Troll Blood (11 page)

Peer sighed. “Well, we know that Gunnar and Harald killed a man in Westfold. Maybe Floki’s thinking of him. But that doesn’t mean there really is a ghost,” he added, seeing she looked disturbed. “I don’t think Floki’s very bright.”

“No, but why did Magnus get so upset? And Astrid said
Gunnar’s afraid of the dark.”

“Did she?” Peer frowned. It seemed a strange thing for a girl to say about her husband. “Do you like her? The men don’t. All that stuff about troll blood …”

“I like her—I think,” said Hilde. “It’s odd, though: She wanted me to come, but ever since we got on board this morning she’s avoided me. If I sit with her, she moves away. If I talk to her, she barely answers. It’s as though she’s hiding something.”

Peer didn’t really want to talk about Astrid. “Perhaps she’s feeling seasick.”

“A ghost,” Hilde repeated. “How could a ghost follow a man over the sea?” She glanced over the side and shivered. “But then there are all sorts of things out there. Remember the draug boat?”

“Of course I do.” The draug: the fearsome sea spirit that roamed the seas in half a boat, with a crew of drowned corpses. He’d caught a glimpse of it one wild, stormy morning last summer—a tattered sail and a dark hull, manned by stiff silhouettes. He looked nervously out across the heaving water, beginning to understand why sailors didn’t like talking about such things. That ragged cloud on the horizon—could it be a sail?

“Here you are!” said a voice behind them.

They both jumped. “Time to eat,” said Arnë cheerfully. “Astrid wants you, Hilde. Serving out the rations is women’s work!” And he winked at Peer, much to Peer’s surprise.

“All right,” said Hilde mildly. She picked up her skirts and began clambering back along the ship toward the stern.

Peer made to follow her, but Arnë held him back. “A word with you, Peer?”

“Well, what is it?” asked Peer after a moment.

Arnë lowered his voice, fidgeting. “It’s just—you know I’ve always liked Hilde. More than liked her. She’s a grand lass, and I don’t reckon I could do better when I come to get a wife. No, listen!” He threw up his hand as Peer tried to interrupt. “I know what you’re thinking, you’re thinking,
Why’s he telling me this?
You see, I used to think you’d taken a sort of boy’s fancy for Hilde yourself. But after what she said the other night, I saw I was wrong.” He gave an embarrassed laugh. “You were children when you met. I should have known you’re like brother and sister. Let’s shake hands—and if you could put in a good word for me with Hilde—”

“No. Look, Arnë,” Peer said in confused anger, trying to ignore Arnë’s outthrust hand. “You’ve got it wrong. She’s not my sister. I’ve never felt like her brother, and I never will.”

Arnë recoiled. “So that’s your game?” he said in a voice brimful of disgust. “And you told Ralf and Gudrun you were only coming along to protect Hilde!”

“I didn’t—I mean, I am!” Peer stammered in dismay and increasing rage.

“Well,
she
says you’re her brother. So what’s this about? Using her trust to take advantage of her?”

“I—just leave me alone!”

“With pleasure. And you leave her alone.” Arnë turned away.

Peer boiled over.
“It’s up to Hilde who she spends her time with!”
he yelled, and saw Arnë check and stiffen before ducking under the sail and walking on.

The meal was cheerless: dried herring and cold groute—barley porridge that had been cooked on shore and left to congeal in the pot. The crew sat around, scraping their spoons into the sticky mess. And although Gunnar had taken on fresh water only that morning at Trollsvik, it already tasted odd. When Hilde suggested warming the food up, Astrid said scornfully, “How? Light a fire? On a ship?”

“Oh, of course …”

“There won’t be any hot food till we touch land.”

“And when will that be?” asked Hilde, looking around. “How far is it to Vinland? And how do we find the way?”

“Depends on the weather,” Gunnar grunted, through a mouthful. “Three weeks … four. As for how…” He shrugged.

Talkative Magnus waved his spoon. “See, first we go past the Islands of Sheep, just far enough south that the mountains show half out of the sea. And after that we follow the whales past Iceland. And so, west to Greenland.”

“I know how to spot Greenland,” said Floki eagerly. “Don’t I, Magnus? Remember, last time, you pointed out the old Blueshirt Glacier? I’d know that again.”

Magnus reached across and tugged Floki’s earlobe. “That’s
right, laddie,” he said with a grin. Floki squealed and rubbed his ear.

“That’ll be our first landfall, Greenland,” said Gunnar, ignoring this.

“You’ll all be glad to stretch your legs by then,” said Magnus, relentlessly joky. “And then off we go west again till we strike a rocky, barren sort of coast, and follow it south with the land on our right, till we get to Vinland.”

Peer hadn’t realized it was quite so far. His teeth chattered. The wind struck a dash of spray into his face. “Such a long way,” he muttered under his breath.

Harald’s voice came quietly out of the dusk:

For a moment everyone was still. Even Peer was held by the music of the words and the rhythm of the waves.

Then Harald broke the spell he himself had cast. “Worrying again, Barelegs?” he jeered. “Wishing you hadn’t come?”

Arnë laughed out loud.

Peer’s face flamed. Before he could think what to say, he felt a large hand grasp his arm. “Time to turn in,” said Big Tjorvi calmly. “Skipper? Gunnar? Who’s for the first watch?”

