West of the Moon (25 page)

G
UDRUN AND
A
LF
ran. Beyond the farm, the ground lifted in a series of shallow rises, with the fells closing in on either side. In the cool evening air, raucous bleating and frenzied barking echoed off the slopes. Gudrun had no doubt as to what was going on.

“Hilde! Peer! I'm coming!” she cried again, wondering why she couldn't hear them shouting. She scrambled up the last rise, and saw why.

Hilde and Peer were nowhere to be seen. There were no trolls, either. Just twenty yards away, a monstrous figure was stalking the sheep. A mane of hair grew over his shoulders, and a heavy club swung in his right hand. Suddenly he broke into a deep-throated shout: “Ho! Ho!” Loki skirmished furiously at his heels.

Gudrun felt as if the ground had split open in front of her. “That's one of the millers! That's Grim Grimsson!”

Grim advanced upon the sheep, thwacking his club into the palm of his hand. Trapped against the slope, the frightened ewes and their lambs bunched together. They milled restlessly – then scattered, dashing for freedom. Some sprang up the hillside. One galloped straight past Grim's legs, her lamb following close. Grim lunged. He sank a massive hairy hand into the tangled wool of her back. He hoisted her up, struggling and kicking. His arm rose and fell.

Gudrun heard the dull knock of his club. She ran a few paces, shouting, “Grim Grimsson! Leave our sheep alone, you thieving rascal!”

The big man turned, hitching the dead sheep under his arm, and Gudrun saw the curling tusks, winking from his mouth like white knives. She'd made a mistake. This was no longer merely their bad-tempered neighbour from the mill. This was a troll creature from under the fell!

Grim stared at her, and she stared back, frozen. She could never outrun him. Suddenly Grim threw back his head, exposing a throat as pale as the underbelly of a slug, and howled like a wolf. It seemed the wild sound must reach to the lonely top of Troll Fell. The dogs whimpered.

Grim waited till the echoes died. Then, with the sheep tucked under his arm, he strode up the side of the valley. The orphaned lamb ran uncertainly after him.

A distant cry came from the farm. “Ma… Ma!”

The twins!

Gudrun plunged back down the slope. It was almost dark, and she couldn't see where she was going: she tripped over tufts of grass, skidded on stones. Loki shot ahead; Alf panted at her heels. It was like a nightmare: the valley swung from side to side as she ran; the stars jolted in the sky. The farmyard was silent and still.

“Twins!” Gudrun shrieked. “Sigrid! Sigurd!”

No answer. No one called from the house, no one ran out to meet her. The farmhouse door stood half open. Even before she shoved it wide and stumbled into the warm, homely gloom, Gudrun knew that the twins were gone.

Every muscle melted with terror. She staggered over to the cradle and looked in. It was empty. They had all gone, all been taken! She sank beside the cradle, dizzy and sick.

Time passed. The dogs were poking cold noses into her face. Then Loki sprang away. He was barking again, excited, welcoming barks. The door scraped. Feet clattered on the floor. There were voices: “Ma!” – “Gudrun!” – “Ma, are you all right?”

Hands grasped her, dragged her to her feet. “Lean on me, Gudrun.” A man's voice – no, it was Peer's, deep with concern. He supported her to a bench. Their faces swam into focus, Peer and Hilde, staring at her with frightened eyes. She tried speak, but her breath wouldn't come right. She managed a shuddering wail. “The – the
children!
”

“Listen.” Hilde held her mother's cold hands. “Ma, listen, this is important. The Grimsson brothers are back. Baldur Grimsson is down at the mill. Have you seen Grim? Has he got the children?”

Gudrun shook her head. “No. S-seen him, yes. But he took – a sheep. H-heard the twins shouting. When I came back – they were gone!”

“Not the Grimssons.” Hilde was pale. “In that case – Granny Greenteeth?”

“How could she take all four of them?” Peer asked in a low voice.

“I don't know. If only we'd been here! If only we knew what happened!” She buried her face in her hands. “Peer – what shall we do?”

Hilde needed him. Peer's blood ran warmer and quicker. He tried to be strong, to think. The haze of shock, from seeing the trolls and Uncle Baldur in control of the mill, cleared a little. He said slowly, “Perhaps the Nis saw what happened.”

“The Nis!”

