Troll Blood. Katherine Langrish

it. After all, Gunnar’s a famous man. You’ll never marry anyone half so well known. He treats me well, too. He’s never once struck me. The men say he’s as tough as Tyr, who put his hand in the wolf’s mouth. But he needs me. He has fevers, and sometimes he tries to stay awake because of bad dreams. And he hates being alone in the dark.” Her eyes narrowed. “I haven’t found out why yet, but I will. I know herbs; I know how to mix draughts to give him peaceful sleep. I can wind him round my little finger,” she boasted.

      “What about Harald?” asked Hilde.

      Astrid gave her a sharp glance. “Don’t be fooled by his looks. His own mother died years ago, so he didn’t mind me at first—he thought I was just a pretty little thing that his father might as well have. Now he knows better, and he’s jealous. What do you think of him?”

      “Um. Isn’t he a little bit pleased with himself?”

      Astrid laughed. “Oh, yes. There’s no one quite like Harald Silkenhair. Well! You might do.”

      “Do?” Hilde decided all over again that she didn’t like Astrid. “What for?”

      Astrid raised her eyebrows. “Don’t be like that. We could have fun together.You want to come to Vinland, don’t you? Or was that just talk?” she added scornfully.

      “No! I meant it.” Hilde swallowed. “But…”

      Astrid seemed to realise that she hadn’t been making a great impression. She looked at Hilde for a moment, as if wondering what to offer her. “I want you to come. Do you like secrets? If we’re going to be friends, I’ll tell you one.”

      “Go on,” said Hilde, intrigued in spite of herself.

      Astrid hesitated. “Shall I? Remember, I’m taking a risk, I’m trusting you. Are you easily shocked? No? All right, listen.” Her pale eyes opened wide. “There’s troll blood in me. Oh, yes, there is—a long way back perhaps, but it’s there. And I can see things other people can’t.”

      “Troll blood?” A fascinated shiver ran down Hilde’s back. “What do you mean?”

      Astrid gave her a conspiratorial smile. “What I say.” She leaned close and whispered, “My mother’s mother was the daughter of Thorodd Half-troll, and his mother was a troll out of the Dovrefell. My mother’s dead now. But she passed down all kinds of tricks to me.” She patted her big goatskin bag. “Gunnar thinks this is just herbs and medicines. Well, some of it is, and some of it isn’t.”

      Hilde drew back in sudden suspicion. “You’re making it up.”

      “Oh, am I?” Astrid looked around, but their low-voiced conversation was easily drowned by loud laughter from the men chatting and joking by the fire. “All right then.” She unbuckled the flap and plunged her arm into the bag. “Hold this.”

      She handed Hilde a little square box, yellowish in the dim firelight. Hilde rubbed her fingers over it. It was made of smooth bone or ivory, but there were some scratchings on the lid, runes or patterns. She looked up at Astrid. “Well?”

      “Listen to it,” said Astrid. “Put it to your ear.”

      Hilde did. The box buzzed. She almost dropped it, and listened again. Yes, when her ear was pressed close, the box was buzzing or humming. Or was it even a sleepy, angry voice, singing or chanting a very, very long way off?

      “What’s inside?” Hilde burned with curiosity. She pried at the lid.

      “Don’t open it!” Astrid snatched it back. “My mother gave it me. It tells me things. Now do you believe me?”

      Looking at Astrid in the flickering firelight, Hilde found she did. There was a slant to her eyes, a play of shadows on the cheekbones that reminded Hilde of the troll princess who lived underneath Troll Fell.

      “Does Gunnar know you’ve—got troll blood?” she almost whispered. Astrid smiled, showing a line of sharp little white teeth. “Oh, no, he’s much too shockable. I told you, it’s a secret. He only knows I can do a little seidr—magic. Are you wondering if I’ve got a tail? Don’t worry, I haven’t. But the troll blood’s there. It makes me different. And I can see this, Hilde Ralfsdaughter. Like it or not, you’re coming with us to Vinland.” She pinched Hilde’s arm. “You wait and see. Let’s talk again later.” She walked away to the fire.

      Hilde’s fingers prickled from touching the little buzzing box. Her breath came short. A smile of pure excitement curled her lips. The cold curse. Troll blood. Like it or not, you’re coming with us to Vinland. And to think that only a short while ago she had thought Astrid conventional and dull!

      Oh, she thought, I do want to go with her. I must!

       CHAPTER 4 The Nis Amuses Itself

      As Peer came out of the wood there was a rustling and pattering in the bushes: trolls probably, out foraging now that night had fallen. Troll Fell loomed above the farm like a dreaming giant, asleep with his head on his knees. Just over the giant’s shoulder, a scraped-out moon bobbed in a flood of clouds.

      Peer hesitated by the farmhouse door. All the way up the track he’d hurried along, imagining Harald picking a quarrel with Ralf, insulting Hilde, frightening the twins. He’d pictured himself striding in to the rescue. But now his imagination failed. Harald had a sword and would use it. It would be no good trying to pull him outside for a fist-fight.

      He wished now he’d come home earlier. He could have found Hilde, and told her all about it. And yet…the story made him look such a fool. What if Harald called him Barelegs in front of Hilde? How can I stop him? What shall I do?

      “You don’t have to play his games,” Bjørn had said. But Peer had a feeling that Harald was good at pushing people into games they had no wish to play.

      Reluctantly he lifted the latch, and something scampered across the yard and mewed at the bottom of the door like a hopeful cat. The Nis—their touchy little house spirit! It must have been accidentally shut out. As the door creaked open he got a glimpse of its beady eyes, skinny outline and little red hat before it shot past his ankles and whizzed up the wall into the rafters.

      He closed the door. The room was hot, bright and crowded, the atmosphere unnaturally hushed. Peer’s taut nerves twanged. What’s going on? Trouble?

      A strong voice chanted:

       “The hound of heaven, the ship-seizer,Hunted us over the wild waters.Weary wanderers, we fled beforeThe wide jaws of the wind-wolf!”

      It was Harald, the centre of attention, standing at the long trestle table reciting his poetry to the family. He made a brave sight, gold gleaming at his neck. Everyone listened in apparent admiration. No one had eyes for Peer.

      Peer waited by the door, hungry and cross. In full flow, Harald chanted on. It was all about the voyage to Vinland, and he was making it sound pretty stormy and adventurous. Once he caught Peer’s eye, and a faint smirk fled across his face.

      Would the poem never end? Was Harald deliberately spinning it out to keep him waiting? Something scuffled overhead. Dust dropped in a fairy cascade. Suppressing a sneeze, Peer rubbed his eyes and saw flickering movement along the roofbeams. It would be the Nis poking about amongst the cobwebs, chasing spiders—one of its favourite games. Good. At least the Nis couldn’t be bothered with Harald Silkenhair!

      At last Harald’s voice rose in triumphant climax:

       “But our sleek ship, our proud sea-serpent Bore us swiftly to a safe haven,An empty land, fleeced in forests,Land for our labours, land for claiming!”

      Everyone but Peer clapped and cheered. Harald flung himself back on the bench, lifted his cup and tossed down a draught of ale. “Great stuff!” roared Ralf, pounding the table.