West of the Moon (15 page)

A
FEW HOURS
earlier, just before sunset, Hilde stood on the seaward shoulder of Troll Fell, looking out over a huge gulf of air. Far below, the fjord flashed trembling silver, between headlands half-drowned in shadow. A tiny dark boat was creeping along on the brightness.

“
Hiillde!
”

She turned to see her little brother racing down the hill towards her, a small brown dog running at his heels. Braced for the crash, she caught him and swung him round.

“Oof! You're getting pretty heavy for an eight-year-old. Where's Pa and Sigrid?”

“They're coming. What were you staring at?”

“See that boat down there? That's Peer and Bjørn.”

Sigurd craned his neck. “So it is. Hey, Loki, it's Peer! Where's Peer?” Loki pricked his ears, barking.

“Don't tease him!” said Hilde. Sigurd threw himself down beside Loki, laughing and tussling.

Fierce sunlight blazed through a gap in the clouds. The hillside turned unearthly green. The long drifts of tired snow lying in every dip and hollow woke into blinding sparkles, and the crooked thorn trees sprang out, every mossy twig a shrill yellow. Two more people came over the skyline: a tall man in a plaid cloak and a little fair-haired girl whose red hood glowed like a jewel.

Sigurd jumped up, waving to his twin. “Sigrid, we can see the boat! Lucky things,” he added. “Peer gets to go fishing with Bjørn, and we have to count sheep. Why can't Sigrid and I have some fun?”

“You can, when you're older,” said Hilde. “I didn't go fishing, did I?”

“You didn't want to,” Sigurd muttered.

“I know who she'd like to go fishing with!” said Sigrid slyly. “Bjørn's brother, Arne! Wouldn't you? Wouldn't you, Hilde?”

“Not very likely,” said Hilde calmly, “since Arne doesn't even live in the village any more. You know perfectly well that he works a fishing boat out of Hammerhaven —”

“And it's bigger than Bjørn's!” Sigurd interrupted. “Bjørn's boat is a faering, with a mast but only two sets of oars. Arne's boat is a six-oarer!”

“That's right, and he has a partner to help him sail it,” Hilde said.

“You know a lot about him,” Sigrid giggled.

“Don't be silly. Arne is twenty-two; he's a grown man.”

“So? You're sixteen, you're grown-up, too! When he came to say goodbye to you, he held your hand. You went all pink.”

Hilde gave her little sister a withering glance, and wrapped her arms around herself with a shiver. Out at sea, the clouds had eaten up the sun.

“It's going to rain, Pa,” she said as Ralf joined them.

“We can see Peer,” Sigrid squeaked, pointing at the boat. “Look, Pa, look!”

“Aha!” Ralf peered down the slope, scanning every rock and boulder. “Now I wonder if our lost sheep have gone over this edge. I don't see any. But they wouldn't show up against all the grey stones.”

“How many are missing?” Hilde demanded.

“Let's see.” Grimly, Ralf ticked them off on his fingers. “The old ewe with the bell round her neck, two of the black sheep, the lame one, the speckled one, and the one with the broken horn. And their lambs. It can't be wolves or foxes. They'd leave tracks.”

“Stolen?” asked Hilde. “By the trolls?”

“That thought does worry me,” Ralf admitted.

The wind blew rain into their faces. The fjord below was a brooding gulf of shadows. Sigrid tugged Hilde's sleeve. “The boat's gone. Where is it?”

“Don't worry, Siggy. They'll be coming in to land. We can't see the shore from here; the hillside gets in the way. Pa, let's go. Those clouds are coming up fast.”

“Yes.” Ralf was gazing out to sea. “The old seawife is brewing up some dirty weather in that cookpot of hers!” He caught their puzzled looks, and laughed. “Did Grandfather never tell you that story? It's a sailor's yarn. The old seawife, Ran, sits in her kitchen at the bottom of the sea, brewing up storms in her big black pot. Oh, yes! All the drowned sailors go down to sit in rows on the benches in Ran's kitchen!”

Hilde gave an appreciative shudder. “That's like one of Bjørn's tales – about the draug, who sails the seas in half a boat and screams on the wind when people are going to drown. Brrr!”

