Troll Blood (14 page)

“I’m out of practice,” he said to the two girls.

“Yes, Harald, we noticed,” said Astrid sweetly.

“I think I grazed one, though.”

“Why did you do it?” Hilde demanded. Harald gave her an impertinent grin. “Sweetheart, when I’m at sea, I take every chance to amuse myself.” He examined the tip of his harpoon. “Ooh, do you think that’s blood?” He waved it under her nose, and laughed again as she drew back.

“Fool,” said Peer, not quite under his breath.

“What did you say?” Harald jabbed the harpoon at Peer. “Did I hear you speak?” He jabbed again, and Peer had to twist aside to avoid the point. “What did you say to me, Barelegs?”

“If you must know,” began Peer, breathless—

“Yes, I must. I must! “With blank, bright eyes Harald sliced the harpoon toward him. Peer tried to dodge again, but there was nowhere to go.

“Stop it!” screamed Hilde, and Arnë’s arm flew out to deflect the stroke. A heartbeat later, Arnë was gripping his forearm tightly and cursing. Bright blood ran liberally between his fingers and dripped onto the deck.

“Arnë!” Hilde gasped.

Harald stepped back one dancing pace, lowering the harpoon. “Sorry, my friend. You shouldn’t have got in the way”

“Shame on you, Harald!” Astrid spat like a wildcat. She raised her voice, “Gunnar, Gunnar, see what Harald’s done! Look what’s he’s done to Arnë!”

Harald glared at her and threw the harpoon down. Gunnar came striding over. His eyebrows curled together in a thick frown, but all he said was, “Can you use the hand?” Arnë opened and closed his fingers. “Good. Take him away, Astrid, and tie that up.”

“It’s only a cut,” said Arnë, grimacing. He looked up at Peer, who was standing shocked by the suddenness of it all. “Get out of my way! Just clear off and keep out of trouble,” he burst out in a hard, exasperated voice, adding softly, “This was going to be a good trip till you came along.”

Peer turned abruptly and went forward, ducking under the sail.

For the rest of the long morning he kept to himself, doing
his share of the work in silence, or sitting in the bow away from the others. When Hilde came to tell him that Arnë’s wound was only a long deep scratch, he turned his shoulder on her. She stared at him. “What’s the matter with you? Arnë saved your skin, and you haven’t even thanked him yet.” She marched away.

He doesn’t want my thanks. He doesn’t even like me. He told me to keep away, and I’m doing it. I was trying to stand up for you
… It sounded thin and childish, but he was too angry to care. He waited for Hilde to come back, so that they could talk properly, but she didn’t.

Loki stayed with him until noon, and then abandoned him for Astrid and Hilde in the stern, hoping for scraps.

In the mid-afternoon, the long low shapes of mountains became visible along the northern horizon, grayish scarps and knobs protruding from the sea, dark or faint, some near, some farther away. Peer began to come out of his self-imposed isolation. He looked around. Floki, Magnus, Halfdan, and Big Tjorvi were sitting together under the taut arc of the sail, throwing dice and talking.

“Are those the Islands of Sheep?” he called.

“That’s right.” Tjorvi got up and leaned on the rail beside Peer, looking northward. “Bare, bleak places, but good enough for sheep. Nary a tree to shelter under. Narrow waters and dangerous currents.”

“You’ve been there?”

“I’m
from
there,” said Tjorvi quietly. “That’s home. Got a
wife there, and a little daughter. Haven’t been back for years. Always meaning to; never make it. Maybe next time….”

Many more seabirds were now flying alongside the ship. One of them swooped past and scanned Peer with its fierce, yellow-rimmed eye. It seemed to consider him once, coldly, as a possible source of food, and then discard him.

“How they stare,” said Halfdan, looking up at the gracefully wheeling birds.

“Aye,” Tjorvi rumbled. “Gulls are strange things. Have you seen them after a storm, turning and circling over the place where a boat’s gone down? And that’s because they’re tracking the drift of drowned corpses on the seabed.”

