Troll Fell (19 page)

The din was bewildering. Men shouted, children
screamed, dogs barked. The Dovre princess was fainting;
the Dovreking had drawn himself up, looking outraged
and alarmed. Trolls howled, squeaked and grunted. The
Gaffer of Troll Fell raised his arms and tried to speak.
No one listened. His tail coiling in fury, he grabbed a
horn from the nearest of the musicians and blew and
blew and blew, a deafening blast. Peer thought his cheeks
would split, but the horn cracked into two pieces. The
Gaffer threw them away.

“QUIET!” he roared. And quiet fell.

“Get out of here, Ralf Eiriksson,” yelled the old troll,
swelling with rage. He glared at Ralf out of a red triangle
of all three eyes, like an old spider. “Get out before it's
too late. It's all settled. You can take your younger
children home, but the elder girl stays. And her friend,
too.”

Grim with anger, Ralf strode forwards through the
ring of trolls pressing around the villagers. He looked tall,
strong and dangerous. Peer, sitting on the ground with his
arm around Loki's warm side, looked up in hope. If this
was Hilde's father, surely he could save them? He spared a
glance for his two uncles. They had pushed themselves
back from their table and were staring at Ralf with
horrified, bulging eyes, as if they had seen a ghost.

“Do you think I'd leave my children?” demanded
Ralf. “How dare you trolls steal them!”

“Trolls didn't steal 'em,” shouted the Gaffer. “Men
did!” He pointed to Baldur and Grim. Ralf, who had not
noticed them before, swung round furiously.

“Men?” he asked contemptuously. The two brothers
rose blustering to their feet, dropping handfuls of gems.
“
Men?
Those aren't men. Those are beasts – animals!”

“No, they're men,” snarled the Gaffer. “Your own
sort! Don't get all high and mighty with
me
, Eiriksson.
You humans think you're so much better than the rest of
us. Dream on! We trolls are realists.
That's
the difference!
Anyway, you can take away the children they stole. The
other two are staying of their own free will.”

“
That's
a lie,” Ralf said decidedly. “Hilde?”

“We – we did promise,” said Hilde faintly, “but it was
only to rescue Sigurd and Sigrid. He says he needs two
of us as – as servants. Wedding presents for them!” She
nodded towards the princes and princesses. Ralf's eyes
followed, and he spotted the Troll Fell princess with a
frown of recognition.

“I know you,” he said slowly. The Troll Fell princess
gave him a sly curling smile. Ralf clenched his fist. “By
heaven, that's it!” he exclaimed. “You're the one who
gave me the cup all that time ago. Aren't you? Well, here's
a deal.” He swung round on her father. “Give me the
children and you can have your gold cup!”

For an answer, the Gaffer picked up the cup from
where Peer had put it down on the table in front of him.
He raised it to Ralf in a mocking toast, slurped the beer
in one greedy gulp, and set it down with a bang. Ralf
stared at the goblet in speechless surprise.

“I already tried that, Pa, and it didn't work,” said
Hilde miserably. Ralf rubbed a big hand desperately over
his face.

“What's to prevent us grabbing the children and
leaving now?” he enquired.

The Gaffer nodded towards the crowd of trolls.

“What's to prevent us tearing you all to pieces?” he
asked with a grin. “Just relax, Ralf Eiriksson. I'm the
master of Troll Fell, and what I say goes!”

Ralf looked around, poised tensely on the balls of his
feet, as if ready to attack. Arnë, Bjørn and the other men
edged closer to him. Peer and Hilde looked around too.
There were too many trolls to be counted, all waiting
with teeth and claws and hooves and horns, their
glittering eyes fixed on the village people. The odds were
hopeless. Peer held his breath, steeling himself for a
frightful battle. But then Ralf sighed deeply and his
shoulders slumped in defeat. The Gaffer saw it and
clapped his hands.

“But no fighting at a wedding!” he roared. “Beer all
round! It's time to pledge the health of the two happy
couples!” All the guests broke into cheers and laughter.
With a rumbling sound the big barrels were rolled
forward and broached. Little trolls sprang forwards with
cups, jugs and pitchers and rushed to serve the tables. Up
from the kitchens poured a stream of even more trolls
bearing huge trays of smoking and steaming food.

Hilde ran to Ralf and disappeared into another huge
hug. Peer felt a nudge at his elbow. A small troll was
impatiently shoving a jug of beer at him and making
signs that he was to pour it out for the top table. Peer
took it uncertainly and held it for a moment.

