West of the Moon

by Katherine Langrish

  Hilde nearly screamed at her. “He’s found the dragonhead from the Long Serpent. Burned. He’s going to face Harald.”

  “Oh, gods.” Astrid’s face changed. “Get after him, quick. They’ll kill him.”

  “Then it’s true? And you knew?”

  “Just go!” Astrid shrieked, and Hilde flew on. The surface of the beach seemed to jump at her. Patterns, everywhere: patterns…

  They danced before her eyes, in her mind, at the back of her head. A boy, a girl, a boat… she dashed through the patterns, scattering them. Mind out, little creatures. Stick figures flew, a leg here, an arm there. The wiklatmu’jk make pictures of what they see. What pictures had they made a year ago, when the beach was a battleground?

  Chapter 56

  Single Combat

  PEER BURST INTO the house like a destroying wind. The men eating around the hearth looked up in amazement. He lifted the dragonhead high, like a standard. Then he hurled it to the floor.

  “What’s this?” Harald was the first to break silence, in his insolent drawl. “Firewood?”

  Big Tjørvi came slowly forward. “That’s a dragonhead,” he growled in wonder. “A burned dragonhead.”

  “From the Long Serpent,” said Peer harshly.

  Gunnar half-rose, staring at the ruined dragonhead. Harald’s lip curled.

  “And how would you know that, Barelegs?” he sneered.

  Peer laughed, a hard, fierce laugh. “Better than anyone, Harald. My father made it. In a way, it killed him. His chisel slipped, and the wound turned bad… You might say he put his blood into that ship.”

  “And so? Why should I care about your carpenter father?” Harald lounged back, stretching out his legs and propping his heels on a small stool.

  The dark, smoky room blurred and narrowed to the bright, pale, hated face of Harald. Peer tore free of Tjørvi’s restraining hand.

  “Because my father was a maker, Harald,” he yelled. “He put something into this world, instead of taking something out of it. He made a ship, and it was a good ship. It brought Thorolf and his men all the way across the sea, not once, but twice.”

  He drew a sobbing breath. “And where’s Thorolf now? Where’s Thorolf, and his son Ottar, and all his crew? What happened to the Long Serpent, Harald? Why did she burn?”

  He ran out of air. Harald stared up at Peer with a hard little smile. Beside him, Gunnar bent over and coughed: short, wet, hacking coughs. Harald’s hand shifted to grip his father’s arm.

  Everyone else remained perfectly still.

  Peer shouted, “They’re dead, aren’t they? Dead, like those Skraelings you slaughtered today. And you know it, because you killed them, and then you burned their ship and took their goods and sailed away. Thorolf ’s in Vinland, you told us. And we believed you. Of course we did. How were we going to check?”

  The door rattled open. Hilde tumbled in out of the night, her hair falling down. “Peer, come outside. I… need to talk to you.”

  Peer didn’t even look at her. “You murderer, Harald. You bloody murderer. Ships don’t burn themselves. Thorolf ’s not in Vinland. Thorolf ’s in Valhalla.”

  Harald still didn’t move. “You’re crazy. I’m flattered, of course. You think I killed how many men, all alone?”

  “Of course not alone. You and Gunnar, and – your crew…” Peer looked around and swallowed.

  “You mean Magnus, and Floki, and Halfdan?” Harald mused, flicking out fingers. “At least five of us here?” He twisted round. “What about it, men? Remember killing Thorolf?”

  Floki’s ready mouth opened, but Magnus’s elbow caught him in the ribs. He doubled over, wheezing. Magnus turned a dark look on Harald and shook his head.

  “No, Magnus doesn’t remember. What about Halfdan? Can you remember killing Thorolf, Halfdan?” Halfdan pinched his lips together. “Nope,” he said quickly. Arne and Tjørvi looked at each other.

  “Oh dear, Halfdan doesn’t remember either.” Harald put his head to one side. “It can’t have happened, then.”

  “Peer, leave it,” said Hilde. Her voice crackled with fear. Only his anger was supporting Peer, a fragile scaffolding over a pit of terror. “They’re lying. I know you did it.”

  Harald stood up. “Prove that.”

  Peer pointed at the dragonhead on the floor. “There’s the proof.”

  “I don’t mean that sort of proof.” Harald’s eyes sparkled. “You’ve accused me: now let’s see if you can prove it – man to man.”

  “No!” Hilde screamed.

  All the men began shouting. “No, no!” “Yes!”

