Troll Mill (20 page)

“Where is he?” Sigrid choked. “What if he’s in one of those sacks?”

It was an unbearable thought. “We’ll follow!” Sigurd caught his sister’s arm. “Come on! We won’t lose them again!”

The odd procession gamboled past, and the twins fell in at the back. The trolls never looked around, but jogged on with their burdens. Sigrid and Sigurd struggled after them through the last of the birch forest, following the course of a tiny stream that tinkled down off the fell. They clambered beside steep little waterfalls, splashed ankle-deep through
boggy pockets of marsh. Suddenly they were out on the bare hillside. Troll Fell reared up ahead, featureless against the sky. A bright, thumbnail moon was edging over the crest.

From far up the hill came the long warbling cries of the trolls.

With bursting lungs, Sigurd and Sigrid ran, trotted, and ran again, falling farther and farther behind. Their knees ached, and their legs wobbled.

“Come on, Siggy,” gasped Sigurd.

“I’m—trying,” panted Sigrid. “But I’ve—got a—stitch.”

Sigurd dashed the hair out of his eyes. The column of trolls had vanished. But there was a scurrying dark blot on the slope not far ahead: one lone, lame straggler. His spirits rose.

“Come on, Siggy, we can keep up with that one!”

They puffed on. Soon Sigurd exclaimed, “I see where we are now! There’s that scar, the crag where we bumped into the trolls before. And this is the stream that comes out from it.”

The twins dodged up the slope, taking
cover in the black moonshadow at the foot of each gray rock. Soon they could see and hear more clearly. Confronted by the low, rugged cliff, the troll seemed to be in difficulties. It was a smallish creature, with fur like a kitten’s and a long stripy tail. The pale moonlight showed two little knobby horns on top of its head. Its ears were folded flat, and it was hissing and spitting to itself as it worked to get its heavy sack up the rocks. First, it tried pulling, but could only haul the sack halfway. Then it clambered awkwardly down—“Poor thing, it’s limping,” breathed Sigrid—and tried pushing the sack from below, head and shoulders almost buried. This was better. It got the weight balanced on a ledge, and scrambled up—just as the whole thing tumbled off.

Sigurd whispered, “It makes you want to go and help!”

With a sizzling noise like water drops scalding in a hot frying pan, the troll jumped down again. Furiously it grabbed the sack and wrestled it up the cliff, clinging somehow to invisible cracks and crannies. It reached the top, and its whisking tail disappeared over the edge.

“Quick! We mustn’t lose it.”

The twins threw themselves at the cliff. There were plenty of ledges and footholds; even in the shadow it was easy to climb. With grazed knees and knuckles, they pulled themselves up.

The top of the scar was split, as though a giant ax had chopped through the rocks in a crisscross pattern. In the moonlight, the clefts were very black. Small thorn trees grew out of them, their dry roots clinging to the stones.

The troll had vanished, but the twins could still hear muffled noises. They hunted about between the rocks. One of the clefts was particularly deep. They knelt side by side on the edge, peering in, and sounds of bumping, squeaking, and snarling floated up to them.

“It went down there,” said Sigurd.

They looked at each other, ghostly pale in the moonlight. Sigurd squared his shoulders. “Go home, Siggy. Tell Ma and Peer what’s happened. I’ll go on.”

“No!” said Sigrid. “I’m coming.”

“But you’re frightened of trolls.”

“No, I’m not. I was before we started
chasing them, but now, I don’t know why, I’ve stopped.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “I’m not afraid of them anymore. I just want to find Eirik.”

Sigurd looked undecided. “I don’t know, Siggy. I think you should go back.”

“Well, I won’t!” hissed Sigrid. “You can’t make me! And we’re wasting time!”

Sigurd shrugged. “All right then. Follow me.”

And he swung his legs into the hole.

UNDER TROLL FELL

E
LBOWS BRACED OVER
the edges, Sigurd kicked for a foothold, lowering himself into the narrow crevice. “It goes down a long way!”

“Don’t get stuck,” whispered Sigrid to the top of his head as he sank into black shadow.

“There’s loads of room. Ouch!” he added. Sigrid waited. She heard gasps and grunts. “Your turn,” he called softly. “I’m down.”

