Peer bent his head on to his knees.
Loki sensed Peer’s despair. He lifted his muzzle to the sky and let the misery within him float away in a long, musical howl. The eerie sound echoed in the cliffs, and brought Peer back to his feet. “Quiet, Loki. Hush!” But Loki, surprised and impressed by the noise he had made, was doing it again.
“Oooo…ooo…ooo…!” The sound trailed away. To Peer it seemed as though all the mountains were looking at them. It was awful. The rebounding echoes came fainter and fainter. And then came an echo that was not an echo.
Peer froze. “Was that – a bark?”
Unmistakably, a second bark came from somewhere below them on the hill. Loki shot off. Moments later he reappeared, leaping crazily around another dog – an old sheepdog, by the look of it – that was trotting steadily uphill. Peer couldn’t believe his eyes. A shepherd? On top of Troll Fell at this hour?
Somebody was coming, all right, puffing up the slope. Somebody too small to be a shepherd…
“Loki!” cried a clear, incredulous voice. “Peer? What are you doing here?”
“Hilde!” yelled Peer. He rushed to meet her; he grabbed her hands. Words tumbled out. “It was Uncle Baldur – Uncle Grim. I was escaping – I saw them carrying the twins. They went into the mountain, Hilde, I couldn’t stop them. What shall we do?”
Hilde pulled off her cap and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “You saw them? And you followed? Oh well done, Peer!”
“How did you know where to come?” Peer still couldn’t believe it.
“Alf and I discovered this place when we were gathering sheep at the beginning of winter,” Hilde told him. “Alf. My dog.” Alf licked her mittened hand. “Tonight, when we realised the twins had been stolen —” her voice shook, “Mother and Grandfather went to the village to rouse everyone. I was supposed to stay behind in case – in case the twins came back; but I knew they wouldn’t. I couldn’t bear to wait. I decided to come here. Alf knows the way.”
“The door’s shut,” said Peer. “I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.”
“Well, if the door’s shut, let’s go and knock on it,” said Hilde.
“I found this,” said Peer unhappily. He handed her Sigrid’s cap. Hilde looked at it silently and tucked it into her pocket.
“But even if they hear us knocking,” Peer went on, “why should they let us in?”
“They’ll let us in,” said Hilde with strange confidence, “when they know I’ve got this!”
She pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth and unrolled it. Peer gasped. “Is that —?”
“The famous cup? Yes,” said Hilde. She turned it this way and that. The gold gleamed pale in the moonlight and the moulding winked white fire. “Let’s see how badly the Gaffer of Troll Fell wants it back! Let’s go. It’ll soon be dawn, and they won’t open the troll gate after sunrise. Hurry!”
She picked up a stone and pounded the rock face, shouting. “Open up! Open up! I’m Hilde, Ralf ’s daughter!”
“Open up!” Peer joined in. They hammered on the cliff. The dogs barked.
“Wait a minute,” panted Hilde. They listened. The echoes died away. It was growing lighter every moment.
“Open up!” called Hilde. “Tell the Gaffer I’ve brought his cup. Remember? The cup Ralf Eiriksson took, years ago!”
Years ago! Years ago! The echo sprang to and fro. Hilde bit her lip. “It’s not working.” Her face was wan in the cold pre-dawn glow.
Peer caught her arm. A vertical black seam ran down the rock face. It split apart. They smelled sparks. The soles of their feet tickled. The stone door swung slowly inwards, revealing nothing but a gaping darkness.
Hilde stepped forwards, but Peer dragged her back. “You can’t go in there!”
“Yes I can. Let go!”
“Not in the dark! You’ll get lost – trapped!” He hung on. She twisted a foot behind his leg and tripped him. They fell together, sobbing and struggling.
“Let – me – go!” Hilde shrieked, her face inches from his. “You don’t have to come! They’re not your brother and sister! If you’re such a coward, go home!”
Peer let go. He lay back on the ground, chest heaving. Tears leaked from under his eyelids. Hilde scrambled up. “I’m sorry,” she said between gasps. “I’m sorry.”
Behind her loomed the cliff and the tall black slot of the troll gate. The thought of disappearing into it filled Peer with terror, but he got to his feet. “You’re not going alone,” he said fiercely, “I’m coming with you.”
