West of the Moon

by Katherine Langrish

  Chapter 21

  A Warning from the Nis

  “BONES?” EXCLAIMED GUDRUN, ladling out four bowls of hot mutton stew. “What kind of 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.

  For more than a year after being trapped underground, 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 admiring her baby brother. He lay breathing quietly, 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? It croons away and dangles things over the cradle; it’s very good with him! Of course I don’t see it properly, only out of the corner of my eye, but I hear the baby coo, and I know he’s all right for a while. It was a blessing when Peer brought that creature into our house.”

  Wind rattled the shutters, and smoke swirled over the fire. The family bent 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, turning his grey muzzle towards the door.

  Which burst open. In staggered a tall, white-faced boy, streaming with water, dragging a ripped and flapping cloak like stormy broken wings. He turned dilated, 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 as if half afraid – then snatched it and peeled the wrappings back. The dark head of a tiny baby lolled on to her arm, and she clutched it to her chest and stepped back, mouth open.

  “Merciful heavens, Peer! Whatever…?”

  Peer sank on the bench. “It’s Kersten’s baby.” His voice quivered. “She gave it to me – she said —”

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

  “She fell into the sea,” Peer 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. Bjørn 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 look at this child.” She laid the baby on her knee, gently unwrapping it and chafing the mottled little arms and legs.

  “Poor creature,” she said softly. “Dear me, it must be weeks since Kersten had her. I’ve been meaning to get down and visit. 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 all right?” He came over and stared down at the baby in silence. “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 collar bone half the way home,” he said over his shoulder.

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

  The baby’s dark hair fluffed up as it dried, and she nuzzled into Gudrun’s breast, sucking strongly and blinking upwards with vague bright eyes.

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

  “We were on the shore. I was going to stay with Bjørn, and he gave me a fish to take to Kersten – we were going to have cod 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 giving suck?’ And then she ran past me and down the shingle. I shouted for Bjørn, but —” He stopped again. “She was wearing this big fur cloak,” he whispered. “Before Bjørn could get to her, she’d thrown herself into the sea.”

  Gudrun’s eyes were bright with tears.

  “She’s gone back to the sea,” she said softly. “Do you remember, Ralf, how we all said Bjørn’s bride was a seal woman?”

  “Nonsense.” Ralf punched his fist into his palm. “Utter nonsense. I’ve never believed it, and I never shall.”

  “Don’t you see?” Gudrun persisted. “That fur cloak will have been her sealskin.”

  “Explain,” demanded Hilde.

  Gudrun went on talking quietly, almost singing, crooning over the baby. “It’s the grey seals I’m talking about. They can be seals in the water, but people on land, shedding their skins like fur cloaks. If a man meets a seal woman while she’s in her mortal shape, and he hides her sealskin, he has power over her. Then she must marry him and bear his children. But if ever she finds her sealskin again, then woe betide! She’ll return to the sea and break his heart.”

  Hilde was horrified. “Did Bjørn do that to Kersten?”

  “No, he did not!” said Ralf angrily. “Don’t fill their heads with this nonsense, Gudrun. Kersten and Bjørn were an ordinary loving couple.”

  “Then why did she throw herself into the sea?” asked Hilde. She touched Peer’s hand. “What happened, Peer? What happened to Kersten?”

  But Peer was no longer certain what he remembered. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing till coloured lights danced on the darkness. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “She rolled into the sea. The waves broke over her. It was getting dark, and I was yards away. I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I thought she’d drown.”

  “What did Bjørn do?” Sigrid asked in a small voice. Peer put an arm around her. “He went after her, Siggy. He jumped in the boat and went rowing out…”

  “Will he find her?” Sigrid’s eyes were round and scared. “Will he?”

  Ralf stood. He paced up and down, shaking his head. “I can’t bear to think of it!” he exclaimed. “I ought to go down there now – see if there’s anything I can do. Didn’t you raise the alarm, Peer? Bjørn needs help.”

  Peer went a painful red. “I —” he stammered. “I never thought of it! I’m sorry! I just – I only – I wanted to bring the baby home!”

  Hilde rolled her eyes. “You’d better get down there straight away, Pa!”

  “I will.” Ralf was already pulling on his boots. “Now, don’t worry, Gudrun – but I won’t be back tonight. I’ll get some of the men together – we’ll comb the shore. If Bjørn hasn’t found her, we’ll search again when it’s light.”

  “I’ll come!” Peer got up, staggering slightly.

  “No, stay and rest,” said Ralf kindly. “You did the best you could, Peer. You can join the search tomorrow. Right – I’m off!” The door slammed behind him.

  Hilde puffed out her cheeks and sat down. “How awful.”

  “Why didn’t I tell everyone?” Peer beat his forehead with t
he heel of his hand. “How could I be so stupid? I even saw Einar, and I dodged him, because I was too embarrassed to explain…”

  Hilde patted his shoulder. “Same old Peer! But listen: you brought the baby safely home.”

