Katherine Langrish - Troll Blood

But Sigrid’s simple words had acted like magic. He set his jaw. I’ve messed about long enough, trying to be whatever Hilde wants. From now on, I’ll act the way I feel!

He stepped out, alive and determined, and nearly trod on something shrivelled and whip-like lying by the corner of the cowshed. Loki ran to sniff at it, and backed off, sneezing. It was the troll’s tail. Peer poked it with his foot, and when it didn’t move, he picked it up gingerly by the tip. It was heavier and bonier than he’d expected, and cold to the touch. He threw it on the dung heap with a shudder. A rusty smear stained the bare earth where the tail had lain. Blood. He scuffed dirt over it so that Sigrid would not see, and went on into the house.

Gudrun and Hilde were sorting out clothes. Peer put away his faint hope that Hilde might have changed her mind. Astrid sat like a queen in Ralf’s big chair, watching them. She had little Elli on her knee, and was letting the baby play with a bunch of keys that dangled from her belt, jigging her up and down and humming some strange little song that rose and fell. Ralf, Gunnar and Harald were nowhere to be seen.

“Peer! Eat something quickly. Gunnar wants to catch the morning tide.” Gudrun’s voice was brittle.

“The men have gone down to the ship. Gunnar wants to load up more food and fresh water. We’re going to follow as soon as we can,” Hilde added. She glanced at Gudrun guiltily, but Peer could tell she was bursting with excitement.

“I don’t know.” Gudrun bundled up a big armful of cloaks, shifts and dresses. “You’d better just take everything. Peer, you can have some of Ralf’s winter things. You’ve grown so much this year. I was going to make new clothes for you, but now—” She broke off, folding her lips tight.

“Where’s Eirik?” asked Peer.

“Pa took him along to show him the ship,” said Hilde. “It would have been tricky to manage him and Elli and the baggage too. And of course Ma wants to come down to the ship as well because—” She stopped.

But for once Peer wasn’t interested in sparing Hilde’s feelings. He completed the sentence for her: “You mean, because she wants to say goodbye?”

Hilde flushed. There was a moment when no one spoke, and in the interval they heard Astrid singing to Elli, clapping the baby’s hands together at the end of each line:

” Two little children on a summer’s night,Went to the well in the pale moonlight.The lonely moon-man, spotted and oldScooped them up in his arms so cold. They live in the moon now, high in the air.When you are old and grey, darling,They’ll still be there. ”

“I’ll take her, shall I?” Peer almost snatched Elli away from Astrid.

“What a strange rhyme,” said Gudrun nervously.

Astrid looked up: “It’s one my mother used to sing. What a lovely baby Elli is. Why has she got webbed fingers?”

“She’s Bjørn’s daughter,” Peer snapped, as though that explained it. His friend’s tragic marriage with a seal-woman was none of Astrid’s business.

Gudrun must have thought so too, for she said, clearing her throat, “Now, I wonder where the Nis is. I haven’t seen it this morning.”

Peer made a startled, warning gesture towards Astrid. But Hilde shook her head. “It’s all right, Astrid knows.”

“Knows about the Nis?” Peer looked at Astrid in suspicious astonishment.

“I saw it,” Astrid said. “I knew it wasn’t a troll. And don’t worry, I haven’t told Harald.” She gave him a sweet smile. “You’re a good liar, aren’t you, Peer? You fooled Gunnar and Harald, anyway. But not me. I asked Hilde, and she told me it was a Nis. I even put its food down last night—Gudrun showed me how after everyone went to bed. It likes groute, doesn’t it? Barley porridge with a dab of butter? And then it does the housework.”

“Or not,” said Gudrun,” as the case may be.” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, if Gunnar wants you on that boat before noon, we’d better move.”

There seemed mountains of stuff to load on to the pony. “We’ll never need all this, surely?” Hilde laughed.

“I’m sure you will,” said her mother grimly.

“What’s this?” Peer picked up a tightly rolled sausage of woollen fabric.

“That’s a sleeping sack,” said Gudrun. “Big enough for two. It’s for you, Peer—we’ve only the one, and Astrid says she’ll share hers with Hilde. Ralf used it last, when he went a-Viking.”

“Thank you, Gudrun,” Peer said with gratitude. He hadn’t thought about Loki. He hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements. What else had he missed?

“My tools—I’d better bring them.” He dashed back into the empty house and looked around, caught by the strangeness of it all. Would he ever come back?

“Nis,” he called quietly, and then, using the little creature’s secret name, “Nithing? Are you there?” He listened. Nothing rustled or scampered. No inquisitive nose came poking out over the roofbeams. “Nis?”

Perhaps it was curled up somewhere, fast asleep after the shocks and excitement of last night. “I’m going,” he called, raising his voice. “Goodbye, Nis…I’m going away. Look after the family.” Again he waited, but only silence followed. “Till we meet again,” he ended forlornly.

He picked up his heavy wooden toolbox and went out, closing the door behind him. The pony lowered its head and snorted indignantly as this last load was strapped on.

“On guard!” said Gudrun to grey-muzzled old Alf, who settled down in front of the doorstep, ears pricked. Hilde carried Elli. Astrid was wrapped in her blue cloak again, shoulder braced against the weight of her bulging goatskin bag.

Peer held out his hand. “Give that to me, Astrid. I’ll carry it for you.”

“No!” Astrid clutched the strap. “I’ll carry it myself. It’s quite light.”

It looked heavy to Peer, but he didn’t care enough to insist. “Are we ready, then? Off we go.”

Through the wood and downhill to the old wooden bridge—each twist of the path so familiar, Peer could have walked it with his eyes shut. Past the ruined mill, where a whiff of burning still lingered in the damp air, and into the trees again. On down the long slope, till they came to the handful of shaggy little houses that made up Trollsvik. They swished through the prickly grass of the sand-dunes and dropped down on to the crunching shingle.

The fjord was blue-grey; beyond the shelter of the little harbour it was rough with white caps. Short, stiff waves followed one another in to land, turning over and collapsing abruptly on to the pebbles. And there was the ship, Water Snake, bare mast towering over the little jetty, forestay and backstay making a great inverted “V”. It was a shock to see her, somehow—so real, so—

“So big!” Gudrun gasped.

Astrid stopped, her cloak flapping in the wind. Her face was sombre, and she braced her shoulders. “Here we go again!”

Most of the village was there on the shore, trying to sell things to Gunnar. “Chickens—you’ll want more chickens. Fresh eggs and meat for the voyage!” That was old Thorkell, gripping a couple of hens by their legs and brandishing them, flapping, in Gunnar’s face. The jetty bristled with people, onlookers jostling against cursing sailors who were manhandling barrels of fresh water and provisions into the ship.

There was Harald, his long hair clubbed back in a ponytail, heaving barrels and crates around with the crew. Peer’s eyebrows rose in grudging respect: he’d thought Harald too much the “young lord” to bother with real work. He noticed with relief that neither Harald nor Gunnar were wearing swords this morning. That would even things out a bit. Of course, those long steel swords would rust so easily; they’d be packed away in greased wool for the voyage. I suppose they got them out yesterday to impress us all, he thought sourly.