West of the Moon (13 page)

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 beards wagged as they argued about their shares. Peer hoped the Gaffer would notice they were stealing, but none of the trolls seemed to care. The Gaffer was not going to fuss about losing a few jewels when he wanted to impress the Dovreking.

“We won't go without you!” Ralf was swearing to Hilde.

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

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. They had caused all this misery, and 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 and go home to the mill. 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,
it'll have to be me.
And the very next moment, he saw how to do it. Simple, obvious and beautiful.

Had Baldur and Grim overheard what the Gaffer had said about the effects of troll beer? Peer didn't think so. They hadn't been close enough. He walked quietly to the table and picked up the beautiful golden cup. No one was watching. 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 cup, a rich, bitter broth with a tang of moss. Careful not to splash, Peer carried it smoothly to his uncles and set it down between them.

They didn't even look up to see who he was. Arguing over a big emerald, Uncle Baldur seized the cup in one hairy hand. He tipped his head back. The bog-wife's beer glugged down his throat.

“Give me some of that!” His brother snatched the cup and swirled it. “There's only half left!” he snarled, gulping it down and pushing the cup back at Peer. “It's good! Here boy – fill that up!” Peer gladly obliged.

As Baldur once again raised the cup to his lips, it jarred and slopped. It had struck something hard. Peer backed away, holding his breath. Something was growing through Baldur's beard. Something hard and curved and pointed. Baldur grabbed at his face. He stared at his brother. Grim too was feeling his face. 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 looked. And from both trolls and men came a mighty roar of laughter, as Baldur and Grim stood rubbing their jowls in bewilderment, their treasure quite forgotten.

“Like 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 then his eyes widened. “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 pointed at Baldur and Grim. “Then there they are,” he roared. “THERE'S YOUR MATCHING PAIR!”

“Oh yes,” cried Hilde in delight. “Twins! And they've already drunk your beer. Oh Peer, well done!”

She beamed at him. Peer grinned. Breathlessly, they looked at the Gaffer, who looked at his guests. “I
wanted
a boy and a girl. But it's for the bride to say,” he remarked, staring at the Dovre princess who rose to her feet with an ill-tempered shrug. She 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 swung her off her feet. Laughing and crying, she hugged him back. And then Peer found himself surrounded by 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. “Oh Peer! You blessed boy!” She kissed him on both cheeks. Beside him, Loki leaped, jealous for his share. Lovingly he nipped Peer's fingers.

And now Ralf and Bjørn and the villagers were shepherding them out. The trolls fell back to open a path for them. Peer cast a backwards glance over his shoulder. Goodbye, the glittering splendour of the Hall under Troll Fell. 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 Baldur and Uncle Grim, sitting down, 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, 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 around him and his breath smoked. He had crossed the boundary and was outside, on the slopes of Troll Fell.

“B
UT WHERE HAD
you been?” Hilde asked Ralf the next day.

It was late morning, and the little farmhouse seemed very full. Gudrun was baking oatcakes on the griddle. 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 and gluing greedy eyes on the last piece.

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

“Give Loki an oatcake, Ma,” begged Hilde. “He deserves it. Alf too.”

“Waste good food on the dogs?” asked Gudrun. But she patted Alf as she passed him and said, “Good boy!” to Loki. “It's amazing how they found us,” she said, shaking her head. “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.

“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 trying not to laugh), Hilde asked Ralf, “But Pa, where had you been?”

“Now
there's
a story,” said Ralf happily, “that will last us for many a winter's night.” He stretched his arms and looked around the room.

“We know you went down the coast, southwards,” said Gudrun. “Arne told us that. But, afterwards – and he said there'd been a sinking —”

Her voice trembled and she stopped abruptly.

“Poor old girl,” exclaimed Ralf, squeezing her hand. “How I wish Arne 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 right as rain.”

“So
what happened?
” asked Hilde impatiently.

“We sailed west,” said Ralf. “West for the Shetlands and then northwest for the Faroes. They live by keeping sheep 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 and Kersten – he has a brother in Iceland, on Breidafjord. So from the 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 west. Three days it blew; we spent all our time bailing and hoping to make Greenland. But after the storm we had a north wind, and then fog. For days we were lost, helpless.”

“Go on,” gasped Gudrun.

“At last the sun came out,” said Ralf, “the fog cleared 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.

Ralf shook his head. “No. Greenland is all ice and mountains. We saw low hills, covered in green shaggy forests.” He leaned forward impressively. “
We had found the land that lies west of the moon – the land at the other end of the world!
”

The family sat with their eyes and mouths wide open.

“And you set foot on it?” gasped Hilde.

“Aye, that we did! We longed for fresh water and dry ground. But as we rowed in 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 sea?”

