Troll Fell (10 page)

“So no gold for the Grimssons without a girl?” asked
Hilde. She laughed in relief. “Then you're safe.”

“I don't think so,” said Peer quietly. Hilde stared at him.

“I think they're going to find a girl,” he said. “I think
you ought to be very careful, Hilde.”

Hilde whistled. There was a moment's silence, except
for the lapping of the waves and the cries of seabirds.

“So Troll Fell wants to impress the Dovrefell,” she said.

“With two human wedding presents,” nodded Peer.

“Well, it's unusual. I wonder what a troll page or maid
has to do?”

“I don't want to find out. I'd hate to live
underground, Hilde. I couldn't bear it.”

“Of course you couldn't!” Hilde agreed warmly.
“Neither could I!”

“Yes, but—” Peer bit off his words. No need for Hilde
to know how much he dreaded being shut up in the dark.
She flicked her plaits back over her shoulders, frowning.

“Peer, you have had extraordinary luck. Meeting a
Nis – never in my whole life have I seen one. There's
never been one in our house. And Granny Greenteeth
taking a fancy to you – ooh, scary!”

“Taking a
fancy
?” Peer repeated slowly.

“You were lucky to get away from her!” Hilde told
him seriously.

“Do you really think she—? Maybe she did. She said
she'd
look after me
.” He shuddered. “Either way, she wants
me at the bottom of the millpond!”

“Nothing like that ever happens to me,” grumbled
Hilde. “All I ever get to see are trolls, and they're as
common as mice. I wish we had a Nis in our house.
Mother could feed it well and it might do the grinding!
I'll get you some butter for yours, though. Will it help
you? Can you trust it?”

“I doubt it,” said Peer gloomily. “It's too keen about
the wedding. It thinks I ought to be thrilled about
meeting a Troll Princess with two tails.”

“Does she really have two tails?” Hilde asked,
goggling.

“No, actually I think that's her sister.” He sighed
heavily. “Anyway I haven't seen the Nis much lately. The
nights are so short, and I sleep like a log.”

Hilde began to answer, but was interrupted by
excited shouts from Sigurd and Sigrid, who had climbed
out of the boats to throw pebbles for Loki.

“Look! Look!” They pointed out into the fjord.
Another small boat was dancing in towards them. Hilde
jumped up.

“That's Bjørn,” she said, shading her eyes with her
hand. “Can you see his pet seal swimming along behind
him?”

Squinting, Peer could just see a dark dot in the water
behind the boat.

“It follows him each time he goes out, and they say it
drives the herring to him. He looked after it when it was
a pup,” Hilde explained. “Found it injured on the beach
and fed it fish till it was grown. Of course some people say
his wife Kersten was a seal-woman, and this is really their
own child, but my pa doesn't think that's true. Still, Bjørn
and his brother Arnë know more stories about the sea than
anyone else. I wonder where Arnë is? I can't see him.”

They watched Bjørn pull strongly into shore, ship his
oars and jump out into knee-deep water to drag his boat
aground. The seal, clearly visible, frisked around him,
now rubbing its sleek head past his legs, now flicking its
tail. Bjørn reached into the boat and tossed it a fish,
which it caught easily. With a hoarse bark, it disappeared.

Peer ran with Hilde to help pull the boat up the
beach. Bjørn was a short, stocky fellow with a strong
friendly face, blue eyes, and long untidy hair falling over
his shoulders.

“Hello, Hilde my lass, who's your friend? Hello,
sprats,” he said to Sigurd and Sigrid.

“Hello, Bjørn. This is my friend Peer Ulfsson, who
now lives at the mill.”

Bjørn put out a calloused hand and Peer shook it,
liking him already. “The mill, eh?” was all he said, but his
smile was sympathetic.

“Bjørn, where's Arnë?” asked Hilde.

“Now
there's
a story,” said Bjørn, scratching his head.
“You haven't heard? He's gone off south, and it's your
doing, Hilde, you and your father between you. He's
been kicking himself ever since you told him how Ralf
sailed off on that blessed longship. He kept on and on
about how he wished he'd gone too, if only he'd thought
of it in time.