I suppose I'm still a page
, he thought, sniffing the beer
cautiously. It smelled all right, though it looked thick and
black, like liquid mud. Perhaps there was a slight marshy
whiff, but the bog-wife obviously brewed well.

He glanced around. The royal party was coming back
to life; the princes and princesses were seating themselves
at their tables. The Gaffer laid an arm over the
Dovreking's shoulders and led him to his place.

Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim were happily sitting
on their benches again, comparing fistfuls of jewels
which they had collected from the floor. Their bushy
black beards wagged as they argued about their shares.
Peer hoped that the Gaffer would notice they were
stealing, but none of the trolls seemed to care. The Gaffer
of Troll Fell was not going to fuss about losing a few
jewels, when he wanted to impress the Dovreking.

Peer looked for Hilde and saw her leaning against her
father and mother, sniffing. Ralf patted her shoulder,
saying soothingly, “Don't worry. Don't worry. We'll never
go without you.”

“Pa, what can you do?” Hilde asked desperately.

Ralf clenched his fist. “We can fight! We can form a
shield wall – go down like heroes—”

“Don't be silly,” said Gudrun bitterly. “You don't
have
any shields.”

Peer looked back at his two uncles and absolutely
hated them. There they were, they had caused all this
misery, yet so far as he could see they didn't care a fig. In
fact, Baldur was chuckling now, and rubbing his hands.
They would walk out of here with all those jewels they
had picked up, and go back to the mill and carry on with
their horrible lives. Ralf couldn't stop them, unless he
killed them. And somehow Peer knew Ralf wouldn't kill
them. Ralf wasn't the type.

If
anyone's
going to get them
, Peer thought suddenly,
it'll
have to be me
.

And the very next moment, he saw the way to do it.
Simple, obvious and beautiful.

Could Baldur and Grim have overheard what the
Gaffer had said about troll food and drink? Peer didn't
think so. They had not been close enough. He walked
quietly over to the high table and picked up the beautiful
golden goblet. No one was watching him, and even if
they were, he was only doing what a servant should. He
gave it a quick polish on his sleeve, and filled it with
beer.

The bog-wife's brew rushed foaming into the golden
goblet, a rich bitter broth with a tang of moss and, again,
that faint, half-attractive rotten whiff. Careful not to
splash, Peer carried it smoothly over to his uncles and set
it down between them.

They didn't even look up to see who he was. Arguing
over a couple of big emeralds, Uncle Baldur seized the
goblet in one massive hairy hand and set it to his lips. He
tipped his head back, and swallowed. The bog-wife's beer
glugged down his throat.

“Here – give me some!” His brother snatched the cup
and swirled it. “There's only half left!” he snarled, gulping
the beer down quickly and shoving the cup back
towards Peer. “It's good! Here, boy – fill that up!” Peer
gladly did so.

As Baldur once again raised the cup to his lips, it
jarred and slopped. It had struck something hard. Peer
held his breath and backed away. Something strange was
growing through one side of Baldur's beard. And on the
other side, too! Baldur dropped the cup and grabbed at
his face. He felt something hard, and curved and pointed.
He stared at his brother. Grim, too, was feeling his face.
Out from the hairy tangles of black beard protruded two
curving white…

“Tusks!” Peer's yell of delight echoed through the
Hall. “Look! Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim have got
tusks!”

Everyone turned. And from both trolls and men, there
came a mighty roar of laughter, as Baldur and Grim
stood rubbing their jowls in bewilderment, their treasure
completely forgotten.

“Pigs! We always thought they looked like pigs,”
Hilde called to Peer, laughing between her tears.

The Troll Fell Princess came slipping up to Ralf.
“That would have happened to you, too, if you had
drunk from it!” she murmured, pinching his arm.
“What a pity you didn't stay with me. So big and
strong!” Ralf brushed her off angrily, but as he did so
his face suddenly altered. His eyes widened. He sprang
forwards.

“Hey, Your Majesty or whatever you call yourself!”

The Gaffer turned.

“You wanted two?” Ralf asked. “Two human
servants? A matching pair?”

“You know I do,” scowled the old troll.

Ralf swung round and pointed straight at Baldur and
Grim.

“Then there they are!” he roared. “THERE'S YOUR
MATCHING PAIR!”

“Oh, yes!” shouted Hilde in delight. “Twins! And
they've already drunk your beer! Oh, Peer, well done!”
She beamed at him.

