns. She looked up at Astrid. “Well?”

“Listen to it,” said Astrid. “Put it to your ear.”

Hilde did. The box buzzed. She almost dropped it, and listened again. Yes, when her ear was pressed close, the box was buzzing or humming. Or was it even a sleepy, angry voice, singing or chanting a very, very long way off?

“What is it?” Hilde burned with curiosity. She pried at the lid.

“Don't open it!” Astrid snatched it back. “My mother gave it me. It tells me things. Now do you believe me?”

Looking at Astrid in the flickering firelight, Hilde found she did. There was a slant to her eyes, a play of shadows on the cheekbones, that reminded Hilde of the troll princess from underneath Troll Fell.

“Does Gunnar know you've – got troll blood?” she almost whispered. Astrid smiled, showing a line of sharp little white teeth. “Oh no, he's much too shockable. I told you, it's a secret. He only knows I can do a little
seidr
– magic. Are you wondering if I've got a tail? Don't worry, I haven't. But the troll blood's there. It makes me different. And I can see this, Hilde Ralfsdaughter. Like it or not, you're coming with us to Vinland.” She pinched Hilde's arm. “You wait and see. Let's talk again later.”

She walked away to the fire.

Hilde's fingers prickled from touching the little buzzing box. Her breath came short. A smile of pure excitement curled her lips.
The cold curse. Troll blood. Like it or not, you're coming with us to Vinland.
To think that, only a short while ago, she had thought Astrid conventional and dull!

Oh
, she thought,
I do want to go with her. I must!

P
EER HESITATED BY
the farmhouse door. He'd hurried up the track, imagining Harald picking a quarrel with Ralf – insulting Hilde – frightening the twins. He'd pictured himself striding in to the rescue. But now his imagination failed. Harald had a sword. It would be no good trying to pull him outside for a fist-fight.

“You don't have to play his games,” Bjørn had said. But Peer had a feeling that Harald was good at pushing people into games they had no wish to play. What if Harald called him ‘Barelegs' in front of Hilde?
How can I stop him? What shall I do?

He lifted the latch, and something scampered across the yard and mewed at the bottom of the door like a hopeful cat. The Nis! As the door creaked open he got a glimpse of its beady eyes, skinny outline and little red hat, before it shot past his ankles and whizzed up the wall into the rafters.

He closed the door. The room was hot, bright and crowded; the atmosphere unnaturally hushed. Peer's taut nerves twanged.
What's going on? Trouble?

A strong voice chanted:

“The hound of heaven, the ship-seizer,

Hunted us over the wild waters.

Weary wanderers, we fled before

The wide jaws of the wind-wolf!”

It was Harald, the centre of attention, standing at the table reciting his poetry to the family. Everyone listened in apparent admiration. No one had eyes for Peer.

Peer waited, hungry and cross. In full flow, Harald chanted on. It was all about the voyage to Vinland, and he was making it sound pretty stormy and adventurous. Once he caught Peer's eye, and a faint smirk fled across his face.

Would the poem never end? Something scuffled overhead. Dust dropped in a fairy cascade. Peer rubbed his eyes. It was the Nis, poking about amongst the cobwebs, chasing spiders – one of its favourite games. Good. At least the Nis couldn't be bothered with Harald Silkenhair!

At last, Harald's voice rose in triumphant climax:

“But our sleek ship, our proud sea-serpent

Bore us swiftly to a safe haven,

An empty land, fleeced in forests,

Land for our labours, land for claiming!”

Harald flung himself back on the bench, lifted his cup and tossed down a draught of ale. “Great stuff!” roared Ralf, pounding the table. “Grand!
‘Our sleek ship, our proud sea-serpent!'
I've always wished I could make poetry. My father could, but I can't.
‘An empty land, fleeced in forests.'
That's not right, though. Vinland isn't empty. There are people there.”

Harald's laugh was a jeer. “People? You mean the Skraelings?”

Peer didn't know what a Skraeling was, but nothing would have induced him to ask. He reached over Arne's shoulder to grab some food, and folded himself into a corner near the fire, sitting on the earth floor with his back against one of the big wooden posts that held up the roof. Loki came to greet him. Peer pulled him close and fed him a piece of cheese.

Sigurd was asking loudly, “What's a Skraeling?”

“Skraelings, laddie?” Gunnar set down his horn cup with a crack. “It's what we call those creatures who live in Vinland. No better than trolls. They live in tents made from bits of tree bark. They dress in skins. Why,” he guffawed, “at one place we stopped, they were so ignorant that they bartered good furs for a few miserable pieces of red cloth. And when we ran short of cloth, we tore it into thinner and thinner strips, and still the Skraelings paid in furs.”

Ralf said mildly, “I thought they were fine people. And why shouldn't they barter furs for cloth, if cloth was a rarity? I don't call that proof of ignorance.”