“Oh Peer!” Hilde wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Come on then. Wait! Just a minute.” She bent to the dogs. “Go home, Alf. Good boy. Go home, you hear me? And take Loki. You can’t come with us.”
“Off you go, Loki,” said Peer, clenching his teeth.
Alf sniffed Loki. He turned and trotted a few paces downhill. He stopped and looked round. “Go home, Loki!” said Peer loudly. The old dog barked, and slowly Loki began to follow him. “Goodbye!” muttered Peer. He watched the two dogs going away down the hill and felt lonelier than ever before in his life.
“Come on!” Hilde beckoned anxiously. The moon was paling and the sky was pink.
Sucking in a huge gasp of the cold, fresh air, filling his lungs as if it was the last breath he would ever take, Peer turned his back on the sunrise and followed Hilde into Troll Fell.
Chapter 15
Torches by the Fjord
GUDRUN STEADIED EIRIK as he slipped. With arms linked, they waded through the drifts, encouraging each other – Gudrun with breathless gasps of, “Well done,” and “Slippy here – hold up!” and Eirik with battle cries of “Bring on the wolf ’s brood! Rouse the steel-storm!” The pine trees whistled overhead and snow whirled through the branches.
When they came out of the woods above the mill, it looked deserted. The buildings glimmered grey and ghostly in the snow. Not a light showed. No smoke rose from the roof.
Eirik paused, wheezing, and Gudrun hugged his arm. “Father-in-law! Are you all right?”
Eirik shook himself like a dog. “I’m fine,” he growled. “Fine!” And he plunged on down the path.
The black waterwheel was toothed with icicles. As Gudrun and Eirik shuffled over the icy bridge, they heard the excited bark of a fox from the mill yard, followed by an unearthly cackling.
Fox among the hens, thought Gudrun at once, but she didn’t care. Serve the Grimssons right if they lost their hens! And Eirik thought the same, he was nodding at her. “Foxes! I’ll give ’em foxes,” he roared. “I’ll feed them to the foxes, in tiny pieces. On we go!”
He was getting very tired though, Gudrun could tell, leaning more and more heavily on her arm. Still, the path was smoother now. It wasn’t so far to the village. Oh, but what was she doing here, when Sigurd and Sigrid must be far up the mountain? Why hadn’t she sent Hilde with Eirik and gone after them herself? She began to cry, big tears spilling over her cheeks. Her woollen skirt dragged, clotted with snow.
“Snow’s stopped,” Eirik shouted. “Dawn’s on the way.” It was true.
Wiping her tears, Gudrun saw the first houses and smelled the heavy tang of woodsmoke. She let go of Eirik’s arm and ran stumbling to the nearest door. “Einar!” She beat on it and pushed it open.
There was no one there. The fire burned cheerfully, the blankets on the sleeping bench were disturbed as though the sleepers had flung them back and left suddenly. “No one’s here!” cried Gudrun as Eirik hobbled up behind her.
“Try next door,” Eirik gasped.
Gudrun flew past him. “Arne – Harald! Where are you?” she begged. “Bjørn – Kersten?” House after house was empty, though cats yowled from corners and in one a baby cried, alone in its cradle. Gudrun came out looking bewildered. “Where are they all? Is it some evil spell?”
Eirik held up his hand. “Listen!” Gudrun obeyed. It seemed she could hear a far-off shouting.
“Is it an attack?” she gasped. “Is it war?”
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“Onwards to battle!” shouted Eirik. “Let’s go see!”
Alf and Loki trotted briskly down the hill. As they came in sight of the tall stone where Peer had sheltered the night before, the sun rose over the hill. The snow glittered, and the stone’s long shadow fell across the slope.
Light-footed up the hill, the white fox came dancing, dragging something by the neck. Close to the big stone it stopped to lay down the burden and get a fresh grip. Limp and bedraggled, the black cockerel lay dead on the snow.
Alf circled the fox, glaring and growling. But Loki trotted nimbly right up to it, and touched noses. His tail moved in a tentative wag, and the fox’s brush twitched in reply. Then its sharp ears pricked. It glanced up. The dogs stiffened. A breath of wind brought to their acute hearing a distant clamour. Far away on the shore, many voices were shouting.