“Is that so?” said Halfdan with a shiver, watching the gulls keeping easy pace with the ship.

Floki said, “I’ve heard how the souls of dead sailors put on the form of seagulls, and go flying after their shipmates, a-crying and a-calling …”

They all turned their heads to look at Peer. “Was that really a gull last night?” Tjorvi asked.

Peer hesitated. He didn’t want to reinforce the fears about ghosts. But he couldn’t afford to have news of the Nis reaching Harald. “It seemed just an ordinary bird,” he said lamely.

“Ordinary?” Magnus growled. “It may have looked like a gull, but it didn’t act like one. Nor sound like one, neither.” Remembering the Nis’s screams, Peer couldn’t blame him for thinking so.

“It’ll be back, you’ll see,” said Floki with a mournful shudder.
“The skipper knows. Did you see the look on his face?”

“Will you shut up, Floki,” said Magnus. “I’ve told you before.” But he sounded irresolute, as if his heart wasn’t in it, and this time Floki was unabashed.

“Now wait a minute, boys.” Tjorvi glanced around and put the question Peer was longing to ask. “If there’s really a ghost, then whose is it?”

Magnus got to his feet. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m out of this.” He glanced at Floki, who sat stubbornly where he was. Halfdan looked at his feet.

“Don’t tell ’em,” said Magnus. “I’m warning you, all right? Just don’t say.” He marched off.

Floki licked his lips. “I’ll name no names,” he muttered. “It’d be asking for trouble, that would—naming a ghost. But there was a man the skipper killed …”

“It was young Harald finished him off,” Halfdan put in somberly.

Erlend
, thought Peer.

“And he cursed him as he lay dying. I wasn’t close enough to hear him myself, but Magnus was. Magnus heard the curse. He said”—Floki’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper—
“‘A cold life and a cold death to you, Gunnar. A cold wife and a cold bed. Look out for me whenever you close your eyes. For I’ll follow you wherever you go and bring you to a cold grave’
And he’d have cursed Harald, too, Magnus says, but Harald was too quick for him. He dealt him the death blow.”

Though he knew that what they’d heard last night was no
ghost, but only the Nis, Peer was glad of the sunlight on his face, and the bright spray blowing.

“And it’s working, isn’t it?” added Floki. “That Astrid—she’s a cold piece, all right.”

“If I’d ha’ thought a ghost was following this ship, I’d never have joined her,” said Tjorvi heavily.

Peer said guiltily, hoping to change the subject, “Where did you join the ship, Tjorvi?”

“In Hammerhaven, lad, like your friend Arnë.”

Peer couldn’t help himself. “He’s not my friend. Not anymore.”

The three men stared at him. “Arnë stopped a harpoon on its way to you,” said Halfdan. “And you say he’s not your friend?”

“Yes, but …” Peer went hot to his ears.

“Anyone’s a friend that stands up for you against Harald,” said Tjorvi firmly. “He’s not one to cross.”

“Right,” Halfdan agreed. “You never know where you are with Harald.”

“He’s a natural-born fighter,” Floki said with pride.

Peer was quiet. The men went on talking about Harald with an odd mixture of horror and admiration. As usual, Floki’s tongue chattered most freely, dropping “Magnus says” into almost every sentence. Magnus had started out as one of Gunnar’s farmhands in Westfold, and had told Floki lots about Harald. At nine years old Harald had almost killed another boy, a playfellow who’d tripped him in a ball game, by pounding his head with a rock. At twelve years his mother,
Vardis, had given him his first sword. He’d killed a man with it before his thirteenth birthday. Since his mother died, he’d accompanied his father on all his voyages. It was said he was a berserker, who lost all control when he fought.

“A berserker?” Peer’s skin crawled.