  “Fight!” Floki yapped.

  The door opened again and Astrid stole in, white-faced and narrow-eyed. Hilde ran to her. “Astrid, you must know what happened. It’s true, isn’t it? You know Peer’s right. Tell them, quickly.” She pulled Astrid forwards. The clamour died down. Tjørvi looked at Astrid as if expecting pearls to drop from her mouth.

  Astrid’s eyes flashed from Peer’s face to Gunnar’s. “Sorry, Hilde.” The words were as cold and distinct as chips of marble. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And next second everyone was shouting again.

  “Enough!” Gunnar struggled to his feet. He stood, head low, glaring around the room with fierce, red-rimmed eyes. “That’s enough. I’ll say what goes on here.” He eyed the blackened dragonhead with a disgusted shudder. “Throw that thing on the fire. And you” – he turned on Peer – “apologise to my son and we’ll forget about this.”

  Peer licked his lips. The anger was draining away. He felt he was waking from a dream into a cold daybreak. How did I get myself into this mess? I’ve made all the wrong moves. Run straight into the net.

  “Apologise, Peer,” whispered Hilde. “It doesn’t matter, nothing matters. It’s only words. Just do it.”

  Harald smiled at him, eyes alight with amused contempt. “You heard her, Barelegs. Get on with it. Grovel.”

  Peer looked at Harald. I can’t, he thought, I really can’t. It was a surprise to discover that he’d sooner die than do what Harald wanted. He was almost angry with himself. Stupid, stiff-necked, stubborn… He said doggedly, and a chill swept down his spine: “No. You killed Thorolf, Harald. I swear it on my father’s life.”

  “All right then.” Harald nodded to him. “We’ll fight.”

  “This is crazy!” Hilde’s face was white. “How can fighting prove anything? Gunnar, please!”

  Peer wished she’d stop fussing: it wouldn’t do any good. Harald’s sword came out with a grating hiss. Floki was saying, “But what’s Peer – I mean, Barelegs – what’s he going to fight with? He hasn’t got a sword.”

  “He can borrow my father’s.” Harald tossed a look at Peer. “Or would you prefer a hammer?” Laughter bubbled up in his face, and Peer saw in his eyes the memory of that faraway day on the jetty. He remembered, too. He remembered watching the ship come in, wondering if he would be any good in a fight. Now he’d have to find out. Harald always meant it should come to this.

  “He gets to borrow Gunnar’s sword?” Floki was saying jealously. “Lucky!”

  “Shut your stupid mouth,” Magnus growled. “This won’t do.” Arne slammed a fist down. “Peer can’t fight Harald. It’s not a fair match.”

  Tjørvi rumbled agreement, but Gunnar picked at his front teeth with a brown fingernail and said, “Two lads, the same age, the same height?” He shook his head. “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Harald’s experience?” said Astrid, her voice like cold water dripping.

  Harald laughed. “He doesn’t have to fight me, darling Astrid. He can back down.”

  “Peer,” Hilde pleaded.

  “But he can’t,” said Halfdan, shocked. “Only a coward would do that.”

  Someone – Floki – shoved a sword into Peer’s hands. “Here, take it.” His red face swam close up to Peer’s, round-eyed and curious as a cow’s. “You must be mad,” he said on a waft of damp, warm breath. “Fancy having a go at Harald.”
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  Peer clutched the sword. It was amazingly heavy: he had to use both hands. He stared at the blade. There were little silver scratches where it had been sharpened, and halfway down, the edge had been turned by some blow.

  A space was clearing around them. Benches were being dragged back. Peer felt horribly calm, though rather weak at the knees. There was no way out. He had a sword he didn’t know how to use, and Harald would kill him. It was as simple as that.

  “Right.” Harald stepped forward.

  “Wait, Harald.” Arne grabbed him. “You can’t fight like this – indoors, by firelight. Look around!” He gestured. “There’s hardly room to move. What’s more, it’s unlawful. Night killings are murder: that’s the law.”

  Harald turned. “What law, Arne? Whose law? This is Vinland,” he added cheerfully. “There are no laws here. That’s why we came.” He advanced on Peer.

  Peer backed away, holding the sword out in front of him. He saw Big Tjørvi’s troubled face, the firelight shining through his dandelion-fluff hair. He saw Hilde’s horrified stare – Floki, twisting his hands together excitedly – Magnus, sour and uneasy. Astrid stood behind Gunnar, gazing intently. Gunnar’s light eyes blinked at Peer and flicked away. Blink, flick.