Peer grinned breathlessly back. They looked at the
Gaffer, who looked at his guests. “I
wanted
a girl and a
boy. But it's for the bride to say!” he remarked, staring at
the Dovre princess, who shrugged ill-temperedly. She
rose to her feet and took a look at Baldur and Grim,
who still stood there, swaying and fingering their faces.
She flicked her napkin.

“Yes, yes, they'll do,” she said pettishly. “Better than
the others, in fact. They have such nice, trollish faces.”

“Yes!!!”

Peer rushed at Hilde and hugged her, swinging her
off her feet. Laughing and crying, she hugged him back.
And suddenly Peer found himself surrounded by a
crowd of friendly villagers, all trying at once to shake his
hand and rumple his hair and bang him on the back. He
came face to face with Gudrun. She flung her arms
round him. “Oh, Peer! You blessed boy!” She kissed him
on both cheeks. Beside him, Loki was leaping, jealously
trying to squeeze in and get his share. He nipped Peer's
fingers.

And now Ralf and Bjørn and the others were
shepherding them out. The trolls were falling back to
make a path for them. Peer cast a backwards look over his
shoulder. Goodbye the glittering splendour of the Hall
under Troll Fell. Behind him the musicians were already
striking up again. Couples ventured on to the dance floor.
Wasn't that the Troll Fell prince, doing an astounding
somersault to impress his bride? And there were Uncle
Grim and Uncle Baldur, sitting down heavily, reaching for
more of the beer that had turned them into trolls. Much
good those jewels would do them now!

“Perhaps they always were trolls, on the inside,” Peer
murmured. “Perhaps it won't change them very much!”

A dark figure flitted through the throng. Could that
be Granny Greenteeth? He tried to wave to her, but
Hilde had his hand and was dragging him along.

“What's the matter with you, Peer? Come on!”

His foot sank into snow. A chill wind curled round
him and his breath smoked. He had crossed the
boundary and was outside, on the slopes of Troll Fell.

“But where had you been?” Hilde asked Ralf, the next day.

It was late morning, and the little farmhouse seemed
very full. Peer and Hilde had only hazy memories of the
journey back down Troll Fell the night before. They had
been asleep on their feet. They didn't remember how in
the end, Arnë and Bjørn had picked them up and carried
them. They didn't remember being put to bed. They only
knew they had slept long and deeply, and had awoken to
the savoury smell of breakfast.

Gudrun was baking oatcakes on the griddle.

“A special breakfast for a special day,” she said,
smiling. She put a dab of butter on the first one and
handed it to Peer over the heads of Sigrid and Sigurd.
“For the guest of honour!”

It was smoking hot. The butter ran over his fingers.
Peer juggled it from hand to hand before taking the first
nibble. It was delicious, crumbly and buttery and salty,
the best food he had ever tasted.

“Mmmm!” he exclaimed, finishing it rapidly. Loki
materialised beside him, thumping his tail hopefully and
gluing greedy eyes on the last piece.

“Go on!” said Peer, giving in. It vanished like
lightning.

“Give Loki a whole oatcake, Ma,” begged Hilde.
“He's deserved it. Alf, too.”

“Waste good food on the dogs?” asked Gudrun. But
she was only pretending to be indignant, for she patted
Alf as she passed him, and said, “Good boy!” to Loki.

“It's amazing how they found us last night,” she said,
shaking her head in wonder. “How could they tell we
were down by the fjord? We shall never know.”

Everyone looked at the dogs in silence. The dogs
looked embarrassed, ducking their heads.

“So they
do
deserve an oatcake,” said Hilde.

“They can have the one Sigurd dropped,” said
Gudrun. At that, Sigrid deliberately dropped hers, so that
the dogs could have one each.

When Gudrun had finished scolding (and she didn't
try very hard), and they were all sitting up with a couple
of oatcakes each and a big jug of buttermilk on the table,
Hilde asked, “But Pa, where had you been?”

“Now,
there's
a story,” said Ralf happily, “that will keep
us busy for many a winter's night.” He leaned back on
his bench and looked around the room.

“We know you got down the coast, way below
Hammerhaven,” said Gudrun. “Arnë told us that. But
afterwards – and he told us there'd been a sinking—”

Her voice trembled and she stopped abruptly.

“Poor old girl,” exclaimed Ralf, squeezing her hand.
“How I wish Arnë had never told you that. He meant
well, I know, and some poor sailormen must have
drowned. But it wasn't us, you see. We were as right as
rain.”

“So what did happen?” asked Hilde impatiently.

