West of the Moon (16 page)

“Yes!” hissed the Nis. “She doesn't belong here, Peer Ulfsson. Who is her mother? One of the savage sea people, all wild and wet and webbed. Brrr!” It shook its head, a whirr and a blur of bright eyes and whiskers. “The likes of them doesn't belong in house, Peer Ulfsson. Besides, how can the mistress feed two childs, eh? Poor little Eirik. He will starve.”

“No he won't,” said Peer. “Eirik's nearly weaned. He eats all sorts of things.”

The Nis covered its face with two spidery hands. “Poor, poor Eirik!” it moaned, peeping through its fingers. “No milk for him! No food! The little stranger eats it all, steals his mother away. Like a cuckoo chick!”

“I thought you liked babies. What's wrong with her?”

“Everything!” fizzed the Nis. “This is not a proper baby, but a seal baby. Not one thing, not the other.” With its head on one side, it added more cheerfully, “Maybe she will pine, maybe she will die!”

Peer almost choked. “A seal baby? You've been listening to Gudrun, but she doesn't
know
. Kersten wasn't – and even if it's true, what are you saying? If her mother's a seal woman, you want the baby to go – yet it's quite all right for you to live here?”

The Nis nodded vigorously. “The Nis is very useful in a house. Often, often, the mistress says she can't manage without me!”

“Does she now?”

The Nis simpered, plaiting its long fingers. “So the baby will go?” it chirped.

“No – actually, the baby will stay.”

The Nis's lower lip stuck out, and its eyes glittered. “Peer Ulfsson is so clever,” it hissed. “Of course he is right. He knows so much more than the poor Nis!” It turned its back.

Angry though he was, Peer still owed the Nis a lot.

“Come, let's be friends,” he said.

“Huh!” snapped the Nis without turning.

“Oh, really, Nis – let's not quarrel.”

“If the baby stays – I goes.” The Nis delivered this ultimatum over its shoulder, its face still half-averted.

“You're being —–” Peer halted. He'd nearly said, “You're being silly,” but he thought better of it. “You're being very difficult.”

“I means it, Peer Ulfsson,” the Nis insisted.

“I'm sure you won't do anything to upset Gudrun,” said Peer after a moment. “Now tell me what else is happening.”

“What does the Nis know? The Nis knows nothing,” the little creature sulked.

“No news?” Peer asked. “When it's so long since we talked?” He faked a yawn. “Very well; I'm tired. I'll go back to sleep.”

This worked almost too well. The Nis turned round, stiff with fury. “What sort of news does Peer Ulfsson want?”

“I was only joking!” But Peer saw he had gone too far. While the Nis loved to tease others, it hated to be teased itself.

“News of the trolls – the merrows – the nixies?” it demanded with an unforgiving glare.

Peer sighed. “Tell me about the trolls?”

“Great tidings from Troll Fell,” announced the Nis in a cold, huffy voice. “Remember the Gaffer, the king under the mountain? His daughter, who married and went to live with the trolls of the Dovrefell, has borne a son.”

Peer remembered the Gaffer and his sly daughter only too well. “So the Gaffer has a grandson?” he said without enthusiasm. “Let's hope it doesn't take after him, then, with an extra eye, and a cow's tail. Will there be a feast?” He knew the Nis was always interested in food.

A reluctant sparkle appeared in the Nis's eyes. “Oh, yes, Peer Ulfsson,” it began. “You see, the princess is visiting her old father under Troll Fell. How grand she is now! Nothing is good enough for her! And such fuss over the new prince. Such a commotion! They'll be having the naming feast on Midsummer Eve.”

“And are you invited?” said Peer – but just then, at the dark end of the room, Sigrid stirred in her sleep. “Trolls!” she wailed. “Help! Help, Mamma!” Gudrun stumbled sleepily from the blankets to comfort her. A piece of turf slid on the fire and a bright flame shot up.

The Nis was gone.

“Drat the creature,” Peer muttered to Loki. “Why does it have to be so touchy? Troll princes, indeed!”

He lay down again, sighing, dragging the blankets round his neck. But strangely, it wasn't the Nis who haunted his sleep, or even Kersten, running down the shingle to throw herself into the water. All through the long night, as he slept and woke and slept again, the great black waterwheel at Troll Mill rolled through his dreams, turning and turning relentlessly in the darkness.

