West of the Moon (28 page)

I
N THE SMALL
, cold hours before dawn, Hilde woke.

They had got back to the farmhouse to find the babies asleep, the trolls gone, and Gudrun tucking the exhausted twins into bed. She listened wide-eyed to their story. “Baldur Grimsson, drowned? What about his brother? Didn't Grim try to help?”

“We shouted for him,” said Peer. “But I think Grim's more like an animal now. He came across the bridge, but he didn't seem to understand us. He just howled, and ran off up the hill.”

“The mill's still burning,” said Hilde. “There'll be nothing left by morning.”

“Oh, Peer!” said Gudrun. “Your precious mill!”

Peer dropped wearily on to a bench. He closed his eyes.

Hilde coughed and turned to Gudrun. “What happened here? I left you gossiping with the troll princess, for all the world like a couple of neighbours chatting over a fence.”

“Well,” Gudrun said defensively, “she's not very old. I just gave her a few tips about bringing up children.”

“I knew it!
Early to bed and early to rise
– that means
late
for trolls, of course – and the importance of settling them into a good routine,” Hilde teased.

“She was quite grateful,” said Gudrun with dignity. “And the little prince spoke up and said what fun he'd had with the twins. Still, I felt that the twins didn't have as much fun as he had.”

Sigurd sat up in bed. “Fun? It was awful. And then she invited us to his naming feast.”

“Very gracious, I dare say,” said Gudrun, “but it wouldn't have been wise to accept… So I told her our contribution would be the sheep they'd taken. That made her blush!” She yawned. “And then the Nis came back, happy as a dog with two tails, and lapped up its groute.”

A spatter of rain struck the shutters and drove the smoke back down through the smoke hole. Gudrun cast an anxious eye at the rattling door.

“The weather's worsening. Oh, I do wish Ralf was here!”

Peer looked up. “Don't worry. Bjørn and Ralf and Arne know what they're doing. They won't set out unless it's safe.”

So that had been that, and they had all gone to bed and slept like the dead – although in that case, Hilde thought, the dead must dream very strange dreams…

The wind blustered outside, like some big animal trying to get in. Was that why she'd woken? Then something moved on the bed, something light that pattered quickly across her legs. One of the cats? She opened her eyes.

The Nis was so shy of being seen, Hilde had never more than glimpsed it. Now it crouched beside her, pin-prick eyes gleaming, trembling as though all its bones had come loose.

“What's the matter?” Hilde breathed, enchanted but concerned. She lifted the bedclothes, and the Nis crept under them and burrowed down into the darkness. It went right to the bottom of the bed: she could feel it somewhere near her toes, shivering as continuously as a cat purrs.

Hilde lay stiff, unwilling to look into the room.
What could possibly frighten the Nis so much?
There was something there, she could feel it.

There was a sound, too, now she was listening. An eerie wordless humming mingled with the rushing wind outside. With it came a slow creaking that Hilde recognised. Somebody was rocking the cradle.

Skin prickling, Hilde sat up and peered around the panel of her bed. Across the dark room she saw the outline of a woman, rimmed in pale flickers, bending over the cradle.
Granny Greenteeth?
Her back was to Hilde, and she crooned that mournful, unearthly lullaby.

The crooning ceased. The woman turned. Her face was dark, shrouded in tangles of long hair. A cloak trailed to the floor from her naked shoulders, and the sea water ran from her in rivulets of blue fire.

“
Kersten
?” Hilde's heart banged.

The woman nodded. “My name was Kersten.”

The air smelled of salt and seaweed, and there was a rushing sound in the room, like the tide creeping up the beach, or the sea in a shell. Hilde remembered the seal in the water, strong and happy in its own element. She knew without being told that the old Kersten was gone for ever.

Why did you leave Bjørn, Kersten? Why did you leave your baby? What happened to the girl who used to laugh and spin and cook the fish Bjørn caught, and joke with me in the summer evenings?

“Why…?” Hilde began, and couldn't finish. There was something hard in her throat.

“Everything ends as it must. And then begins again, like the waves,” the seal woman whispered. “But get up quickly, Hilde, and come with me, if you want to save your father.”

“What?”

“The black seal has tempted them out to the skerries. He will sink the boat. Come now. Wake Peer. Leave your bed.”

