Troll Mill

by Katherine Langrish

  Sigurd whispered, “It makes you want to go and help!”

  With a sizzling noise like water drops scalding in a hot frying pan, the troll jumped down again. Furiously it grabbed the sack and wrestled it up the cliff, clinging somehow to invisible cracks and crannies. It reached the top, and its whisking tail disappeared over the edge.

  “Quick! We mustn’t lose it.”

  The twins threw themselves at the cliff. There were plenty of ledges and footholds; even in the shadow it was easy to climb. With grazed knees and knuckles, they pulled themselves up.

  The top of the scar was split, as though a giant ax had chopped through the rocks in a crisscross pattern. In the moonlight, the clefts were very black. Small thorn trees grew out of them, their dry roots clinging to the stones.

  The troll had vanished, but the twins could still hear muffled noises. They hunted about between the rocks. One of the clefts was particularly deep. They knelt side by side on the edge, peering in, and sounds of bumping, squeaking, and snarling floated up to them.

  “It went down there,” said Sigurd.

  They looked at each other, ghostly pale in the moonlight. Sigurd squared his shoulders. “Go home, Siggy. Tell Ma and Peer what’s happened. I’ll go on.”

  “No!” said Sigrid. “I’m coming.”

  “But you’re frightened of trolls.”

  “No, I’m not. I was before we started chasing them, but now, I don’t know why, I’ve stopped.” She stuck out her bottom lip. “I’m not afraid of them anymore. I just want to find Eirik.”

  Sigurd looked undecided. “I don’t know, Siggy. I think you should go back.”

  “Well, I won’t!” hissed Sigrid. “You can’t make me! And we’re wasting time!”

  Sigurd shrugged. “All right then. Follow me.”

  And he swung his legs into the hole.

  CHAPTER 16

  UNDER TROLL FELL

  ELBOWS BRACED OVER the edges, Sigurd kicked for a foothold, lowering himself into the narrow crevice. “It goes down a long way!”

  “Don’t get stuck,” whispered Sigrid to the top of his head as he sank into black shadow.

  “There’s loads of room. Ouch!” he added. Sigrid waited. She heard gasps and grunts. “Your turn,” he called softly. “I’m down.”

  With Sigurd guiding her feet, Sigrid joined him at the bottom of the crevice. It was completely dark, except for the narrow streak of sky overhead, fringed with moss and ferns.

  “This way!” Sigurd pulled her hand. “It keeps going, see? There’s a passage leading into the hill.” He twisted around and squeezed himself into a gap at the end of the crevice. With a shiver, Sigrid followed.

  It was cold, and the darkness felt like black hands pressing their eyes shut. The passage was not wide enough for them to face forward. They had to slide along like crabs, with their chins on their shoulders, bruising knees and elbows on projecting ribs of rock. Tripping and gasping, Sigrid didn’t realize at first that the troll was only just ahead of them. It was making such an angry fuss, twittering and swearing as it yanked the sack along the narrow way, that it hadn’t noticed the twins.

  Suddenly a wider space opened out on each side. They could hear the troll puffing and muttering, and a thump as it dropped the sack. Then came a clear, fluting whistle that echoed off the walls.

  Sigurd and Sigrid waited, breathless. After a few moments the troll whistled again, shrill and impatient.

  There was a dusty glimmer. Sight was restored, along with size and space. The twins saw the passage walls, streaked with water, and, only a few yards away, the small hunched back of the troll, sitting on the sack with its tail twitching. The light grew brighter and stronger. A globe of swirling bluish fire sped around a distant bend in the tunnel, whirled up to the troll, and hung, dancing up and down in the air.

  The troll jumped up. “To the kitchens!” it squeaked, heaving the sack onto its shoulders. The light began floating down the tunnel, and the little troll hobbled after it fairly briskly, but still muttering and complaining. Its claws scritched on the stones as it trotted away.

  Sigrid started forward, but Sigurd caught her arm.

  “Let it go, Siggy. We don’t want the kitchens.”

  “But we can’t find our way in the dark!”

  “I know. I’ve got an idea.” The light dwindled as the troll turned the corner. Huge shadows squeezed back down the tunnel. Sigurd fumbled in his pocket and produced Peer’s little elderwood pipe. “Let’s whistle for our own light,” he said.

  “Can we?” asked Sigrid.

  “We’ll see!” Night swept over them again as Sigurd blew. Two pure little notes warbled out, mimicking the sound the troll had made. Blinking uselessly in the darkness, Sigurd waited a moment and tried again.

  “It’s working!” Sigrid cried, seeing a cold glow far down the passage. They turned dirty faces to each other in triumph. Another of the blue lights came dashing up like a dog answering the whistle and drifted around their heads, crackling faintly. Fine strands of Sigrid’s hair floated up toward it, and their scalps prickled.

  What to ask? “Take us to Eirik!” Sigurd demanded. The ball of light dimmed, flickering. It sank down, pulsing nervously.

  “Don’t be silly!” Sigrid said. “You can’t ask that. It doesn’t know who Eirik is. You’re confusing it.” She turned to the ball of light. “Eirik’s a baby,” she explained. “We want to find him. Can you take us? Where’s the baby?”

  The ball of light perked up. Brightening, it zoomed off, and the twins hurried hopefully after. Their feet clattered on the uneven stone floor, which rose and fell, and sometimes narrowed to a deep V with water at the bottom, so that they had to scuffle along with a foot braced on each side. Damp, cold air breathed from cracks and splits in the tunnel wall, some taller than a man, some so low you would have to crawl through them on hands and knees. Through one opening they heard a sort of pounding rumble and smelled spray: Somewhere out of sight, an underground waterfall poured invisibly from darkness into darkness. Through another they heard gabbling voices, distant and unintelligible, but it gave them a fright. Sigurd glanced at their guiding light. “I hope it’s taking us by the back ways,” he muttered. “Hey, you up there! We don’t want to meet anyone.”

