Katherine Langrish - West of the Moon

Soon the two brothers were singing noisily, banging their cups together. Mechanically, Peer finished cleaning the boots. He lined them up by the door and sank to the floor. Something gnawed at his mind. Tonight? Had Uncle Baldur said “ tonight ”?

Midwinter! He’d been talking and thinking and planning about it for months. Now, with a shock like icy water dashed in his face, he realised he had no idea how close midwinter was. He thought back, counting on his fingers. How long since the first snow? Weeks? It seemed a long time. And the days were so short now; it was dark outside already. Midwinter must be nearly upon them.

There was a bang at the door. Peer looked at his uncles. They were singing so loudly that neither they nor Grendel had heard. Peer shrugged and went wearily to open it. With his hand on the latch he paused. What if it was Granny Greenteeth, come to pay a visit before the ice locked her in for the winter? Well, let her come! He jerked the door open.

A cutting wind whirled in. There stood two ordinary men, muffled up against the cold. They stepped quickly in and shook snow from their clothes.

“Shut that DOOR!” Uncle Baldur yelled. Then he saw the visitors and staggered to his feet. “Look who’s here.” He prodded Grim. “It’s Arne and Bjørn.”

“Give ’em a drink,” hiccupped Grim.

But Bjørn’s good-natured face was stern. “Hey, Peer,” he said quietly, dropping a friendly hand on Peer’s shoulder. “Grim, Baldur,” he went on, “we’ve not come to drink with you. We’ve come to say one thing. Leave Ralf ’s family alone!”

Uncle Baldur sprawled back on the bench. He gave an unpleasant laugh. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do,” said Arne. “You’re after Ralf ’s land on Troll Fell.”

“But you won’t get it,” said Bjørn. “Arne and I will stand witness against you. It was never yours, and you know it!”

Peer felt like cheering. He glowed with admiration for the two young men. They looked like heroes to him as they stood there together, their faces tight with anger. Baldur and Grim exchanged glances.

“Why are you interfering?” asked Baldur with a suspicious scowl. “What’s in it for you?”

“ Why? ” exploded Bjørn. “Because Ralf was our friend. Because the land was his. Because you’re a couple of cheating pigs who’d rob a widow and her family!”

“Don’t bother trying to understand,” added Arne.

“Get out!” Baldur surged to his feet. “Out, before I set the dog on you!”

“Oh, we’ll go,” said Bjørn coldly. “I wouldn’t stay in your stinking mill for all the gold on Troll Fell.”

He strode for the door, but Uncle Baldur grabbed his arm. “Gold?” he croaked. “What do you mean? What do you know about troll gold?”

Bjørn stared at him and whistled. “That’s your game, is it? Don’t you worry, Grimsson. The only thing I know about troll gold is this: it’s unlucky and I don’t want anything to do with it. And if you’ll take my advice, neither will you. Goodnight!”

Peer stepped hopefully forwards. If he could only catch Bjørn’s eye; if he could only go with him! But this time, Bjørn did not notice Peer. He and Arne slipped through the door and vanished into the night.

Uncle Baldur sat down heavily. He tried to pour himself another drink, but the bottle was empty. He swore.

“There’s no fun for a man round here,” he grumbled. “Nothing but trouble and work —”

“Let’s have a dogfight,” suggested Grim. Peer looked up.

“What with?” asked Uncle Baldur scornfully. “That thing of the lad’s? He wouldn’t last a minute with Grendel.”

“He’s nippy,” offered Grim. “Bet you he’d last five.”

A grin spread over Baldur’s face. “All right!” he said.

“No!” Peer shrieked. “You can’t! You can’t, you bullies!” He hurled himself at Uncle Baldur, kicking and biting.

“The boy’s mad!” Uncle Baldur twisted Peer’s wrist up behind his back. “Keep still, or I’ll break yer arm. You go and fetch the dog, Grim. The boy might turn him loose.”

“Let go of me,” panted Peer, still struggling as Grim nodded and went out. “Let me go!”

Loki trotted in at Uncle Grim’s heels, looking wary and puzzled.

“They can’t fight in here,” said Uncle Baldur over Peer’s head.

“No,” Grim agreed, “we’ll have it in the yard. I give you ten to one he lasts a good five minutes before Grendel grips him. He’s quick, you see.”

“Done!” Baldur grinned. “Speed won’t save him from Grendel. One good crunch and it’ll all be over.” Peer couldn’t believe they were talking about his beloved dog.

“Loki can’t fight, he won’t fight,” he cried. “He doesn’t know how.”

Paying no attention, Uncle Baldur dragged him outside with Loki, while Uncle Grim brought Grendel along by the collar, holding a flaring torch in the other hand to light the dogfight. The snow had stopped falling, but was blowing about the yard chased by a cruel little wind. It was an unbearably cold night.

Peer looked at the two dogs in despair. Grendel dwarfed little Loki. He was built like a wolf, but thicker and taller, with massive head and powerful jaws. Loki curled his tail between his legs and trembled.

“Three… two… one! Eat him, Grendel!” yelled Uncle Baldur, releasing Loki. At the same moment Uncle Grim let go of Grendel, who sprang forward snarling.

Loki took one look and ran for his life. But Grendel’s long legs gained on him. At the edge of the sheepfold Loki doubled back, his front and back legs crossing each other in his efforts to escape, and the two dogs merged in a rolling tangle near the barn wall, falling over and over in a spray of snow. “Gren-del! Gren-del!” shouted Baldur.

“Loki! Run!” screamed Peer.

Suddenly an avalanche of snow slumped off the barn roof on top of the two dogs, burying them. There was a moment’s surprised silence as they struggled to rise, shaking themselves free. Peer caught a flicker of movement running along the barn roof, and was sure it was the Nis. “Oh, thank you,” he breathed.

Loki got his wits back before Grendel did. He jumped out of the drift and raced across the yard towards the road. “Head him off!” shouted Uncle Baldur, and Grim tried to bar his way, swinging the blazing torch. Loki whizzed between his legs and was out of the yard and over the wooden bridge before Grendel could catch him. Grim slipped and fell, cursing. Peer and Uncle Baldur ran past, following the two dogs over the icy bridge. They were already out of sight. Where, oh where was Loki?

A shivering howl of triumph quivered up and up until it seemed to reach the frosty stars. It lingered in the cold air, holding Peer motionless till it died away. Uncle Baldur too, was frozen in his steps. Grim came limping up, the blazing branch in one hand, the other hand pressed to his hip.

“He’s got the little beggar,” he said.

Tears of horror rose in Peer’s eyes. He stumbled along the kicked-up path to the millpond, and his uncles followed, Baldur grumbling: “Didn’t get to see anything. No fun at all. Call that a fight?”

Peer blundered out of the bushes on the edge of the millpond, and stopped dead. A few yards away Grendel stood with his back to Peer, hackles raised and head lowered threateningly. At the very brink of the millpond, Loki faced him at bay. Loki’s head was up and he looked this way and that with quick, desperate movements.

No wonder Grendel had howled in triumph. Loki was cornered. Behind him, the millpond reflected the starlight with a thin layer of milky ice. To his left, the dark waters of the sluice poured in icicles down to the rapidly freezing stream.

Grendel’s breath steamed. The flames from Grim’s torch lit the snow to rosy warmth and glistened on every yellow tooth in Grendel’s head. He was waiting for his master’s signal to bring the fight to its end. Even across the yards of snow, Peer could see Loki shaking.