“The black seal! Who is he? What is he to you?”

“My husband, Hilde, my seal husband. I had a mate and children in the sea before ever I married Bjørn the fisherman.” She wrung her hands. “Aiee! Seven years they were lost to me, seven long years I loved a mortal man. But the sea called me home. Never again for me the cradle and the hearth. Never again will I take my little child in my arms. Aiee!” She leaned over the cradle, and her hair fell across it in a loose curtain. “Farewell, my sweeting, my mortal darling. Look after her well, Hilde.

“Now come. There is no time to lose.”

“How will we get there?” Hilde was scrambling out of bed.

“I will lead you. Hurry! You are needed, needed, out amongst the skerries… skerries...” How long that last word was, a lingering sibilance like a wave washing over the sand! The figure was fading, holding out two arms from which the sea fire splashed and spilled and vanished. Hilde rubbed her eyes. Not a glimmer remained; not so much as a wet spot on the floor.

But the warning was true; it ran in her blood like a fever. She pulled her dress over her shift, and jumped across the hearth to wake Peer. As she dragged back the panel of his bunk, Loki lifted his muzzle from Peer's legs and thumped his tail.
And that's why the Nis came to me. It doesn't like Loki.

“Peer, wake up.” He groaned, flung an arm over his face, tried to roll over. She shook him ruthlessly. “Wake up!”

“Wha'sa'marrer? 'S not morning yet…”

Hilde dipped a cupful from the water jar and threw it into his face. He sat up, shocked and gasping. “What's that for? I'm soaked!”

“Ssh! Don't wake mother. We've got to get up, Peer. I've just seen Kersten. She says Pa and the others are in danger, out by the skerries!”

Peer shook his head. “
Kersten
? Are you sure you weren't dreaming?”

“Ask the Nis! It's hiding at the bottom of my bed.”

She peeled the blankets back to a muffled shriek. The Nis scuffled away from her, further and further down, pressing its face into the straw mattress. “Has she gone? Has she gone?” it kept asking piteously. Finally it hopped out, cross as a cat that has made a fool of itself, hair and beard straggling everywhere, and leaped straight into the rafters, tutting and muttering.

“Was it a ghost?” Peer asked. But the Nis refused to answer.

“It doesn't matter,” Hilde whispered impatiently. “It was a warning. We've got to go, now.”

“Out to the skerries?” Peer looked at her.

“
Yes!
If you don't come with me, I'll go alone.”

“You know I'll come.”

They opened the door together, lifting the bar down as quietly as they could. Wind whirled into the house. “On guard, Loki! Stay!” Peer ordered, as Loki tried to follow. Alf was still asleep, flat out by the fire. Perched high on the cross beam, the Nis watched them go, its little eyes glowing.

Clouds tore across the face of the moon, and wild shadows flew. Hilde crossed the yard, her cloak billowing. As Peer caught up with her, she caught his arm and pointed. “Look! There she goes, slipping between the trees. Come on. She'll guide us.”

The wood roared about their heads, and the path was no more than a dim trace in the darkness, but Hilde seemed able to see her way. “She's ahead of us,” she shouted over the noise of the wind. “She's beckoning.”

They came down the hill to smell ash and burning. The mill was a patch of glowing red and black that creaked and ticked; and flurries of golden sparks chased in circles as the wind woke the embers. The handrail of the bridge was still hot to touch. Not even the great wheel had survived. Falling debris had jammed it solid, and the top half was burned away.

They hurried past the entrance to the yard and ran down to the village, past the sleeping, shaggy-roofed houses where the smoke blew to and fro, and up over the soft sand dunes, and down to the shore. Here the wind was even stronger. The fjord tossed and snored like an uneasy sleeper. Waves crashed on the pebbles. It would be very rough, beyond the point. “She's going into the sea!” Hilde cried, and the memory of Kersten plunging into the waves was so strong, that Peer almost saw her himself.

Hilde seized the prow of Harald's boat. “We'll take this one!” The wind whipped her hair across her face. “Can we sail her, Peer?”

“We'll try,” Peer answered grimly. He jumped into the boat as it lay tilted on the shingle. It was a six-oarer, Harald's pride and joy: bigger than Bjørn's faering. He hauled the yard to the masthead. Hilde hurried to help him untie the tags which held the sail reefed. It unfurled, flying loose.

