West of the Moon (27 page)

“Troll Fell's open! They've lifted the top of the hill. But… why?”

A yell sounded amongst the trees. There was a prolonged echoing crack of splintering branches. More cries – and a dark flood, pricked with torches, spilled from the edge of the wood.

“The trolls are coming,” Peer shouted. “They've sent a whole army!” A stone flew past his head.

“Trolls!” Hilde hammered on the door. “Open up, let us in! Open the door, twins, quick!” More stones thudded against the house wall.

A wild figure came leaping over the foremost trolls, skirt kilted up, mouth wide open in a skirling yell.
The troll princess!
Peer thought dizzily.
What's she doing here?
Torch flames streamed over the attack.

“Let us in!” Gudrun beat on the door with the flat of her hand. At last there was a rattle and a clunk as Sigurd removed the bar. The door opened a crack. “It's them,” they heard him shout, and the group of them pushed inside, the dogs squeezing between their legs. The door clapped shut. Peer and Hilde crashed the bar back into its slots and leaned on it, breathless.

Next second, it jumped and shuddered under an enormous blow.

“
Give me my child!
” screamed the voice of the troll princess outside the door.

“Her child?” Gudrun said. “What does she mean? We haven't got her child.”

“That's what you fink, missus!” said a scratchy voice. Out of the cradle rose the wrinkled face and protruding hairy ears of the troll baby. It gave Gudrun a slow grin, showing every single one of its teeth.

“Oh my goodness!” shrieked Gudrun. “What in the world is that?”

B
EFORE ANYONE COULD
answer, stones rattled on the wooden planking. The farmhouse trembled as the trolls stormed around the walls, plucking at the shutters and yelling.

Sigurd clung to Gudrun, shouting explanations. But Sigrid seized Eirik and hugged him tight. Tears poured down her face.

“Here,” said Hilde into Peer's ear. She shoved a dry jerkin into his arms, and turned to strip Ran of her sodden clothing. Peer put it on, shivering. The noise outside was terrific. The dogs crept under the table.

Gudrun turned on the troll baby. “You! What's your name?”

“Me?” smirked the troll baby. “I'm jus' meself. No name yet, missus!”

“Is that your mother outside?” demanded Gudrun. In a lull in the racket, the troll princess's voice soared shrilly skywards: “I want my child!”

The troll baby winked. “That's her.”

“I see.” Gudrun's lips thinned. “The twins did very wrong to steal you away. No!” – as Sigurd tried to protest – “I'll speak to you later. She must have her child back
immediately!
”

“Ma,” protested Hilde, “if we open that door, they'll tear us to pieces!”

At that very moment, someone leaped on to the roof with a tremendous thump. Heavy footfalls thudded from one gable end to the other, and back again. Crash, crash, crash! The rafters groaned in warning.

A fearsome face plunged through the smoke hole and twisted about, glaring. The mouth was at the top; the eyes were at the bottom: it shook a ruff of sooty hair and screeched, “I can see him, princess! I knew they'd be hiding him here. I'll punish them for you. I'll rip their arms and legs off!”

It was Baldur Grimsson, looking in upside down. Hilde jabbed a broom at him. He disappeared, but they heard contemptuous laughter. What if he came through the roof?

“Rock-a-bye, baby,” giggled the troll in the cradle. Gudrun advanced on it, rolling up her sleeves, and it squealed. “Don't hurt me!”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” said Gudrun. “But you're not staying here another minute.”

“Wait, Gudrun.” Peer caught her arm. “Let me out first. I'll try and draw Uncle Baldur off.”

“Peer, are you mad?” Hilde shouted.

“No. I've got an idea. No time to explain.” He seized a pinewood torch – Ralf kept a collection of trimmed branches near the door – and shoved it into the embers. It crackled and flared. He looked round at the family.
His
family.

Ralf told me to look after them. And I will
. He slipped his free hand into his pocket. It was half full of wet silt, but the carved comb was still there.

“Here, Hilde. I made this for you. Sorry it's got a bit dirty – but you'd better have it now. When I tell you, open the door.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled. “Uncle Baldur! Can you hear me? Who's the miller of Troll Fell? You… or me?”

He nodded to Hilde. “Now!”

She flung herself at the door. As soon as it was wide enough, Peer slipped out. As it slammed behind him, he charged through the assembled trolls, waving his torch so fiercely that they fell back.

“UNCLE BALDUR!” he yelled again. “COME AND GET ME!” He turned and looked, poised to run.

The Grimsson brothers were outlined against the sky, monstrous riders sitting astride the ridge and kicking great wounds in the turf roof. But now they saw him. They both rose, towering against the stars.

“COME AND GET ME!” Peer taunted once more, and waited till he saw both his uncles run down the slant of the roof and leap into the crowd of trolls. Then he took to his heels.

