West of the Moon (31 page)

“Not me,” said Peer gruffly. “I'll be along later. I've work to finish here.”

He watched them pick their way across the beach. Gunnar's young wife Astrid clung to his arm, mincing across the pebbles. Her shoes were too thin, Peer thought sourly. How would she ever make it up to the farm, a good two miles of rough track? But perhaps they'd borrow a pony.

He walked back along the jetty, taking his time, unwilling to talk even to Bjørn. The tide was full.
Water Snake
had risen with it.

Against the sky the knob of the dragonhead stood black, like a club or a clenched fist. The angry wooden eyes bulged. The gaping jaws curved like pincers. An undulating tongue licked forwards between them, the damp wood splitting along the grain.

Peer glanced about. No one was looking. He quietly jumped on board.

The ship smelled of pinewood and fresh tar. The rope he clutched left a sticky line on his palm. There was decking fore and aft. The waist of the ship was an orderly clutter of crates and barrels: luggage and supplies. A white hen stuck its head out of a wicker crate and clucked gently.

Fancy a trip to Vinland, Peer?

He clambered up the curve of the ship into the stern, where he stood for a moment holding the tiller and gazing west. The sun was low, laying a bright track on the water: a road studded with glittering cobblestones. It stung his heart and dazzled his eyes.

And Harald Silkenhair, no older than Peer, had travelled that road. Harald had sailed across the world, proved himself in battles, been to places Peer would never see.

He thought of Thorolf 's ship, his father's ship, the
Long Serpent
, beached on the shores of Vinland far across the world, and felt a surge of longing. What would it be like to go gliding away into the very heart of the sun? He closed his eyes and imagined he was out at sea.

“What are you doing?” Bjørn looked down from the jetty. Peer snatched his hand off the tiller, feeling every kind of fool for playing at sailing like some little boy.

“Looking at the, oh, the workmanship.” He made an effort. “The dragonhead's not as fine as the one my father made. But it's still good work.”

“Mm.” Bjørn paused. “And what do you make of Harald Troublemaker?”

Their eyes met. Peer said, “He just picked a fight with me. For no reason at all.”

“I know.”

“What was I supposed to do? Stand there and take it? Did you hear what he said to me?”

Bjørn blew out a troubled breath. “Peer, better to take an insult than a sword in your guts. You don't have to play Harald's games.”

“How can your brother sail with someone like that?”

Bjørn shook his head. “Arne's a bit of a fool sometimes.”

“Let me get off this boat.” Peer climbed on to the jetty, feeling Water Snake balance and adjust as his weight left her.

“Don't play Harald's games,” Bjørn repeated.

“I won't.” Half comforted, Peer straightened and stretched. “You're right,” he added. What was the point of letting Harald get to him? Let him strut. Let Arne have his evening with Hilde. Tomorrow they'd both sail away.

H
ILDE RUBBED TIRED
eyes. It was almost too dark to see the pattern she was weaving. Further up the room, in the glow of the long hearth, nine-year-old Sigrid was telling little Eirik a bedtime story.

“So there was a terrible storm. And Halvor's ship was blown along until he landed in a beautiful country. And he got out, and he came to a castle where there was an enormous troll with three heads.”

“Isn't he rather young for that story?” Hilde interrupted. “He's only two.”

“He likes it,” said Sigrid. “And the troll said, ‘
Hutututu!
I smell the blood of a mortal man!' So Halvor pulled out his sword, and chopped off the troll's heads.”

“Chop, chop, chop!” chuckled Eirik. Hilde rolled her eyes.

“And he rescued a princess, a beautiful princess, and got married to her. And they lived in the castle together, ever so happily, till one day Halvor began to miss his poor mother and father, who would think he had drowned.”

Hilde wove a few more rows, half-listening while the princess gave Halvor a magical ring, which would carry him back over the sea, with a warning never to forget her. “‘Or I shall have to go away to Soria Moria Castle, to marry a troll with nine heads.'”