With Sigurd guiding her feet, Sigrid joined him at the bottom of the crevice. It was completely dark, except for the narrow streak of sky overhead, fringed with moss and ferns.

“This way!” Sigurd pulled her hand. “It keeps going, see? There’s a passage leading into the hill.” He twisted around and squeezed himself into a gap at the end of the
crevice. With a shiver, Sigrid followed.

It was cold, and the darkness felt like black hands pressing their eyes shut. The passage was not wide enough for them to face forward. They had to slide along like crabs, with their chins on their shoulders, bruising knees and elbows on projecting ribs of rock. Tripping and gasping, Sigrid didn’t realize at first that the troll was only just ahead of them. It was making such an angry fuss, twittering and swearing as it yanked the sack along the narrow way, that it hadn’t noticed the twins.

Suddenly a wider space opened out on each side. They could hear the troll puffing and muttering, and a thump as it dropped the sack. Then came a clear, fluting whistle that echoed off the walls.

Sigurd and Sigrid waited, breathless. After a few moments the troll whistled again, shrill and impatient.

There was a dusty glimmer. Sight was restored, along with size and space. The twins saw the passage walls, streaked with water, and, only a few yards away, the small hunched back of the troll, sitting on the sack
with its tail twitching. The light grew brighter and stronger. A globe of swirling bluish fire sped around a distant bend in the tunnel, whirled up to the troll, and hung, dancing up and down in the air.

The troll jumped up. “To the kitchens!” it squeaked, heaving the sack onto its shoulders. The light began floating down the tunnel, and the little troll hobbled after it fairly briskly, but still muttering and complaining. Its claws scritched on the stones as it trotted away.

Sigrid started forward, but Sigurd caught her arm.

“Let it go, Siggy. We don’t want the kitchens.”

“But we can’t find our way in the dark!”

“I know. I’ve got an idea.” The light dwindled as the troll turned the corner. Huge shadows squeezed back down the tunnel. Sigurd fumbled in his pocket and produced Peer’s little elderwood pipe. “Let’s whistle for our own light,” he said.

“Can
we?” asked Sigrid.

“We’ll see!” Night swept over them again as Sigurd blew. Two pure little notes warbled
out, mimicking the sound the troll had made. Blinking uselessly in the darkness, Sigurd waited a moment and tried again.

“It’s working!” Sigrid cried, seeing a cold glow far down the passage. They turned dirty faces to each other in triumph. Another of the blue lights came dashing up like a dog answering the whistle and drifted around their heads, crackling faintly. Fine strands of Sigrid’s hair floated up toward it, and their scalps prickled.

What to ask?
“Take us to Eirik!” Sigurd demanded. The ball of light dimmed, flickering. It sank down, pulsing nervously.

“Don’t be silly!” Sigrid said. “You can’t ask that. It doesn’t know who Eirik is. You’re confusing it.” She turned to the ball of light. “Eirik’s a baby,” she explained. “We want to find him. Can you take us? Where’s the baby?”

The ball of light perked up. Brightening, it zoomed off, and the twins hurried hopefully after. Their feet clattered on the uneven stone floor, which rose and fell, and sometimes narrowed to a deep V with water at the bottom, so that they had to scuffle along with
a foot braced on each side. Damp, cold air breathed from cracks and splits in the tunnel wall, some taller than a man, some so low you would have to crawl through them on hands and knees. Through one opening they heard a sort of pounding rumble and smelled spray: Somewhere out of sight, an underground waterfall poured invisibly from darkness into darkness. Through another they heard gabbling voices, distant and unintelligible, but it gave them a fright. Sigurd glanced at their guiding light. “I hope it’s taking us by the back ways,” he muttered. “Hey, you up there! We don’t want to meet anyone.”

The light seemed to wink in reply and spiraled into a black hole in the ceiling, as though sucked upward.

“How do we get up there?” Sigrid wailed.

Her brother pointed. A dead pine tree had been propped against the wall. Its roughly trimmed branches formed a crude ladder leading up through the hole. Sigurd shook it dubiously. “I’ll hold it for you,” he suggested, “and then you hold it at the top for me.”