P
IERCING YELLS FROM
Eirik woke Peer next morning. Sticking a bleary head round the edge of his sliding panel, he saw that the rest of the family was already up. He bundled Loki off the bed and dressed, thumping and bumping his elbows in his haste. As he scrambled out, Hilde came in with the milk pail, taking short fast steps to prevent it from slopping.

“I should have done that,” Peer said, taking it from her. How pretty she looked, he thought, in her old blue dress and unbleached milking apron. Her fair hair was twisted into two hasty braids, wispy with escaping tendrils.

“Oh well, you were tired.” She gave him a sunny smile and his heart leaped. “Besides, it's a beautiful morning. My goodness, Eirik! Such a noise!”

“Take him, Hilde.” Gudrun handed him over with relief. “I've fed him. He just wants to get down and create mischief. Keep him out of the fire, do! I'll have to feed the other one now.”

Hilde seized Eirik under his plump arms and swung him on to her hip. “Come to Hilde, you bad fellow. What a bad boy you are!” Eirik stopped screaming long enough to grab her nose. She pushed his hand away and joggled him up and down. Just as he filled his lungs to yell again, he caught sight of Gudrun lifting the other baby from the cradle, and his angry face smoothed into blank astonishment. He stretched out, leaning away from Hilde, trying to reach the baby girl.

Hilde and Gudrun laughed. “Oh, what a surprise,” Hilde teased. “Just look at that expression!”

“Ha, ha!” Sigurd danced around, hooking his fingers into the corners of his mouth and pulling a horrible face – something that usually made Eirik gurgle with laughter. “You're not the littlest one any more!” This time, it failed. Eirik craned past him, yearning towards the little baby.

“They were both asleep when I lifted him out,” explained Gudrun, sitting down to feed the new baby. “It's the first time he's noticed her.”

Eirik began to writhe and kick, determined to find out what this new creature was. Hilde carried him away and tried to spoonfeed him. Eirik spat milky groute down his chin in angry dribbles. She tried again. Purple with fury, Eirik smacked the spoon out of her hand.

“Just bring him here,” said Gudrun wearily, “he's curious, that's all.” By now, Eirik's eyes were screwed shut. Tears poured down his cheeks. “All right, all right,” Hilde cried. “You can see her. Stop screaming!”

Gudrun righted the baby and sat her upright on her knee, holding her tenderly. The baby hiccupped. She gazed solemnly around. Peer watched her. What had the Nis been complaining about? She seemed like any other baby to him.

“There's nothing wrong with the baby, is there?” he asked.

“She's fine,” Gudrun reassured him. “She hasn't even caught a cold. You looked after her very well, Peer. There's no need to worry.”

“I didn't mean that. I talked to the Nis last night.”

“The Nis?” Gudrun looked up. “What did it say?”

“It was cross,” Peer said with a short laugh. “It told me off for bringing the baby here.”

“Why?” asked Hilde, amazed.

“Jealousy, I think. It said she's a wild seal baby, and doesn't belong here, and Gudrun won't be able to manage. Something like that.”

“Wild?” Hilde started to laugh. “She's as good as gold. If anyone's wild it's young Eirik here.” She tickled Eirik's tear-stained cheek.

Gudrun was watching Peer's face. “Is there something else?”

Peer hesitated. “It threatened to leave if the baby stays. But you know what it's like. It probably wasn't serious.”

Gudrun tightened her lips. “I managed when the twins were little, so I suppose I can manage now. And the Nis must learn to cope as well.”

“But it won't be for long, Gudrun,” Peer tried to comfort her. “I mean, even if they don't find Kersten, Bjørn will soon come for the baby.”

“But Peer,” said Hilde impatiently. “Bjørn can't feed her.”

“Oh, of course!” Peer felt himself flush.

“Yes,” said Gudrun, “if they don't find Kersten, poor Bjørn will lose his child as well as his wife. Even when she's weaned, he's still got to go out fishing. He can't leave her behind, and he can't take her along.”

“How could Kersten leave her own little baby?” Peer wondered aloud.

“Perhaps Ma is right,” said Hilde. “What if she was really a seal woman all the time, and Bjørn caught her and kept her prisoner?”

“I don't believe it!” Peer cried. “Bjørn wouldn't do that.”