Eirik lost interest. He squirmed eel-like over the edge of the bed. Sigrid dragged him back. “Lie still, Eirik, or I won't go on.”

Gudrun was slicing onions with streaming eyes. “Thank goodness Elli's asleep. I'll be so glad when she's finished teething. All that wailing really wears you out…”

“Shall I do the onions?” Hilde asked. “I can't see to weave.”

“No, go and help with Eirik, I've nearly done.”

“Eirik,” said Hilde, “sit on my knee and listen to Siggy's nice story. Better chop off a few more heads,” she advised Sigrid from the side of her mouth.

“Halvor was so happy to get home that he quite forgot the poor princess was waiting for him,” said Sigrid rapidly. “And she waited and waited, and then she said, ‘He's forgotten me, and now I must go to Soria Moria Castle, east of the sun and west of the moon, and marry the troll with nine heads.'”

“Excellent!” exclaimed Hilde, trying to stop Eirik slithering off her lap. “Nine heads coming off soon, Eirik.”

“So Halvor had to find Soria Moria Castle, but nobody knew the way. Oh, Eirik, I wish you'd
listen
!”

“Eirik!” said Hilde ruthlessly. “Listen to the end of the story. The prince chopped off the troll's heads. Chop, chop, chop!”

“Chop, chop,
chop
!” chanted Eirik.

“You wrecked my story!” Sigrid cried.

“I told you, Sigrid: he's too little.” She let Eirik slide to the floor. “And he isn't sleepy. He wants to play. I don't blame him, either. I know how he feels.”

Gudrun looked at her. “What do you mean?”

Hilde prowled the room. “Nothing. I'm sick of being cooped up indoors. Peer's building that jetty with Bjørn. Pa and Sigurd are on the fell with Loki and the new puppy. I wish something interesting would happen to me.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” said Gudrun. “It was ‘interesting' last summer, when the house was attacked by trolls, but I wouldn't go through that again. Life isn't fair, and you may as well get used to it.”

“You always say that! I'm so
tired
of being shut up in here, doing the same things, cooking and spinning and weaving, for ever and ever and ever.”

“Hilde,” said Gudrun in surprise. She set down the knife and smoothed Hilde's hair with a damp hand. “We all feel low at the end of winter. But spring's here, and the weather will soon be warm again. Think of sitting outside in the long evenings.”

“I suppose,” Hilde muttered.

Sigrid said, “Now your hair will smell of onions.”

“Well, thanks!” Hilde began, when there was a bang at the door. Gudrun's hand flew to her mouth. “Who's this, knocking after dark?”

“Trolls?” said Sigrid apprehensively.

Hilde got to her feet. “
I'll
get it. And if there are any trolls out there, I'll make them wish they hadn't bothered.”

“Chop, chop, chop!” shouted Eirik. With a nervous giggle, Sigrid hoisted him into her arms, and Hilde grabbed a broom and flung the door open. “Who is it, and what do you want?”

Then she threw down the broom with a cry of delight. “Arne!”

Arne Egilsson ducked in under the lintel, pulling off his cap, a broad smile on his face. “Don't hit me, Hilde! Is Ralf here? Gudrun, I've brought visitors. Gunnar Ingolfsson of Vinland, with his wife Astrid, and his son, Harald Silkenhair! Gunnar wants to speak to Ralf. Guess what, Hilde? I've joined Gunnar's ship. I'm sailing with him to Vinland!”

Hilde gasped. “Arne, you lucky, lucky thing!”

“Yes, but I'll miss you. Will you miss me?” he whispered. A moment later, people were crowding in. Gunnar Ingolfsson filled the doorframe, a thickset, sandy-bearded man in a heavy wolfskin cloak. After him came a tall, pale girl. Gudrun advanced to greet them, wiping her hands on her apron. And the last to come in…

Hilde blinked. In walked a boy who made Arne look like an overgrown, ruddy-faced farmhand. He wore his fine cloak with a confident swagger. Long golden hair tumbled over his shoulders and down his back.

