Troll Blood (17 page)

“Medicine? He doesn’t need
your
medicine,” said Harald fiercely. “Who knows what you’ve been giving him? Father, wake up. You’re dreaming.” He edged forward. Peer wondered why he was being so careful, till he saw Harald keeping an eye on the knife at Gunnar’s belt. “Wake up, Father. It’s me, Harald. It’s your son.”

Gunnar quieted. He dropped to his knees and began rocking to and fro, arms clasped across his chest as if in an agony of grief. “Oh, oh” Peer heard him groan. “Oh, oh.” But when Harald tried to touch him he screamed, “He’s climbing over the side!”

He scrabbled away on all fours, cramming himself into the angle of the stern.

“Help me. Quick!” Harald snapped at the men. But they hung back, and not just because of Gunnar’s knife.

“He’s here!” Gunnar’s hands were over his face and he peeped between his fingers. “I heard him, I heard him s-s-splashing after the ship, and then he climbed on board, black and blue and dripping. He’s hiding somewhere. Arrchch!” With a retching cough he stuck his tongue out as far as it would go, shaking his head from side to side as if he had bitten something unbearably bitter.

Prickles raced across Peer’s skin. He twisted his neck, trying to see behind his back. The men were doing the same. Gunnar’s terror was catching. The dark sea burned with a million green glints.

“The ghost!” Floki burst out.

Harald spun around and struck Floki a ringing crack across the cheek. “A ghost, is it? Where? Have you seen this ghost, Floki?” Floki reeled back. Harald followed. “What ghost? Whose? Do you want to give it a name? Do you want to call it up? Because if there’s a ghost on this ship, I’d like to meet it.
Hoo-ooo!”
He flung his head back with a howl. “Come on, ghost! My name is Harald Silkenhair, what’s yours?

Floki fell over, sobbing. With one eye on Harald, Magnus sidled in, grabbed Floki’s arm, and dragged him out of
Harald’s way. The other men backed off.

“Hoo-ooo!”
Harald began to slap his thighs and swing his head from side to side, tossing his hair. “Come on, ghost!”

“He’s running berserk,” muttered Magnus.

“Do something!” wailed Halfdan, trapped at the tiller.

Peer felt a quick hand grasp his arm. “This is ridiculous!” Hilde hissed. She had a bucket in her hand, attached to a length of rope. “Help me!” She dropped the bucket over the side, and Peer helped her drag it up again, slopping full. Before he had time to think what she would do, Hilde seized the handle, stepped forward, and threw the whole pailful over Harald.

As the icy seawater hit him across the chest, there was a collective gasp. Peer balled his fists and moved forward, ready to spring on Harald if he went for Hilde. For a long second of stillness Harald looked down at himself. He spread out his dripping arms. He lifted his head slowly and looked at Hilde. He started to giggle, uncontrollable high-pitched giggles that raised the hair on Peer’s scalp.

Hilde dropped the bucket, which rolled, clattering. She turned her back on Harald and stamped her foot.
“Will
you men stop making fools of yourselves? Floki, get up at once. There isn’t any ghost, Gunnar is just sick. Tjorvi, instead of standing there like a big lummock, help Astrid get him into his sleeping sack. As for you, Harald, Gunnar
does
need medicine, whatever you think!”

The men obeyed like children. Harald took a few gasping breaths and stopped giggling. He sat on a thwart and put his
head in his hands. Peer gave him a wide berth and went to find Astrid’s bag. Astrid delved into it and brought out a small linen pouch. Gunnar seemed semiconscious, and was tossing and twisting. Sweat coated his face. Astrid shook a dark, gritty-looking powder into her hand, threw it into a small cup, and mixed in some water.

“Willow bark,” she explained briefly. “To quench the fever.” She propped Gunnar’s head against her shoulder and brought the cup to his lips. Gunnar coughed, drank a little. Dribbles of blackish liquid ran down his beard.

The men stood around in a nervous cluster. “Never seen the skipper this bad. What if he dies? Who’ll give the orders?”

“Young Hilde, I guess,” said Tjorvi, attempting a joke.

But no one laughed, and Floki said with dogged loyalty, “Harald.” His lip was bleeding. Heads turned to look at Harald, who sat limp and motionless a few feet away.

