West of the Moon (39 page)

“Wonderful summer,” says Kwimu, smiling, and he stretches his arms wide, and wider, as if to embrace the whole green, growing world.

W
ATER
S
NAKE GLIDED
in over the shallows. Peer looked down through clear water at thickets of groping weed, and pale undulations of sandy gravel.

“Serpent's Bay!”

“Serpent's Bay…”

It was late afternoon. With four oars out, they were rowing in to the mouth of a river. It ran from a tuck in the hills and flowed across meadowlands and a shelving gravel beach to empty into the bay.

A black cormorant flew over. The trees made a dark fringe around the bay, rising into wooded slopes. The clear voices of Astrid and Hilde echoed off the shore.

“There are the houses!”

“I see them!” Then, after a pause: “But… they look empty.”

Peer cupped his hands around his eyes. The two houses he'd heard so much about squatted side by side on rising ground behind the meadowlands. They looked just like Ralf 's farm: small and homely, with thick grassy roofs. The doorway of the nearest seemed to have been left half open.

No smoke rose from the houses, no voices called in excited welcome. Where was the busy, bustling settlement Peer had imagined, with Thorolf 's little boy waving cheerily from the roof?

And there was no ship drawn up on the beach or moored in the river.

“Where's the
Long Serpent
?” he asked.

Arne twisted to look over his shoulder as he sat rowing in the bows. “Where's Thorolf, skipper?” he sang out. The oars swung raggedly as the other men tried to look too. “Where's Thorolf?”

“Keep rowing,” Gunnar grunted. “How should I know where he is? I'm not his master.”

“They've gone.” Hilde's voice was hollow. Peer knew what she was thinking.
Five years
.

“They'll be back,” he said, as much to comfort himself as Hilde.

“I thought you said Thorolf had settled here,” Tjørvi called to Gunnar.

“He must have changed his mind,” Gunnar said shortly.

Tjørvi snatched a quick glance shorewards and his oar clashed with Magnus's.

“Watch your stroke,” Magnus snarled.

“Concentrate, boys,” Gunnar bawled. “We'll put her aground on the beach. Harald, steer for the houses. Pull!”

Harald leaned on the tiller. The men heaved.
Water Snake
slipped towards the shore. Her prow grated into the shingle.

The crew broke into cheers. The noise was oddly thin, rebounding off the shore. Startled waterfowl clattered off across the tranquil river, honking alarms.

But the air was sweet, smelling of earth and forest – of rich soil, black bog, fresh water. Peer filled his lungs and forgot about Thorolf.
We're here! We made it! We're in Vinland!

“First one ashore...!” Arne vaulted into knee-deep water, whooping. Peer leaped after him. Floki and Halfdan came tumbling after. Magnus methodically shipped his oar and clambered down. They splashed on to the gravel. Land! Solid footing, for the first time in weeks! It rocked under Peer, and he stumbled. Magnus laughed. “Aye, you'll be unsteady for a while… Odd, seeing the old ship from the outside again, ain't it?”

It was. How huge she'd seemed, coming in to the jetty at Trollsvik! Now Peer just wondered how on earth he'd crossed the ocean in anything so cramped and small. Her paintwork looked even more faded than before. Her sail was down, an untidy crumple of sea-stained fabric. Ropes trailed everywhere. But the dragonhead glared inland with all its old, stiff-necked arrogance.

Loki's head and two front paws appeared over the side. He jumped, hitting the water with a crash of spray, then swimming steadily to shore. When his paws touched, he bounded out and shook himself all over Magnus and Floki.

Hilde leaned out, looking down. “Is it deep? Shall I jump?”

“Your dress will get soaked. I can carry you.” Peer reached up to her. “If you sit on the edge, I'll take you on my back.” “Don't trust him, Hilde,” said Arne, wading up. “He'll drop you. Better come with me, I'm stronger.” He flexed his arms in a mock show of strength.

“How strong do you think you need to be?” asked Hilde, laughing.

“Here's an easier way,” Tjørvi called. He and Halfdan were man-handling a long gangplank. Once it was firmly settled between ship and shore, Tjørvi swept off his cap. “Would the Lady Hilde care to descend?”

“Thank you, Tjørvi.” Hilde caught Tjørvi's hand and he walked her down. At the bottom she dropped him a curtsy. Tjørvi bowed. “See?” he said over his shoulder to Peer and Arne. “She likes me best.” He went back to help Astrid.