“No?” Hilde flashed. “Then what do
you
suggest? Did Kersten desert her baby – and Bjørn – for nothing? Bjørn's a man, so
he's
not to blame – is that what you're thinking?”

Hurt and angry, Peer was about to snap back. But there were voices in the yard and the doorlatch lifted. Ralf came in, dark against the daylight, bowing his head under the lintel. “Come along, come in,” he called over his shoulder.

Bjørn stepped uncertainly after him, narrowing his eyes to see through the indoor shadows. Hilde and Peer exchanged shocked glances and forgot their argument. Could this really be steady, practical, cheerful Bjørn? He looked like a stranger – as if what had happened to him had changed him, or put him on the other side of some barrier of knowledge, so that the old Bjørn was gone, and this new Bjørn was someone they must get to know all over again. There were blue shadows under his eyes, and he did not smile.

Without a word, Gudrun put the baby into his arms, kissed him, and drew him forward to sit down at the fire. “Has he eaten?” she whispered to Ralf. Ralf shook his head. Gudrun hurried to fetch a bowl.

Hilde grimaced at Peer. Still carrying the wriggling Eirik, she went to kneel beside Bjørn. “We're all so sorry,” she said quietly.

“Thanks.” Bjørn's voice creaked. He cleared his throat. “And here's young Eirik Ralfsson!” he added, with an almost natural laugh. “That fine chip off the old block!” He looked down at his own baby, and his face tightened. He handed her back to Gudrun as she brought his food.

“It's only groute, but it's sweet and hot. Eat up, Bjørn, you'll need your strength,” she said anxiously, lulling the baby against her shoulder.

They tried not to stare as Bjørn ate, at first wearily, but then more hungrily as his appetite returned. Ralf said in a low voice to Gudrun, “He needed that. He was out searching all night. When we saw him coming in this morning, he could barely hold the oars.”

Bjørn put the bowl down, and looked at Peer. “So what happened?” he asked.

There was no way of softening the bleak tale. In a low voice Peer described yet again how Kersten had come running over the dunes, how she'd pushed the baby into his arms and rushed past him to the sea. Bjørn listened in silence. Under the force of his attention, Peer scoured his mind for extra details. He recalled the cold touch of Kersten's fingers, and the dark tangles of wet hair caught across her face.

“She looked so wild, I thought something dreadful had happened. I said, ‘What's wrong, Kersten? Where are you going?' And all she said was, ‘Home'.”

Bjørn caught a tense breath. Gudrun coughed. “Well now, Bjørn. What might she mean by that? Where was home, for Kersten?”

“She wasn't from round here, was she?” Ralf joined in. “A pretty lass, but foreign? Those looks of hers…”

They all thought of tall beautiful Kersten with her dark hair and green eyes.

“She came from the islands,” said Bjørn reluctantly.

The family nodded. “The islands!”, “Ah…”, “So that explains it!”

But it doesn't
, thought Peer,
it doesn't explain anything, and we all know it. Why aren't we talking about what really happened?

“I must go.” Bjørn got up, stiff as an old man. “Must try and find her…”

Ralf shook his head in rough pity. “She's gone, Bjørn. Accept it, lad. Oh, we can search along the shore, but whatever we find, it won't be your Kersten any more.”

Bjørn's face set, so hard and unhappy that Peer jumped to his feet. “But we'll help him. Won't we, Ralf?”

“Of course we will,” began Ralf, but Bjørn laid a hand on his arm. “Kersten's not dead, Ralf. I know she hasn't drowned.”

With a worried frown, Ralf blew out his cheeks and ran his hands through his hair. “Well – if that's how you feel, Bjørn, we won't give up yet. What's your plan?”

Peer clapped a hand to his mouth. “I forgot!” He looked at Bjørn, stricken. “I completely forgot. When I went to your house last night, you'd been robbed! Your big chest was open, and it was empty. The key was on the floor.”

Bjørn stared at him. Peer rattled on, afraid to stop. “And so – maybe that upset Kersten?” He faltered. “I should have told you before, but it – it went clean out of my mind. Have you lost something precious?”

“Don't worry, Peer, I'd already guessed,” said Bjørn quietly. “Precious? You could say so. Kersten stole the key. She robbed the chest…”

Gudrun interrupted, her eyes fixed on Bjørn. “She took her sealskin, did she? You kept her sealskin in that chest!”