“I remember. That's a good one,” said Sigurd. “You think it's an ordinary boat, but then it gets closer and you see that the sailors are all dead and rotten. And the boat can sail against the wind and catch you anywhere. And the draug steers it, and he hasn't got a face. And then you hear this terrible scream —”

“Well, Peer and Bjørn are safely home,” said Ralf. “So let him scream! But we won't see Peer tonight. He'll stay with Bjørn and Kersten, snug and dry. Like we want to be: so let's be off.” But he stood for a moment staring west, as if straining to see something far away, though all that Hilde saw was a line of advancing clouds like inky mountains.

“It's dark and I'm hungry.” Sigurd hopped from foot to foot. “What are you waiting for?”

Reluctantly, Ralf turned away. “Only trying to catch a glimpse of the islands, but it's too murky now.” Sigurd and Sigrid dashed ahead with Loki.

“I passed those islands once, you know,” Ralf said to Hilde, following the twins. “In the dragonship, the summer I went to sea.”

“I know you did, Pa.” Hilde wasn't listening. There was no real path, only a sheep track twisting between outcrops of rock, and she had to watch where she put her feet.

“I'd never seen them so close before,” Ralf called over his shoulder. “Never been so far from home. Some of them are big, with steep cliffs where seagulls nest. A wild sort of people live there. Fishermen, not farmers. They climb on the cliffs for gulls' eggs, and gather seaweed and shellfish —”

“Yes, you've told me.” She'd heard the story many times, and just now she wished he'd be quiet and hurry up. This rain and early darkness made her nervous. She started. Had something just peered out from behind that big stone?

Ralf was still talking. “But many of the islands are just rocks, skerries, with the sea swilling over them and no room for anyone but seals. They'd lie basking in the sun, watching us. It's tricky sailing. The tides come boiling up through the channels, sweeping the boat along, and there's rocks everywhere just waiting to take a bite. But we got through. And further out, and beyond the horizon – many days' sailing – well, you know what we found, Hilde. The land at the other end of the world!”

The old thrill prickled down Hilde's spine. “East of the sun and west of the moon,” she said softly. “Like a fairytale.”

“No fairytale,” said Ralf. “To think I've been so far away! Why, by the time I passed the islands again on my way home, they seemed like old friends. How I'd love to… but I've promised your mother… and there's the baby. Ah, well!”

He strode on. Hilde squelched after him, looking affectionately at the back of his head. She knew part of him longed to go off again – to sail away to that wondrous land, adventurous and free.
He'll never be quite contented here
, she thought.
It worries Ma, but I understand. I'd go there too, if I could – to the lands lying west of the moon… Why, even Peer's seen more of the world than I have. He used to live miles away, in Hammerhaven. I've spent my whole life here.

Hammerhaven… Her mind skipped to the day, last year, when Arne had made a special visit to the farm. He'd come to say goodbye: he was moving his fine new boat to Hammerhaven, where he could sell his catch for a better price. He'd taken her hand and asked her not to forget him. Surely that meant something?

I wonder how he is. I wonder
—

She tripped over a rock. Thunder rolled. Scraping the wet hair from her eyes, she glanced up. The storm stretched black wings over Troll Fell.

“I think we left it a little late,” shouted Ralf, half-turning. “Sigrid, Sigurd – keep close!” He caught Sigrid's hand, and they hurried on together past the base of a long, low crag. Blackthorn trees craned over the edge like a row of spiteful old women.

A bird screamed from somewhere on top of the crag, a long liquid call that ended in syllables: “
Huuuuututututu!
” An answering cry floated up the slope from their left, and a third, distant and quavering, came from far below. Hilde caught Ralf 's arm. “Those aren't birds. Trolls, Pa! On both sides of us.”

With a gasp, Sigrid shrank close to her father, and Hilde cursed herself for speaking without thinking. Sigrid was terrified of trolls.

Ralf cocked his head. The bubbling cries began again, relayed up the hill like a series of signals. “You're right,” he muttered. “My fault. I should have got us home earlier. Never mind, Sigrid, the trolls won't hurt us. It's just the sort of night they like, you see – dark and wet and windy. Let them prance around if they want – they can't scare us.”