Gudrun swung the troll baby out of the cradle. It eyed her with alarm, flattening its ears. “Don't squirm,” she told it grimly. “I'm going to have a word with your mother.”

“No, Ma!” said Hilde.

“Well? Surely you don't want to keep it?”

“No, but —”

“And you'll agree that the trolls didn't steal the twins? Or Ran, or Eirik?”

“No, but —”

“Then this time,
we're
at fault, and I'm not afraid to admit it. Lift the bar.”

“But …” The words died on Hilde's lips. She did as she was told.

“Stand back!” commanded Gudrun. She marched out with the troll baby in her arms.

A shout went up from the trolls. Looking over her mother's shoulder, Hilde saw them swarming round the doorway, thick as angry bees. In front of Gudrun stood the troll princess, her wild hair floating out, a coronet of leaves slipping from her head, her slanted eyes flashing. “
Aha
!” she hissed.

“Mammy!” said the troll baby feebly.

“My precious princeling!” The troll princess snatched her child from Gudrun and squashed it against her bosom. “My little king!” She glared at Gudrun. “How dare you steal him from me?”

“Mmmf.
Mmmf
.” The troll baby struggled to breathe. It bit. The princess loosened her clutch, squealing.

“Mammy, don't fuss,” it complained. “Anyway, it wasn't her that took me. It was her children. No, stop it – get off…”

It disappeared into another stifling embrace. The princess stepped forwards, snarling, “
Your children stole my baby?
”

“He's been perfectly safe,” Gudrun cried. “They meant no harm. They took your – your son – because they thought the trolls had stolen their own little brother and sister. Believe me, I've been as upset as you have.”

A muffled howl came from the troll baby. It popped out its head, tousled and breathless, with crumpled ears. “Let
go
! I want those children, Mammy. I wanna – I wanna – I wanna play with them!” It bared its teeth and bit her again.

“Ouch!” The troll princess snatched her fingers away. “Naughty little – poppet! It's all in fun,” she added hastily to Gudrun. “He doesn't mean it.”

“Just so,” Gudrun agreed with an odd smile. The crowd of trolls pressed closer to the door, buzzing. The princess lashed her tail suspiciously, breathing hard. Gudrun maintained her smile. The troll baby crossed its eyes, sticking out a long purple tongue.

Then the princess sprang forwards. Gudrun recoiled, stepping on Hilde's toes. But the princess cast herself into Gudrun's arms, crying dramatically, “I was wrong! My baby needs you. Your children shall be his little playmates. We must be friends. Who but a mother can understand a mother's heart? Ah, the little ones. What a trial they are! How one suffers!”

Open-mouthed, Hilde watched her mother patting the troll princess on the back, the troll baby awkwardly squished between them.

“It's your first, isn't it?” Gudrun was asking. “Of course. Now don't you worry, my dear, it's – he's – fine. Never mind his tantrums. He's been fed, so he can't be hungry. He's – um – he's very
advanced
for his age!”

“Oh, do you think so?” The troll princess drew back and looked at her infant with tearful pride. “I was a little worried – he only has thirty teeth.”

Ma clearly had things under control. Hilde slithered past her mother, out of the door, and threaded her way through the squeaking, jostling, chattering trolls. She broke into a run. She had to find Peer.

Peer burst out of the woods and raced down the track to the mill. The wind blew the torch flames shrunken and small: he was afraid it would go out. He was afraid of tripping. He was afraid the Grimssons would catch him. Worst of all, he was afraid that they would give up the chase and go back to the farm.

He reached the mill pond and risked a glance back. Were they behind him?
Come on, come on!
He jogged anxiously from foot to foot. Had he out-run his lumbering uncles?

Start the mill!
That would bring Uncle Baldur like a wasp to honey. He dashed up to the sluice and sidled along the pank. Holding the torch high, he pulled up the sluice gate one-handed: it came crookedly, and then jammed open. Water rushed through. With a creaking rumble, the mill clattered into life.

Angry yells echoed from the edge of the wood. Peer bounded back to the path and ran to the bridge, where, suddenly inspired, he waved the torch over his head and shouted, “Come on, you fat fools!” They came thundering down the hill, and he ran into the yard and waited, head high, heart pounding. The torch drooped in his hand, and the flames crept upwards, unfurling bright yellow petals.

Footsteps battered the bridge. Baldur and Grim charged around the end of the mill and into the yard. Baldur yelled with triumph and punched Grim in the shoulder. “We've got him, brother! He didn't even try to hide.” Grim threw back his head and howled. Chests heaving, they moved towards him and Peer retreated, step by step.

“In a minute,” Baldur growled. “I'm going to break every bone in your body. But before I do, you'll answer that question you asked me.” He paused, trembling, and his eyes glowed in the torchlight, red as a rat's.

“Yes, you'll answer that question,” he repeated, licking his lips, savouring the words. “And you'll answer it loud and clear. Who's the miller of Troll Fell, boy? You – or me?”

