Troll Blood (20 page)

Not quite running, they hurried back past the first of the houses. The fire crackling merrily on the beach looked like a beacon of safety.

Magnus and Halfdan were struggling up over the rise, carrying a big chest. They put it down, wiping their faces, and Magnus sat on it.

“That looks heavy,” Hilde called. No one but Peer would have noticed the slight quaver in her voice.

“Women’s stuff,” Magnus sniffed. “Bed linen and clothes.” He looked past the houses at the steep woods, and shivered. “I’d forgotten the forest was so close. Looks like it’s got nearer. Looks like—” He stopped.

“What?”

“Like it’s watching us.” Magnus laughed to show he didn’t really think so, but Hilde and Peer both turned to look back at the dark rampart of trees. Hilde froze.

“Peer. What’s that, by the second house?”

In the gloaming it was hard to be sure—a blackish blur that could be a tall shrub or a forgotten woodpile. But it looked like a man, standing silently beside the door of the farthest house. Magnus sucked air through his remaining teeth.

“I see what you mean,” said Peer with dry lips. “But I think it’s just the shadow of the porch.”

Floki arrived, bent double under a sack. Behind him came Gunnar and Astrid walking together, Gunnar stumping uphill with a seaman’s straddling walk, Astrid stepping daintily, holding up her skirt.

“Aye, aye, it all looks much as it did,” Gunnar said to her, sniffing at the air like an old dog. “I remember—”

He stopped, and seemed to choke. Astrid caught his arm. “There …” he croaked, staring up the slope. “Who’s that—in the doorway?”

The man was gone as he spoke. Peer was sure now it was
only the shadow of the porch. Yet the house door was slowly opening, swinging back in a gesture of invitation.
Come in
.

“Peer, you didn’t shut that door,” said Hilde, alarmed by Gunnar’s face. Gunnar turned straining eyes on Peer.

“Yes I did,” Peer blurted. “I latched it.”

Gunnar stumbled like a deer with an arrow in its heart. He clutched Astrid’s shoulder. Her breath hissed as she braced him.

Mist had formed over the bay. A white moon was rising out of the sea. The temperature was dropping. Down in the marshes a duck quacked sharply. From somewhere in the shaggy hills came a distant, thin howl.
Wolf
?

Loki pricked his ears. Magnus and Halfdan stood tensely by the chest. They made no move to pick it up again. Their breath came in clouds. Floki, who had dropped his sack, looked around as if wondering whether to run back to the ship. Harald came loping up toward them. “What’s wrong?”

Gunnar’s teeth clacked. “I-I’m not well.”

Harald pushed Astrid aside, dragging his father’s arm over his shoulders. “You heard!” he snapped at the others. “I’ll get him indoors. You women—make a fire in the house. Our own house, the first one,” he added roughly, seeing Hilde about to ask. “The rest of you bring the stuff up from the ship.”

Peer lay on his back, unable to sleep. Odd to lie on a bed that didn’t move—odd to look up at a roof—odd to smell smoke after weeks of cold fresh air.

Gunnar and Astrid had retired into the little room at the end of the house. They had a grand bed, which had been brought up in pieces from the ship and slotted together. Astrid had covered it with linen sheets, a goosefeather bolster, and woolen blankets. Hilde was shut in with them, away from the men, in a small closet bed paneled off from the rest of their room. She had gone reluctantly, and Peer felt sorry for her. He was glad to be out here in the hall where the fire had a chance of warming the air.

The house was so cold. They’d piled branches and logs in the hearth and kindled an enormous blaze, but it would take days for the thick sod walls to warm through. The smoke hung in the rafters, drifting aimlessly as though it couldn’t remember the way out. Around him his shipmates talked in whispers:

“…the skipper looks bad…”

“…what d’you think he saw?”

“…any door can swing open…”

“…aye, but it’s odd it happened just then…”

“…he does look bad…”

“…the cold curse…”

“…d’you think it’s the skipper it’s after, or all of us?”

“…shut up, Floki, I keep telling you …”

At last the whispers died and the snores took over. Peer turned on his side and watched the long hearth, where the fire sank to a blue and yellow flicker over whispering embers. Every so often the powdery gray wood ash tumbled, opening
gashes of glowing red. Then, across the hearth, apple green eyes gleamed. The Nis crept out on the hearthstones, warming its spindly hands.

It was a comforting sight.
At least we got here, all of us, alive and well
. He tried to keep watching the Nis. But sleep pounced on him like a hunting cat, and tossed him away into oblivion.

CHAPTER 13
Seidr

H
ilde lay awake in her cramped little closet. It was hardly more than a hole in the wall with a wooden lining. The bed—a straw mattress on planks—wasn’t long enough to stretch out on. If her legs were straight, she had to sit propped against the hard wooden panels. If she lay down, she had to curl up. The bedding, like the mattress, had come from the ship. Both were slightly damp and smelled of seawater.

It was pitch-black, not a scrap of light, and her toes were freezing. She envied Peer, asleep in the fire hall. She lay rubbing her feet together and wondered if she dared creep out to warm herself at the hearth. Surely the men would be asleep by now? But what about Astrid and Gunnar?

She fumbled for the edge of the panel and slid it back a few inches. It was as dark out there as it was in here, and just as
cold. She listened for the sound of quiet breathing that would tell her Gunnar and Astrid were asleep.

Only they weren’t; they were muttering together. Hilde tried to drag the panel closed again, but it stuck. She tugged at it, hearing Astrid murmur, “Gunnar, you mustn’t fret. I’ll look after you.”

Gunnar said unsteadily—it sounded as if his teeth were still chattering: “How c-can you protect me?”

Hilde paused silently. She knew she shouldn’t, but she had to listen to this.

