Troll Mill (4 page)

But I never blushed, whatever Sigrid says. I wonder how he is. I wish I could see him. I wish
—

She tripped over a rock. It was nearly dark now. Scraping the wet hair from her eyes, she glanced upward, flinching. The storm leaned inland like a blind giant, its black arms outspread over Troll Fell.

“I think we left it a little late!” shouted Ralf, half turning. “Sigrid, Sigurd, keep close!” He caught Sigrid’s hand and they hurried on together, the wind tugging their cloaks. Hilde’s sodden skirt clung to her ankles.

A bird called high up on the hillside, the eerie whooping cry of a curlew. Hilde wiped
the rain from her eyes. On her left the wet grassy slope plunged away. To the right, scattered with stones, the land tilted sharply up to the base of a long, low crag. Shadowy thorn trees craned over the edge like a row of spiteful old women.

Another bird screamed from somewhere on top of the crag, a long liquid call that seemed to end in syllables:
“Huuuuututututu!”
Immediately an answering cry floated up from the hidden slope to their left, and a third, more distant and quavering, from far below.

With a quick stride Hilde reached Ralf and grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt. “Did you hear that? Those aren’t birds. Trolls, Pa! On both sides of us.”

With a gasp, Sigrid shrank close to her father, and Hilde cursed herself for speaking without thinking. Sigrid was terrified of trolls.

Ralf cocked his head, listening. The bubbling cries began again, relayed up the hill like a series of signals. “You’re right,” he muttered. “My fault. I should have got us home earlier. Never mind, Sigrid; the trolls
won’t hurt us. It’s just the sort of night they like, you see—dark and wet and windy. Let them prance around if they want—they can’t scare us.”

“Are they stealing sheep?” Sigurd asked.

“I don’t know, son,” said Ralf slowly. “It sounds as though there’s a line of them strung out up and down the hillside.”

“Can’t we get home?” Sigrid’s voice was thin.

“Of course we can,” said Hilde.

“We’ll slip past,” said Ralf. “They won’t bother us.”

“They will!” Sigrid clutched him with cold hands. “They stole Sigurd and me; they wanted to keep us forever!”

“No, no, the Grimsson brothers stole you,” Hilde tried to reassure her, “and the trolls kept
them
instead, and serve them right. Don’t worry, Siggy. Pa’s here—and me. You’re safe with us.”

There was a blast of wind, strong enough to send them staggering forward. Rain lashed the hillside.

“Come on!” shouted Ralf. “Nothing can see us in this. Let’s go!” Swept along by wind
and weather, they stumbled half blind down a sudden slope into a narrow gully. At the bottom, a thin stream rattled downhill over pebbles. Something ran across their path out of the dense curtains of drifting rain. The whooping calls faltered. Sigrid shrieked.

Trolls were all around them: tails, snouts, glowworm eyes. Dim lines of trolls louping and leaping from the raincloud. A pair of thin, thin legs that raked like a cockerel’s, and a round hairless body on top. Ralf and the children skidded to a halt, appalled. Hilde grabbed the twins and tried to bundle them back the way they had come.

I’ve seen this before!

There was something weirdly familiar about the two long, wavering columns steadily trotting in opposite directions, about the way the trolls seemed to be carrying things, the way they scrambled over obstacles like rocks and ridges, and about the way those two over there, who were tugging something along between them, had got it stuck on a rock and were sawing to and fro trying to get it free….

She saw and thought this in a flicker of
time—then the trolls stampeded, racing up the slope with gobbling yells. Hilde tried to drag Sigrid aside, and slipped. The wet hillside reeled and hit her. Sigrid screamed, Ralf shouted, Loki barked. Hilde clutched dizzily at wet grass and stones, trying to scramble up. A troll bounded over her. Its ratlike tail switched her legs. She collapsed, grunting, as a horny hoof drove hard into the small of her back. A hot, sharp smell prickled her nose.

Then the trolls were gone. Loki tore after them in hysterical fury.

Hilde sat up, hair in her eyes and mud on her hands. Ralf loomed over her, shouting her name. He dragged her up, holding her against him. The world steadied. Here was Sigrid, curled up on the ground, sobbing. Hilde fell to her knees and tried to soothe her.

