Troll Blood (22 page)

“I’m your man, Harald.” Floki pawed at Harald’s knees. Harald stood, hand on hip, smiling easily down at him, the picture of nobility. Peer’s toes curled. There was still a scar beside Floki’s mouth where Harald had hit him. Didn’t he have any pride?

“’F only I could have a sword like that,” Floki mumbled. “But I never will.”

“If we make our fortunes, you can buy one,” Halfdan suggested.

“A lad like him doesn’t need a sword,” said Magnus scornfully.
“He’s got a knife and an ax. What more does he want? Better spend his money on a cow.”

“Or a wife,” said Halfdan, grinning. Floki looked downcast.

“Here’s some advice,” said Tjorvi solemnly. “If you do get yourself a sword, Floki, there’s something else you ought to get first.”

“A shield?” Floki asked.

“Na, na.” Tjorvi winked at Peer. “You ought to get yourself a life-stone.”

“What’s one of them?”

“A life-stone? Ah, it’s a wonderful thing to have. If you’ve got a life-stone, no matter what happens to you, you won’t die. Sickness, battles, wounds—no matter. Haven’t you ever heard of one?” Tjorvi sounded amazed. He looked around.
“You’ve
all heard of a life-stone, haven’t you?” The men grinned, smelling a joke.

“A mate of mine had one once,” Tjorvi went on. “He went to an awful lot of trouble to get it, too. He knew where to look—in an eagle’s nest.”

Floki listened, wide-eyed. Several of the men were chuckling.

“So my mate shins up the cliff to the nest and grabs the life-stone. There’s a terrible fight, the eagle squealing and slashing him with its claws—but with the life-stone in his fist, he slithers safely down. Then he has a proper look at it.

“My
, he thinks,
that’s a bit small. How’m I going to keep it safe? I know—I’ll get the wife to sew it into my armpit.”

“And did she?” asked Hilde demurely.

“She certainly did,” said Tjorvi, straight-faced. “Sewed it into his left armpit. He was right-handed, you see. And after that, my mate was as safe as houses. His lucky life-stone got him through all sorts of adventures without as much as a single scratch.”

“Has he still got it?” demanded Floki excitedly.

Tjorvi sighed. “That’s the sad part. He went on a long voyage, you see. Well, there was a terrible storm, and right out in the middle of the ocean, the ship was wrecked. Every soul on board drowned. Except him. He couldn’t drown, could he? He had the life-stone.”

“What was sad about that?” Peer asked.

Tjorvi opened his eyes wide. “He had to walk home along the bottom of the sea, and it took him years and years. Oh, a horrible time he had—with sea monsters trying to swallow him, and the fish nibbling at him all the way. At long last he staggered out on shore, and the first thing he asked was for one of us to open his armpit and take out the stone. We did it, of course—anything for a friend—and as soon as it was out of him, the poor fellow crumbled into dust.”

They were still laughing at Tjorvi’s tall tale—and at Floki, who wanted to know where the life-stone was now, and whether Tjorvi had it—when Halfdan cried out, “Listen! D’you hear that?”

And then they all heard it—the unmistakable ringing chop of an ax, far away in the forest: a flat clap followed by an echo.
It repeated and repeated.

“Someone’s cutting wood. But who?”

“Skraelings at last.” Harald was on his feet, his eyes bright and narrow, the sword swinging in his hand. “Let’s go and find them.”

“Let’s kill ’em!” Floki yelped. Magnus cuffed his ear. No one else paid him any attention. The prospect of doing something was attractive.

“I’ll come!” said Arnë.

“And me,” Tjorvi rumbled. He patted his hard, flat stomach. “Too much food and too little exercise. I’m getting fat.”

Everyone wanted to come, and Harald had to choose. “Halfdan, Tjorvi, Arnë … Not you, Barelegs,” he said to Peer, who hadn’t offered. “Floki, you can come if you like.”

They set off into the trees in high spirits. Magnus stood at the house door and shook his head. “There goes a lad who needs to be kept busy.”