Gunnar stared, as though he wasn't used to being disagreed with. Gudrun broke in, “But aren't they dangerous? Isn't that how you lost your hand, Gunnar – fighting Skraelings?”

“Skraelings? No!” Gunnar's face darkened. “No. It happened in Westfold before I left. An argument in an ale-house.” Here his wife gave him a cold glance, Peer noticed – perhaps she didn't approve of ale-house fights. “The man jumped me before I was ready for him. Luckily I had my boy here with me, Harald.”

“What did Harald do?” Sigurd asked eagerly.

“Cut the fellow's hair for him. With this,” Harald winked, patting his sword. Sigurd laughed out loud, and Ralf grinned. Astrid studied her nails, and Gudrun shook her head. Peer stared at Harald in deep dislike.

Harald brushed at his shoulder, frowning. A moment later he shook his head, combing his fingers through his hair. Then Peer saw. The Nis, perching in the rafters, was amusing itself by dropping things on to Harald's head – dead spiders, and bits of grit and cobwebs. Brilliant! He tousled Loki's ears, grinning.

“Anyway, tell us about your settlement,” exclaimed Ralf. “What's it called? What's it like? And how's my old friend Thorolf?”

A glance passed between Harald and Gunnar. “We've had no news of Thorolf since we left him in Vinland last year,” said Harald, yawning. “Have we, father?”

“How could we?” Gunnar shivered suddenly, and the cup shook and splashed in his hand. He set it down. “Harald's right. We left him there last year. Haven't been back since.”

“So you don't know what he's up to,” Ralf nodded. “He may have come after you.”

Gunnar mumbled something. His face was beaded with sweat, and Astrid gave her husband a sharp, curious glance.

Harald shook his hair. “I think we'll find Thorolf and his men right where we left them,” he said, smiling. “I don't think he had any plans to leave.”

Ralf leaned forwards, rubbing his hands. “Didn't he? Maybe you're right. It's a wonderful land. Those green forests, full of game – the rivers bursting with fish. No wonder Thorolf wants to make a home there. And you, you're going back?”

Harald nodded. “We have two good solid houses in a sheltered bay, with a river running out of the woods, and good anchorage in the river mouth. We named it Serpent's Bay – after our two ships,
Long Serpent
and
Water Snake.
”

And I suppose that was your clever idea
, thought Peer, mesmerised as a dried bean bounced off Harald's shoulder and skittered across the table. Sigurd noticed it too. He nudged his sister.

Arne broke in eagerly. “Ralf, why don't you come with us? That's why I brought Gunnar here. He's looking for another man, and I told him you've always talked about another voyage.”

Gudrun, going round with the jug, knocked Arne's cup over. Ale washed across the table. Sigrid jumped up for a cloth, but Gudrun stood still, eyes fixed on Ralf.

“Arne's right.” Gunnar wiped his face and looked steadier. “It's like this, Ralf. My old crew split up over the winter. On the profits of the last trip, some of them got married, or bought land, and didn't want to set out again this season. So I've been looking for new men. What do you say?”

“I knew you'd ask,” said Ralf slowly. “I've been thinking about it all evening, deciding what to do…”

Gunnar sat back. “Good! Let's drink to it.”

“…but I'm needed on the farm,” Ralf went on. “Sigurd's not old enough to manage, and the last time I went away Gudrun had all sorts of trouble with the trolls. I can't leave her to cope alone.”

Gudrun's eyes shone, but Gunnar's whiskered cheeks creased uneasily. “Trolls? You have many trolls here?”

Ralf laughed, and waved his hand. “We live on Troll Fell, Gunnar.”

“Trolls.” Gunnar shuddered. “I hate 'em. Unnatural vermin.”

Astrid seemed to stir. Her lips parted, then shut. Another dried bean dropped from the rafters, splashing into Harald's cup as he lifted it to his lips. Harald threw down the cup.

“That's enough, you!” He pointed at Peer, who scrambled to his feet. “Do you think I'm going to put up with this?”

Everyone stared. Harald put his hands on the table and leaned forward. “You've been throwing beans at me, haven't you, Barelegs? And you think it's funny?”

“I didn't do anything,” said Peer, seriously alarmed.

“It wasn't Peer!” Sigrid cried.

“No. There's something dodging about in the roof,” said Astrid, to Peer's great surprise. Most people couldn't see the Nis.

Everyone looked up into the smoky, dark roof-space, cluttered with fishing nets, strings of onions, old hay-rakes and scythes.

The Nis flung down its fistful of beans. A stinging shower rattled on to Harald's upturned face, and as he cursed and ducked, the Nis followed it up by bouncing some small wrinkled apples off his back. It could be heard drumming its heels against the beam, and sniggering:
“Tee-hee-hee!”