Peer backed another step. “Neither of us,” he said quietly. The flames streamed from the end of his torch, twining towards his hand.

“What's that? Speak up, boy! WHO IS THE MILLER? WHO?”

“NO ONE!” Peer lifted his arm and hurled the torch – but not at Uncle Baldur. He sent it spinning up in a fiery arc. End over end it wheeled through the air and plumped down on the mill roof, amongst the thatch.

A fierce column of fire sprang into the night.

Uncle Baldur stood speechless, while the flames lit the yard a glaring orange. “Fire, Grim! Fire! Fetch water! Fetch water, you!” He whirled a fist at Peer, knocking him to the ground. “Fetch water! Buckets in the barn!” He trampled towards the mill pond, yelling.

While his uncles charged to and fro, Peer dragged himself up on his elbow. He gazed at his handiwork.

It was beautiful. A tracery of smoke trickled from the edges of the thatch, as if the whole roof were slowly breathing out its last, grey breath.

The smoke thickened. It came in dense, billowing clouds, which boiled, and climbed, and doubled. There was a sudden sucking
whoomph
. Flames and smoke rushed upwards. The whole roof crept and crackled. The eaves dripped glowing straws, which fell to the cobbles and started little fires of their own, or were caught in the updraught and whirled away burning into the night. And still the mill clacked stubbornly away, and under the blazing roof the millstones grumbled round and round.

The smoke spread across the yard, choking and blinding. Peer struggled to his knees, and then to his feet. Uncle Baldur had hit him hard, and when he put his hand to his forehead it came away dark with blood. He stood unsteadily, awed by the speed with which the mill had gone up. With stinging eyes he staggered towards the bridge.

Running down through the wood, Hilde smelled smoke on the air. She emerged from the trees and stared, transfixed. The mill roof was a bright lozenge of fire. Convolutions of smoke tisted up from it, their undersides lit a lurid orange. The trees around the mill seemed to shrivel in the blaze, their leaves withering. Sparks fell around her, even this far up the hill. The mill pond was a mirror of black and gold ripples. Figures were dashing about down there, dipping bucketfuls of water and flinging them at the mill roof. Hilde shook her head in disbelief.
Can't they see it's hopeless?

Where's Peer?

She tore down the hill, coughing in gusts of smoke, terrified Peer might be inside the mill. Torrents of water rushed past the blazing walls; the waterwheel chopped the mill race into blood-red foam. Hilde raced to the bridge. Someone loomed up out of the smoke cloud.

“Peer!” She seized him. “What happened?”

“I set the mill on fire.”

“
What?
”

“Stop, Hilde – you've got a spark in your hair.” He disentangled it and pinched it out.

“But Peer, why?” Hilde cried. “All that work! Your dream of being a miller! What will you do?”

Peer put an arm around her shoulders. “It would never have worked,” he said. He gazed at the mill, and the flames filled his eyes. “I see that now. The mill brings nothing but trouble. Let it go.”

Hilde gave a shout. “The roof!”

With an exhausted sigh, the centre of the roof collapsed. Chunks of blazing thatch tumbled into the racing water. One piece fell on to the wheel and was carried round till it plunged into the sluice and was extinguished.

“
Burned! All burned!
” The wild figure of Baldur Grimsson came charging though the clutter of flying sparks. He seized Peer, sobbing. “You! You destroyed it! I'll burn you, too. You'll burn!” He dragged Peer towards the dam. Peer fought, punching and kicking, and Hilde grabbed Baldur's arm. He threw her off and forced Peer on to the plank above the weir. It sagged under their combined weight. At the far end of the plank roared the open sluice. The heat of the burning walls beat on their bodies. Under them raced the hungry water.

Peer hooked his free arm around one of the posts of the plank bridge, but Baldur jerked him away. They wrestled, right above the open sluice, Baldur trying to wrench Peer off his feet and pitch him into the burning building. Peer grabbed at the handle of the sluice gate.

“Hold on, Peer! Hold on!” Hilde screamed.

Baldur tore Peer loose, lifting him, his muscles bulging with effort. He flung his head back, hair and beard spangled with sparks, his tusks gleaming in the flames. Hilde hid her eyes, then looked through her fingers. Peer twisted out of Baldur's arms like an eel and threw himself flat along the plank, his arms wrapped round it, almost in the water.

What was that glistening swirl in the mill pond?

A green hand slid out of the scummy water and closed around Baldur's ankle. There was a sharp splash, and Baldur was toppling forwards. Like an oak tree struck by lightning, he crashed over into the sluice. The dripping vanes of the mill wheel struck him down, shuddering. Hilde rushed on to the plank. Peer pushed himself up, trying to scramble to his feet. There was nothing they could do. The wheel drove Baldur Grimsson deep into the black water, and he rose no more.