Troll Blood (12 page)

Big Tjorvi held up the lantern. The tiny flame made the darkness darker, the steep sides of the waves as black and glossy as coal. It gleamed on Gunnar. Hilde saw at once that the story about the ghost was true. Gunnar was staring about as though he expected to see slimy hands clawing out of the sea. His face stretched, eyebrows high, mouth agape, eyes popping.

“What made that noise?” he choked. No one answered. His voice climbed. “By Thor and his Hammer! One of you must have seen it. There’s something on board this ship, and I swear, when I find it, I’ll cut it into tiny pieces!” Spittle caught in his beard.

“I saw it!” came a cry from the darkness beyond the sail. Everyone froze. Peer came scrambling along the side, skirting the hold. “It’s all right,” he gasped. “It was only a seagull. A huge one with great flapping wings—must have been attracted by our lantern.”

Hilde shut her eyes and crossed her fingers. Gunnar stared; the men broke into raucous disbelief. “A gull?” “Never!” “That was no gull—no gull screams like that!”

“It was just a gull!” Peer shouted. “Look!” He held up a fistful of white feathers, then opened his fingers and let the wind pick them away. “Didn’t you see it, Astrid?”

Astrid was on her feet now. “Me? Oh, yes! My goodness, it frightened me, it flew up right in front of my face. Its wings must have been six feet across!”

“It wasn’t as big as that,” Hilde joined in, scowling at Astrid.
Stupid girl, why does she have to exaggerate?
“Maybe four feet.”

“You saw it too?” Gunnar said slowly.

“Absolutely.” Hilde returned his stare, eye to eye. “How could you miss it?”

“All right. All right!” Gunnar swung around. “Just a bird, lads, a great stupid bird” He clapped his good hand across his eyes, rubbing it to and fro, gritting his teeth as though in pain. “A gull!” he gasped. Was he laughing or crying? His whole body shook.

Astrid untwirled her thick cloak and threw it around him. “Come with me, Gunnar, and I’ll give you something to make you sleep. You’ve done too much. Remember, you haven’t been well.” He grabbed her and for a moment buried his head against her neck like a child hiding its face. Astrid patted his shoulder soothingly. She led him away.

Halfdan coughed, apologizing to Harald. “I’m sorry, master. I don’t rightly know what I was thinking. I had such a shock when that great bird flew right over my head—sort of whirled around me, like, screaming …”

Hilde bit down a nervous giggle. Soon everyone would think they’d seen it.

“All right, Halfdan, forget it.” Harald strode down the deck and dragged Peer aside. “That was no gull,” he said in a low, hard voice.

“You saw the feathers,” Peer said, his face unmoving.

“From a distance. Before they blew away. And I happen to remember that we have a white hen on board.”

Hilde edged closer. Peer said, “What are you saying? You think I had time to open the coops, grab a couple of chickens, pull out their feathers, and then come and tell a story about a seagull? Why would I do that?”

An uncertain flicker crossed Harald’s face.

“Gunnar seems glad to think it was only a gull,” Peer pressed on. He added meaningfully, “What else could it have been?”

Harald’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened on Peer’s arm. “Let’s leave my father out of it, Barelegs. I don’t know what it was, but I think you do, and I hope it’s no longer on this ship, because if I find it I’m going to kill it. And it was
no seagull”

He glared at Peer and swung away.

“Why does he call you that—Barelegs?” asked Hilde angrily.

“He does it to annoy me.” Peer sounded exhausted. “I’d better get back on duty.”

“Well done, anyway. Using the feathers was a great idea. Where’s the Nis?”

“Hiding in the chicken coop.” Peer’s voice was suddenly furious. “It’s terrified. Miserable. What was Astrid thinking of to bring it here?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out next,” said Hilde.

The two of them were standing close together. She couldn’t see Peer’s face very well—he was just a dark shape against the sky—but he moved hesitantly toward her. She had the feeling
he was about to say something more. But a second later he just said, “Good luck,” and went off forward.

She climbed into the sleeping sack with a lot less care than the first time. Astrid was already there again, lying on her side. Hilde poked her. “You stole the Nis.”

“Bravo,” said Astrid in a muffled voice, her arm across her face.

“Kidnapped it. What did you do? Drug it?”

“I put a tiny, tiny bit of henbane in the groute to make it sleep,” said Astrid indignantly. “That’s all. And then I very carefully scooped it into my bag. It simply had a nice snooze, and woke up a little while ago.”

“Stuffed away at the bottom of the sleeping sack. How could you? And why did you bring it? It belongs at home. The Nis would never, never want to cross the sea!” Her voice broke.

“I
brought
it because it will be
useful”
Astrid whispered. “Just wait till we get to Vinland, that’s all. Who’ll be doing the housework? We will, the only women. Cooking? You and me. Collecting firewood, carrying water? Us again. The men will be hunting and trapping for furs—guess who’ll be cleaning the hides? Believe me, you’ll be glad of some extra help.”

“But the Nis is a person, not a thing. You can’t force it to help you! And what about my mother? What will she think when she finds it’s disappeared?”

“Oh, stop complaining.” Astrid sounded sour. “If she’s as fond of you as she pretends to be, she’ll be glad you’ve got it. I think it was very clever of me to bring the Nis.”

“Clever?” Hilde’s voice rose. “What about the fuss we’ve just had? If it hadn’t been for Peer …”

“I approve of that boy,” said Astrid. “He thinks quickly.”

“I don’t suppose he approves of you. The Nis should go home.”

“So? Try telling Gunnar to turn the ship around.”

“I know it’s too late for that,” said Hilde angrily. “But when I go home next summer, the Nis will come with me.”

“But you won’t be going home.”