The fox grabbed the cockerel and slunk off up the hill. Alf stood rigid, his muzzle raised, snuffing the wind, straining at those sounds floating from the fjord. With a hoarse bark he bounded forwards, his bushy tail waving. Loki dashed after him. Side by side the two dogs crossed the wooden bridge and disappeared into the trees on the path to the village.
Torches flared by the fjord, pale in the dawn. Beached on the shingle, dwarfing Bjørn and Arne’s boats, an elegant longship reared its proud neck. The fierce dragonhead was covered in sacking, so as not to frighten the timid land spirits of the homeland.
The whole village had turned out to greet it. Clinging together, Eirik and Gudrun made their way on to the pebbles, where Gudrun shrieked, let go of Eirik and ran into the water to seize the arm of a tall burly man who vaulted laughing out of the ship.
“Ralf! Ralf, my man, is it really you?” She pounded his chest with her fists, laughing and crying. “Is it really you?”
“Yes, my girl!” Ralf scooped her off her feet and gave her a bristly kiss. “It’s really me!”
Chapter 16
In the Hall of the Mountain King
THE TROLL DOOR closed with a boom and a suck of air, as if a giant mouth had breathed in.
It was dark.
Peer’s breath shortened. “Hilde! Where are you?”
“Here!” Their groping hands met. “I thought there would be lights,” she whispered, gripping him. “Why is it dark?”
Her touch steadied him. “It’s daybreak.” Peer remembered something the Nis had once said. “That’s night-time for trolls.”
“If they’re all asleep, who let us in?”
“Ssh!” said Peer, freezing. They listened, tense. Was anyone there? Peer heard water dripping, and his own harsh breath. He closed his eyes, opened them wide. It made no difference. The darkness moulded to his face, clung to him, caught in his throat like black glue…
“Hello!” Hilde’s bold voice rang out. “Gatekeeper! We’ve come to see the Gaffer. Bring us a light!”
There was a soft clap and an explosion of light. The tunnel blanched. Painfully, through watering eyes, Peer saw a spindly figure twirling a bright sphere, like a little sun, on one crooked forefinger. It laughed quietly: “Ho, ho!”
“We want – to see – the Gaffer,” Hilde gasped.
A dark hooked arm bowled the ball of light towards them. They dodged, and the quivering light rolled past, illuminating the first few yards of a long passage. They looked back at the stone door, trying to see the gatekeeper, but their own shadows blotted it out – except for a long clawed foot, like a bird’s, scraping along the floor.
Peer and Hilde turned and ran. “Oh my goodness,” panted Hilde. “It must have been standing right behind us in the dark!”
“What now?” Peer demanded. “What do we do?”
“Follow the light, I think. Come on!” She tugged his hand. Peer came, throwing a nervous glance over his shoulder. But only darkness followed them.
At first, the passage was wide enough to walk abreast. Peer clumped along in his wet boots, trying not to shiver. Troll Fell had swallowed him and here he was in its long stone gullet. The air was chill. The floor rose and fell, with unexpected puddles.
Sometimes the passage twisted, or branched into side passages, which corkscrewed up or dived into darkness. Sometimes the roof dipped, and they had to duck. Or the walls bulged, nipping the passage into a tight waist. “One at a time here,” muttered Hilde, sliding sideways. “Come on!” Peer squeezed after her: the stone felt wet and smooth, slick as a cow’s tongue.
On the other side Hilde clutched him, shouting. “Look at that!”
A rough cataract of yellow water shot from a hole in the ceiling and hurtled into a pit. The only way past was along a slanting ledge on the left-hand wall. Peer looked down the shaft. The water careered into darkness.
“I’ll go first!” he said grimly. He needed to keep moving. When he stood still, he felt as though the whole weight of Troll Fell was pressing on his shoulders. “It’s not too bad,” he shouted. “Keep near the wall like this, and – ah!”
His foot slipped and in panic he snatched at the rocks. One hand curled over a sharp rim and he hung over the drop, kicking. Water drummed on his back. Hilde screamed; then her hand caught his flailing wrist and she hauled. He dragged his knee up and over, and clawed his way further up the slippery shelf. Together they crawled out of the spray to where the passage opened again on the far side of the shaft.
The ball of light was loitering there, bluish and fitful. As they scrambled to their feet it turned a couple of brisk spins, brightened, and whirled off down the tunnel. Bruised and bedraggled, Peer and Hilde limped along. They stumbled up a flight of shallow steps. At the top the light sprang up and hung overhead, rotating lazily.