“Are they stealing the sheep?” Sigurd whispered.

“Can't we get home?” Sigrid's voice was thin.

“Of course we can,” said Hilde.

“We'll slip past,” said Ralf. “They won't bother us.”

“They will!” Sigrid clutched him with cold hands. “They stole Sigurd and me; they wanted to keep us for ever!”

“No, no, the Grimsson brothers stole you,” Hilde tried to reassure her, “and the trolls kept
them
instead, and serve them right. Don't worry, Siggy. Pa's here; and me. You're safe with us.”

There was a sudden blast of wind. Rain lashed the hillside.

“Nothing can see us in this,” shouted Ralf. “Let's go!” Swept along by wind and weather, they stumbled half blind down a sudden slope into a narrow gully. At the bottom a thin stream rattled over pebbles. Something ran out of the dense curtains of drifting rain. Sigrid shrieked.

Trolls were all around them: tails, snouts, glow-worm eyes. Dim lines of trolls louping and leaping from the raincloud. A pair of thin, thin legs that raked like a cockerel's, and a round hairless body on top. Ralf and the children skidded to an appalled halt. Hilde grabbed the twins and bundled them back the way they had come. But the trolls stampeded, racing up the slope with gobbling yells. Hilde slipped. The wet hillside reeled and hit her. She lay, winded, as a troll bounded over her. Its rat-like tail slashed her legs. A horny hoof drove hard into the small of her back. A hot, sharp smell prickled her nose. Then the trolls were gone. Loki tore after them in hysterical fury.

Covered in mud, Hilde sat up. Ralf pulled her to her feet. The world steadied. Here was Sigrid, curled up on the ground, sobbing. “It's all right, Siggy, they didn't mean to hurt us. We frightened them just as much as they frightened us…”

“Loki chased them!” Sigurd arrived at his father's side. “Where is he? I have to find him!” He made a lunge for the slope, but Hilde caught him. “Loki can look after himself.” And she stepped on something that crunched and splintered.

“He can't, he can't! Peer told me to look after him!” Sigurd wrestled free; but just then Loki came sliding and scrabbling down the stony gully, wagging a jaunty tail. Sigurd grabbed him. “Good boy, Loki! Brave dog!” he choked into Loki's fur. Loki shook himself.

“Siggy, don't cry, they've gone.” Hilde hugged her little sister, “The trolls have all gone.”

“Carrying off my sheep and lambs, I'll swear!” Ralf growled.

Sigurd shook his head. “No they weren't. Didn't you see? They were carrying sacks and baskets, Pa. But what was in them?”

Sigrid raised her head from Hilde's shoulder. “Bones,” she gulped.

“What? Bones, Siggy? Are you sure?”

“Some fell out.” Sigrid buried her face again. “They fell on me. A bundle of bones, tied up like firewood.”

“Bones?” Slowly, Ralf shook his head. “I don't like the sound of that.”

Something else snapped under Hilde's foot – something thin and curved that gleamed faintly in the dark. She bent to look. Nearby, Ralf was kicking at a greyish tangle, barely visible in the grass. He nodded to her. “
Bones
,” he mouthed.

“Let's get home,” Hilde shivered, and Ralf swung Sigrid on to his shoulders.

“What about the trolls?” asked Sigurd. “What if they follow us?”

“They won't,” said his father easily. “Loki here has chased them all into their foxholes amongst those rocks. Forget them. I wonder what your ma has for supper?”

Talking cheerfully, he set off at a rapid pace. Hilde followed, Sigurd tramping manfully at her side. At last they came to the proper track that led down to the farm. Far ahead in the dim wet night they saw a speck of light. Gudrun had lit the lantern to guide them home.

“B
ONES
?”
EXCLAIMED
G
UDRUN
, ladling out four bowls of hot mutton stew. “What kind of bones?”

“Dry ones.” Ralf took a long gulp of ale and wiped his mouth with a sigh. “Old dry bones,” he repeated. “I kicked some with my foot. Looked like bits of a sheep's ribcage, years old. Sigrid got a fright, but so long as it's dry bones and not ones with meat on them, the trolls can have them and welcome.” He looked at Gudrun over the rim of his mug, and his eyes said,
Let's talk about this later.

