Troll Fell (9 page)

“We'll see about that!” he exclaimed to the dark barn.
The oxen shifted in their stalls, munching. The hens,
roosting in the beams, made disapproving noises and
ruffled their feathers irritably. Peer no longer thought of
them as his hens. They were selfish, faithless creatures
who had transferred their loyalty to the black cockerel,
and they now plainly despised him. He hugged Loki
again.

“Featherbrains! Traitors!” he called. “I hope your eggs
are addled!”

There was a squawk of shocked surprise and for a
moment Peer thought the hens had understood his insult.
Then he thought there was a weasel in the barn, for more
hens began cackling, and Loki's hackles bristled under his
hand. But it was the Nis, up to its tricks again, poking the
hens and tipping them off their comfortable perches. Peer
sighed exhaustedly; he felt he had had quite enough for
one night. The Nis seemed in high spirits; Peer could hear
it giggling to itself. Hen after hen fell clumsily from the
rafters and ran clucking agitatedly about in the straw. One
ran over him, digging its hard claws into his stomach.

“Oi!” called Peer. “Leave them alone, it's very late and
I need to sleep.”

The Nis pranced about in the beams, full of itself, and
kicking down dust and feathers and bits of cobweb. Peer
wiped his eye.

“Stop it,” he groaned.

The Nis crouched on a rafter just above him and
looked down. “News!” it said importantly.

“I don't care! All right, what news?”

“News from Troll Fell!” said the Nis slyly.

“All right, I'm interested – go
on
!”

The Nis hopped about some more, unable to contain
its delight. “The Gaffer's son will marry the King of the
Dovrefell's daughter,” it said.

“I know, you told me that before.”

“But now there's more, Peer Ulfsson. Much more!
I hear your uncles saying that
now
…” it took a deep
breath, “the King of the Dovrefell's son will marry the
Gaffer's daughter.”

“Instead?” asked Peer in a daze, trying to work this
out.

“No!” said the Nis impatiently. “As well!”

“Ah.” Peer understood. “So it will be a double wedding?”

The Nis nodded ecstatically. “Even bigger wedding!
Even bigger feast!”

Peer yawned. It had been a terribly long day. He
appreciated that the Gaffer of Troll Fell had clearly
pulled off a very important alliance for his son and
daughter, but he didn't think it made much difference to
his own plight. Still, one thing puzzled him. He asked,
“But why should that bother my uncles, Nis? Why did
they look so cross?”

The Nis had gone skipping off over the stalls and
answered him from the other side of the barn.

“Now they has to find a girl as well as a boy.”

“What!” Peer sat up wide awake. “What do you mean?”

“Trolls want a maid for the Prince as well as a page
for the Princess,” explained the Nis casually. “Or the
King of the Dovre will be offended.”

Peer felt dizzy. “Then you knew all the time that Uncle
Baldur wanted to sell me to the trolls!” he gasped. “And
now – what are you saying? That the trolls want a girl as
well as a boy, and Baldur and Grim have got to find one,
or not get paid?”

“Mm-hm!” replied the Nis lightly.

Hurt and frustrated, Peer almost wept. He knew the
Nis was not very reliable, but he did think it should have
told him about this before, and he said so firmly. The Nis
stopped scampering about.

“Doesn't you want to be a page?” it asked, amazed.

“No!”

“Why not?”

Peer struggled to reply. “I'm a human,” he said at last.
“I can't work for trolls.”

“I'm a Nis,” said the Nis huffily, “and I works for
humans.”

“Sorry,” said Peer, a little ashamed. “But you can't
like
working for Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim!”

“No, because of cold groute with no butter,” the Nis
agreed. “But for them that gives me hot, sweet groute
with a big lump of butter, a bowl of cream or a piece of
honeycomb, then, Peer Ulfsson, I works willingly.” It
gave a mournful sigh as it finished naming these
delicacies.

“It'd need more than a bowl of hot porridge to get
me working for the trolls,” muttered Peer. “Besides,
there's nothing in it for me. My horrible uncles collect
their gold and leave me as some sort of troll slave, stuck
inside Troll Fell for ever? Underground? In the dark?”
He shuddered. “No thanks!”

“Under the hill is rich and splendid!” insisted the Nis.

“Yes, I'm sorry, Nis, but it doesn't appeal to me.” Peer
was overcome by an enormous yawn. He lay back in the
prickly straw. It was getting lighter, the moonlight was
blending into dawn. “I've
got
to get some sleep, I've been
up all night, and I'll be expected to work all day. Thanks
for telling me the news. Lucky I don't have a sister! I
wonder what my uncles will do?” He yawned again, and
vaguely heard the Nis replying:

“They has to find a girl, of course.”