“Jump out and push!” They leaned on the boat, driving it down over the stones. The first cold wave caught Peer around the knees, and he felt the boat lift. Hilde sprang in. He followed, grinding an oar into the shingle to send them surging out, bucking over the wave troughs. Hilde hauled on the sheets and braces and the sail bellied out with a crack. Instantly they were yards from land.

“Sit down!” Peer yelled, and sat down hard himself, leaning to grab the steering oar. The moon dashed out from between the clouds, the water rushed past the sides of the boat in long silky stripes. With a snort and a splash, something broke from a wave on the starboard side. Hilde cried out and pointed, but Peer had already seen the sleek head, pointed muzzle and dark eyes. The seal plunged past, leading them onwards: dancing ahead of them towards the fjord mouth.

The boat slipped over the water, supple as a snake. Spray flew in, rattling into Peer's face. He shook his head, and suddenly wild excitement swept him away. The whole broad fjord was their racecourse, and they sped along with hurtling clouds and streaming moon, while the dark mountains pressed in on either side to see the winner.

Beyond the mouth of the fjord they sped, into rough black water that snapped and chopped in white snarls of foam. Clouds poured over the moon. Darkness rushed from the north with stinging rain. The world vanished, leaving them tossing from wave to wave.

The moment of exhilaration faded. It was crazy to come out here for nothing but a dream or a ghost… How would they find Bjørn's boat? Where was their guide? The seal had gone. Maybe it was a trap, maybe they had been lured out here to their doom. Peer clung to the steering oar, as the boat kicked over the waves.

In the bows, Hilde screamed. “Rocks, Peer! The skerries!” The sea tilted upwards: spray burst around them. Then they were pitched away and hurled on, missing the black jawbone of rock by barely an oar's length.

Peer stared into the mirk. This was the seals' kingdom: their fortress and refuge. Here they would lie on the rocks and skerries, or dart through the dangerous waters. He imagined them, plunging into whirlpools that would suck down a ship, weaving through the tangled ribbons of the kelp forests, snatching fish from the darting shoals. Some had human faces, gleaming pale in the water. And one black shape came thrusting through the weeds, trailing a broken harpoon from its shoulder, eyes glaring angrily through the gloom…

The moon floated out past a cloud edge. Hilde screamed again. “A boat! That's the faering! PA!”

Through the constant spray Peer saw it too, a long low hull wallowing between the wavebacks; the mast bare; the three men wrenching at the oars, turning blanched faces at Hilde's call. The faering was riding low. There was a dark clot clinging to her prow, a great knot of seaweed perhaps, or a tangled net. No. It was alive. It threw black arms up and wrapped them around the bows, clambering out of the sea and into the boat. Man or seal? It sat there, heavy-shouldered.

With a shout, the nearest man let go his oars. The moonlight lit his blond hair and stocky frame: it was Bjørn. Twisting, he grappled with the creature. An eye-blink later, the faering turned over, flinging them all into the sea.

Hilde struggled with the sail. It came down higgledypiggledy. The boat drifted, pitching. With nightmare urgency, Peer ran out the oars, fighting to keep the stern to the waves. Hilde was leaning out, stretching a spare oar to someone in the water. Peer threw his weight sideways. With a shuddering lurch, a man toppled over the side and fell on to the bottom boards, coughing water. It was Ralf.

His weight lent ballast to the boat. It became easier to handle. In the bows, Hilde raked out with her oar. The prow sliced through a wave, and Peer was wet to the waist. He cried out with the shock, but somehow the wave ran past, and the boat rode up again.

Ralf pulled himself up. He helped Hilde drag her oar back in, with someone clinging to the blade. It was Arne, gasping for air. Two, saved from the sea! Peer heaved again on the oars, his back and arms aching with the strain.
But where's Bjørn? Where's Bjørn?

How far away the others seemed: Ralf, Hilde, Arne, shouting, coughing, choking, trying to tidy away the yard and the loose sail, leaning over the side to search for Bjørn. Wrapped in his lonely task –
lift, reach, pull
! – Peer glanced up past the crooked yard to the masthead. Dawn was coming. The sea gleamed a cold grey, broken by dark skerries and white breakers.