Katherine Langrish - West of the Moon

“Good lad, Grendel,” puffed Uncle Baldur. “Get him!”

Peer clapped his hands over his eyes, but lowered them at a shout from Baldur. Loki had turned and leaped out on to the ice. Amazingly, it held him. He slithered across it, paws scrabbling.

“Oh Loki – go on, go on,” panted Peer. Uncle Grim gave a bellow of alarm. “Grendel! Stop!”

He was too late. Grendel launched himself after Loki. With a splintering crash he went straight through the fragile ice and was struggling in the black water.

Grim ran to the edge. He plunged the branch he held into the water. The flames sizzled out. “Here Grendel! Grip hold!” he shouted, but Grendel took no notice. He tried to follow Loki, snarling and raking at the ice with his claws. It broke into crazy pieces. He could smash his way across!

Loki had reached the far bank. It was steep; he scrambled up, clinging desperately with his front paws, kicking with his back legs, but the loose snow collapsed under him and he tumbled back on to the ice.

“Pay up,” said Grim to Baldur.

“He’ll catch him yet,” said Baldur, watching Grendel crashing his way across.

Loki flung himself a second time at the bank. Again his twisting body fell back on to the ice. Grendel was halfway over by now, his great strength breaking a jagged passage. Peer could not stand it. Without even thinking he filled his lungs and ran forward. “ Granny! ” he yelled, so loudly his voice cracked. “ Granny Greenteeth! ”

Baldur and Grim glanced at him in angry surprise. Then Baldur bit off an exclamation and pointed.

Something was happening to Grendel, out there in the middle of the pond. He writhed, splashing, biting at something that seemed to have risen beside him. It was hard to see in the bitter starlight. Could those be skinny white arms twining about Grendel’s neck, pulling him under? The chunks of broken ice danced and clashed. There was a thrashing struggle just below the surface, a choked-off bark – and Grendel was gone.

“ Granny Greenteeth! ” Peer whispered, hugging himself and shuddering.

There was a loud wail from Uncle Grim. “Grendel!”

“She’s got him,” said Uncle Baldur, shrugging, but his mouth was set.

On his third try, Loki reached the top of the bank and hurtled away into the woods. Uncle Grim forgot his sorrow. “You owe me, Baldur. Pay up!”

“Later,” said Baldur. “When we’re rich. And we’d better get on with that.” He stared at Peer, who quailed, expecting to be blamed for Grendel’s awful fate. But it seemed that Uncle Baldur had taken Peer’s shout for a warning, and wasn’t thinking about that.

“Tonight is midwinter’s eve,” he said softly, still staring at Peer. “Don’t forget, Grim, we’re invited to a wedding. It’s time we went to get the presents!”

Peer tried to dash for it, but Uncle Baldur caught his arm. “What shall we do with him, Grim? We don’t want to take him along with us.”

“Lock him up. Shut him up in the privy,” Grim growled. “There’s no window, and we can block up the door.”

Peer struggled, but the two big men dragged him down the path to the mill. Uncle Baldur hauled open the privy door and thrust him inside. “You’ll not die of cold,” he joked. “Where there’s dirt there’s warmth.” He shoved the door shut and Peer heard logs being piled against it. With a last effort he beat his fists on the rough planks, screaming, “Let me out! Where are you going?”

“To pay a little visit to Ralf ’s farm, of course,” came Baldur’s muffled voice. They clumped away, leaving Peer to gasp for his breath in the cold and stinking darkness.

Chapter 12

Stolen in the Storm

“THERE’S A HEAVY snow coming,” Eirik said to Gudrun. “I can feel it in my bones.”

“And what if there is?” Gudrun slapped the dough she was kneading. “I don’t have to worry about the weather any more.”

Hilde, pulling on her thick-fur lined boots, looked anxiously at her mother. Gudrun was very pale these days.

“It’s not snowing yet,” she said. “Just freezing hard.” She belted her sheepskin jacket with a piece of string, and took the lantern from its hook. “I’m going to feed the cows.”

Eirik looked up. “I’ll help,” he offered.

“Oh, I don’t need any help, Grandpa…”

“Don’t be an old fool, Eirik,” Gudrun snapped. “Stay in the warmth.”

Eirik was offended and hurt, and Hilde saw it. “If Sigurd and Sigrid come out with me, Eirik could keep an eye on them. They need some fresh air.”

“No we don’t,” objected Sigrid.

“You’ll do what you’re told!” Hilde hissed.

“Can we have a snowball fight?” asked Sigurd.

“Certainly, if you don’t go out of Grandpa’s sight,” said Hilde briskly. She pushed their boots on and pulled their woolly caps over their ears. Gudrun wrapped up Eirik till he was almost circular.

Hilde filled her pockets with stones – handy for throwing at trolls – and bundled the little ones ahead of her out of the door. They screamed with delight and slid off across the icy yard. Gudrun appeared in the doorway supporting Eirik, who shook her off irritably and stepped after Hilde. He staggered, and Hilde leaped to help him. “Leave me alone, girl,” he growled at her. “I can manage!”

“Now Father-in-law, do take care!” shrilled Gudrun.

Eirik really lost his temper. “Women, women,” he shouted, “cluck, cluck, never leave you alone. I wish my son was here. He’d know I’m not in the grave yet!” He slipped on a particularly glossy patch of ice and sat down hard.

Hilde rushed to pick him up. Sigurd and Sigrid threw snow about, quarrelling. Gudrun clung to the doorpost, calling out instructions. Eirik sat puffing with shock.

There was an apologetic cough. “Can we help?” Hilde looked up to see Bjørn and Arne climbing over the gate. The two young men pulled Eirik to his feet and dusted the snow off him tactfully. Eirik dabbed at himself, muttering.

“It was the ice,” Hilde explained awkwardly. “It was so slippery that he – he slipped.”

“Ah yes, it’s slippery stuff, ice,” said Arne with a grin. He became serious again. “We’ve brought some news.”

“Come inside then, before you freeze,” snapped Gudrun, holding the door open. “Hurry! I’m losing all the warmth.”

They all trooped into the house. “It’s nothing much,” Bjørn began, but Gudrun stopped him. “Not a word! Not a word of your news do I wish to hear till we’ve shown you some hospitality. We still know how to welcome our neighbours here, I hope. Hilde, where’s your manners? Fetch some ale.”

“In some houses,” Eirik grumbled under his breath, “it’s the man who calls for ale!”

The ale was drunk in an atmosphere of polite discomfort. “Well,” said Arne, when Gudrun finally allowed him to speak, “we spoke to the Grimsson boys today. We came straight on from the mill, in fact. They’ve heard about Ralf. They were – celebrating, I’m afraid.”

“Boasting about how they’re going to steal Ralf’s land,” Bjørn added.

“We wiped the smile off Baldur’s fat face. We told him to leave you alone.”

“Did you see Peer? Was he all right?” asked Hilde anxiously.

Bjørn looked thoughtful. “Yes, we saw him. I hope so. There was a little noise going on when we left, and I forgot to speak to him.”

“Bjørn lost his temper,” Arne grinned.

Gudrun’s eyes were wet. She mopped them quickly with her apron. “You’re such good friends,” she exclaimed, stretching out her hands. The young men flushed.

“So we’ll keep a close eye on the Grimssons for you,” Arne went on hastily, “if Eirik has no objection, that is?”