Astrid's face sharpened into a triangular smile. “There it is!” she breathed, fixing her eyes on a spot above Harald's head. The sniggering broke off.

“Where?” Harald spun round, golden hair spraying out. He dragged out his sword and angled it up, craning his neck to see into the rafters.

Everyone leaped to their feet. The dogs began barking. “Put that sword away,” called Ralf. “Someone'll get hurt!”

“No swords in this house!” cried Gudrun.

“My apologies,” said Harald between his teeth. “There's something up there. Stand back, and let me deal with it.” He put a foot on the bench, obviously preparing to spring up on to the table. Peer heard a frightened squeak from the Nis.

“There it goes!” Peer shot out his arm and pointed. “Look, a troll! Running along that rafter, see?” His finger followed the imaginary troll from beam to beam. “It's over the fire – oh!” He let his arm drop.

“What? Where?” gasped Gudrun, half-convinced. “It went out through the smoke hole,” said Peer, disappointment in his voice.

“Then it's on the roof.” Harald sprang for the door, Arne and Gunnar and the dogs close behind. Ralf followed more slowly, giving Peer the flicker of a wink.

Peer made for the door, too. He caught Hilde's eye. “Let's hope they catch it!” Hilde was laughing silently. The twins were crowding out, while Gudrun tried to pull them back: “Harald's got a sword out there!”

The moon skimmed between the clouds like a stone skipping over water, filling the yard with flowing shadows. Harald was making Arne give him a leg up on to the farmhouse's thick turf roof. Gunnar stood squarely in the patch of light from the open door, squinting up under his good hand. “Go on, son,” he shouted. “A roof 's no place to hide. We'll not be fooled by that again…”

“I never thought he could have climbed up,” said Harald over his shoulder.

What were they talking about? Peer looked at Ralf, who shrugged and said in a low voice, “I guess they've had adventures before.”

Harald walked along the roof ridge, sword in hand, a sinister silhouette against the sky. Peer shivered, and Ralf too must have felt uncomfortable about this prowling figure on his own roof, for he called out, “It's gone; you've missed it. Come down.”

But the dogs began to bark and growl, and make little dashes at a blackly shadowed corner of the yard near the cowshed.

“Don't tell me they've found a real troll,” Ralf muttered. He crossed the yard in a couple of quick strides, Peer beside him, Gunnar close behind.

In the angle of the wall was a crawling darkness the size of a small child. “Gods!” Gunnar's voice clotted with horror. “Look at that. Where's its
head
?”

Peer's skin prickled. Then he saw the troll had merely crouched down, wrapping skinny arms protectively over its head. It was chewing, and there was a strong stink of old herrings. So it had been robbing the fish-drying racks!

Ralf clapped his hands. “Get out of here! Shoo!” he shouted.

A pair of luminous green eyes winked open. The troll produced a dry, frightening hiss, accompanied by an even stronger smell of fish. Ralf dragged the dogs away by their collars. “Stand back, Peer – give it a chance to run.”

Behind them, Harald leaped into the yard. He staggered, touching a hand to the ground to steady himself; then he was up, his naked blade glinting. “Out of my way!” he shouted, running at the troll.

The round green eyes scrunched into terrified half-moons. The troll dived away, fat sides pumping, long bald tail curving and switching. But Harald was faster. He stamped down heavily on its tail, jerking it to a halt. The troll tugged and writhed, squealing dreadfully. “Let it go! Let it go!” Ralf shouted. But Harald struck.

As the blow flashed down, the troll gave a final desperate wrench and leaped crazily up the hillside, leaving its narrow, tapering tail thrashing horribly under Harald's boot. There was a sickening smell of stale armpits and rotten eggs.

Harald leaped back in disgust and slammed his sword into its sheath. Ralf and Arne broke out coughing, and even the dogs whined, wiping their noses on their paws. With a shiver of loathing, Gunnar turned away from the jerkily wriggling tail.

“I need a drink after that,” said Ralf drily. He held open the farmhouse door and nodded for everyone to go in.

Gudrun, the twins, and Hilde and Astrid clustered around the door.

“Was there really a troll?”

“What happened?”

“What was that noise?”

“Poof!” Sigurd clutched his nose. “What's that
awful
smell?”

“There was a troll, all right,” Peer said to Hilde.

“Harald was so fast,” said Arne in admiration. “He nearly got it!”

“He got its
tail
,” said Peer with bitter sarcasm. Soft-hearted Sigrid gasped. “Oh, the poor thing! Oh, that must have hurt so much!”

“It will grow a new one,” Hilde soothed her.

“Why didn't you let the dogs pull it down?” Gunnar growled at Ralf. “You could have nailed the head to your barn door to scare the others.”