“Vinland,” breathed Hilde. She staggered, and Peer saw her eyes widen. “I feel as if I'm still on the ship. Oh, that's strange.”

“You'll soon get your land legs back if you walk around a bit,” Magnus told her.

“Walk?” Hilde picked up her skirts. “Ha! Who'll race me to the houses?”

“Not me,” said Astrid, stepping cautiously down the gangplank. “I'm not running anywhere. Oops!” She checked as something small and light rushed past her skirts. With a patter of feet, a disturbance of the gravel, it dashed into the grass. Tjørvi's head jerked round. “Did you see that damn great rat come ashore?” he exclaimed. Peer smothered a smile.

And Hilde was off too, tearing up the slope towards the houses, plaits flying. “Wait,” yelled Peer. “It might not be safe.” He plunged after her. On legs that seemed hardly to obey them they ran across spongy, springy meadows patched with bright green moss and pocked with boggy holes. Birds whirred up everywhere. Loki streaked ahead.

Hilde reached the nearest house and disappeared. Peer flung himself at the door. It opened inwards, protected by a rough wooden porch sticking out of the turf roof.

It was cold inside. The thick turf walls cut off all sound. The house smelled of frost-bitten earth and old smoke, and it was so gloomy Peer could hardly see. There were no windows. A little light splashed through the smoke holes in the roof, gleaming on Hilde's pale hair as she stood, looking around. The only other light came from the doorway. Gradually Peer made out two lines of wooden posts supporting the rafters. Down the middle of the house ran the fire-pit, edged with stones. At either side long sleeping benches lined the walls. At the far end, another doorway led into a small second room. That would be for Astrid and Gunnar, Peer guessed.

Or had this been Thorolf 's house? He squinted about, but there was no clue to show who had been living here, no personal possessions, or bedding, or stores.

Something bounded through the rafters like a squirrel, carolling, “Ooh, a house, a house, a lovely house!”

It fetched up on a crossbeam just overhead, and peeped at Peer upside down, wispy hair trailing like old cobwebs.

“You like it?” asked Peer.

“A house!” the Nis sang. Hilde squinted up, but the Nis had scuffled into an angle of the rafters. “I likes it, Peer Ulfsson,” came its muffled voice, “but it needs – spring-cleaning!” And it flung a bird's nest down at them, giggling.

“Well, the Nis approves.” Peer brushed twigs out of his hair. “What do you think?”

“I can't wait to light the fire,” said Hilde. “Hot food tonight!”

“Sleeping under a roof, warm and dry!” said Peer.

They looked at each other and laughed. “I can't wait to explore. It looks so wild and beautiful. No farms, no fields. No sheep, no cows, no villages…”

“No Thorolf.”

“He'll turn up,” said Hilde optimistically. “You know, that first night on the ship, when Astrid told me about Harald and Gunnar being outlawed, I thought I'd made a terrible mistake. I thought we should never have come. But I like all of the men now, don't you? Even Gunnar.”

“Except Harald,” said Peer.

“Except Harald,” Hilde agreed. “Come on, we've spent long enough in here. I wonder which house we'll use. Shall we look at the other one?”

“Hey!” Peer raised his voice. “Nithing – want to see the other house?”

With a scuttle and a rush, the Nis was at the door. It scampered out, and Peer was surprised to see that dusk was falling. The sun had sunk below the hills, and the wooded slopes looked dark and mysterious. Down by the ship, the men had lit a fire on the shore. Around the flames, the evening turned a deeper blue. One side of Water Snake gleamed, her red and black strakes warm in the firelight. On her other side lay a black shadow double. The shadows were confusing, Peer thought. There seemed too many people criss-crossing in front of the fire.

“We should go and help,” said Hilde. “Look, they're bringing things up already.” Someone was coming slowly up the path, as if stiff from weeks at sea. His face was indistinct in the dusk. He turned aside, heading for the other house. Hilde called out, “Hello! Is that one ours?”

Whoever it was made no reply, but turned in to the porch of the second house. Hilde shrugged. “He didn't hear me. It must be that one.”

They walked across. Flat stones made a short path outside the door, which was shut. Peer lifted the latch. The Nis darted between his feet – and sprang back like a startled cat, all arched spine and splayed limbs. Peer saved himself by clutching at the doorpost. “What are you doing?” he cried.