“Oh, I wish I could go with them,” Hilde exclaimed. “I wonder what the Skraelings are really like? Do you think they’ll find them?”

Magnus scratched his stubbly chin. “If not, let’s hope young Harald finds another bear or something. ’Cos he hasn’t got enough to do.”

It was oddly quiet around the houses with half of the men missing. By sunset, they had not returned. Magnus stood outside, wafting away mosquitoes and staring at the woods.
“Shoulda thought they’d be here by now,” he kept muttering. “P’raps I shoulda gone along. Floki’s got no sense. Still, Tjorvi’ll prob’ly keep an eye on him. Don’t you reckon?”

Gunnar kept sending Astrid and Hilde to the door to look for Harald coming back. No one could sit still. Peer and Hilde and Magnus walked up to the spot where they’d met the bear, listening for the sounds of their friends coming out of the forest. The chopping had long since died away. Branches cracked, birds cried in strange voices. On the edge of hearing, some creature wailed, a wordless, wistful call. It dragged on Peer’s nerves.
Find me. I’m lost, I’m lonely
.

And then: “Ahoy, there!”

This time it was a real shout. Magnus sighed in relief. “That’s them. Here they are, look, coming from the river. This way!” he bellowed.

Exhausted, swearing, and plastered with mud, the expedition limped out of the bogs beside the river and up onto the firmer ground below the trees.

“Gods!” said Arnë. “I’m glad that’s over. We’ve wandered for miles.” He looked back and shuddered. “I’ve felt eyes on my back all day.”

“And insects!” exclaimed Tjorvi. “Phew!” His eyes were almost swollen shut with mosquito bites. “Everyone got bitten, but they seemed to like me best.”

“It’s been horrible,” Floki whined, scratching at an angry lump on his face.

Tjorvi gave Halfdan a shove. “It was Halfdan’s fault. He
kept seeing things.” Peer had never seen Big Tjorvi in such a bad mood.

“What things?” asked Hilde.

Halfdan looked unhappy. “Someone slipping between the trees. With long hair covering the face. Sort of … greenish. Arnë saw it, too. He thought it was a woman.”

“I was never sure,” said Arnë quickly.

“So we followed this ‘person’ till we lost it,” Tjorvi growled, “and ended up in a stinking bog, and floundered around for hours. Finally we stumbled across a stream—”

“He means that. Floki fell into it,” Arnë added.

“Which led us down to the river. And thankful I am that it’s the right river.” Tjorvi still seemed unusually angry. “I thought we’d never get back.”

Harald had said nothing so far. He was wiping his sword in the long grass. His hair trailed over his shoulders in long muddy draggles, and his legs were mired to the knee. A spirit of mischief rose in Peer. “So you found no Skraelings after all. What a pity!”

Harald glanced up. “Oh, but we did. That was the only thing that went right.”

“You found Skraelings!” Peer felt sudden deep alarm.

“Just two,” said Arnë. He sounded rather odd. “Camped a mile or so back along the river, under a sort of bark shelter. We saw the fire they’d lit.”

“What happened?” Hilde cried. “Could you talk to them? Were they friendly?”

“We didn’t have time to find out,” said Tjorvi carefully, “before Harald killed them.”

Harald finished cleaning his sword and rammed it back in its sheath. “Exciting, wasn’t it?” he said cheerfully. “Floki almost wet himself. Look at this.” He tapped his chest. Slung from his neck, a rope of splendid white claws gleamed in the dusk, each one as long as a finger. “Skraeling work. A bear-claw necklace: the only thing worth taking. Who said he wanted one of these? You, Tjorvi? Too bad; you’ll have to be quicker next time. Come on, it’s suppertime, and I’m starving.”

CHAPTER 15
A Walk on the Beach

H
e killed them?” Hilde stared after Harald in disbelief. The thick dusk prickled with stars. Mosquitoes whined about their ears and bit, savagely, drawing blood.

Halfdan muttered, “They might have attacked us.”

