Troll Blood (6 page)

“No! I meant it.” Hilde swallowed. “But …”

Astrid seemed to realize that she hadn’t been making a great impression. She looked at Hilde for a moment, as if wondering what to offer her. “I want you to come. Do you like secrets? If we’re going to be friends, I’ll tell you one.”

“Go on,” said Hilde, intrigued in spite of herself.

Astrid hesitated. “Shall I? Remember, I’m taking a risk, I’m trusting you. Are you easily shocked? No? All right, listen.” Her pale eyes opened wide.
“There’s troll blood in me.
Oh, yes, there is—a long way back, perhaps, but it’s there. And I can see things other people can’t.”

“Troll blood?” A fascinated shiver ran down Hilde’s back. “What do you mean?”

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-voiced conversation was easily drowned out by loud laughter from the men chatting and joking 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 dim 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’s inside?” Hilde burned with curiosity. She pried at the lid.

“Don’t open it!” Astrid snatched it back. “My mother gave it to 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 who lived 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.
And 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!

CHAPTER 4
The Nis Amuses Itself

A
s Peer came out of the woods there was a rustling and pattering in the bushes: trolls probably, out foraging now that night had fallen. Troll Fell loomed above the farm like a dreaming giant, asleep with his head on his knees. Just over the giant’s shoulder, a scraped-out moon bobbed in a flood of clouds.

Peer hesitated by the farmhouse door. All the way up the track he’d hurried along, 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 and would use it. It would be no good trying to pull him outside for a fistfight.

He wished now he’d come home earlier. He could have found Hilde, and told her all about it. And yet … the story
made him look such a fool. What if Harald called him Barelegs in front of Hilde?
How can I stop him? What shall I do?

“You don’t have to play his games,” Bjorn had said. But Peer had a feeling that Harald was good at pushing people into games they had no wish to play.

Reluctantly he lifted the latch, and something scampered across the yard and mewed at the bottom of the door like a hopeful cat. The Nis—their touchy little house spirit! It must have been accidentally shut out. 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:

It was Harald, the center of attention, standing at the long trestle table reciting his poetry to the family. He made a brave sight, gold gleaming at his neck. Everyone listened in apparent admiration. No one had eyes for Peer.

Peer waited by the door, 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? Was Harald deliberately spinning it out to keep him waiting? Something scuffled overhead. Dust dropped in a fairy cascade. Suppressing a sneeze, Peer rubbed his eyes and saw flickering movement along the roof beams. It would be the Nis poking about among the cobwebs, chasing spiders—one of its favorite games. Good. At least the Nis couldn’t be bothered with Harald Silkenhair!

At last Harald’s voice rose in triumphant climax:

Everyone but Peer clapped and cheered. Harald flung himself back on the bench, lifted his cup, and tossed down a draft 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 squeezed down the room and reached over Arnë’s shoulder to grab some food. Gudrun smiled at him, and Hilde flipped him a wave, but the benches were full, so he 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 out from under the table 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. “A Skraeling is a wretch, a pitiful rascal. 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. Your little sister knows more than the Skraelings do. 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.”

“That’s not what Pa told us,” said Hilde. Peer nodded agreement. Ralf’s stories had made these people sound like tall forest spirits, flitting between the trees with bright feathers in their black hair.

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 alehouse.” Here his wife gave him a cold glance, Peer noticed—perhaps she didn’t approve of alehouse fights. “The man jumped me before I was ready for him. Luckily I had my boy here with me.”

“What did Harald do?” Sigurd asked eagerly.

“Oh, I just cut the fellow’s hair for him. With this,” said Harald with a lazy wink, 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 twitched. He brushed at his shoulder, frowning. A moment later he shook his head, combing his fingers through his hair. Then Peer realized. The Nis, perching in the rafters, was amusing itself by dropping things onto 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?”

Peer looked up. It would be good to hear news of Thorolf; he remembered him as a tall, pleasant-faced man who had often spoken to his father in the boat sheds at Hammerhaven.

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.”

“Ah, then you don’t know what he’s up to now,” Ralf pointed out. “He may have come after you.”

Gunnar mumbled something. Peer, who was sitting near him, saw in surprise that his face was beaded with sweat. He noticed Astrid giving 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 forward, rubbing his hands. “Didn’t he, now? 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 on your way 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—because of the two ships,
Long Serpent
and
Water Snake”

And I suppose that was your clever idea
, thought Peer, watching mesmerized as a dried bean bounced off Harald’s shoulder and skittered across the table. Sigurd noticed it this time. He nudged Sigrid, and the pair of them glanced upward and giggled.

Arnë 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, who’d been going around the table with the jug, knocked Arnë’s cup over. Ale washed across the table. Sigrid jumped up for a cloth, but Gudrun stood stock-still, eyes fixed on Ralf.

“Arnë’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. Picked up a couple in Hammerhaven—Arnë, for one—but there’s room for another. Interested?” He didn’t wait for Ralf to reply, but went on: “Here’s the plan. Setting out this early, we ought to reach Vinland by midsummer. The Greenlanders will pay anything for good timber, and it’s there for the taking, great tall oaks and pines. Spend the winter trapping—fox and beaver. The place belongs to no one. No kings, no laws. It’s all free. You can carve yourself a piece of land and be absolute master. Think about it. You could come home and buy Gudrun a gold necklace. Or a couple of cows or more land, whatever you like. What do you say?”