“So I said, ‘If it means that much to you, go after
them!'

“‘How can I,' says he, ‘they're a hundred miles away
by now.'

“‘Not necessarily,' says I, ‘they've got stuff to trade,
they'll be stopping along the coast. Go and follow them,
and ten to one you'll catch them up.' He was doing no
good to me, fretting about it all day long.

“‘Do you really think so?' says he. So I said, ‘Well if
you don't catch up with that ship, you can always join
another one. It's the sailing season.' And he went!”

“Goodness!” said Hilde. “How did he go? On foot?”

Bjørn laughed scornfully. “Arnë walk when he could
sail? He took his boat of course. There's no faster way
down the coast. And that was, oh, three or four weeks
ago. He'll be back before winter. He knows how to look
after himself.”

He picked up a knife and wiped it on his sleeve. “You
wanting some fish for your grandpa? I know he dearly
likes a bit of fish.”

“Yes, please, Bjørn. And will you lend us a hand with
the hay? Mother said to ask.”

Bjørn looked thoughtful. “Now Arnë's gone I'm a bit
short-handed. When?”

“In about three to four weeks?” Hilde suggested. “We
really do need help, Bjørn. We haven't even sheared the
sheep yet. They're up on the Stonemeadow and Mother
won't let me go there in case of trouble with the
Grimsson twins. Have you heard?”

Peer wriggled uncomfortably. He was afraid that
Uncle Grim had already stolen some of Hilde's sheep.

“You should bring it up at the Thing,” said Bjørn.

“The what?” asked Peer.

“The village meeting, where we agree laws and settle
quarrels,” Bjørn explained.

“Umm,” said Hilde doubtfully. “Eirik would have to
do it, you see, since they don't let women speak!” She
scowled, and Bjørn laughed and pretended to cower. “I
think Ma would prefer to wait till Pa gets back.”

“Well, I'll help you with the hay,” Bjørn decided. He
picked up a couple of fish. “How many?”

“Lots, please,” said Hilde cheerfully. “We want plenty
for drying and smoking. And Peer, this is a holiday for
you and me. Let's light a fire on the beach and cook
some now. Bjørn might tell us a story!”

Hilde was a good organiser. She sent Sigrid and
Sigurd combing the beach for driftwood. They came
back with handfuls of bleached twigs and tangled
branches. When there was a good heap, Bjørn obligingly
struck sparks for them from his iron knife and a big
pebble. A piece of dry seaweed caught light, and the fire
was soon blazing. They all sat on the stones, speared a fish
on a sharp stick and held it near the flames. The smell
was delicious. The fish were difficult to eat, and they all
burned their fingers, but it was worth it. Peer carefully
boned a fish for Loki, who gobbled his fill of the rich
white meat and crisp flame-blackened skins, and lay
contentedly afterwards licking his paws.

“Tell us a story, Bjørn,” begged Sigrid, and Hilde said,
“Yes, Bjørn, go on!”

Bjørn lay on his back with his arms behind his head,
soaking up the sunshine. “What sort of story?” he asked
drowsily.

“Tell us about the merrows,” said Sigurd.

So Bjørn told them about the merrows, or merfolk.
He told a funny story about a fisherman who made
friends with a merrow and went to visit his house under
the sea. While he was there he saw a lot of upturned
pots. “What's under those?” he asked. “Oh, the spirits of
drowned sailors,” said the merrow. “I keep them there so
they can't get away.” The fisherman went away, but he
couldn't stop thinking about the poor sailors' spirits
trapped under the pots. He waited till he knew the
merrow was out, swam down and turned over every pot.
The spirits of the sailors went bubbling up through the
water and escaped, but after that the merrow was never
friends with the fisherman any more.

“That's a great story!” said Hilde, when he had
finished. “Tell us another!”

“A scary one!” demanded Sigurd.

Bjørn grinned. And this time he told them about the
Draug, the ghostly fisherman who sails the seas in half a
boat and can be heard wailing in the storm winds when
someone is about to drown.

“Have
you
ever heard him?” breathed Sigrid. Bjørn
looked at them sideways and shook his head, meaning
that he would not say.