“Certainly,” said Tjorvi with heavy sarcasm. “It pays to be careful with odds like that. Two of them, and only five of us.”

“Did they look dangerous?” Hilde asked in a thin, strained voice.

“A couple of young fellows cooking fish over a campfire?” Tjorvi snorted. “They hardly had time to look around, let alone go for their weapons.”

“Couldn’t you do something?” Hilde cried. “Arnë!”

“It was so quick,” said Arnë glumly. “I mean, Harald wasn’t fooling around. The one with the bear-claw necklace stood
up—maybe he thought we were going to say something. I thought so too, but Harald just—he just …” He stopped and looked down.

“They were Skraelings!” Halfdan shouted. “Outlaws, for all we know. Spies, even. Harald did the right thing. He kept us safe.”

Tjorvi pushed him aside and stamped past. Halfdan ran after him, arguing. Magnus smacked Floki around the ear and said gruffly, “Come along, lad, and clean up”

Peer held back. He didn’t want to go in with them, to the noise and the smoke and the smells. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Harald. “There’ll be a breeze on the shore,” he said to Hilde. “Fewer mosquitoes. Let them get their own supper. Come for a walk with me and Loki.”

“All right,” she said quietly.

Arnë glanced over his shoulder, but Tjorvi said, “That’s right, get along with the lad, Hilde. We can manage to ladle stew out of the pot by ourselves.” He dropped a swollen eyelid at Peer and hustled Arnë ahead of him through the door.

Peer looked at Hilde. “Are you upset?”

She folded her arms and hunched her shoulders. “He killed two men and stole from the bodies. I can’t believe none of them stopped him …”

“It wouldn’t be easy to stop him,” Peer said gently. He put his arm around her, and she turned to him with a small sob.

The door reopened, and out came Astrid. “Heigh-ho!” she yawned. “Gunnar’s all over his darling boy. Have you heard
what he did? Horrible, isn’t it?”

“It’s awful,” said Hilde passionately.

“That’s what I said.” Astrid eyed her. “Were you surprised? You ought to know Harald by now. He’s killed real people, you know, not just Skraelings.”

“Skraelings are people!”

“Yes—well—never having seen one, I can’t say. Are you off for a walk? I think I deserve a break. Are you going to the shore? I’ll come too.”

There was nothing to be done. With poor grace, Peer led the way along the path they’d trodden to the shore. The two girls walked behind him.

“Oof,” Astrid sighed. “It’s good to get out. I’ve been cooped up all day.”

“You could have got out before,” said Hilde. “There are plenty of outside jobs to do. Carrying water, stacking firewood …”

“I’m busy looking after Gunnar,” said Astrid coolly.

The grassland halted at the shore in a sudden edge of turf, a foot or two high, eroded by winter storms and cut here and there by tiny black brooks that tinkled out of the marsh to vanish in the shingle. Peer jumped onto the stones. Astrid teetered on the brink behind him. “Help me down.”

“For goodness’ sake,” said Hilde. “Jump! It’s nothing.”

“I might hurt myself. Please, Peer,” Astrid said sweetly. Biting his lip, he reached up for her and swung her down. She was lighter than he expected, despite being so tall, and her
beautiful hair brushed his face. She clung to his arm as they picked their way across oval pebbles to the level beach. Hilde followed. Peer couldn’t guess what she was thinking.

The sea was a glimmering curve with a milk white rim. At the edge of the tide they walked in a film of water, where the gravel stirred underfoot, sucked back and forth by advancing and retreating ripples. Pebbles knocked and turned, clattered and shifted, as though a myriad little people were busy among the stones.

“How bright the stars are,” Astrid said to Peer. “Do you know their names?”

“Some of them.” She was still holding his arm. He couldn’t shake her off. He looked up. “Over the headland, that’s the Wagon. See? And if you follow up from the two stars on the end, they’ll lead you to the Nail. That marks north.”

“The Nail’s much lower here than it is at home,” said Hilde.