  Harald shook his sword suddenly and laughed to see Peer jump. He was moving sideways, making Peer turn to face the fire so that the light would shine in his eyes. He feinted in, a low slash. Everyone went, “Ooh!” and Peer stumbled back before realising that Harald was playing with him.

  Cat and mouse, he thought bitterly. A dog barked outside the door. Loki. Peer’s attention flickered. At least Loki was safe out there…

  He dodged, barely in time. The sword struck like a serpent, stinging his arm, parting his sleeve. Harald feinted again, high, then low. Peer hopped – this way, that way. Where would the next blow come from? Harald was smiling. I’ve got to fight back, Peer remembered. Got to use this sword. He wagged it clumsily.

  With a grunt and a cry Harald whirled his sword in an arc towards Peer’s shoulder. Peer’s reflexes took over. He lashed furiously upwards. There was a ringing crash, and the blades clung, biting, then slid apart with a tooth-jangling screech and a flurry of blue sparks.

  Sweat and terror half-blinded Peer. His arm hurt now. There was blood on his sleeve. His fingers were numb with the shock of the blow. He stepped back, blinking, shaking his head. I’m done for. I’ll never manage to ward him off twice.

  Harald was in no hurry. He began to jeer. “Not bad for a carpenter, Barelegs. I can see you’ve chopped a few trees down in your time. But you’ll have to do better than that.”

  Peer’s vision cleared. Past Harald’s shoulder he saw Hilde, white-knuckled fists bunched at her sides. Next to her was Arne. He was staring at Peer, as if willing him to look. Their eyes locked. Slightly but urgently, Arne shook his head.

  Don’t play Harald’s games. As if a message had flown straight from Arne’s mind to his, Peer remembered Bjørn’s warning. Better to take an insult than a sword in your guts.

  It’s too late now. Or is it?

  Peer glanced around. Behind him was the door. In front of him was Harald, dark against the fire, his loose hair rimming him in gold. And there on the floor lay the burned dragonhead, with its snarling mouth and blackened eye, like a legless monster creeping into the fight on its belly…

  With a shout, Peer flung Gunnar’s sword at Harald. Instinctively, Harald lashed out. His blow sent the loose sword cartwheeling through the air. Everyone yelled and ducked. The sword hit the stones of the hearth with a clang.

  Peer hurled himself on the burned dragonhead. He lifted it like a club. “You’re right, Harald,” he panted, “I’m useless with a sword. This’ll be better.”

  Harald’s beautiful face contorted. He leaped towards Peer and brought his sword round in a scything sweep at neck-level. Eyes screwed shut, teeth bared, Peer swung the dragonhead. There was a thud and a jerk. His eyes flew open. Harald’s blade had bitten deep into the wood and was stuck there. Glaring and snorting, Harald wrenched at it.

  Peer let go. As Harald went reeling backwards, he sprang for the door. The men were roaring. Hilde screamed, “Run, Peer! Run!”

  He fumbled with the latch. Harald was up, one foot braced against the dragonhead, wrestling and tugging, working his sword free.

  The door came open. Loki rushed in, tail wagging. “No, Loki!” Peer yelled. “This way!” He whistled, fierce and shrill, and Loki bounded after him, confused but willing. Peer banged the door shut. He was out in the cool night, running for the woods.

  Loki raced alongside. Behind them the door opened again, spilling pursuit. Shouts echoed between the trees and the shore. Peer didn’t bother to listen. The ground was uneven, scattered with branches, pitted with holes. He staggered, recovered, sprinted on.

  Then he was at the foot of the bluff, close to the little cascade where Hilde fetched the water. He threw himself at the rise, pulling himself up. Twigs lashed his face; brambles snagged his skin. He scrambled higher, clawing handholds out of the soft leaf mould. Beside him Loki scrabbled and sprang. Sobbing for breath, Peer forced himself to keep climbing.

  The shouts faded. The slope lessened, levelled. Still Peer ran, weaving under the trees. Fireflies tacked across the dark: a bright stitch here, a bright stitch there.

  He ran on, not thinking, escaping. Something terrible was following, that was all he knew. And if he stopped, it would catch him. But his legs were weaker and weaker. His arm stung and throbbed. His sleeve was sticky and warm.

  The ground vanished. Peer pitched forwards down a steep slope. Dry branches cracked under him. In an avalanche of dead leaves and small stones, he rolled, fell, and thudded on to rocks.