Hilde shivered. “I'm cold,” she said, wrapping her
arms round her legs. A cloud came over the sun and the
warmth drained out of the world. “I wish you hadn't told
that last story,” she said to Bjørn, half-laughing. “I shall
think about it now and worry. I wish…” But she didn't
finish the thought. “We'd better go. We'll see you in a
few weeks, then! Thanks for the stories, Bjørn.”

Bjørn grinned. He tousled the little ones' heads,
patted Hilde on the shoulder and slapped Peer on the
back. “Good luck, friend!” he said.

“Thanks, I'm going to need it,” said Peer ruefully. He
didn't like to think what Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim
would do to him when he got back.

Hilde kept uncharacteristically quiet as they trudged
back to the village, carrying the fish between them in a
sack. “What's the matter?” Peer asked at last.

“Oh, nothing.” Hilde hesitated. “To tell you the
truth,” she admitted, “I know it's silly, but as soon as I
heard Bjørn's last story I started thinking about Pa. I'm
not worried! I'm just—”

“Worried!” Peer finished. “But don't be, Hilde, I'm
sure he's all right.”

“I know,” Hilde agreed, still rather glumly. “But
nothing's really gone right since he left. And the trolls –
well, besides what you've told me, they're such a
nuisance! They're round the house every night, stealing
things and spoiling things.”

“A pity your father didn't know that before he left,”
offered Peer.

“He did know,” said Hilde gloomily. “I mean, it's got
worse, but he did know.”

“Ah,” said Peer. There was an embarrassed pause, and
Hilde imagined him thinking,
He knew, and he left all the
same? What kind of a father is that?
She blushed miserably.
Peer gave her a sideways look, and suddenly squeezed
her hand.

“You're just missing him,” he muttered gruffly. “I
know how it feels.”

Hilde sniffed and smeared a hand across her eyes.
“Goodness!” she said loudly. “Where are those horrid
little twins?” She looked back. Loki was with them,
playing tug-of-war with a slippery piece of seaweed. He
growled ferociously, rolling his eyes, backing away from
the children with paws braced and tail wagging. The
seaweed slithered through their palms and Loki bounded
triumphantly up the path, shaking it fiercely while they
chased him.

“They're having fun!” said Hilde.

“And at least Loki and I got something to eat today,”
said Peer. “I don't suppose we'll get much supper
tonight. Not that we ever do.”

Hilde looked him in the eye. “Will you get into
terrible trouble, Peer?”

“I don't know!” said Peer wearily. “I've never done
this before.”

Hilde bit her lip. “You don't have to tell me this, but
do they beat you?”

Peer flushed. “They sometimes hit me,” he said with
difficulty. “It's more that – they really don't care about
me, whether I'm hungry or happy or anything.”

“I wish you could live with us instead,” muttered
Hilde, staring at the ground. Peer glanced at her, then
awkwardly patted her shoulder.

“Thanks,” he said sadly, “but it wouldn't work, they'd
only come and get me.”

They marched on silently. The sun had gone in and
all the fun seemed to be over. In the village Hilde
caught the pony and loaded him up with the sack of
herrings. “Here's my next job, splitting all these for
smoking,” she said gloomily. “Come on, you little ones,
the picnic's over, time to go home.”

They plodded on up the track towards the mill, deep
in their own thoughts. After a while Peer asked, “Has
there been any trouble about the land yet?”

Hilde shook her head. “They haven't come banging
on our door, if that's what you mean. Yet. But Bjørn's
right, it really ought to be discussed at the Thing, and if
Pa doesn't come home in time to tell our side of the
story, then I suppose we might lose it.”

“Why do they want it so much?” Peer wondered.
“They already know where to find the trolls.”

“It's such an old argument,” Hilde sighed. “I mean,
their father started it. To be fair, maybe they really do
believe that's their land up there.”

“Oh, don't try to be fair,” Peer joked bitterly. “Of
course they don't think it's theirs! They want it because
it's yours! Anything to make a profit. Look how they sold
up my father's things! They'd dive into a dungheap to
rescue a penny.”

“There's trouble brewing,” said Hilde darkly. “I can
feel it in my bones. Trouble brewing all around. My
mother is going to be so worried when she hears! Peer,
what can we do? We can't let them sell you to the trolls.”