“We sailed west,” said Ralf. “West for the Shetlands
and then northwest for the Faroes. Small islands with a
few settlements. They live there by keeping sheep, like
us, and catching whales! Aye, they drive the whales on to
the beaches, and kill them there. We helped! And
seabirds! I've never seen so many.

“But our skipper, Thorolf – you saw him yesterday,
he's staying with Bjørn now – he has a brother in
Iceland, on Breidafjord. So from Faroes we set off again,
northwest for Iceland. And this would be late summer.

“Now here it gets exciting!” He winked at Hilde.
“We never made Iceland! We were struck by a terrible
gale and driven due west. Three days it blew; the steering
rope snapped, we spent all our time bailing, soaked to the
skin and our lips cracking with the salt. We hoped to
make Greenland. But after the storm we had a north
wind, and then fog. For days we were lost, helpless. I tell
you, we all wished then we had never left home!”

“Go on!” gasped Gudrun.

“At last the sun came out,” said Ralf, “the fog began
to clear, and there we all were, hanging on to the ropes,
staring out for a sight of where we might be – and we
saw it. Land!”

“Greenland!” said Hilde knowingly.

“No!” Ralf shook his head. “Not Greenland.
Greenland is all ice and mountains. We saw low hills,
covered in green shaggy forests.”

He leaned forwards impressively. “We had found the
land at the other end of the world!”

The family sat with their eyes and mouths wide open.

“Did you land?” gasped Hilde.

“Aye, that we did! We were gasping for fresh water,
and dry ground underfoot. But as we rowed into this
lonely bay, we all wondered if the land was real, or an
enchantment. Would it vanish as we set foot on it, and
leave us struggling in the grey salty sea?

“Well, it was real.” He looked around at their riveted
expressions, and said mischievously, “I'm still hungry,
Gudrun! Any more of those oatcakes?”

“Oh!” Gudrun jumped up. “I'll make some – but go
on, Ralf – keep talking!”

“This is the stuff of a fine saga!” said old Eirik in a
voice quavering with excitement. His bowl of groute
was going cold on his knee and he had dropped his
spoon.

“You've got to make a poem about this, Grandpa!”
Hilde encouraged him. Eirik slapped his thigh. “I will
indeed. What a story –
what
a story! To find a new land,
with no people! Go on, my son.”

“But there were people!” Ralf spoke through a
mouthful of oatcake. “We didn't know that for a long
time, though. First we had to mend the boat. Then we
went hunting and fishing. What a wonderful place! The
rivers full of trout and salmon. Beavers and deer in the
woods. I tell you I half thought of coming back, and
bringing you all!

“We decided to call it Wood Land, and the days just
slipped by…”

He jumped to his feet. “But why spoil a good story
by rushing at it? This should last us for many nights.
Not another word now!” His eyes twinkled at their
disappointed faces.

“Just tell us one more thing,” begged Hilde. “The
people – what did they look like?”

“Brown faces!” declared Ralf dramatically. “Brown all
over, like smoked oak. And black hair – black as jet. With
feathers in it.”

“Ohhh!” wailed Hilde. “I can't wait. You have to tell
us more!”

“Tonight,” Ralf promised. He stretched his arms.
“Now I want to go and look all round the farm – check
the sheep – visit the cow – look at the fences. I want to
really feel I'm home again. I want to get down to some
good solid work.”

Peer glanced up. Perhaps this was his chance.

“Ralf,” he said shyly. “You don't happen to need a
boy, do you?”

“Oh, yes, Pa!” said Hilde quickly. “Can't Peer live
with us?”

Ralf looked quizzically at Peer. “A boy?” he said,
turning the words over in his mouth as though seeing
how they tasted. “A boy? No, I can't really say that I need
a boy. I've got Hilde, you see, and the twins growing up,
and it's a small place – no, I don't really need a boy.”

“Oh, Ralf!” cried Gudrun reproachfully, while Peer
bit his lip. But Ralf was still talking. “So, I don't need a
boy, as such,” he went on. “But Peer Ulfsson, who went
after the twins – Peer Ulfsson, who stood by Hilde and
helped her – Peer Ulfsson, who offered to stay in Troll
Fell to rescue Sigurd – I think we certainly need him!”

“Hooray!” Hilde cheered. Peer blushed scarlet. Ralf
put his hands on Peer's shoulders and shook him gently.

“It's not for the work you can do, my lad,” he said,
“though I'm sure you'll be useful. It's not because we
need you – it's because we want you.”