  Chapter 57

  Losing Peer

  “RUN!” HILDE SCREAMED, as Peer swung the dragonhead at Harald. She screamed again as he paused to call Loki. Then he vanished, and Harald rushed after him, and all the men followed. Only Gunnar was left behind, like some crippled old spider that couldn’t crawl out of its web.

  Hilde ran out too. Wildly she looked to the woods, hearing the men yell as they fought their way up into the forest.

  Oh, Peer – get away. Run, hide!

  But where? There was nowhere for him to go. Vinland was a wilderness, a place without places. Hilde gasped as the enormity of the disaster broke over her. Peer couldn’t come back.

  Harald and Gunnar, outlawed for five years for the murder of Erlend, would never let Peer live to tell of an even worse crime here in Vinland – the slaughter of Thorolf and all his men. Peer had defied them, accused them outright. So he would die: either slowly in the forest, or quickly under Harald’s sword.

  I know as much as Peer does. I could tell everything. But a woman couldn’t be a witness. Harald wouldn’t care about a girl’s threats. Magnus, Floki and the others were mixed up in it themselves and would say nothing. Arne or Tjørvi might speak. But Harald had been clever. He’d challenged Peer, asked him to prove his claim through combat. By breaking off the fight, Peer had lost his case.

  Hilde ground her teeth. Men! What stupid rules they set up – as though fighting about something could alter the truth!

  It was dreadful to be so helpless.

  The dragonhead! Gunnar had ordered it to be thrown on the fire. But Peer was right. It was a different sort of proof: it showed beyond doubt that death had come to the Long Serpent and her crew. Perhaps, one day, it could be used against Gunnar and Harald. She had to save it.

  Quickly. It may already be burning. Silent as a thief, she slid back inside. Gunnar sat at the far end of the fire hall, moodily swigging from his drinking horn. Astrid paced up and down near the door. She jumped as Hilde came in. “Where’s Peer? Did they catch him?”

  Hilde didn’t reply. The dragonhead lay in the hearth, where Harald had thrown it after wrenching his sword free. Luckily it had fallen in the ashes. She dragged it out, giving Astrid a searing glare that dared her to say anything, and backed through the door w
ithout a word.

  The dragonhead was top-heavy and awkward. The ash had stuck to its sea-slimed surface. She hugged it to her chest and thought of Peer digging in the tidepool, heaving the dragonhead out of the sand and crying for Thorolf – for his father – for the waste of it all. Tears filled her own eyes, but there was no time for that. She looked about. Where to hide it? Not near the house – someone would be sure to find it. No time to run to the shore or the woods. Quickly, before Harald gets back…

  Then she knew. Thorolf ’s empty house. Nobody ever goes there.

  She stole up the dim path. The door swung open at a touch, and a chill, damp smell came out. Squatting, she slid the dragonhead in along the floor. As she let go, it vanished into the waiting blackness so completely that she could almost believe it had wriggled away like a snake. She felt for it, patting the earth floor. If someone did look in, she didn’t want them to see the dragonhead lying just inside. But she must have pushed it further than she had thought, for her groping fingers couldn’t find it again.

  The silence in the house was tense and emphatic… the silence of a roomful of people all holding their breath. And a tick, tick, tick of dripping water. Hilde’s skin roughened up in goosebumps. She dragged the door shut. But the dragonhead was hidden, and she couldn’t shake off a ridiculous, clinging hope that somehow, if the dragonhead was safe, Peer might be too.

  The Nis scampered past her ankles with a swish of air and a heavy patter of feet. It’s still playing. It doesn’t know what happened. She called for it. “Nis? Nis, I need you.” It was probably hiding in the dark porch, hoping to jump out and make her scream. “Nis, there’s no time for games. Peer’s hurt. He’s run off into the woods. We have to find him.” She swallowed a sob. “Nis, that dragonhead you found. It means that Thorolf ’s dead, Thorolf and all his men. Harald and Gunnar killed them, and burned their ship. Peer said so, and Harald made him fight with swords. And Harald hurt him, and Peer’s run away.”

  The Nis appeared suddenly on the top of the porch. Its eyes glinted like angry garnets. “Thorolf the Seafarer – dead?” it exclaimed. “Dead – my namesake – and Peer Ulfsson lost? And Harald Silkenhair did it? Ooh!” It raised scrawny arms and shook its fists above its head. “I will make him pay! I will avenge Peer Ulfsson, my good friend. Avenge!” it repeated grandly.