“Girls don't grow on trees,” mumbled Peer. He was so
sleepy that this seemed extremely funny, and he fell
asleep chuckling, as the morning arrived and the Nis fell
silent for the day.

The stringy black cockerel woke him. It was standing
close by his ear and let rip with a deafening “cock-a-
doodle-doo!” that cracked in the middle and ended in a
falsetto shriek. Peer sat up with a gasp, his heart
hammering. The cockerel looked at him with a
malicious gleam in its eye and stalked away on tiptoe,
quivering its tailfeathers.

“I'll wring your neck,” threatened Peer, opening the
barn door. The cockerel strutted through it, followed by
the hens, who turned their backs on Peer and jostled
after their master, clucking eagerly. “I'll get the Nis to
pull its tail,” decided Peer spitefully. And all of a sudden
he remembered everything he had found out.

I've got to tell Hilde
, he thought.
Maybe I'm safe. If the
trolls can't get a girl, perhaps they won't want a boy any more.
But I'll be careful. If there's the least chance of Uncle Baldur
taking me to the Gaffer, I'll escape. Hilde would help – give me
food if I need to run. But where, where? They'd surely find me
at Hammerhaven, and that's the only place I know
.

He rubbed his face, desperately trying to think. The
only hope seemed to be that Uncle Baldur and Uncle
Grim didn't have a niece. They didn't have any female
relations at all. Did they even know any girls?

Peer's eyes suddenly widened in horror.

Hilde was a girl!

They couldn't. They wouldn't.

Could they?

No!
thought Peer.
But – all the same – I've got to
warn her!

But Peer did not see Hilde again for a long time.
Although he kept a good lookout, she never once came
riding down to the village, and he did not have a chance
to go walking up the valley to find her farm. Uncle
Baldur and Uncle Grim kept him busy every minute,
sweeping out the stalls, mending harness, filling flour
sacks, digging the vegetable patch near the pigsty,
spreading manure. Peer woke each morning sore and
tired, went through the day hungry and fell asleep at
night half dead with exhaustion. One week he helped
bring down the sheep for shearing. Gripping the wiry,
struggling creatures by one curly horn, and clipping
away at the shaggy fleeces, he wondered with aching
muscles and breaking back how his uncles had ever done
without him. They left nearly all the work for him, and
not a word was said about trolls. Perhaps they had
decided that keeping him would be the better bargain.

The spring passed. White windflowers sprang up in
the birchwoods on the flanks of Troll Fell. Oats and rye
grew taller in the small fields around the village, and the
ploughed field above the mill waved with green barley.
June arrived, and the brief hot summer, with days that
seemed nearly endless, awash with light and warmth, and
nights when the sun dipped behind the hills only for a
few short hours and the light never really left the sky.

One fine afternoon Hilde decided to take her little
brother and sister down to the sea.

It was washday. Gudrun and Hilde had collected
nearly every piece of clothing in the house and carried
them up the brook to where the water, icy cold from
the upland glaciers, tumbled over a waterfall into a little
pool. Here they had kilted up their skirts and bravely
trodden the clothes down till their legs were blue and
aching. On carrying the sodden and dripping load back
to the farm, they discovered that Eirik, sitting outside
the door in the sunshine, had nodded off. Unwatched,
Sigurd and Sigrid had taken it into their heads to try
riding the cow, Bonny. They had untied her picket rope,
scrambled on to her bony back and allowed her to
amble down the steep little valley where the wild garlic
grew. She had gorged herself on the pungent leaves and
flowers.

“The milk will taste of garlic for a week!” Gudrun
scolded, dragging cow and children back to the house.
“And I will make you drink it, it will serve you right.”

“Let's make cheese with it,” suggested Hilde. “It
might be quite interesting! Sit down, mother, I've got an
idea.”

“I need to rest,” said Gudrun piteously, collapsing.

“So do I!” agreed Hilde, rubbing her cold fingers.
“In fact I need a holiday. I'm going to take the little
ones down to the fjord. They can paddle and look for
shells. We'll take the pony.”

“You can if you like,” said Gudrun dubiously. “It
doesn't sound much of a rest to me!”

“It will be a change, and get the children out of your
way, Ma.”

“That would be nice,” Gudrun agreed. “I can sit in
the sun and spin.”