“If it's really in the cowshed…”

“Oh, quick!” Hilde jumped up. “Go on, Peer, it only speaks to you. Go! Find it!”

She pushed him out. He hurried across the yard. The cowshed, with its thick walls and turf roof, was very dark indeed.

“Nis!” he called urgently. “Nis, we need you!”

Silence, but Peer felt it was a listening silence. “We need you,” he repeated. “The twins have gone, and both the babies. It's desperate. Gudrun's beside herself. Did you see what happened? Please help us!”

There was a rustle of straw. A small dark figure crept out of one of the stalls. It drew an unsteady breath. “This is all my fault,” it said brokenly.

“Of course it isn't.” Peer tried to curb his impatience. “Nis, just tell me if you saw anything or not.”

But the Nis was off. “Aieeee!” it wailed. “What is a Nis for? To protect the house. Now the children is lost! Gone, and it is all my fault. Here I was, Peer Ulfsson, curled up in my cold, dark corner, because the mistress doesn't want me any more. I hears screaming, Peer Ulfsson, and I looks out, and there is the thieves, running, running. And I thinks,
Good, the seal baby has gone!
But then I looks again, and I sees little Eirik, they has taken little Eirik as well, and it is
all my fault!
”

Peer tried to interrupt, but the Nis gabbled on. “And the twins, I sees the twins chasing after, and I tries to follow, Peer Ulfsson! I tries, but I loses them in the woods – the woods is so dark. And then the mistress comes home, and she is screaming too. How can I face her? She will be so angry with the poor Nis! I will – have to – go – awa-a-ay!” It buried its head in its arms and howled.

“NIS!” said Peer. “For goodness' sake tell me – WHO TOOK THE BABIES?”

The Nis looked up, gulping. “You doesn't know? It was the lubbers, of course.”

“The lubbers!” Peer breathed. “Nis,
did
you tell Granny Greenteeth about Ran?”

“Lubbers did,” it sniffed. “The Nis never talks to Granny Greenteeth, though nobody believes me.”

“Then why did I see you at the millpond that night?”

“I tells the mistress,” hiccupped the Nis, “not to feed the seal baby. And she gets angry, and she throws me out. And then, then I sees the lubbers sneaking around the farm, peeking and prowling. And I follows them to see what they are up to, protecting the house, like I should. And nobody believes me, they all think poor Nithing is bad, is wicked. And I thinks, why shouldn't Granny Greenteeth have the seal baby? They are both wet, both watery. Why not?”

“So now the lubbers have taken Eirik, too,” Peer finished. The Nis bowed its head, and its thin shoulders heaved.

There was no point in scolding it, and no time to lose. “Nis,” he said solemnly, “We need your cleverness more than ever, now. The lubbers have taken the babies for Granny Greenteeth. You have to help us save them.”

The Nis looked up with drenched eyes. “Both babies?”

“
Both
of them!” said Peer sternly.

The Nis sat up and mopped its wet cheeks with the end of its beard. It waved a finger in the air. “What does the lubbers want most, Peer Ulfsson?” it enquired.

“What? Oh!
Blankets?
”

“Yes! We needs blankets to bargain with,” squeaked the Nis.

“We'll get them. Come on, back to the house. Hurry! The lubbers could be throwing Eirik and Ran into the millpond, any minute.”

“They won't do that, Peer Ulfsson,” the Nis chirped.

“Why not?”

“For two things. Lubbers is stupid,” it explained, “but not so stupid as to trust Granny Greenteeth. A fine, green blanket, she promises! They'll want to see it, first.”

“I wondered about that,” said Peer grimly. “I expect she meant the pondweed, did she? What's the other reason?”

“Lubbers is cowards,” pointed out the Nis. “Afraid of the trolls, afraid of the Grimssons. Is the mill working? Then they'll keep away, slink about in the woods till the trolls go home.”

“Good thinking. Come on, we'll go and tell the others.” Peer strode out into the moonlight, and collided with Gudrun and Hilde, huddled together against the cowshed door, listening. The Nis scampered across the yard and shot happily into the warm house.

“We heard it all,” said Hilde.

“I'll get the blankets now,” said Gudrun in a trembling voice, “Oh, if the Nis can find the children for us, I'll never know how to thank it. What shall I say to Ralf? How can I face Bjørn if we lose his little girl?”

“We'll find them,” Peer swore. “Let's go. We'd better head straight for the mill pond, but be careful!”