For more than a year after being trapped underground, Sigrid had woken every night, screaming about trolls.
Best not make a fuss
, thought Gudrun, sighing. “Well, Ralf, as you say, it's hard to see what harm dry bones can do. Unless the trolls killed the sheep in the first place, the thieves! Come and sit down, Hilde.”

Hilde was admiring her baby brother. He lay breathing quietly, long lashes furled on the peaceful curve of his cheek. The firelight glowed on his golden curls.

“Has Eirik been good today?”

Gudrun laughed. “I can't turn my back on that child for half a minute. He tried three times to crawl into the fire, and screamed blue murder when I pulled him back. If it weren't for the Nis, I'd be tearing my hair out.”

“The Nis?” Hilde asked, intrigued. “Why, what does it do?”

“Haven't you noticed? It croons away and dangles things over the cradle; it's very good with him! Of course I don't see it properly, only out of the corner of my eye, but I hear the baby coo, and I know he's all right for a while. It was a blessing when Peer brought that creature into our house.”

Wind rattled the shutters, and smoke swirled over the fire. The family bent over their meal. By the hearth Loki lay, watchful, resting his chin over the back of Ralf 's old sheepdog, Alf. Suddenly he raised his head and pricked his ears. Alf too woke from his dreaming, turning his grey muzzle towards the door.

Which burst open. In staggered a tall, white-faced boy, streaming with water, dragging a ripped and flapping cloak like stormy broken wings. He turned dilated, desperate eyes on Gudrun, and shoved something at her.

“Take it!” he gasped. “Please, Gudrun! Take the baby!” They all jumped up. Gudrun stared at the bundle he held out. She reached for it as if half afraid – then snatched it and peeled the wrappings back. The dark head of a tiny baby lolled on to her arm, and she clutched it to her chest and stepped back, mouth open.

“Merciful heavens, Peer! Whatever…?”

Peer sank on the bench. “It's Kersten's baby.” His voice quivered. “She gave it to me – she said —”

“Kersten's? Where is she? What's happened?”

“She fell into the sea,” Peer buried his face in his hands while they all gasped, then looked up again with miserable eyes. “At least – that's not true. She ran into it. I couldn't stop her. Bjørn went after her. Gudrun, I think that baby's terribly cold!”

Gudrun, Hilde and Ralf looked at one another.

“First things first,” said Gudrun, becoming practical. “Peer, take off those wet things. Sigrid will bring you some hot stew. Hilde, warm a blanket. Let me look at this child.” She laid the baby on her knee, gently unwrapping it and chafing the mottled little arms and legs.

“Poor creature,” she said softly. “Dear me, it must be weeks since Kersten had her. I've been meaning to get down and visit. But there's always something else to do. There – there, now!” She turned the baby over and rubbed the narrow back. “Do you know her name, Peer?”

“I didn't even know she was a girl.” Peer was struggling into a dry jerkin. His head came out, tousled. “Is she all right?” He came over and stared down at the baby in silence. “She looks like a little frog,” he said at last.

“She is rather cold, but she'll be all right.” Gudrun swaddled the baby in the warm shawl that Hilde brought. “Now she's warming up, I'll try and feed her.”

“Will you, Gudrun?” Tears sprang into Peer's eyes, and he turned away. “I think she
is
hungry. She was chewing my collar bone half the way home,” he said over his shoulder.

Hilde laughed at him. “That wouldn't do her much good!”

The baby's dark hair fluffed up as it dried, and she nuzzled into Gudrun's breast, sucking strongly and blinking upwards with vague bright eyes.

Ralf blew his nose. “Now – Peer. Tell us what happened!”

“We were on the shore. I was going to stay with Bjørn, and he gave me a fish to take to Kersten – we were going to have cod for supper. Then —” Peer broke off, trying to make sense of his memories. “Kersten came running down through the sand dunes. It was pouring with rain. She ran smack into me! She had the baby. She said – I can't remember exactly what, but she pushed the baby at me and told me to take it to you, Gudrun. She said, ‘Is Gudrun still giving suck?' And then she ran past me and down the shingle. I shouted for Bjørn, but —” He stopped again. “She was wearing this big fur cloak,” he whispered. “Before Bjørn could get to her, she'd thrown herself into the sea.”