The sky was paler. The flickering Northern Dancers had burned themselves out. Peer hadn’t noticed them go, but now he saw that the mast and sail were distinct again: Dawn was approaching; the waves around the ship were no longer black and green, but gray. He shuddered in a comfortless world.

Arnë came and stood a few feet away. He stared gloomily out over the sea, shoulders hunched. With his untidy hair and sprouting beard, he looked more than ever like Bjorn. Peer felt a wriggle of remorse. If only things were different. If only they could be friends. He cleared his throat. “It’s not good, is it?” he tried.

Arnë gave him a discouraging glance.

Peer’s heart thumped. He said suddenly, “I’m sorry we fell out. I ought to have thanked you—that time Harald got you with the harpoon—”

Arnë interrupted. “Just tell me one thing. What
were
you looking for this evening?”

Their eyes met. Arnë’s eyes were blue as the sea on a summer afternoon. Blue as Bjorn’s, but Bjorn had never looked at him with such cool suspicion. This was it, then—the price of Arnë’s good opinion. Trust him, and tell the truth.

“The Nis,” he said after a moment. “Haven’t you heard Bjorn talk about it? It’s Gudrun’s house spirit. It’s my friend. It used to live at the old mill. Astrid stole it—stuffed it into that bag she carries. The first night at sea, remember all the noise? I said it was a seagull, but—”

“It was the Nis?” Arnë’s eyes widened. He shook his head, laughing under his breath. “Why didn’t you say so instead of scaring everyone stiff?”

“How was I to know a seagull would scare everyone? Would you have told Harald about the Nis? Besides, it likes—liked—to be secret. No one usually sees it, only me sometimes.”

“But if you know the Nis is on board, why look for it?” “It’s missing,” said Peer bleakly. “None of us has seen it since the storm. I think it got washed overboard.” “Oh.”

They stood together. Peer drummed his fingers on the rail.
Presently Arnë said, “Well. Thanks for telling me.”

“Hilde wanted to tell you,” said Peer.

“Maybe” Arnë sounded rather bitter. “She didn’t, though, did she? Not without your say-so” He looked sideways at Peer. “Of course, a sister would back up her brother. Don’t you think?”

There was no need to answer that. Peer rewrapped his cloak, pulling it higher around his neck.
Why is it always colder at dawn?

Tjorvi joined them. “Look at the sunrise,” he said quietly. “It’s like gold leaf across the sky. I saw a picture once of a sky like that. In a book, it was.”

“What’s a book?” Peer asked.

“A book …” Tjorvi held his hands apart, squaring off a bit of the air. “With leaves of calfskin, all painted and covered in runes. One of the lads on my last ship showed it to me. We’d been down to the Southlands and he got it in a raid. And there was this picture, bright as a jewel. A woman, and a child, and a golden sky …” He gave up, shaking his head. “I can’t describe it.”

“What happened to it?” asked Arnë.

“Oh, he burned it,” said Tjorvi. “Didn’t know what the runes said. Could have been spells, see? All he wanted was the boards—set with goldwork and stones, they were. But I always remember that picture. And there’s the sky now, just like it.”

They all stared in subdued silence. Behind the high sternpost, the whole eastern sky gleamed pale, chilly gold.

“My wife and child’s back there somewhere,” said Tjorvi. “Wonder if I’ll ever see ’em again?”

“We’ve come a long way,” said Arnë.

Maybe it’s time to turn around.
Nobody said it, but it was what everyone was thinking. No one had slept properly for days.
Floki’s right. This is an unlucky ship. Weeks at sea, out of sight of land.

“I’d give a lot to step on dry ground,” Tjorvi sighed.

“Light a fire,” agreed Arnë.

Hear birdsong. Smell grass. Walk up the fell and see the lambs being born…

“Land ho!” a shrill voice sang out from the bow.

“What?”
Peer’s world fell into bits and rearranged itself. He knew that voice….

“Land! Land ho!”

Hilde whirled past, smiling from ear to ear. Peer joined the general rush. “Where?”

“There—dead ahead!”

The men crowded together. Far, far to the west, a long uneven line lay on the horizon. It wasn’t much. It was everything.

“Land!” They hugged one another, stamped their feet, pounded one another on the back.

But Peer, after one irresistible glance, tore himself away to find Hilde. “That was the Nis!”

“I know! Where’s it
been?
And why didn’t it come when we called? Just
wait
till I get my hands on it.” Tears came to her
eyes. “And now where’s it gone? I’ll put out some food. Oh, I’d better not look too happy—people will wonder why.”