Gunnar chose Magnus, Peer, Halfdan, and Floki to take first watch. Stringy dark-haired Halfdan took the steering oar. Magnus and Floki propped themselves against the sides, each holding one of the long braces that trailed dizzyingly upward to either end of the wide yard. Peer went off forward for the solitary task of lookout. The rest of the crew unrolled their wide two-man sleeping sacks wherever they could find a bit of empty deck, and scrambled in.

Astrid’s sack was already spread out in a spot as sheltered as any, in the lee of the starboard side. She slid into it as neat as a knife into a sheath, and snuggled down without speaking, but Hilde sat for a few more moments, knees drawn up to her chin, biting her fingers. Harald’s jeer and Arnë’s laugh hadn’t escaped her. Peer and Arnë—they’d never got on. Not like Peer and Bjorn. She guessed why, but pushed it out of her mind, flushing uneasily. Blue-eyed Arnë: She’d always liked him. He came and went, tall and handsome, bringing little gifts from Hammerhaven, letting her know he admired her. But Peer—Peer was
family.
Arnë had no right to laugh at him, and especially not to side with Harald against him.

I hope the other men will like Peer. I hope he’ll be all right
…

The sky wasn’t totally dark. It had a deep color tinged with lingering light against which the sail looked black, a great square of starless night hanging over the ship.

Lonely wonder overcame her. Whatever was she doing out here on the ocean, with the brisk breeze chilling her
skin, listening to the chuckle and truckle of the water running along the sides and under the bottom boards? She tried to imagine the close, smoky darkness of the farmhouse.
Have they all gone to bed? Has Ma left the dough to rise on the hearthstone? Has she put out the bowl for the Nis? Is she lying awake, missing me?

A feeble glow kindled in the stern. It flared, flickered, and settled to a bright seed of light. Halfdan had lit a small horn-windowed lantern and put it at his feet.

Hilde pulled off her soft leather shoes and tried to stuff her legs into the sleeping sack without her skirt bunching up. Nobody undressed on a ship, and in any case it was much too cold. She inched her way in like a caterpillar, trying not to disturb Astrid, who lay with her face turned away. It wouldn’t be a comfortable night. The inside of the bag was lined with thick, tufted wool for warmth, but she could already feel the hard decking pressing through. The ship tilted and tipped and swung; she heard the mumbling voices of the men on watch, and the coughs and grunts and snores of those who, like herself, were sleeping or trying to sleep.

Her bare feet touched something at the bottom of the sack. A sort of bundle, firm but yielding, with a hairy surface. She prodded it with her toes—and it jerked.

“Ouch!” Hilde twitched her feet away.

And suddenly Astrid was sitting upright. “Hush!” she hissed.

“Astrid!” Hilde seized her arm. “There’s something in there. It moved!”

Astrid heaved an exasperated sigh. “I suppose you had to find out sometime. But just
keep quiet
about it, right?” Without waiting for a reply, she ducked deep into the sleeping sack, delving past Hilde’s legs, and heaved out her goatskin bag by its long strap.

“Your bag?” whispered Hilde. She remembered Astrid’s little buzzing box. What else did she keep in there? Something alive?

“What is it?” She drew back. The bag bulged and bounced, as if something inside it was kicking and punching.

Then came a muffled, furious squeaking:
“Help, he-elp!”

“The
Nis
?” Hilde gasped.

“You open it.” Astrid shoved the bag at Hilde. “It might bite me.”

“Oh, you haven’t. You couldn’t.” She wrenched at the buckle, tore open the flap, and then almost dropped the whole thing as a frantic little whirlwind clawed its way out of the bag, fell into her lap, kicked itself away, and shot up the mast with a noise like a cat fight:

“Aiaieiyoooooooooo!”

With a yell of fright, Floki let go of the port brace. He danced about, pointing. “There’s something on the mast! An evil spirit!”

Astrid snatched the bag from Hilde and thrust it out of sight into the sleeping sack. “Lie down,” she whispered fiercely. “Pretend you’re asleep.”

“Asleep?” Hilde cried. In the darkness overhead, the Nis
caterwauled and shrieked.

“Shut it up, then! Make it stop!” Astrid lay back and screwed her eyes firmly shut.

Wobbly with shock, Hilde struggled out of the sleeping sack.
Where’s Peer? I have to find Peer.
By now everyone was yelling and pointing and rushing about. Loki was barking madly. From the top of the mast, the dreadful screaming went on.

“Peer?” she shouted.

With a noise like a rough kiss, waves slapped into the side, and spray showered on board. Halfdan had accidentally steered
Water Snake
too far into the wind. The sail blew back, clapping and thundering, and the ship hung in the water, tossing helplessly. Hilde lost her balance and staggered into someone tall and slender who caught her and steadied her. It was Peer. She pulled his head down and said urgently into his ear, “It’s the Nis—Astrid’s brought the Nis!”

Peer gave her one incredulous look, nodded grimly, and disappeared forward. Hilde sank to the deck. Thank goodness! Peer was good with the Nis: He would deal with it some-how….

“Get back on the tack!” Gunnar was bellowing. Arnë and Magnus wrestled with the braces. Young Harald sprang past her, his long hair flying, threw Halfdan off the steering oar, and grabbed it himself.
Water Snake
swung back on course. The terrible screeching stopped. What had happened? Had Peer coaxed the Nis down—or had it fallen overboard?