“Careful?” Hilde laughed bitterly. “Trolls, lubbers, the Grimsson brothers, Granny Greenteeth – and you want us to be careful? Well, we can try.”

The lubbers had gone crashing downhill through the wood, but once they were sure that the twins were no longer following, they swung north, crossing the stream a good way above the mill, and striking up into the woods opposite Troll Fll. They had a lair up there, an old badger sett under a bank, half buried in leaves.

They careered up through the moonlit wood, Eirik still roaring, and pushed the babies into the drifted leaves. Ran lay quietly, her fingers curling and uncurling. The moon shone in her eyes.

Bright tear tracks gleamed like snail trails down Eirik's fat cheeks. But the change from movement to stillness took him by surprise. He stopped crying, and kicked experimentally. The leaves rustled. It was a nice noise. He kicked again.

“Peace at last,” said one of the lubbers, with immense relief. “Why couldn't you have stopped him before? Mine was quiet enough.”

“You try it!” snarled the other.

“You just ain't got a way with babies,” said the first.

“If Granny Greenteeth don't want him, I'll soon show you my way with babies!” returned the other. “Listen. Has the mill stopped? I can't hear it clacking.”

They cocked their heads, large black silhouettes against the moonrise. The night was silent, except for the sound of the stream in the valley bottom.

“The trolls have gone,” exclaimed the second lubber in satisfaction. “Now we can pop down and deliver madam's order. A baby? Two babies! Take your choice.”

“Wait a minute.” The first lubber placed a clammy hand on its companion's shoulder. “I'll carry the big one, this time. You'd only set him off again.” It crawled through the leaves to where Eirik was lying, and hung its big head over him.

Eirik's shock and anger at being woken and taken out of his warm cradle had worn off. He was becoming interested in his new surroundings. Ran was nearby, and that felt right. There was a bright, shining light in the sky. The dry leaves were crinkly and they smelt nice. He scrunched them in handfuls, and nobody told him not to.

Now a face was looking down at him, a new face, a funny one. It had tiny little eyes, and a wide slitty mouth, and a big ear like a cabbage leaf that blew out to one side. Eirik was used to funny faces. Sigurd pulled them to make him laugh.

“Man!” he said clearly, trying to snatch at the lubber's bulbous nose.

The lubber froze. “Did you hear that?”

“Man!” gurgled Eirik.

“He called me a man.” The lubber drew back and stared. “Me, a man! Fancy! Fancy that!”

“Well you're not a man,” the second lubber remarked sourly. “You're a lubber, same as me.”

The first lubber flexed its arms and puffed out a ribby chest. “Rather a fine figure, I do believe!” It leaned back over Eirik and prodded him. “Say that again!”

“Man,” Eirik obliged.

The lubber gazed at him, and a dark mottled flush spread slowly over its face. It whirled, crouching in the leaves, and faced its friend.

“I wants this one!” it panted. “We'll keep him. Old Granny'll never know. She asked for a baby, and a baby she'll get.”

The other lubber licked its lips. “Good enough,” it grinned. “We'll keep the one with the most eating on it, eh?”

“No, you fool!” the first lubber spat. “We'll just… keep him! He'll – he'll be ours, see? He'll grow up, and he'll teach us things.”

“What things?” the other asked blankly.

“Teach us to be… human,” mumbled the first lubber. “I've always wanted to be human. See, then we'd have nice beds, and houses – and all that.”

There was a pause.

“I never heard such drivel!” said the second lubber with conviction. “Come on, pick him up. Let's go.”

“I won't!” The first lubber began to snivel. “Nobody ever –
ever
– called me a man before…”

The second lubber grabbed at Eirik. The first one lunged. Next they were rolling down hill in a tangled ball, trying to strangle each other. They ended up in a bramble bush, the second lubber sitting astride the first lubber's chest and banging its head rhythmically backwards into the soil.

“Listen to me, stupid!” it snarled. “We take both babies to Granny Greenteeth, or we take her one and eat the other. I don't care. But we are not – keeping – either of them, get it! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THEY TAKE TO GROW UP?”

“No…” gasped the first lubber.

“YEARS! THAT'S HOW LONG! YEARS!”

There was another pause.

“I didn't know that,” said the first lubber sulkily at last. It dabbed an oozing nose. “All right, lemme go. We'll do it your way.”