“They won’t,” said Peer. “We all look happy now.” It was true. Everyone on board looked different, faces washed clean by joy and relief.

All through the long day
Water Snake
cut her pathway toward the land, straight at first and then in long loose tacks as the wind shifted into the northwest. No one minded: At last they could see they were making progress. Magnus swore he smelled forests, and got everyone sniffing. Seabirds sailed over, the first for days. Seaweed floated in the current. On the afterdeck, Gunnar slept, and then woke, weak but clearheaded. By late afternoon he was shakily on his feet.

The foredeck was no longer a private place. It was where everyone wanted to be, to see the land growing out of the sea until the sinking sun obscured it in a haze and a glory.

Peer caught the Nis as evening fell. It was bobbing in and out of the crates forward of the mast, chirping happily.

“Where
were
you?”

“Me, Peer Ulfsson?” It bounced and sprang like a kitten, immensely pleased with itself.

“Yes, you. We were worried sick! We looked all over for you. Didn’t you hear us calling?”

“Did you hear me?” the Nis asked. It rubbed its long fingers together, full of self-satisfied glee.
“‘Land ho,’
I called. I saw it first, Peer Ulfsson. I found it!”

“Right,” said Peer drily. “They’ll probably call it Nisland.
Listen
to me. We were terribly worried. We thought you’d drowned.”

“I didn’t,” said the Nis indignantly. “I worked very hard in that storm, Peer Ulfsson, holding on to the forestay and the backstay, so that the mast wouldn’t fall down. And the wind blew me, and the rain rained on me, but I didn’t let go. And after that I was very, very tired.”

Peer cast a glance at the stout, thick cables running from masthead to prow and stern, and then at the Nis’s fragile, twiggy arms.

“You would be,” he agreed. “So where did you go?”

“To my nice den. My nice secret place where nobody else can go. Watch how I get there.”

It reached the base of the dragon-neck in one flying leap, and swarmed up the crisscross carvings to the head. It perched for a second, poised over the ocean—and vanished. Peer sucked in his breath. But the Nis hadn’t fallen. A moment later it swung back up onto the top of the dragonhead.

“The dragon’s mouth?” said Peer. “You’ve been sitting in the dragon’s mouth?”

The Nis nodded. “Nithing the Seafarer can go anywhere,” it squeaked. “After the storm, I curls myself up in there, and I goes to sleep. And then I wakes up, and I smells land. And I sees it, too. And so I calls out, ‘Land ho,’ for everyone to hear. Am I famous now? As famous as Thorolf? Will they really call it Nisland, Peer Ulfsson?”

Peer hadn’t the heart to tell it the land was already named. “As far as I’m concerned,” he said solemnly, “that bit of the coastline will always be Nisland.”

The Nis frisked and preened itself.

Next morning the land was in plain view: forested hills, and beyond them the white smears of mountains like the ghosts of clouds. Everyone stared hungrily as Gunnar altered course to run south, with the mountains on the starboard side. Every hour brought new sights and sounds. The yelling clamor of a seagull colony on one abrupt limestone rock could be heard for miles. A flight of ducks passed over the ship, quacking loudly. Whales were everywhere, heaving gray or black bodies between the waves and snorting like bullocks. The day was full of mild sunshine, with a gentle haze over silver water.

Hilde looked over the side. Down in the shadow of the ship, pale frilly blossoms floated past—jellyfish, like ghostly baby’s bonnets, flowing through the cold clear water. Millions of them. It made her sleepy to watch.

At noon Magnus shouted at the helm. “The Wonderful Beaches!” Hilde raised her eyes from the hypnotic water and saw an unbroken white line running along the coast. Sand. Wonderful white sand. She longed to run on it.

“Now we know where we are,” Magnus told her, satisfaction in every crease of his face. “The Wonderful Beaches. Go on for miles, they do; there’s no mistaking them. And you
know what that means? Only a few more days, and we’ll be there.”

Serpent’s Bay! How long ago it seemed, the night she’d first heard of it, sitting at home in the snug, warm farmhouse.
And soon we’ll be there. Won’t Thorolf be glad to see us!
A thrill of happiness ran through her.
Oh, Ma, Pa—if only you could see me now!

CHAPTER 11
Spring Stories