“Then keep away from the mill,” Peer begged. “I'm no
good to them by myself. But it's a long time before
midwinter. Are there any other girls living nearby?”

“I'm the only one about your age,” said Hilde. “Do you
think they want a – a matched pair, like a team of horses?”

“I suppose they do,” said Peer thoughtfully. “Well, I
shall be very careful. When the time comes, maybe I can
hide for a few days – till after midwinter.”

“Hide with us,” Hilde offered immediately. “Ma
won't mind.”

“No. They'd think of that and come after me.”

“Yes, but Pa will be home by then!” said Hilde in
great excitement. “Of course!
He
won't let them take
you anywhere. He'll be home! You'll be perfectly safe
with us!”

Peer lifted his head and stared into her flushed,
glowing face. “Really? Would your father really do that
for me?” he asked shyly.

“I know he would!” Hilde assured him. “Loki too.
Don't worry any more, Peer.”

Peer took a deep breath of relief. He felt suddenly
lighter and stronger. He could hardly believe that the
problem had been solved so easily. Hilde beamed at him,
and they talked cheerfully about it as they went up the
path. But by now the little ones were straggling behind.

“I'm tired,” Sigrid complained. “My feet hurt.”

“We want to ride,” said Sigurd, kicking the ground.

“Not on top of a sack of herrings,” said Hilde.

Peer still felt strong and capable. “I'll give you a ride!”
he said, bending down, and Sigrid gleefully scrambled on
to his back.

“Me too!” yelled Sigurd.

“In a minute! Take turns!” puffed Peer. The little girl
was heavier than he had expected, but he gamely carried
on and gave Sigurd and Sigrid rides nearly as far as the
mill, while Hilde led the pony and Loki trotted along
beside him.

He was carrying Sigrid when they came in sight of
the mill. There was a loaded cart standing in the yard.
“Oh,
no
!” Peer groaned. Work for the mill, and he'd gone
missing! Uncle Baldur would be furious. And there was
a figure, guarding the entrance to the yard like a dark
stone tower, glaring down the road.

“Which one is it?” whispered Hilde. Peer gulped.

“It's Uncle Baldur – I think.”

“You! You ungrateful boy!” yelled Uncle Baldur as
soon as he laid eyes on Peer. His voice cracked, shooting
into a scream. “Come here AT ONCE!”

Heart thudding, mouth dry, Peer uncurled Sigrid's
warm little hands from their stranglehold round his neck
and lowered her gently to the ground.

“I'm for it,” he muttered to Hilde out of the corner
of his mouth. “Better get out while you can.”

“Come
here
!” screamed Uncle Baldur again. His face
was purple with rage. “Just where do you think you have
been, you lazy, idle, no-good little runt!”

Sigurd and Sigrid were staring in horror. “Who is that
nasty man?” asked Sigrid in her high, sweet little voice.

“The miller,” said Hilde crisply.

“My uncle,” said Peer distractedly. “Go
home
, Hilde –
get going!”

He went warily forwards. Behind him Sigrid was
asking piercingly, “Why is the nasty man angry with
Peer?”

“You expect me to keep you – you and your useless
dog!” Uncle Baldur shrieked. “Corn arriving and work
to do – and you run off to play. Just
wait
till I get my
hands on you!” Peer was in range. Uncle Baldur lunged,
and Peer instinctively dodged. This was a bad move. It
made Uncle Baldur even madder. He grabbed again, got
Peer by the left wrist and twisted his arm up behind his
back. Peer yelled.

“You're a wastrel,” Uncle Baldur shook him to and
fro, “just like your no-good father! How dare you run
off without my permission? Leaving your work!”

“My father was a far better man than you!” Peer
gasped furiously through tears of pain. Uncle Baldur
nearly jerked his arm off. Through the drumming blood
in his ears Peer heard Loki barking his head off, Hilde
shouting, “Let go of him!” and above it all little Sigrid
screaming, “I don't like that nasty man! I hate him!”