So Hilde caught the pony, sat her little brother and
sister on his back, and put some bread and cheese into a
bag for later. They set off down the valley.

The path from the farm followed the steep banks of
the brook, which ran rapidly in a series of little
waterfalls. The brown water flashed in the sunlight. As
they walked downhill through the wood, the white
trunks of the birch trees shone as if newly scoured, and
the green leaves danced overhead. Sigrid sang one song,
Hilde another; Sigurd clutched the mane and pounded
the pony with his heels to make it trot.

The path left the woods and slanted down the fields
towards the wooden bridge. Hilde looked about eagerly.
The mill was working, and the clattering sound made
the pony fling up his head in alarm and walk with a
bouncy stride as if he might run. Hilde grabbed his
bridle.

“Good, they'll be busy inside,” she told Sigurd. “See if
you can see my friend Peer anywhere about.”

As it happened, Peer saw her first. He was busy
cleaning out the pigsty, a lean-to shed at the back of the
mill on the other side of the millpond. The sty was
ankle-deep in stinking liquid manure. Stripped to the
waist and barefoot, his ragged trousers rolled up, Peer
shovelled out mud and smelly straw and rotten cabbage
stalks, while Bristles the boar basked next to his sow
beside the wall, their hairy sides heaving gently in the
warm sunshine. Stinging flies buzzed round Peer's head.
Resting for a moment to wipe the sweat from his eyes,
he saw Hilde and the children coming out of the woods,
and for a moment he almost ducked out of sight. Why
did Hilde always have to see him this way, untidy and
filthy? But there were things he needed to say, so he
climbed out of the pigsty and hailed her.

“Hello!” called Hilde, waving. “We're going down to
the sea.”

“I need to talk to you,” Peer called back. The mill was
making so much noise he didn't think his uncles would
hear.

“Come with us!” shouted Hilde cheerfully.

What a marvellous idea! Peer fell for it immediately.
Suddenly he didn't care what his uncles said or did: he
just had to get away for a while. A sunny afternoon doing
what he pleased would be worth almost anything that
could happen afterwards. He threw down the shovel.

“What do you think, Loki? Shall we go?” Loki, who
had been lying in gloomy boredom with his nose
propped between his paws, jumped up wagging his tail.

“I'll meet you further down,” Peer called to Hilde,
meaning to circle round and join the path nearer the
village, out of sight of the mill.

“Swim across and get clean!” shouted Sigrid in her
shrill little voice. Peer glanced at the millpond. It looked
cool and tempting, but he shook his head with a laugh
and a shudder. He turned, raising a hand and pointing to
show Hilde which way he was going. He ran round the
back of the barn, wading waist-deep through a green
bank of stinging nettles, and crept through the bushes
beside the path till he was out of sight of the mill. Then
he sat down to wait for Hilde and the pony, rubbing his
tingling legs.

They soon came into sight. Peer fell into step beside
Hilde, secretly pleased to notice that he was taller. She
gave him a big grin. “Good for you!” she said. “I hope
you won't get into trouble.”

“Oh, I will,” said Peer grimly. His face hardened. “I
just don't care this time.”

Startled, Hilde glanced at him. He was burned brown
as a berry from working in the sun with his shirt off. His
hair had bleached nearly white. He was covered with
splashes of mud, and worse than mud, and his trousers
were nothing but rags. He looked thinner, and older. Just
then Loki came bounding up. His coat was rough and his
ribs showed.

“Oh, Loki!” said Hilde, shocked.

Peer frowned. “He doesn't get enough to eat,” he said
angrily. “Grendel gets everything.”

Hilde thought that Peer didn't get enough to eat,
either, but tactfully she changed the subject.

“Meet the mischief-makers,” she told him cheerfully.
“My little brother Sigurd, my little sister Sigrid. Say hello
to him, brats!”

“Hello,” said Peer, smiling. The two little children
looked very alike, with pale fair hair and big blue eyes.
“Are you two twins, by any chance?”

They nodded. “We're five! But I came first,” boasted
Sigrid. “So Sigurd has to do what I say!”

“I do not!” Sigurd twisted round and punched his
sister, she pulled his hair, and the next moment they fell
off the pony and were wrestling in the road, while Loki
leaped about barking. Hilde and Peer dragged them
apart.

“What is it about twins?” asked Peer wryly.

“Goodness knows,” panted Hilde. “Children, stop it!
Now!
Or we'll turn round and go home.” She lifted them
back on to the pony. “Behave, or Peer won't come with us.”

“No, I'm coming,” said Peer. “Where are we going
exactly? Is there a harbour?”