Peer tried to speak. To his horror, he felt his eyes
filling with tears. Gudrun stepped forwards and put her
arms round him, and he was glad to hide his head against
her apron.

“You belong in this family now, and we're proud of
you!” she said briskly. “Yes, and you too!” she nodded to
Loki, who gave a surprised sneeze. Peer managed a shaky
laugh, and went to make a fuss of Loki till he had control
of himself again.

“That's a good little dog,” Ralf approved. “Smart and
loyal. We'll soon train him to be a fine sheepdog, won't
we, Alf?” Alf gave his master an adoring look. He had
practically glued himself to Ralf's side, and now as Ralf
reached down his old coat and headed for the door, Alf
followed like an extra shadow. He had no intention of
allowing him to escape ever again!

Peer watched Ralf go out, and then reached for a
cloak himself. He was happier than he could have
imagined, but he was not yet quite comfortable just
sitting there and chatting. And there was something he
wanted to do.

“Where are you going?” asked Hilde.

“Down to the mill,” said Peer quietly.

“I suppose it belongs to you, now!” said Hilde in
surprise. “Does it?”

“I don't know,” said Peer, startled. “But there's animals
there. Someone has to feed the sheep…”

“Shall I come?”

Peer hesitated. He really wanted to go by himself, or
his idea might not work. Still, it was only fair to tell them
about it.

“You see,” he stammered, “there's the Nis.”

Hilde put her hand to her mouth. “The poor Nis! I'd
forgotten about it. Nobody lives at the mill now, do
they?”

“So I wondered,” said Peer, “if it might like to come
here. Would that be all right, Gudrun?”

“Gracious!” said Gudrun. “I suppose so. Is it well
behaved?”

Peer thought. “Well, not very,” he said, “but I think it
would be if we treated it nicely. With Baldur and Grim it
wasn't.”

“That's no surprise,” Gudrun sniffed. “Very well, Peer,
you can try. But mind, you'll have to tell it to be good!”

Wrapped up warmly in a thick cloak, Peer set off by
himself down the valley. It was mid-afternoon. It wasn't
snowing, but the wind was keen and the skies were grey.
He tramped down through the wood and came at last in
sight of the mill.

It seemed an age since he had been there; so much
had happened. But he could still see the broken ice on
the millpond, frozen over again but still visible as the spot
where Grendel had gone through. Was it really only two
nights ago?

He shook his head and tramped on downhill to the
footbridge, and over it into the mill yard. The sheep in
their pen began bleating hungrily as soon as they saw
him. He pushed open the barn door to fetch the hay, and
stepped into a starburst of black feathers.

There was a chorus of anxious clucks. Peer squinted
up into the rafters and saw the huddled shapes of his
chickens. He counted them. All nine were there, but not
the black cockerel or his scrawny wives. There were
feathers everywhere. And there was a strong smell of fox.
The hens had clearly had a terrible experience.

“Hmmm!” said Peer. He scattered grain on the floor.
“Come down and eat, you silly things!” Subdued,
repentant, humble, the hens scrambled down from the
rafters and began picking away gratefully.

“Ralf and I will come for you tomorrow, with a
basket,” Peer told them. “We'll take you somewhere
safe.” The hens cackled pathetically.

Peer fed the sheep and the oxen, and tossed a few
armfuls of hay to Bristles and the sow, although he could
hardly bear to look at them for being reminded of his
uncles.
Maybe Bjørn and Arnë would like to have them
, he
thought.

Finally, he pushed open the mill door and ventured
inside. It was dark and cold. The fire had gone out. The
wreckage of the millstone still lay where it had landed on
the splintered wooden chest. There was no sound.

“Nis?” called Peer quietly. “Are you there?”

He looked around, hoping to see a small shadow flit
from beam to beam, or to catch the gleam of its eyes, but
nothing moved.

“Nis?”

It was growing dark. The short day was done. Peer
backed out of the cold and lonely mill, wondering with
a sigh if the Nis had already gone. He stood for a
moment leaning on the doorpost, looking thoughtfully
into the yard. Did all this really belong to him, now? It
wasn't something he felt ready to think about yet. The
pile of snow that the Nis had pushed off the barn roof
still lay there in a long heap, and he remembered the
dogfight with a shudder.

It was then that he heard a light sound, a scuffling
noise, and before he could move, a white fox came
skipping into the yard. It was playing games in the snow,
chasing its tail, running in rings, dashing about. Peer
watched, enchanted. So here was the culprit, probably
back for a few more hens! He decided to make sure the
barn door was firmly shut.