“You men never know how to do things,” said Astrid. “You should have run needles into his feet after he was shrouded. That would have stopped him walking.”

Hilde went cold all over.
Is this Erlend we’re talking about
?

Gunnar’s laugh turned into a cough. “We didn’t bother with shrouds,” he said hoarsely. “Besides, it’s too late now.” He was silent for a moment, shivering—Hilde heard the air hissing between his teeth.

“I saw him on the ship,” he whispered suddenly. “All swollen up and black.”

“Hush!”

“If—if anything does come, Harald’s sleeping in front of the doorway.”

Is he indeed
? Hilde thanked her stars she hadn’t gone creeping out.

“And what can Harald do?” Astrid said softly. “You need me.”

“I can’t sleep. I daren’t sleep.”

“You can, and you will. Let me help you. There are ways. If you trust me.”

“You’re—my wife,” said Gunnar. Then came an odd sound that puzzled Hilde, till she realized, her fingers curling, that it was a kiss. There’d been no intimacy on the ship. She’d never seen Gunnar kissing Astrid, or Astrid kissing Gunnar. But in private, of course they would. Frantically she wrenched at the panel. It wouldn’t budge.

“Gunnar,” said Astrid on a deep, purring note. “Give me your soul.”

Hilde’s heart almost stopped. Gunnar mumbled something. It sounded like “How?” or “Why?”

Astrid whispered rapidly, “Because I can take it from your lips with your breath, and keep it safe. I’ll hide it away where no one can find it, I’ll lock it all around with charms. No ghost can touch you then. You’ll sleep safe. No dreams. Nothing will harm you. …”

Her voice sank away. There was a long, busy silence. At last Astrid murmured, “Hush. Sleep. Sleep.”

Gunnar didn’t answer. Soon afterward Hilde heard a gentle snore.

She waited, damp, cold, and not at all inclined to sleep. The bedroom was still dark, but she heard the bedclothes stir, and a quiet footfall on the earth floor. She held her breath. In a moment she heard Astrid whispering very softly,
“Those who sleep, sleep on still. Those who wake, wake.”
The outer door creaked. A rosy glow of firelight brightened the room, and
Hilde caught sight of Astrid’s dark shape slipping through the door. She must be stepping right over Harald, if he lay across the threshold. Moments later she returned, carrying a smoking stick with a glowing end. She pushed the door shut, and stopped.

She’s seen the open panel
.

But all Astrid could see would be a black gap in the wall. Hilde shut her eyes and breathed evenly. Brightness shone through her closed lids. She felt the heat of the glowing stick very near her face. She kept still—not afraid, but intensely curious.

The stick was withdrawn. Darkness and cold returned. Hilde’s eyes flew open. Astrid was on the other side of the room, using the stick to light a shallow oil lamp. Now a single flame twinkled starlike in the gloom.

Astrid sat on the bed, and glanced down at Gunnar. From under the bolster she pulled out her goatskin bag, and hugged it to herself. She reached in, and drew out something small and square that gleamed bone yellow.

Hilde thought she knew what it was. She wriggled a little closer to the panel.
Yes
.
The little buzzing box
.

But Astrid set it aside and reached into the bag again. This time she came out with a package wrapped in linen. Inside was a mass of sheep’s wool. From the middle of the sheep’s wool she picked out something small and held it to the light. A hollow bird’s egg that gleamed half transparent against the flame. With gentle fingers Astrid lifted the egg to her lips. She
blew into it, a single puff. Pattering out some charm under her breath, she pulled the wool around the eggshell, and rewrapped it in the linen. Briskly now, as though everything was complete, she popped package and box back into her bag and slipped the bag back under the bolster. She reached for the lamp and pinched out the flame. Blackness flooded back.

Hilde knew what she’d seen. It was
seidr
magic that Astrid had been practicing. Hilde didn’t know if she believed in it or not, or whether Astrid did. The important thing was that if Gunnar believed his soul was safely hidden, he’d be less afraid—of ghosts, or whatever other danger he thought was threatening him.

She curled up, shivering. Why shouldn’t Astrid look after Gunnar? But it was all so black and secret.
You should have run needles into his feet after he was shrouded
. Hilde shuddered.
How can she talk like that? Especially about Erlend. How does she even know such a thing
?

She remembered how Astrid had said, “There’s troll blood in me,” and “Of course I tell lies—how else do I get what I want?”

What
did
Astrid want? Could you ever trust somebody with troll blood?

Hilde woke with a jerk of panic. Why was it so dark? She flung out a hand and felt it knock against wood.

Someone knocked back. “Did you sleep soundly?”

It was Astrid. She was carrying the oil lamp, and its beadlike
flame reflected little points of fire in her eyes.

Hilde sat up, noticing that Astrid was fully dressed. She was about to say,
Not very well
. Then she thought Astrid might have reasons for asking. “Yes, thanks,” she said cautiously, rubbing a cricked neck. “Is it early? It’s so dark.”

“Only in here,” said Astrid. “It’s light outside. And the fire’s burning well in the hall. Listen, Gunnar’s feverish. He should stay in bed. Boil some water, will you? I’ll make him another drink of willow bark.”

Chilled and stiff, Hilde shoved back the panel and swung her feet out of her little cubbyhole. Hot, fresh water sounded good. She longed for a wash.
And if I have to sleep in here, I need warmer bedding
, she thought as she pulled her dress on over her linen smock.

The fire hall smelled of warm smoke and salty, sweaty men. Harald, Peer, and Tjorvi were up. The rest were still in their blankets. Harald was combing his hair and barely lifted his head as Hilde came out. Tjorvi sat cross-legged on the bench, spooning groute from a wooden bowl. Peer was putting more wood on the fire. He looked up at her, his fair hair ruffled, a streak of charcoal on his jaw, and his face lit with sweet, uncomplicated pleasure.