“Not even a jetty,” said Hilde. “It's a very small place,
Trollsvik. There's a couple of fishermen I know, Arnë and
Bjørn. I want to see them because they'll help us cut the
hay next month if Pa hasn't come back yet. I'll buy some
fish. And we'll sit on rocks and talk while the children
paddle.”

“Me too,” said Peer. “I want to swim.”

He looked eagerly around as they came into the
village. Though it wasn't far, he had never been allowed
out of sight of the mill. Trollsvik seemed tiny compared
to Hammerhaven, but there was plenty going on. He
counted seven or eight houses, all with thin streams of
white smoke rising from their grassy roofs. Goats
bleated, tethered to prevent them eating the beans and
peas in the little vegetable patches. A gang of dogs rushed
over to sniff at Loki, who instantly made five new
friends. A woman came out of the nearest house and
threw a pail of water over her garden. Seeing Hilde, she
called out, asking how her mother was and whether
they'd heard from Ralf. The woman was very pretty, Peer
thought, with long dark hair and green eyes. He stood
shyly apart to let Hilde talk, but she dragged him
forwards.

“This is Bjørn's wife, Kersten. This is Peer Ulfsson,
Kersten, who has come to live at the mill.” Kersten
smiled kindly at him, but Peer, embarrassed because he
was so dirty, was glad when the conversation ended and
she went back inside. Hilde tethered the pony and
together they walked the last few yards down to the
shore.

The wide fjord was blue and sparkling. Baby waves
lifted themselves an inch or two and turned over with a
clear splash on the edge of a shingle beach, in which
every pebble seemed a different colour. There was so
much light it hurt the eyes. A couple of fishing boats lay
on the pebbles. Sigurd and Sigrid squealed with delight
and went running ahead to pick up shells and red and
green seaweed. Peer and Hilde breathed deep and stared
at the bright water and the high mountains.

“I'm going in,” said Peer happily.

“It'll be cold,” Hilde warned him.

“Never mind, at least I'll be clean.” He ran knee-deep
into the water. “Whew! You're right, it's freezing! Here
goes!” He threw himself forwards with a whoop. Loki
dashed to and fro, barking anxiously. He dared not go in
himself, but he bit at the little waves in case they attacked
his master. Getting a mouthful of salt water, he shook his
head and coughed disgustedly. Hilde laughed.

“Poor Loki! Was it nasty?” She threw him a bit of
bread, which he snapped up.

Peer came wading out, shivering. “I'm clean,” he said
with chattering teeth, “but I can't stay in any longer. Let's
find a nice sunny boulder and sit down. I really need to
tell you something.”

“I brought a cloak to sit on,” said Hilde, “Mother
insists. Take it, it's an old one. Go on, you'd better!”

Peer wrapped it gratefully round his shoulders. It was
old and darned, but clean and warm. Hilde led the way
to a sheltered spot between two big stones, and they sat
down. Loki trotted about by himself exploring the smells
of the beach. The little children clambered into one of
the boats and began playing Vikings.

“Peace at last!” said Hilde.

“Mm!” said Peer. The sun soaked into his bones and
he would have felt sleepy, except that the swim had
sharpened his hunger. His stomach growled noisily and
he blushed. Hilde threw him the bag she had brought
with the bread and cheese.

“Eat!” she commanded. “And tell me what's been
going on?”

So between mouthfuls Peer began his story. He
explained how he had met the Nis. He described what
a flighty little creature it was, and how he had promised
to bring it some butter. He told how he had learned
about the troll wedding.

“I've heard of the trolls of the Dovrefell,” interrupted
Hilde, who was listening intently. “Everyone has! That
has to be a very important wedding for the old Gaffer of
Troll Fell.”

“Exactly,” said Peer. With a shiver he told Hilde about his
meeting with Granny Greenteeth, and how she had
revealed his uncles' plans for selling Peer to the trolls as a
wedding present to the Dovreking's son. He almost laughed
at Hilde's expression.

“Peer,” she said, horrified. “They couldn't!”

“Oh yes, they could! And that's not all, I'm afraid.
Later that night I heard from the Nis that now it's to be
a double wedding. The old Gaffer's son and daughter,” he
explained carefully, “are marrying the Dovreking's
daughter and son.”

“Well?” asked Hilde, as he stopped.

“And it seems my uncles were very angry, because the
Gaffer told them that the deal was off unless they could
find a girl as well as a boy. You see, if he gives the Dovre
Prince a page, he wants a maid for the princess.”