Gudrun's eyes were bright with tears.

“She's gone back to the sea,” she said softly. “Do you remember, Ralf, how we all said Bjørn's bride was a seal woman?”

“Nonsense.” Ralf punched his fist into his palm. “Utter nonsense. I've never believed it, and I never shall.”

“Don't you see?” Gudrun persisted. “That fur cloak will have been her sealskin.”

“Explain,” demanded Hilde.

Gudrun went on talking quietly, almost singing, crooning over the baby. “It's the grey seals I'm talking about. They can be seals in the water, but people on land, shedding their skins like fur cloaks. If a man meets a seal woman while she's in her mortal shape, and he hides her sealskin, he has power over her. Then she must marry him and bear his children. But if ever she finds her sealskin again, then woe betide! She'll return to the sea and break his heart.”

Hilde was horrified. “Did Bjørn do that to Kersten?”

“No, he did not!” said Ralf angrily. “Don't fill their heads with this nonsense, Gudrun. Kersten and Bjørn were an ordinary loving couple.”

“Then why did she throw herself into the sea?” asked Hilde. She touched Peer's hand. “What happened, Peer? What happened to Kersten?”

But Peer was no longer certain what he remembered. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing till coloured lights danced on the darkness. “I don't know,” he groaned. “She rolled into the sea. The waves broke over her. It was getting dark, and I was yards away. I thought… I don't know what I thought. I thought she'd drown.”

“What did Bjørn do?” Sigrid asked in a small voice. Peer put an arm around her. “He went after her, Siggy. He jumped in the boat and went rowing out…”

“Will he find her?” Sigrid's eyes were round and scared. “Will he?”

Ralf stood. He paced up and down, shaking his head. “I can't bear to think of it!” he exclaimed. “I ought to go down there now – see if there's anything I can do. Didn't you raise the alarm, Peer? Bjørn needs help.”

Peer went a painful red. “I —” he stammered. “I never thought of it! I'm sorry! I just – I only – I wanted to bring the baby home!”

Hilde rolled her eyes. “You'd better get down there straight away, Pa!”

“I will.” Ralf was already pulling on his boots. “Now, don't worry, Gudrun – but I won't be back tonight. I'll get some of the men together – we'll comb the shore. If Bjørn hasn't found her, we'll search again when it's light.”

“I'll come!” Peer got up, staggering slightly.

“No, stay and rest,” said Ralf kindly. “You did the best you could, Peer. You can join the search tomorrow. Right – I'm off!” The door slammed behind him.

Hilde puffed out her cheeks and sat down. “How awful.”

“Why didn't I tell everyone?” Peer beat his forehead with the heel of his hand. “How could I be so stupid? I even saw Einar, and I dodged him, because I was too embarrassed to explain…”

Hilde patted his shoulder. “Same old Peer! But listen: you brought the baby safely home.”

Peer caught her hand, but she drew it away. Gudrun looked up, closing her dress and tucking the shawl more tightly around the baby.

“There, she's had enough. She's falling asleep. Peer, don't upset yourself. Ralf has rushed off like this because he can't bear sitting still, but really, there's nothing useful anyone can do till daybreak. Now eat your stew before it goes cold. Hilde, get the twins to bed. We'll put this little one in the cradle with Eirik.”

“Can I?” Sigrid asked, stretching her arms out.

“Yes, but be careful,” said Gudrun, handing her over. Sigrid grappled the bundle of shawl and baby with exaggerated care. “She's sweet. I wish I had a little sister.” She lowered her into the wide cradle. “I'll put her on her side. Isn't she tiny? Doesn't Eirik look big beside her?”

Peer came to look. The two babies lay side by side. Eirik's fair skin and rosy cheeks made the new baby look sallow. Her thin little wrists looked delicate and fragile compared with Eirik's sturdy dimpled arms.

“Is she sickly?” asked Hilde dubiously.

“No, no,” said Gudrun. “She's much younger, that's all. Hardly three months old, when I come to think. I wish now I'd visited Kersten. ‘Never put things off,' my mother used to say. But I've been so busy, and little Eirik is such a handful.”