“It’s all right, Siggy, they didn’t mean to hurt us. We frightened them just as much as they frightened us.”

“Loki chased them!” Sigurd arrived at his father’s side. “Where is he? Loki!” He lunged forward up the slope. Hilde grabbed his arm. “No, you don’t. Stay here, Sigurd!” And she
stepped on something that crunched and splintered.

“Let go! I have to find him!”

“Loki can look after himself.”

“He can’t, he can’t! Peer told me to look after him!” Sigurd sobbed, trying to wrestle free.

From the ridge above they heard a volley of barks and a high screech rattling off into the familiar troll cry:
“Huuutututututu!”
Silence followed, and then Loki came sliding and scrabbling down the stony gully, wagging a jaunty tail. Sigurd flung himself forward and hugged him tightly around the neck. “Good boy, Loki! Brave dog!” he choked into Loki’s fur. Loki shook himself free.

“They’ve gone, Sigrid. The trolls have gone.” Hilde’s heart was still pounding. “What were they doing?”

“Carrying off my sheep and lambs, I’ll swear!” Ralf growled.

“No,” said Hilde. “I think …” She hesitated. It had happened almost too fast to remember. What had she seen? Jerky, antlike purpose. Ants! That was it! In just the same way she’d seen lines of ants scurrying to and
fro from their anthill. But who could imagine an anthill as big as Troll Fell?

“Baskets. They were carrying baskets, Pa. But what was in them?”

Sigrid raised her head from Hilde’s lap. “Bones.” She gulped.

“What?” Ralf squatted down in front of her and held her shoulders. “Bones, Siggy? Are you sure?”

“Some fell out.” Sigrid buried her face again. “They fell on me. A bundle of bones, like firewood.”

Slowly Ralf shook his head. “Well, now! I don’t like the sound of that. Let’s get home. Shoulder-ride, Siggy?”

Something else snapped under Hilde’s foot as she trod forward—something thin and curved that gleamed faintly in the dark. She brushed her dripping hair back to look at it. “She’s right. These
are
bones,” she whispered.

Nearby, Ralf was kicking at a grayish tangle, barely visible in the grass. He nodded to her through the rain.

“Let’s get the little ones home.” Hilde shivered.

Ralf picked up Sigrid and swung her onto his shoulders.

“But, Pa, what about the trolls?” asked Sigurd. “What if they follow us?”

“They won’t,” said his father easily. “They were running away, weren’t they? Loki here has chased them all into the foxholes among those rocks. Forget them. I wonder what your ma has for supper?”

Talking cheerfully, he set off at a rapid pace. Hilde followed, Sigurd tramping manfully along beside her. At last they came to the proper track that led down to the farm. Far ahead in the dim, wet night they were glad to see a tiny speck of warm light. Gudrun had lit the lantern to guide them home.

A WARNING FROM THE NIS

B
ONES?” EXCLAIMED
G
UDRUN
, ladling out four bowls of hot mutton stew.

“What sort of bones?”

“Just bones—dry ones.” Ralf took a long gulp of ale and wiped his mouth with a sigh. “Old dry bones,” he repeated. “I kicked some with my foot. Looked like bits of a sheep’s ribcage, years old. Sigrid got a fright, but so long as it’s dry bones and not ones with meat on them, the trolls can have them and welcome!” He looked at Gudrun over the rim of his mug, and his eyes said,
Let’s talk about this later.

“They’re always up to something,” said Gudrun darkly, plunking the bowls down on the table. “Eat up, twins, and then straight to bed.”

“Oh, Ma …,” they complained together. But Gudrun shook her head. “Look at you both—pale as mushrooms, dark circles under your eyes! I hope this won’t give you nightmares again, Sigrid.”

Sigrid blushed, but Sigurd spoke up for her. “She’s grown out of that, Ma. She hasn’t had a bad dream in ages.”

For more than a year after being trapped under Troll Fell by the trolls and the Grimsson brothers, Sigrid had woken every night, screaming about trolls.
Best not make a fuss
, thought Gudrun, sighing. “Well, Ralf, as you say, it’s hard to see what harm dry bones can do. Unless the trolls killed the sheep in the first place, the thieves! Come and sit down, Hilde.”

