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The Nis saw, and the sparkle came back into its eyes. It probed under the old millstone, pulling out the chocks. Peer grabbed the top of the stone and felt it roll forward. Between them, they guided it to the edge of the loft. At the very brink they paused and looked at each other. The Nis giggled. Peer grinned and pushed.
There was an ear-splitting crash, and pieces of wood flew like daggers. Loki fled under the table. Peer looked over to see the damage. The millstone had cracked in two, and the wooden bin was firewood. He jumped down, reached into the wreckage, and pulled out a soft leather bag.
It was all there, his father’s hard-earned wages – thin copper pennies, and worn silver pieces that slipped gently through his fingers. At the bottom of the bag was his father’s old silver ring. He shut his eyes and pushed it on to his own finger. Father, are you there? Can you hear me? I’m doing what you did, Father. I’m running away. He waited, as if there could be an answer, before opening his eyes.
He pulled on one of Uncle Baldur’s old tunics. It was smelly but warm, and came down to his knees. He seized the best of the blankets from Grim’s bed and wrapped it around his shoulders like a cloak. Next he chose the smallest pair of boots. They were still huge, so he stuffed the toes with straw and laced them up tightly.
“We need some food,” he said, taking a loaf from the bread crock. He tore some off to munch and gave half to Loki. The Nis watched, bright-eyed.
“Want some?” asked Peer. The Nis sprang into the rafters and sat nibbling like a squirrel. Peer took a last look at the dark room, the glowing bed of the fire, the shattered millstone and broken bin. “I’m off. Goodbye, Nis. I’ll never forget you. But I have to go now, before they get back.”
Snow was falling thickly in the yard. Peer crossed the bridge and decided to leave the road. He did not want to meet his uncles on the way home. Somewhere behind the snow-laden clouds the moon had risen, and he could pick his way up over the glimmering white fields. In spite of the cold and the dangerous journey ahead, he felt he had come to life.
“I’m free!” he said, savouring the word. It was a pity he was leaving the Nis behind. And Hilde. He desperately hoped Hilde would be all right. But leaving seemed to be the only thing he could do for her now. Hilde and her family belonged here: the neighbours would look out for them. Arne and Bjørn would, for example. But Peer? He was nobody’s business. We’re just strays, Loki and me. We’d better look out for ourselves. Nobody else will.
At the top of the big field above the mill, the same field Ralf had galloped across escaping from the trolls all those years ago, he stopped for breath, leaning against the tall stone called the Finger. Out of the steadily falling snow, a white fox came trotting downhill. Loki pricked his ears, whining, and Peer caught his collar. The fox froze with one foot lifted and looked sharply at the boy and his dog.
“Hello!” said Peer, amused. “Going down to the farms to see what you can find? There’s a black cockerel at the mill. You can have him and welcome!”
The fox shook its head and sneezed. It sprang away with flattened ears, disappearing into the white world in seconds. Peer laughed. But beside him, Loki growled. A moment late, Peer realised why.
Only a few yards away, two huge shapes emerged from the greyness, plodding uphill. He heard the grumble of two familiar and hated voices. His heart nearly stopped.
Uncle Baldur and Uncle Grim!
Chapter 14
Peer Alone
PEER CROUCHED, his mind spinning. Were they after him? How could they know where he was?
Had they caught Hilde? Were they taking her to the Troll King all by herself?
Cheek pressed to the stone, he looked around the edge. And one thing was clear: his uncles had no idea he was there. Their hoods pulled well down, they trudged past his hiding place without looking left or right. And Hilde wasn’t with them. He sighed in relief. But each of them carried a large bundle over his shoulder.
What were those bundles? Was it just the poor light, or were they moving? Peer strained his eyes. With a jolt of horror he suddenly saw what they were. Two small children, bundled in sacking and swathed in ropes.
“Sigurd and Sigrid!” Peer breathed. A girl and a boy. Twins.
A matching pair!
He stood in the snow, in full view if his uncles turned around, his mind racing. What could he do? What could he possibly do, all by himself? How could he rescue the twins from two huge, powerful men – or from a whole hill full of trolls?
If he had been slower leaving the mill, or if he had gone by the road, he would never have known – never have seen what his uncles were doing. He gazed after their disappearing backs. It was nearly too late. In a moment they would vanish into the dim night and falling snow. He could go on to Hammerhaven as if nothing had happened.
But into his head slipped a memory, the memory of Sigrid’s high little voice in the summer, screaming at Uncle Baldur: “I don’t like the nasty man! I hate him!” Sigrid and Sigurd were only little, but they were his friends.
Peer stood as still as the big stone. He knew what he should do. He should follow, and see where his uncles were taking the children. He should tell the whole village what they had done. If he didn’t he would blame himself for ever.
“Loki!” he said with a furious sob. “This way!”
Loki gambolled along at his heels, thinking this was a game. Peer was terrified he would bark and give them away. He was afraid of losing his uncles, and afraid of getting too close. Already their shadowy shapes were disappearing into a little valley. Peer ran, as if in a bad dream. His cumbersome boots dragged half off at each stride.
The valley was no more than a dimple on the hillside, but it was full of drifted snow. Both Peer’s boots came off as he ploughed through it. There was no time to empty out the snow; he just shoved his numb feet back in and plunged on. The tracks turned uphill again. Peer dropped into a plod, forced himself to run, fell to plodding again. On and on he went. It stopped snowing, and the moon sailed out over a landscape of white slopes and black rocks. Deep dragging marks showed where his uncles had turned aside towards the foot of a cliff – twenty feet or so of glistening stone capped with a snowy overhang. The tracks continued along the base to a place where a rockfall of boulders offered a way up. Peer and Loki picked their way, slipping and bruising themselves on half-buried stones.
At the top of the cliff, the ground levelled out into a wide ledge. Peer reached it, gasping. A few hundred yards ahead, clear in the moonlight, two dark figures strode towards a narrow ravine. If they turned around, Peer would be in plain view. But they didn’t turn.
He looked back, realising he was not far from the top of Troll Fell. The land fell away in all directions, and he could sense the bulk of the mountain below him. Other lonely peaks reared up white in the dark sky to the north. An inhuman silence reigned.
Loki pawed at his legs. Peer was suddenly very thankful for his dog. “Good boy. Come on!”
The snow was shallow here, combed thin by the wind. Peer hurried up the slope in his uncles’ tracks, determined to keep them – and the twins – in sight to the end. They were heading into the ravine. Steep cliffs leaned over, slashed black with shadows. And then a shrill yell rang out, ringing off the rocks. Uncle Baldur was shouting to the gatekeeper of Troll Fell: “Open! Open up!”
The troll gate opened.
A hairline of light appeared in the dark root of the cliff. Silently and swiftly it widened as the stone door turned on unseen pivots. Spellbound, Peer crouched in the snow as golden light spilled down the mountain.
The dark shapes of his two uncles, carrying the bundles that were Sigurd and Sigrid, stood out black for a moment against the gold, then vanished inside. Smoothly, silently, the door swung shut. The rectangle of light shrank to a line, narrowed to a filament, and was gone. The shock passed through the ground as though Troll Fell shivered, and prickled over Peer’s skin.
He ran, scrambling over the pebbles at the base of the cliff and threw himself at the cold face, patting and fumbling for the door. Nothing. Solid stone without a crack. His legs gave way. He sank to the ground, ashamed to have come so far and been so useless. His hand felt something in the snow beside him. It was Sigrid’s woolly cap, gritty with melting snow crystals, but still warm.
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?”
“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.