Harald Silkenhair? He's like a young hero from a saga.
“He's just like a prince from a fairytale,” Sigrid breathed. “Look, he's even got a sword!”

Eirik struggled, kicking Sigrid with his bare toes till she put him down. He ran forward, a sturdy little figure in a nightshirt, blocking Harald's way, and gazed up in wide-eyed admiration. “Show me your sword,” he demanded.

Harald's lips quirked, and he went down on one knee. He slid his sword a few inches out of the sheath. “Meet Bone-Biter. No!” he warned, as Eirik's chubby hand went out. “She's sharp. Touch the handle.”

Hilde watched Eirik stretch out a finger. The hilt of the sword was wrapped in silver wire. “Shiny,” said Eirik, his voice soft. He looked up at Harald. “Did you cut off the twoll's head?”

Harald frowned. Hilde cut in. “It's a story. He thinks—”

“He thinks you're a prince who killed some trolls,” blurted Sigrid, blushing.

Harald pushed the sword back into its sheath. “Not trolls,” he said, laughing, “not trolls.” He leaned forward and ruffled Eirik's hair. “When you're a man, maybe you'll have a sword like this.” And he got to his feet.

“Wasn't that was nice of him?” Sigrid whispered to Hilde.

“I… suppose so,” said Hilde slowly. Sigrid was right. It was very nice of this young warrior to take notice of a small boy.
Meet Bone-Biter
. Little boys always worshipped heroes, didn't they? What could be wrong with that?

Harald turned to Gudrun. “Lady!” He bowed over her rough hand as though it were the white hand of a queen, and declaimed with a flourish:

“Far have we fared on the wide ocean,

Where seabirds scream and the whales wander.

Glad of our landfall, thanks we give

To our fair hostess for this fine welcome.”

“Goodness,” Gudrun fluttered as Harald let go her hand. “Poetry!”

“His own.” Gunnar watched his son with a kind of rough delight.

“I'm honoured,” Gudrun exclaimed. “You're most welcome. What a shame my father-in-law isn't still alive. He was such a fine poet himself. He would so much have enjoyed this meeting.”

Would he?
thought Hilde, watching her mother's pleased pink flush. She looked at Harald, wondering how many times he'd used that verse. Could he possibly be poking fun? Before she could consider the matter any further, Arne tapped her shoulder. “Hilde, this is Gunnar's wife, Astrid.”

Hilde turned, nearly bumping into a tall girl standing close behind her, muffled in an expensive-looking dark blue cloak with the hood up. A brown and white goatskin bag was slung over her shoulder on a long strap, which she clutched with long, thin-wristed hands. She had ice-maiden skin, so white and thin that the blue veins glistened through, wide grey eyes, a neat, straight nose like a cat's with little curling nostrils, and pale, closely shut lips.

Their eyes met. For a second, Hilde felt she was looking into the eyes of a deer or a hare, a wild animal who glares at you before bolting. Then Astrid pushed her hood down. Out sprang a bright cloud of amber hair, frizzing and fizzling, catching the light in a million fiery glints. The hair transformed her cold, still face. With her hood down, she was beautiful.

Hilde held out her hand, puzzled.
Gunnar's wife? She doesn't look much older than me. She can't possibly be that boy's mother!

Astrid touched Hilde's hand with chilly fingers. There was a pause, and Hilde racked her brains for something to say. “Have you been to Vinland, too?”

“No!” said Astrid in a low, curt voice. After a moment she added with reluctance, “Gunnar and I were only married in the fall. He's an old friend of my father, Grimolf Sigurdsson of Westfold. He came to stay with us, and – I suppose he liked the look of me. I'm his second wife.”

So that's it. Poor girl. Gunnar looks older than Pa. I'm glad I don't have to marry an old man just because he's rich
. Aloud Hilde said, “How exciting! And now you can travel with him right across the world.”

But perhaps Astrid could tell what Hilde was thinking. Instead of answering she raised a scornful eyebrow. Then she stared at the floor.