  Peer caught her hand, but she drew it away. Gudrun looked up, closing her dress and tucking the shawl more tightly around the baby.

  “There, she’s had enough. She’s falling asleep. Peer, don’t upset yourself. Ralf has rushed off like this because he can’t bear sitting still, but really, there’s nothing useful anyone can do till daybreak. Now eat your stew before it goes cold. Hilde, get the twins to bed. We’ll put this little one in the cradle with Eirik.”

  “Can I?” Sigrid asked, stretching her arms out.

  “Yes, but be careful,” said Gudrun, handing her over. Sigrid grappled the bundle of shawl and baby with exaggerated care. “She’s sweet. I wish I had a little sister.” She lowered her into the wide cradle. “I’ll put her on her side. Isn’t she tiny? Doesn’t Eirik look big beside her?”

  Peer came to look. The two babies lay side by side. Eirik’s fair skin and rosy cheeks made the new baby look sallow. Her thin little wrists looked delicate and fragile compared with Eirik’s sturdy dimpled arms.

  “Is she sickly?” asked Hilde dubiously.

  “No, no,” said Gudrun. “She’s much younger, that’s all. Hardly three months old, when I come to think. I wish now I’d visited Kersten. ‘Never put things off,’ my mother used to say. But I’ve been so busy, and little Eirik is such a handful.”

  “Yes, and he’s in for a surprise tomorrow,” said Hilde. “Twins! Bedtime.” She chased them under the blankets, but Sigrid stuck her head out to call, “I like the new baby, Ma. Can we keep her?”

  Gudrun whirled, eyes snapping. “Not another word from you, miss!” She beckoned Peer and Hilde to the other end of the long hearth. “Tell me again,” she whispered. “What happened when Kersten ran down to the water?”

  Peer closed his eyes. “She saw Bjørn coming, I think,” he said slowly. “And she just dived to the ground, and rolled herself up in the cloak and crawled into the water. And I looked away then because Bjørn was pushing the boat out. He rowed out, shouting for her – but it was so wet and misty, I lost sight of him.”

  They sat in a huddle with their heads together.

  “I couldn’t stop her!” Peer cried. “I was holding the baby…”

  “Hush.” Gudrun took his hand. “No one blames you, Peer. And Kersten trusted you with the baby. But the seals – didn’t you see any seals?”

  “Yes,” Peer admitted. “After Bjørn disappeared, the water was full of them. But – Gudrun!” He swallowed. Was such a thing possible? And if so, did it mean Bjørn had trapped Kersten – kept her against her will?

  Gudrun wiped her eyes. “It’s sad, either way,” she said quietly. “And worst of all for that poor little mite over there. Well, we’d better go to bed. There’ll be plenty to do in the morning.”

  They wished one another a glum good night. Peer had been given old Eirik’s sleeping place, a bunk built into the wall with a sliding wooden panel for privacy. He clambered in, but as usual left the panel half open so he could see out into the room. Loki pottered over to jump up on Peer’s blankets. He turned around three times and settled down behind Peer’s knees, yawning. The familiar weight was comforting. Peer slid a hand down to scratch his dog’s ears.

  He lay, bone weary, staring out into the darkened room. Gudrun had covered the fire with chunks of turf to keep it burning till morning. Small red eyes winked hotly from chinks and crannies, and he smelled scorching earth and woodsmoke. Rain tapped on the shutters. Each time he closed his eyes he saw Kersten, rushing past him, hurling herself into the sea. I should have stopped her. I should have raised the alarm. I did everything wrong. Was Bjørn still out there, rowing hopelessly over dark wastes of heaving water?

  Peer dropped into an uneasy doze. A cobwebby shadow scampered out to sit hunched on the hearthstones. Peer woke. He heard a faint sound, a steady lapping. The click of a wooden bowl set stealthily down.

  Peer watched between his lashes as the Nis set the room to rights, a little rushing shadow, swift as a bat. He hadn’t seen it in a long time. Sometimes he glimpsed a wispy grey beard or a little red cap glowing in the firelight, but when he looked closer it was always just a bit of sheep’s wool escaped from Gudrun’s spindle, or a bright rag wrapped around Sigrid’s doll.

  Now here it was again, as if to comfort him for this terrible day. It frisked over the hearth, sweeping up ashes, damping the cloth over the dough that Gudrun had left by the fire, and turning the bowl so that it should rise evenly. Finished, it skipped lightly on to the edge of the creaking cradle, and perched there. With a furtive glance over one shoulder, it extended a knobbly forefinger into the cradle to prod one of the sleeping babies, then snatched it back, as if it had touched red-hot iron. It chirruped disapprovingly and hopped down.

  Peer raised himself on one elbow. “Nis!” he called softly, half expecting the Nis to vanish like a mouse whisking into its hole. Two beady glinting eyes fixed on his. Behind him, Loki broke into a grumbling growl: Loki had never liked the Nis.

  “Quiet,” whispered Peer. “Nis, I’m so glad to see you. It’s been ages!”