Berserkers could fall into a kind of mad fury. They might go red, or even dark blue or black in the face. They would howl like wild beasts and hurl themselves, screaming, at anyone in their way. A warrior who went berserk would have terrible strength.

“Magnus says Harald’s mother fed him raw wolf meat to make him strong,” Floki whispered, wriggling with gruesome delight. “So when the fit’s on him, he’s as wild as a wolf. We’ve seen it, haven’t we, Halfdan? We’ve heard him howling. Enough to scare you to death!” He laughed suddenly, stupidly. “Didn’t they all run!”

“Shut up.” Halfdan looked half angry, half sick, as though he didn’t want to remember something. “Magnus is right, Floki. You talk too much.” He got up and moved restlessly away. Floki stuck out his bottom lip like a child.

“I’d follow Harald anywhere,” he told Peer defiantly. “Magnus is Gunnar’s man, see, but I’m Harald’s. I’d like to put my hands between his and swear to serve him. That’s what real warriors do!”

“Floki, Floki!” Tjorvi suddenly burst out laughing. He put out a big hand and ruffled Floki’s tight curls. “You don’t want
to be a warrior, son, believe me. Stick to being a sailor. It’s safer.”

Floki’s rough, red face flushed even redder. He went off in a huff, leaving Tjorvi and Peer alone.

“I guess I’d better be more careful,” said Peer gloomily. “Gunnar doesn’t think much of me. Harald hates me, and he turns out to be a berserker. Floki thinks Harald’s wonderful. Arnë’s angry with me …”

“Angry?” said Tjorvi. “Angry’s nothing.”

“I used to really like Arnë,” Peer cried. “I used to …” He remembered how much he’d admired Arnë when he first met him years ago. Arnë and Bjorn had seemed like heroes to him then, brave enough to stand up to his bullying uncles when no one else dared. “If he won’t be friends with me, there’s nothing I can do.”

Tjorvi looked shrewdly at Peer. “No wonder they say women on board ships is unlucky. It’s that young lass that’s causing all the trouble, isn’t it? And is she fond of you?”

“I don’t think even she knows,” said Peer.

“Ask her and be done with it,” said Tjorvi.

CHAPTER 9
Lost at Sea

But Peer didn’t take Tjorvi’s advice. He thought about it constantly—but there was no privacy on the ship. If ever he found himself alone with Hilde, someone always pushed in before he could say anything important, and it wasn’t just Arnë. Hilde’s sunny disposition made her a favorite with the entire crew. Everyone wanted to talk to her, or sit beside her. As far as Peer could see, she liked them all, and never minded the interruptions. And so he put it off.
When the voyage is over
, he thought,
when we strike land—then I’ll have more of a chance. That’s when I’ll tell her how I feel.

Day after day passed, and the crew of the
Water Snake
grew used to the hard boards under them, the cold air always around them, the movement of the long waves rolling under the ship. They were resigned to eating cold food and drinking
stale water. On bright days they were grateful for the growing strength of the sun warming their aching limbs. On wet days the lucky ones donned waterproofs—supple capes of fine oiled leather. Those who had none wrapped themselves up in double layers of wool, and blew on their cold red hands.

There were no more fights. Peer kept away from Harald and Arnë, and didn’t speak to them even at mealtimes. Once or twice he saw Arnë watching him with an odd expression, half sorry, half annoyed. But if Arnë wanted to say something, he could. Peer wouldn’t be the one to begin.

Harald ignored Peer completely, unless to give some order about the ship. Peer guessed Gunnar had spoken to Harald. Arnë’s wound had been slight, and was healing well, but Gunnar wouldn’t want to risk any of his able-bodied men.

The Nis adapted surprisingly well to life on board. The mast and rigging became its playground, and there were all sorts of nooks and crannies where it could hide. The apple barrel in the hold was one of its favorites, but it often curled up with Loki in a patch of sunshine, hidden from view behind the coil of the anchor rope. If anyone approached, it shot for cover. The men thought there was a big rat somewhere on board.