Sigrid clambered up slowly. The tree shifted under her weight, and the sharp
spokes of the branches caught and ripped her skirt. Pine needles showered from the prickly trunk. At the top she turned and tried to hold it steady as Sigurd climbed up out of what now looked like a dark well. They sat around the edge of the hole, sucking their sore fingers.

“I’m
so
tired,” Sigrid moaned. “How long have we been in here?”

“Seems like hours. It must be daybreak, outside. And Ma will be frantic.”

There was nothing good to say to that.

“I’m thirsty.” Sigrid licked her lips.

“So am I. But, Sigrid,” warned her brother, “you know we mustn’t eat or drink any troll food.”

“Or we’ll turn into trolls. I know. That’s what happened—” Sigrid’s face went suddenly white. “—to the Grimsson brothers. Oh, they’re down here too! What if we meet them?”

“Let’s hope we don’t.” Sigurd wiped his face. “I wish we had Peer’s masks, as well as his whistle. Then we might look like trolls ourselves.”

“I wish Peer was with us,” said Sigrid.

“So do I. But wishing’s no good. Let’s find Eirik!”

They got up, looking around at the new tunnel. It was smaller and warmer, and the walls were smoothly cut.

As though sensing their tiredness, the ball of light bobbed along quietly. Sigurd and Sigrid followed, holding hands.

After a while, a slight puff of air and a muffled noise gusted down the passageway toward them—the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing. The blue light dimmed sharply and dodged behind the twins. Down the tunnel, a faint rectangular glow appeared, and then they heard footsteps, approaching briskly.

Sigurd whirled. “Hide!”

“Where?” There was nowhere, not a crack or a cranny in the smooth stone. “Keep walking!” Sigrid ordered urgently. “With this light, they’ll expect us to be trolls. Pull up your hood and keep your head down!” She beckoned the light with a fierce gesture, and obediently it spun past them and went drifting down the corridor. Hearts pounding, the twins followed, keeping close to the wall.

Stealing a look under the edge of her hood, Sigrid could see a new light approaching, a greenish one this time. A bulky figure trotted along behind it, wearing hard shoes that clicked on the floor. It was puffing and snorting, and carrying something that looked like an enormous stack of folded linen. As it got closer, they heard it complaining to itself in a thick, muffled voice: “‘Fetch this, nursie! Fetch that, nursie!’ Ooh, my poor feet. Now, let’s see. Green nettle coverlets, half a dozen. Sheepskins, a score. The best silk spiderweb sheets for my lady’s bedchamber, or she’ll make trouble. Nothing but work, work, work! And never a chance for poor nursie to sit down and drink a drop of beer with her old friend the bog-wife….”

The green light and the twins’ blue light met in the tunnel roof and whirled playfully around each other like a couple of friendly puppies. The twins shrank against the wall as the strange figure came hurrying past them: a large troll with a piggish face, pressing its chin into the teetering pile of linen. A white cap perched on its head, with little peaks like curly horns. Without so much as glancing at
them, it tapped by on horny, cloven hooves—not shoes at all—muttering, “Rush here, rush there—not a moment’s peace since my lady came back from the Dovrefell. And the washing bills from the water nixies—
scandalous!”

It was gone.

Letting out their breath, Sigrid and Sigurd scuttled on, while their blue light disentangled itself from the green one and sped after them.

And a moment later the blue light tumbled out of the passage into a square hall. To the right and straight ahead were the dark mouths of two more tunnels. To the left was a carved doorway, set with a stout oak door. The light floated idly toward it.

Sigrid trembled. “Is this it? Have you brought us to the baby?” The light flickered brightly, with a faint humming sound. “Yes! We’ve found him, Sigurd! Quick!”

“Sssh.
Not too fast.” Sigurd leaned his ear against the thick oak planking and listened. “Can’t hear a thing.” Lifting the latch as carefully as he could, he pushed, and the door swung silently open. They slipped inside.

It was a large chamber with an arched roof.
Although it was only dimly lit by a small brazier glowing in the center of the floor, the entire roof and walls sparkled with fine white crystals. In amazement, Sigrid put out a finger to touch the glittering crust. A bead of blood sprang up on her fingertip.