“Of course I— What do you mean?”

Astrid gave a brittle laugh. “Well, you
may
go home, of course. Eventually. But it won’t be next year, or the year after that, or—”

“What do you mean?”

Astrid stuck her face close to Hilde’s. Her breath struck hot against Hilde’s lips and chin. “Gunnar and Harald are outlaws. They wouldn’t pay the blood price for the man they killed in Westfold, so they’ve been outlawed for five years. That’s why we’re going to Vinland. Now you know.”

The ship pitched, and Hilde’s stomach seemed to pitch sickeningly with it.
Five years?

“Who else knows about this?” she got out. “Arnë?”

“Arnë? Why Arnë? Oh, you think he should have told you because he likes you? Well, maybe you’d better marry him. Because we’ll be living in Vinland for a very long time.” She turned away from Hilde with a heave and a flounce, and lay still.

Hilde wanted to spring up and rush to tell Peer. She wanted to grab Gunnar or Harald or Arnë, confront them, shake them till they confessed. She forced herself to lie still, biting her knuckles, thinking furiously.

It could be true. It must be true. But she’s lying to me about Arnë. Gunnar would have left Westfold in a hurry. He’d get to Hammerhaven ahead of the news. He wouldn’t tell anyone about being outlawed, or no one new would sail with him. Five years!

She became aware of a fine tremor running through Astrid from head to foot.

She’s crying.

Let her cry.

But after a while she put out a quiet hand. Astrid flinched and froze. “What’s the matter?” Hilde whispered, knowing it was a stupid question.

“I suppose you hate me,” Astrid muttered.

Hilde was still very angry. “You should have told the truth.”

“You were warned.” Astrid twisted around like an eel. “I told you I’m part troll. Of course I tell lies and steal things. How else can I get what I want?”

“And you’ve got it, have you? Is this what you wanted?”

“I never get anything I want,” said Astrid bitterly. “It’s always the same. If I like someone, I lose them.”

“Don’t feel so sorry for yourself,” Hilde began, but then she remembered how Astrid had hinted before at someone she’d loved and lost. She said more gently, “Was there really some
one you wanted to marry before your father made you marry Gunnar?”

“Yes,” Astrid sniffed.

“What was he called?”

“Erlend” said Astrid. “Erlend Asmundsson. But now he’s dead.”

“Dead!” Hilde fell silent. Something in Astrid’s gruff voice suggested an awful possibility. “Astrid, was Erlend the man Harald killed in Westfold?”

For a couple of heartbeats Astrid was very still. It was too dark to see her face. At last she sighed: a long, silent, stealthy breath. “You’ve guessed,” she whispered softly. “He was. Yes, he was. That’s exactly what happened.”

CHAPTER 8
The Nis at Sea

N
is!”

Peer crouched, uncomfortably balanced on the cargo, trying to see into the chicken coop. His blood was racing.
I faced down Harald.

More than that—standing next to Hilde in the dark, he’d nearly kissed her. It had seemed so easy and natural, but at the last moment he’d lost his nerve. What if she protested, shoved him away? Everyone would know.

He was furious with himself. So much for those bold resolutions to behave as he felt. Well, he couldn’t cope with it now. He bundled the thoughts away to the back of his head and tried to concentrate on the Nis.
I have to get the Nis out of this coop.
In the darkness he could only make out a whitish frill of feathers here, the glint of an eye there. The hens crooned and
clucked softly, weird burbling sounds. But he thought he could also detect quick, shallow breathing.

“Nis, it’s me, Peer. It’s all right.”

Loki lurked behind him, interested and suspicious. Peer pushed him. “Go and lie down,” he whispered sternly. Loki and the Nis had never really tolerated each other. “I can’t have you upsetting the Nis now. Go on!” Loki backed reluctantly away.

“Nis, do come out,” Peer pleaded. “If I stay here much longer, someone will notice me, and we need to talk. I have to explain what’s happening.”

No reply.

“All right, come and find me. I’ll be in the prow, by myself—that’s the pointed bit with the dragonhead,” he added. “But don’t leave it too long, or they’ll change the watch, and somebody else will be there.”

Before he could move his cramped muscles, a sliver of a voice whimpered, “Wait….”

“I am waiting,” Peer said after a moment, as patiently as he could.

“Has there been a flood?” the voice quavered.

“A flood? What, you mean all the water? That’s not a flood, Nis, it’s the sea. We’re at sea.”

No answer, though a hen rustled and squawked, as though someone had startled it with a sharp movement.

“In a boat,” Peer added. “Listen, I know it’s very frightening for you, but come out and let me tell you how it happened.”

A moment later, the hens shifted and clucked again. From under their feathers a thin little shadow scuttled on all fours. It slipped between the bars of the coop.

Peer led the way up into the windy bow. Up here it was like standing on a high seesaw. Every so often, spray flew past the dragon-neck, and the decking was wet. He tucked himself into the angle below the dragon, next to the anchor, and the Nis actually climbed into his lap. Loki pressed jealously against Peer’s knees, grumbling. Peer gently rubbed the little creature’s thin shoulders, feeling the tiny knobs of its backbone under its ragged gray clothes. Its heart was jumping in its sides. The wind messed its wispy hair, and it had lost its little red hat.

“Where am I?” it wailed. “Why is I here? One minute I was supping up my groute, Peer Ulfsson—nice warm groute with butter and a bit of cream—and the next, I wakes up in the dark bag, all hot and smothery, and then I gets out, and there’s no house and no hills. Where’s Troll Fell, Peer Ulfsson? Where’s home?”

“Good question,” Peer muttered. He braced himself and tried to explain. “We’re a long way from home, Nis. How much did you overhear last night? This ship is going to Vinland….”