“Oh, now come on,” began Ralf, but Bjørn cut across him. “Was it wrong, Gudrun? Do you blame me?”

“Blame?” said Gudrun. “It's not for me to judge. Did Kersten blame you?”

Bjørn shook his head. Locks of his fair hair swung across his face, hiding it. “She never said so. Maybe. Perhaps she's angry with me. I've got to find her. I've got to know. It's out to the skerries I'm bound, and looking for a bull seal with a scarred shoulder…”

“Why?” Peer rose to his feet, half angry, half incredulous. He imagined Kersten kneeling before the chest, flinging the lid back, dragging out the heavy sealskin, stroking it, wrapping herself in it. “What's going on? Tell us the truth, Bjørn. Was Kersten really a seal woman? Did you trap her?”

“
Trap
her?” Bjørn went white. “We were happy!”

“Then why did you keep the sealskin locked up?”

For a second Bjørn looked as if he might hit Peer. “Because I —”

He gulped and started again. “At first I was afraid she would leave. Then, later, I didn't think it mattered any more. She was my wife! She wasn't a
prisoner!
” The last word was almost a shout.

“But she ran away!” Peer was breathless. “She ran away from you.”

“Gods, Peer, what do you take me for?” Bjørn cried. “You don't know what you're saying. All right, listen! This is how I found Kersten – and I've never told the story to another living soul.”

Gudrun made a murmur of protest, but Bjørn ignored it.

“Seven – yes, seven years ago, when Arne was a lad about your age – we were out in the boat, the faering, hunting seal among the skerries. I told Arne to land me on the rocks. I'd hide with a harpoon, waiting for the seals to come, and he could go fishing and come back for me later.

“So I scrambled ashore on one of the big skerries where the seals lie and watched him row away. It was fine – and fresh – and lonely, when the boat had gone. No seals yet, only a few black cormorants diving for fish, so I found a sheltered place and lay down in the sunshine on a litter of seaweed and sticks and old gulls' feathers, with my harpoon near at hand.”

His voice relaxed into a quiet, storytelling rhythm.

“No sound but the sea and the cries of the cormorants. The rocks felt warm in the sun, winking with bits of crystal. I lay still, so as not to frighten the seals when they came. You know how they float, with their heads just out of the water, watching for danger?

“And I suppose I dropped off to sleep. When I woke it was low tide. The skerry was bigger, going down in rocky steps to a wide broken platform on the western side. And there they were! I could see the seals basking, scratching themselves in the sunshine. I took my harpoon and climbed over the rocks as quietly as I could.”

“Go on,” prompted Ralf, as Bjørn fell silent.

“I was sun-struck, perhaps,” he said slowly. “At least, as I crept over the rocks, I felt dizzy, and my head ached, and I remember seeing and hearing odd things. White bees buzzing around my head. Faces in the stones. The sea gurgling in secret holes under my feet. Voices… And then, on the flat rocks where the seals lay, I saw three fair women sitting. Their dark hair blew in tangled strands, and they combed it out with long fingers. At their feet, three sealskins lay in wet gleaming folds.”

The family sat spellbound. Bjørn stared at the wall as if seeing right through it to the far-distant skerry and the washing waves.

“I leaped down the rocks,” he went on in the same far-off voice. “The air was singing and ringing. The sun winked off the water, sharp as needles. In the blink of an eye the women were gone. All but the nearest! As her sisters threw on their skins and plunged into the water with the seals, I snatched up her sealskin. Heavy, it was – glossy and greasy and reeking of the sea.

“She screamed like a seagull, and her hair fell over her face and her white shoulders. She stretched out pleading fingers. How she wept! I almost gave it back to her – for pity! – but it seemed wrong to wrap such beauty in a stinking sealskin… Then I heard a shout. It was Arne calling, and the boat came knocking along the side of the rocks. And I knew I had to choose.”

Bjørn's square brown hands knotted. “I'm just a fisherman!” He looked up defiantly. “There I stood with the catch of my life. Suppose I let her go? I already knew that I was caught, too. I'd never forget her. I'd grow old, still dreaming of her, wishing I'd had the courage to do… what I did then.

“I threw the sealskin down to Arne. And I put my two arms around her, and wrapped her in my cloak, and lifted her into the boat.”