“Not everyone wants to travel across the world, Hilde,” Arne said with a smile. “Seafaring is hard for women.”

“I'd love to go to Vinland,” said Hilde immediately, determined to show Arne that whatever most women were like, she was different.

Astrid looked up quickly, but before she or Arne could reply, the door opened. A half-grown black puppy tumbled in and dashed around the room barking, followed by Peer's dog Loki. A cheerful voice called, “Hey, hey, what's this? Visitors?”

“Ralf,” cried Gudrun. “Sigurd, control your puppy. Ralf, look who Arne's brought to see us!”

The girls were left together. Hilde was about to make an excuse and slip away, when Astrid touched her arm, and said stiffly, “Did you mean that? Would you really like to go to Vinland?”

Hilde opened her mouth to give some airy reply. Nothing came out. The warm, stifling air of the farmhouse wrapped around her throat like a tight scarf. She stared at Astrid. Here was this awful, boring girl, with her grand, snooty manners, sailing off to Vinland while Hilde had to stay at home.

Oh, if only I had her chance. I want to see something new. I want to sail far away. I want – I want to find Soria Moria Castle, east of the sun and west of the moon!

Astrid was watching her like a cat. “Come with me!”

“What?” Hilde choked.

“Come with me. Ask your mother. I'll do my best to help you. I'll tell Gunnar I want another girl for company. It's true anyway. And then you'll be on my side, won't you?”

“On your s-side?” Hilde stammered.

Something flashed at the back of Astrid's eyes. “Nobody asked
me
if I wanted to come to Vinland. Nobody asked me if I wanted to marry Gunnar. Well, my father
asked
, but he'd already agreed. He wouldn't insult a man like Gunnar.”

“Was – was there somebody else you liked?”

“There may have been,” said Astrid warily.

“My father would never do that to me!”

Astrid shrugged. “Lucky you. I thought of putting the cold curse on Gunnar, but someone's done it already. He's never warm. See?”

The cold curse?
Hilde twisted round. Gunnar, still wrapped in his thick cloak, was hoisting Ralf 's big chair closer to the fire.

Astrid tossed her head. “You needn't feel sorry for me. I'm making the best of it. After all, Gunnar's a famous man.
You'll
never marry anyone half so well known. He treats me well. He's never once struck me. He's as tough as Tyr, who put his hand in a wolf 's mouth. But he needs me. He has fevers, and sometimes he tries to stay awake because of bad dreams. And he hates being alone in the dark.” Her eyes narrowed. “I haven't found out why, yet, but I will. I know herbs, I know how to mix draughts to give him peaceful sleep. I can wind him round my little finger,” she boasted.

“What about Harald?” asked Hilde.

Astrid gave her a sharp glance. “Don't be fooled by his looks. His own mother died years ago, so he didn't mind me at first; he thought I was a pretty little
thing
that his father might as well have. Now he knows better, he's jealous. What do you think of him?”

“Um. Isn't he a little bit pleased with himself?”

Astrid laughed. “Oh, yes. There's no one quite like Harald Silkenhair. Well! You might do.”

“Do?” Hilde decided all over again that she didn't like Astrid. “What for?”

Astrid raised her eyebrows. “Don't be like that. We could have fun together. You want to come to Vinland, don't you? Or was that just talk?” she added.

“No! I meant it.” Hilde swallowed. “But…”

Astrid seemed to realise that she hadn't been making a great impression. She looked at Hilde for a moment, as if wondering what to offer her. “I want you to come. Do you like secrets? If we're going to be friends, I'll tell you one.”

“Go on,” said Hilde, intrigued in spite of herself.

Astrid hesitated. “Shall I? I'm taking a risk, I'm trusting you. Are you easily shocked? No? All right, listen.” Her pale eyes opened wide. “
There's troll blood in me
. Oh yes there is, a long way back perhaps, but it's there. And I can see things other people can't.”

“Troll blood?” A fascinated shiver ran down Hilde's back. “What do you mean?”