“Yes, and he's in for a surprise tomorrow,” said Hilde. “Twins! Bedtime.” She chased them under the blankets, but Sigrid stuck her head out to call, “I like the new baby, Ma. Can we keep her?”

Gudrun whirled, eyes snapping. “Not another word from you, miss!” She beckoned Peer and Hilde to the other end of the long hearth. “Tell me again,” she whispered. “What happened when Kersten ran down to the water?”

Peer closed his eyes. “She saw Bjørn coming, I think,” he said slowly. “And she just dived to the ground, and rolled herself up in the cloak and crawled into the water. And I looked away then because Bjørn was pushing the boat out. He rowed out, shouting for her – but it was so wet and misty, I lost sight of him.”

They sat in a huddle with their heads together.

“I couldn't stop her!” Peer cried. “I was holding the baby…”

“Hush.” Gudrun took his hand. “No one blames you, Peer. And Kersten trusted you with the baby. But the seals – didn't you see any seals?”

“Yes,” Peer admitted. “After Bjørn disappeared, the water was full of them. But – Gudrun!” He swallowed. Was such a thing possible? And if so, did it mean Bjørn had trapped Kersten – kept her against her will?

Gudrun wiped her eyes. “It's sad, either way,” she said quietly. “And worst of all for that poor little mite over there. Well, we'd better go to bed. There'll be plenty to do in the morning.”

They wished one another a glum good night. Peer had been given old Eirik's sleeping place, a bunk built into the wall with a sliding wooden panel for privacy. He clambered in, but as usual left the panel half open so he could see out into the room. Loki pottered over to jump up on Peer's blankets. He turned around three times and settled down behind Peer's knees, yawning. The familiar weight was comforting. Peer slid a hand down to scratch his dog's ears.

He lay, bone weary, staring out into the darkened room. Gudrun had covered the fire with chunks of turf to keep it burning till morning. Small red eyes winked hotly from chinks and crannies, and he smelled scorching earth and woodsmoke. Rain tapped on the shutters. Each time he closed his eyes he saw Kersten, rushing past him, hurling herself into the sea.
I should have stopped her
.
I should have raised the alarm. I did everything wrong.
Was Bjørn still out there, rowing hopelessly over dark wastes of heaving water?

Peer dropped into an uneasy doze. A cobwebby shadow scampered out to sit hunched on the hearthstones. Peer woke. He heard a faint sound, a steady lapping. The click of a wooden bowl set stealthily down.

Peer watched between his lashes as the Nis set the room to rights, a little rushing shadow, swift as a bat. He hadn't seen it in a long time. Sometimes he glimpsed a wispy grey beard or a little red cap glowing in the firelight, but when he looked closer it was always just a bit of sheep's wool escaped from Gudrun's spindle, or a bright rag wrapped around Sigrid's doll.

Now here it was again, as if to comfort him for this terrible day. It frisked over the hearth, sweeping up ashes, damping the cloth over the dough that Gudrun had left by the fire, and turning the bowl so that it should rise evenly. Finished, it skipped lightly on to the edge of the creaking cradle, and perched there. With a furtive glance over one shoulder, it extended a knobbly forefinger into the cradle to prod one of the sleeping babies, then snatched it back, as if it had touched red-hot iron. It chirruped disapprovingly and hopped down.

Peer raised himself on one elbow. “Nis!” he called softly, half expecting the Nis to vanish like a mouse whisking into its hole. Two beady glinting eyes fixed on his. Behind him, Loki broke into a grumbling growl: Loki had never liked the Nis.

“Quiet,” whispered Peer. “Nis, I'm so glad to see you. It's been ages!”

The Nis glared at him. “What has you
done
, Peer Ulfsson?” it demanded.

“Me? What do you mean? I brought Kersten's baby home, that's all.”

“Yes! It is all your fault!” the Nis squeaked. Its hair and beard frilled out into a mad ruff of feathery tendrils. “Foolish, foolish boy! What was you thinking of, to bring such a baby here?”

“Wait a minute!” Peer sat right up. “That little baby has lost her mother. What did you want me to do – leave her?”