Deep in the rock of the left-hand wall was a crevice, shaped into a rough archway. Set back into it was a solid wooden door.
Peer looked at Hilde. She gave him an anxious nod. He knocked.
In a moment the door opened a crack and small troll looked out, holding a smoking pine branch in one fist. It saw them and hissed, exposing needle sharp teeth and began to shut the door again, but Peer stuck his foot in the way.
“We want to see the Gaffer!”
The troll jerked at the door. Peer got his fingers around the edge and dragged it back. Feverishly, Hilde unwrapped the golden cup.
The troll’s eyes grew round and black. It let go of the door and sprang up and down, tail lashing. “Give! Give!” it squeaked.
“It’s not for you.” Hilde held the cup high in the air. “It’s for the Gaffer. We want to see him – now!”
The little troll’s claws shot out and its ears folded flat like an angry cat’s, but it stood back and opened the door wide. Side by side, shoulder to shoulder, Peer and Hilde stepped in.
It was a large chamber, gloriously warm and smelling of pine needles. In the middle of the floor a brazier glowed red, filled with logs. The troll pitched the burning branch back into the flames.
Beyond the brazier was a stone bed. Its four crooked posts seemed to have dripped from the ceiling and grown from the floor. Peer and Hilde tiptoed closer. On it, snoring loudly under a pile of sheepskins, the old Gaffer of Troll Fell lay – apparently asleep. His mouth hung open, showing two long brown curving teeth like tusks. His eyes were closed. But in the middle of his forehead a third eye glared, red-rimmed and weeping. It rolled around and fixed on Peer and Hilde.
“I see strangers,” the Gaffer mumbled in his sleep. He yawned, stretched and sat up, opening his other eyes – and as he did so, the eye in the middle of his forehead fluttered slowly shut.
“Hutututu! What’s this, what’s this?” growled the Gaffer. Peer and Hilde grabbed hands.
“I’m Ralf Eiriksson’s daughter.” Hilde spoke up bravely. “I’ve come for my little brother and sister. The millers of Trollsvik stole them.”
“We brought you something in exchange,” Peer added as the Gaffer scowled.
Hilde held up the golden cup. “This! You lost it years ago. Give me back my brother and sister, and in return —”
“
Lost it?” the Gaffer interrupted. “It was stolen! Stolen by your father, a thief if ever there was. How dare you make bargains with me?”
“How dare you call him a thief?” Hilde cried. “You trolls tried to poison him!”
“Hilde —” said Peer.
“It wasn’t poison!” shouted the King of Troll Fell.
“Then why did it burn all the hair off his pony’s tail?” Hilde yelled.
“Hilde —”
Hilde grabbed a sheepskin from the Gaffer’s bed and shook it in his face. “See that?” she panted. “See that mark? That came from one of our sheep – and so did this!” She seized another fleece, and another. “Who’s the thief now?” She threw them down and stood glaring at him.
Peer expected the Gaffer to call his trolls and have both of them torn to pieces. To his immense relief, the huge old troll began to laugh. He screwed up all three eyes and rocked to and fro on the edge of his bed, choking.
“Well, what’s a little borrowing between neighbours?” he coughed, slapping his knees. “Give me that!” He snatched the cup and turned it in his claws, admiring it.
“Nice timing,” he grinned at Hilde. “We need this for the wedding. It’s the Bride Cup of Troll Fell, always used at weddings. Traditional! Belonged to my grandmother. Skotte!”
The little troll in the corner gave a shrill squeak and stood to attention.
“Get everyone up,” said the Gaffer. “If I’m awake, no one else sleeps. There’s plenty to do. I want the Hall ready before midnight. Wake up the princess. I want to see her.” The little troll doubled over in a bow and scuttled out.
The troll king reached for his coat, which was made of sewn-together cat skins, mostly tabby. There was a slit in the back for his cow-like tail. He thrashed about. “Help me!” he growled, and Peer gingerly bent and hooked the tail through.
“Follow me,” the Gaffer commanded. He threw open the door and stumped out. The ball of light, idly drifting against the ceiling, brightened rapidly and bounded ahead of him as he marched along the tunnel.
West of the Moon Page 11