The Nis was creeping backwards, bristling. “Not nice,” it squeaked. “Not a nice house at all, Peer Ulfsson. The other one is better!” It shook itself and shot decisively away.

With an odd feeling under his ribs, Peer shoved the door wide open and looked in. He didn't step over the threshold. Hilde craned over his shoulder.

It was just like the first house. Same long fire pit, same smoke holes, same dusty-looking benches and line of dim posts leading to a doorway at the far end.

This house was colder than the first. The air felt disturbed, as though someone had recently passed through. But it was empty.

“Surely we saw —” Hilde broke off. “Or is he in the room at the far end?”

“In the dark? Hiding?” Peer looked at her. “Do you want to find out?”

“No,” said Hilde. “Let's go.”

Peer tugged the door shut. “I agree with the Nis. I like the other house better.”

Not quite running, they hurried back past the first of the houses. The fire crackling merrily on the beach looked like a beacon of safety.

Magnus and Halfdan were struggling over the rise, carrying a big chest. They put it down, wiping their faces, and Magnus sat on it.

“That looks heavy,” Hilde called. No one but Peer would have noticed the slight quaver in her voice.

“Women's stuff,” Magnus sniffed. “Bedlinen. And clothes.” He looked past the houses at the steep woods, and shivered. “I'd forgotten the forest was so close. Looks like it's got nearer. Looks like —” He stopped.

“What?”

“Like it's watching us.” Magnus laughed to show he didn't really think so, but Hilde and Peer both turned to look back at the dark rampart of trees.

Hilde froze. “Peer. What's that, by the second house?”

It was hard to be sure – a blackish blur that could be a tall shrub, or a forgotten woodpile. But it looked like a man, standing silently beside the door of the furthest house.

Magnus sucked air through his remaining teeth.

“I see what you mean,” said Peer with dry lips. “But I think it's just the shadow of the porch.”

Floki arrived, bent double under a sack. Behind him Gunnar and Astrid walked together. “Aye, aye, it all looks much as it did,” Gunnar said to her, sniffing the air like an old dog. “I remember —”

He stopped and seemed to choke. Astrid caught his arm. “There…” he croaked, staring up the slope. “Who's that – in the doorway?”

The man was gone as he spoke. Peer was sure now it was only the shadow of the porch. Yet the house door was slowly opening, swinging back in a gesture of invitation.
Come in
.

“Peer, you didn't shut that door,” said Hilde, alarmed by Gunnar's face. Gunnar turned straining eyes on Peer.

“Yes I did,” Peer blurted.

“I latched it.”

Gunnar stumbled like a deer with an arrow in its heart. He clutched Astrid's shoulder. Her breath hissed as she braced him.

A white moon was rising out of the sea. The temperature was dropping. Down in the marshes a duck quacked sharply. From somewhere in the shaggy hills came a distant, thin howl.
Wolf?

Loki pricked his ears. Magnus and Halfdan stood tensely by the chest. They made no move to pick it up again. Their breath came in clouds. Floki, who had dropped his sack, looked round as if wondering whether to run back to the ship.

Harald came loping up towards them. “What's wrong?”

Gunnar's teeth clacked. “I – I'm not well.”

Harald pushed Astrid aside, dragging his father's arm over his shoulders. “You heard!” he snapped at the others. “I'll get him indoors. You women – make a fire in the house. Our own house, the first one,” he added roughly, seeing Hilde about to ask. “The rest of you bring the stuff up from the ship.”

Peer lay on his back, unable to sleep. Odd to lie on a bed that didn't move – odd to look up at a roof – odd to smell smoke after weeks of cold fresh air.

Gunnar and Astrid had retired into the little room at the end of the house. They had a grand bed, which had been brought up in pieces from the ship and slotted together. Astrid had covered it with linen sheets, a goosefeather bolster and woollen blankets. Hilde was shut in with them, away from the men, in a small closet bed panelled off from the rest of their room. Peer felt sorry for her. He was glad to be out here in the hall where the fire had a chance of warming the air.

The house was so cold. They'd piled branches and logs in the hearth and kindled an enormous blaze, but it would take days for the thick sod walls to warm through. The smoke hung in the rafters as though it couldn't remember the way out.