  The Nis glared at him. “What has you done, Peer Ulfsson?” it demanded.

  “Me? What do you mean? I brought Kersten’s baby home, that’s all.”

  “Yes! It is all your fault!” the Nis squeaked. Its hair and beard frilled out into a mad ruff of feathery tendrils. “Foolish, foolish boy! What was you thinking of, to bring such a baby here?”

  “Wait a minute!” Peer sat right up. “That little baby has lost her mother. What did you want me to do – leave her?”

  “Yes!” hissed the Nis. “She doesn’t belong here, Peer Ulfsson. Who is her mother? One of the savage sea people, all wild and wet and webbed. Brrr!” It shook its head, a whirr and a blur of bright eyes and whiskers. “The likes of them doesn’t belong in house, Peer Ulfsson. Besides, how can the mistress feed two childs, eh? Poor little Eirik. He will starve.”

  “No he won’t,” said Peer. “Eirik’s nearly weaned. He eats all sorts of things.”

  The Nis covered its face with two spidery hands. “Poor, poor Eirik!” it moaned, peeping through its fingers. “No milk for him! No food! The little stranger eats it all, steals his mother away. Like a cuckoo chick!”

  “I thought you liked babies. What’s wrong with her?”

  “Everything!” fizzed the Nis. “This is not a proper baby, but a seal baby. Not one thing, not the other.” With its head on one side, it added more cheerfully, “Maybe she will pine, maybe she will die!”

  Peer almost choked. “A seal baby? You’ve been listening to Gudrun, but she doesn’t know. Kersten wasn’t – and even if it’s true, what are you saying? If her mother’s a seal woman, you want the baby to go – yet it’s quite all right for you to live here?”

  The Nis nodded vigorously. “The Nis is very useful in a house. Often, often, the mistress says she can’t manage without me!”

  “Does she now?”

  The Nis simpered, plaiting its long fingers. “So the baby will go?” it chirped.

  “No – actually, the baby will stay.”

  The Nis’s lower lip stuck out, and its eyes glittered. “Peer Ulfsson is so clever,” it hissed. “Of course he is right. He knows so much more than the poor Nis!” It turned its back.

  Angry though he was, Peer still owed the Nis a lot.

  “Come, let’s be friends,” he said.

  “Huh!” snapped the Nis without turning.

  “Oh, really, Nis – let’s not quarrel.”

  “If the baby stays – I goes.” The Nis delivered this ultimatum over its shoulder, its face still half-averted.

  “You’re being —–” Peer halted. He’d nearly said, “You’re being silly,” but he thought better of it. “You’re being very difficult.”

  “I m
eans it, Peer Ulfsson,” the Nis insisted.

  “I’m sure you won’t do anything to upset Gudrun,” said Peer after a moment. “Now tell me what else is happening.”

  “What does the Nis know? The Nis knows nothing,” the little creature sulked.

  “No news?” Peer asked. “When it’s so long since we talked?” He faked a yawn. “Very well; I’m tired. I’ll go back to sleep.”

  This worked almost too well. The Nis turned round, stiff with fury. “What sort of news does Peer Ulfsson want?”

  “I was only joking!” But Peer saw he had gone too far. While the Nis loved to tease others, it hated to be teased itself.

  “News of the trolls – the merrows – the nixies?” it demanded with an unforgiving glare.

  Peer sighed. “Tell me about the trolls?”

  “Great tidings from Troll Fell,” announced the Nis in a cold, huffy voice. “Remember the Gaffer, the king under the mountain? His daughter, who married and went to live with the trolls of the Dovrefell, has borne a son.”

  Peer remembered the Gaffer and his sly daughter only too well. “So the Gaffer has a grandson?” he said without enthusiasm. “Let’s hope it doesn’t take after him, then, with an extra eye, and a cow’s tail. Will there be a feast?” He knew the Nis was always interested in food.

  A reluctant sparkle appeared in the Nis’s eyes. “Oh, yes, Peer Ulfsson,” it began. “You see, the princess is visiting her old father under Troll Fell. How grand she is now! Nothing is good enough for her! And such fuss over the new prince. Such a commotion! They’ll be having the naming feast on Midsummer Eve.”

  “And are you invited?” said Peer – but just then, at the dark end of the room, Sigrid stirred in her sleep. “Trolls!” she wailed. “Help! Help, Mamma!” Gudrun stumbled sleepily from the blankets to comfort her. A piece of turf slid on the fire and a bright flame shot up.

  The Nis was gone.

  “Drat the creature,” Peer muttered to Loki. “Why does it have to be so touchy? Troll princes, indeed!”

  He lay down again, sighing, dragging the blankets round his neck. But strangely, it wasn’t the Nis who haunted his sleep, or even Kersten, running down the shingle to throw herself into the water. All through the long night, as he slept and woke and slept again, the great black waterwheel at Troll Mill rolled through his dreams, turning and turning relentlessly in the darkness.