Hilde was bending over the cradle near the fire, admiring her baby brother. He lay breathing quietly, his long lashes furled on the peaceful curve of his cheek. The firelight glowed on his golden curls.

“Has Eirik been good today?”

Gudrun laughed. “I can’t turn my back on that child for half a minute. He tried three times to crawl into the fire and screamed blue
murder when I pulled him back. If it weren’t for the Nis, I’d be tearing my hair out.”

“The Nis?” Hilde asked, intrigued. “Why, what does it do?”

“Haven’t you noticed how it teases him and keeps him busy? It croons away and dangles things over the cradle; it’s very good with him. Of course, I never see it properly, only out of the corner of my eye, but I hear the baby gurgle and coo, and I know he’s all right for a while. It was a blessing when Peer brought that creature into our house.”

A gust of wind rattled the shutters and the smoke swirled over the fire. The family bent their heads over their meal. By the hearth Loki lay, watchful, resting his chin over the back of Ralf’s old sheepdog, Alf. Suddenly he raised his head and pricked his ears. Alf too woke from his dreaming and twitching, turning his milky eyes and gray muzzle toward the door—

—which burst open. In from the dark staggered a tall, tattered boy, white-faced, streaming with water, dragging a ripped and flapping cloak like stormy broken wings. He turned black, desperate eyes on Gudrun and
shoved something at her.

“Take it!” he gasped. “Please, Gudrun! Take the baby!”

They all jumped up. Gudrun stared at the bundle he held out. She reached for it slowly at first, as if half afraid—then snatched it from him and peeled the wrappings back. The round, dark head of a tiny baby lolled onto her arm, and she clutched it to her chest and stepped back, mouth open.

“Merciful heavens, Peer! Whatever …?”

Peer sank on the bench, his head hanging. “It’s Kersten’s baby.” His voice quivered. “Kersten’s and Bjorn’s. She gave it to me—she said—”

“Kersten’s? Where is she? What’s happened?”

“She fell into the sea,” said Peer. He buried his face in his hands while they all gasped, then looked up again with miserable eyes. “At least … that’s not true. She ran into it. I couldn’t stop her. Bjorn went after her. Gudrun, I think that baby’s terribly cold!”

Gudrun, Hilde, and Ralf looked at one another.

“First things first,” said Gudrun, becoming
practical. “Peer, take off those wet things. Sigrid will bring you some hot stew. Hilde, warm a blanket. Let me take a look at this child.” She sat down by the fire and laid the baby on her knee, gently unwrapping it and chafing the mottled little arms and legs.

“Poor little thing,” she said softly. “Dear me, it must be weeks since Kersten had her. I’ve been meaning to get down and see her. But there’s always something else to do. There, there, now!” She turned the baby over and rubbed the narrow back. “Do you know her name, Peer?”

“I didn’t even know she was a girl.” Peer was struggling into a dry jerkin. His head came out, tousled. “Is she—is she all right?” He came over and stared down at the baby in silence for a while. “She looks like a little frog,” he said at last.

“She is rather cold, but she’ll be all right.” Gudrun swaddled the baby in the warm shawl that Hilde brought. “Now she’s warming up, I’ll try and feed her.”

“Will you, Gudrun?” Tears sprang into Peer’s eyes, and he turned away. “I think she
is
hungry. She was chewing my collarbone
half the way home,” he said over his shoulder.

Hilde laughed at him shakily. “That wouldn’t do her much good!”

They all stood around, staring at Gudrun as she held the baby, rocking gently. Even the twins were silent, one leaning on each side of their mother. The baby’s dark hair fluffed up as it dried, and she nuzzled into Gudrun’s breast, sucking strongly and blinking upward with vague, bright eyes.

Ralf blew his nose. “Now, Peer. Tell us what happened!”

“We were down on the shore. I was going to stay with Bjorn because of the rain. Bjorn gave me a fish to take up to Kersten—we were going to have it for supper. Then—” Peer broke off, trying to make sense of his memories. “Kersten came running down through the sand dunes. It was pouring with rain. She ran smack into me! She had the baby. She said … I can’t remember exactly what, but she pushed the baby at me and told me to take it to you, Gudrun. She said, ‘Is Gudrun still nursing?’ And then she ran past me and down the shingle. I shouted for Bjorn, but—”