He looked around at their faces and said mischievously, “I'm still hungry, Gudrun. Any more of those oatcakes?”

Gudrun jumped up. “I'll make some, Ralf. But keep talking!”

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

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

“But there were people.” Ralf spoke through a mouthful of oatcake. “Lots of people! Villages, with houses made from the bark of trees… What a wonderful place! The rivers full of trout and salmon. Beavers and reindeer in the woods. How I wished you were all with me. 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 one more thing,” begged Hilde. “These people – what were they 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. “Now I want to go and look all round the farm – check the sheep – visit the cow – look at the fences. I want to feel I'm really home. 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 want 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.”

“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!”

Hilde cheered. Peer blushed scarlet. Ralf took Peer by the 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 put her arms around him, and he was glad to hide his head against her apron.

“You belong with us 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 fuss Loki till he had control of himself again.

“That's a good little dog,” Ralf approved. “Smart and loyal. We'll train him into a fine sheepdog, won't we, Alf?” Alf gave his master an adoring look. And as Ralf reached down his old coat and headed for the door, Alf followed him like an extra shadow.

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 chatting. And there was something he needed to do.

“Where are you going?” asked Hilde.

“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 alone, 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 a 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?”

“Goodness,” said Gudrun. “I suppose so. Is it well behaved?”

Peer thought. “Well, not very. 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 tell it to be good!”

Warmly wrapped in a thick cloak, Peer set off down the valley. It wasn't snowing, but the wind was keen and the skies were grey. He tramped down through the wood till he came in sight of the mill.

So much had happened since he had been there. But he saw 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?

In the yard the penned sheep were bleating hungrily. He pushed open the barn door to fetch their hay, and stepped into a starburst of black feathers.

Peer squinted into the rafters and saw the huddled shapes of his chickens. He counted them. All nine were there, but not the black cockerel. There were feathers everywhere, and 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. I'll come for you tomorrow, with a basket, and take you somewhere safe.” Repentant, humbled, the hens scrambled from the rafters and began picking away gratefully.

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

Finally he ventured into the mill. The fire had long gone out. The wreckage of the millstone still lay where it had fallen 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 catch the gleam of its eyes. There was no sound.

“Nis?”

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

It was then that he heard a light sound. 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 this was the culprit, probably back for a few more hens! He resolved to make sure the barn door was firmly shut.

He blinked. There seemed to be a little whirlwind blowing about the yard – a little, swirling column of snow, playing with the fox. He rubbed his eyes. Or was it a little, wispy grey creature with big hands and feet?

“Nis?” he called. Something ran across the yard kicking spurts of snow from its heels. The fox sat down and turned its sharp, laughing face towards him. Something jumped on to the mill roof, and a chunk of snow flumped off the eaves on to his head and shoulders, and went down his neck.

Peer yelped and wriggled, and a cross little voice muttered above his head: “They all forgets the poor Nis!”

“Nis!” said Peer firmly and kindly. “I haven't forgotten you. Listen. You don't have to stay in the cold mill. I'm living at Ralf Eiriksson's farm now. Please come too! There'll be hot groute with butter every day, I promise!”

He heard no reply. But the wispy little wind whirled itself on to the fox's back, and the white fox straightened out and went streaking out of the yard and over the wooden bridge.

Peer followed its tracks in the snow all the way home, grinning to himself.

Hilde greeted him at the farmhouse door. “Suppertime!” she called. “And it's a funny thing, but the floor seems to have swept itself in the last half-hour, and the logs have stacked themselves neatly, and it didn't take half as long for the kettle to boil. I think your Nis has come home!”

Gudrun peeped over her shoulder. “It's a marvellous help, Peer. I hope it stays. What do you say it likes to eat?” And she poured out a full bowl of groute, carefully stirring in the butter, and set it on the warm hearthstone. As a final touch, she spooned in some honey.

From then on, the Nis was positively spoilt.

That evening, and for many more to come, they listened spellbound to one another's stories. Peer and Hilde had much to tell of the wonders they had seen under Troll Fell. Eirik spun the tale of how he and Gudrun had struggled down to the fjord, of their despair at finding the village deserted, and their joy at discovering the longship. He made such a good job of it that Gudrun herself shook her head and declared, while they laughed at her, “What an adventure!”

But the best and newest story of all was Ralf 's. With his arm round Gudrun and the little ones on his knee he told them more and more about the green forests at the other end of the world, of the dark-haired people who spoke a strange language, of the bright feathers in their hair, of their bark houses built deep in the woods. And he told of the long journey home.

“Will you ever go back?” asked Hilde curiously. Gudrun clutched Ralf 's hand, shaking her head. Ralf paused a long moment and sighed.

“East, west; home's best,” he said at last. “But who knows? It's a wonderful land out there, Hilde. A wonderful land.”