“Hilde!” he yelled breathlessly, struggling to see
through a red flood of shame. Uncle Baldur had him
doubled over now. Blows thudded on him.
Hilde is
watching all this!
“Hilde, for goodness' sake,
get those kids
away from here
!”

“I'll give you such a thrashing!” Uncle Baldur
screeched, so close that Peer gagged on his hot foul
breath. “I'll dust your jacket for you – I'll feed your dog
to Grendel – it'll save me his keep.”

The noise attracted Uncle Grim, who came out to
see what was happening. He stood watching for a
moment and then said, “Let 'im go, Baldur! Let 'im go!”

Surprised, Uncle Baldur stopped shouting at Peer and
looked at his brother. Grim merely jerked his head towards
Hilde, who was hurriedly lifting the shrieking twins on to
the pony, sack of herring and all. Then he turned round
and walked away.

“Ha,” said Uncle Baldur, heaving a deep breath. He let
Peer go. Peer fell to the ground. Baldur's little piggy eyes
twinkled, black and calculating. He scratched his beard.

“On the other hand,” he said, puffing hoarsely, “a boy
has to have friends of his own age.” He forced an
indulgent chuckle. “So you played truant, eh? I like a lad
of spirit, just how I was meself.

“Don't you be scared, my dear,” he cooed to Hilde,
who was dragging the pony towards the bridge. He
followed along behind her. “This nephew of mine is
really the apple of my eye. He is! I used to play truant
myself, once, and my dear old dad used to beat me for it.
‘A boy should be beaten three times a day,' he used to say.
And can you guess why?”

“No,” Hilde said briefly, trying to calm the twins and
stop the sack from slipping.

“Once for what you
know
he's done, once for what
he's
going
to do, and once for what he's done that you
ain't found out about yet!” said Uncle Baldur, holding
up three thick fingers. He spluttered with laughter.
“That covers everything! Oh, he was a rare wit, my
old dad.”

“Very funny,” said Hilde. “Goodbye!” she said quickly
to Peer.

“Boys will be boys,” went on Uncle Baldur, following
her round the end of the building. “Don't go yet! How
about a bite to eat or a drink of buttermilk?” Sigurd and
Sigrid looked wildly round at him and screamed. He
stopped and watched as Hilde urged the pony across the
bridge and uphill towards the wood.

“Come again to play with the boy!” he called after
her. “Bring the kiddies. Don't be shy!” Sigrid and Sigurd
were still sobbing. Long after they had gone out of sight
between the trees, Uncle Baldur stood staring after
them. At last he turned on his heel and strode back into
the yard. Peer stood up shakily against the wall, waiting
for him. Uncle Baldur came up to him and, crouching
down, put his hairy face near to Peer's.

“I'm a fair man, you see,” he said, showing his rotten
teeth in a yellow smile. “You deserve a bit of fun. Bring
your friends here any time you like. Make sure you tell
them so. Any time! Show them how the mill works.
They'll like that!”

“Yes, Uncle,” said Peer woodenly, determined to do
no such thing. His uncle stared at him for a moment
longer, opened his mouth again as if to say something
more, and changed his mind. He swung away, aiming a
kick at Loki, who jumped deftly out of the way.

Harvest time came. For a brief week or so everyone was
out in the small fields, swinging scythes and sickles,
building haystacks, binding the barley into sheaves,
threshing and winnowing. But to Uncle Baldur's rage
and disappointment, the mill was no busier. Most people
kept their barley in sacks at home, grinding only as much
as they needed from day to day.

Uncle Grim borrowed Peer from his brother, and set
him to do most of the harvesting. While Uncle Grim lay
on his back under the shade of a hawthorn tree,
snoozing, Peer toiled in the sun. He wiped his sweaty
face on his arm, longing to jump into the stream which
babbled temptingly at the bottom of the field. But he
noticed his uncle sneakily watching him with one eye
open, and bent wearily to his work.

As he lay in the straw that night, wrapped in the worn
old cloak Hilde had given him, Peer planned for the
future. The hard work was bearable, because now he had
something to look forward to. At midwinter, perhaps
before if Ralf Eiriksson came home sooner, he and Loki
would escape up the valley – away from his uncles, away
from Granny Greenteeth, away from Grendel.