  The light seemed to wink in reply and spiraled into a black hole in the ceiling, as though sucked upward.

  “How do we get up there?” Sigrid wailed.

  Her brother pointed. A dead pine tree had been propped against the wall. Its roughly trimmed branches formed a crude ladder leading up through the hole. Sigurd shook it dubiously. “I’ll hold it for you,” he suggested, “and then you hold it at the top for me.”

  Sigrid clambered up slowly. The tree shifted under her weight, and the sharp spokes of the branches caught and ripped her skirt. Pine needles showered from the prickly trunk. At the top she turned and tried to hold it steady as Sigurd climbed up out of what now looked like a dark well. They sat around the edge of the hole, sucking their sore fingers.

  “I’m so tired,” Sigrid moaned. “How long have we been in here?”

  “Seems like hours. It must be daybreak, outside. And Ma will be frantic.”

  There was nothing good to say to that.

  “I’m thirsty.” Sigrid licked her lips.

  “So am I. But, Sigrid,” warned her brother, “you know we mustn’t eat or drink any troll food.”

  “Or we’ll turn into trolls. I know. That’s what happened—” Sigrid’s face went suddenly white. “—to the Grimsson brothers. Oh, they’re down here too! What if we meet them?”

  “Let’s hope we don’t.” Sigurd wiped his face. “I wish we had Peer’s masks, as well as his whistle. Then we might look like trolls ourselves.”

  “I wish Peer was with us,” said Sigrid.

  “So do I. But wishing’s no good. Let’s find Eirik!”

  They got up, looking around at the new tunnel. It was smaller and warmer, and the walls were smoothly cut.

  As thou
gh sensing their tiredness, the ball of light bobbed along quietly. Sigurd and Sigrid followed, holding hands.

  After a while, a slight puff of air and a muffled noise gusted down the passageway toward them—the unmistakable sound of a door opening and closing. The blue light dimmed sharply and dodged behind the twins. Down the tunnel, a faint rectangular glow appeared, and then they heard footsteps, approaching briskly.

  Sigurd whirled. “Hide!”

  “Where?” There was nowhere, not a crack or a cranny in the smooth stone. “Keep walking!” Sigrid ordered urgently. “With this light, they’ll expect us to be trolls. Pull up your hood and keep your head down!” She beckoned the light with a fierce gesture, and obediently it spun past them and went drifting down the corridor. Hearts pounding, the twins followed, keeping close to the wall.

  Stealing a look under the edge of her hood, Sigrid could see a new light approaching, a greenish one this time. A bulky figure trotted along behind it, wearing hard shoes that clicked on the floor. It was puffing and snorting, and carrying something that looked like an enormous stack of folded linen. As it got closer, they heard it complaining to itself in a thick, muffled voice: “‘Fetch this, nursie! Fetch that, nursie!’ Ooh, my poor feet. Now, let’s see. Green nettle coverlets, half a dozen. Sheepskins, a score. The best silk spiderweb sheets for my lady’s bedchamber, or she’ll make trouble. Nothing but work, work, work! And never a chance for poor nursie to sit down and drink a drop of beer with her old friend the bog-wife….”

  The green light and the twins’ blue light met in the tunnel roof and whirled playfully around each other like a couple of friendly puppies. The twins shrank against the wall as the strange figure came hurrying past them: a large troll with a piggish face, pressing its chin into the teetering pile of linen. A white cap perched on its head, with little peaks like curly horns. Without so much as glancing at them, it tapped by on horny, cloven hooves—not shoes at all—muttering, “Rush here, rush there—not a moment’s peace since my lady came back from the Dovrefell. And the washing bills from the water nixies—scandalous!”

  It was gone.

  Letting out their breath, Sigrid and Sigurd scuttled on, while their blue light disentangled itself from the green one and sped after them.

  And a moment later the blue light tumbled out of the passage into a square hall. To the right and straight ahead were the dark mouths of two more tunnels. To the left was a carved doorway, set with a stout oak door. The light floated idly toward it.

  Sigrid trembled. “Is this it? Have you brought us to the baby?” The light flickered brightly, with a faint humming sound. “Yes! We’ve found him, Sigurd! Quick!”

  “Sssh. Not too fast.” Sigurd leaned his ear against the thick oak planking and listened. “Can’t hear a thing.” Lifting the latch as carefully as he could, he pushed, and the door swung silently open. They slipped inside.

  It was a large chamber with an arched roof. Although it was only dimly lit by a small brazier glowing in the center of the floor, the entire roof and walls sparkled with fine white crystals. In amazement, Sigrid put out a finger to touch the glittering crust. A bead of blood sprang up on her fingertip.

  “Ow!” She sucked the scratch. “The wall feels like teeth!”

  To one side of the door was a stone platform covered with fleeces, obviously a bed. On the other side was a plain wooden chair with a straw seat and a carved back and, next to it, a highchair with a bar across the seat to stop a child from falling out.

  At the foot of the bed, near the brazier, was a stout wooden cot, the sides carved in woven patterns with little snarling faces. A string of pinecones dangled over it.

  “It’s a nursery,” Sigurd said. “He must be in the cot. Hurry!”

  They scurried across the floor. Her heart banging with hope and terror, Sigrid peered over the edge of the cot. There at the bottom was a soft, humped shape, just Eirik’s size: an infant sleeping on its side, rolled up in black lambskins.

  “Oh, he’s safe! We’ve found him!”

  She reached out. Sigurd grabbed her. “Stop!”

  “What’s wrong?” She turned a frightened face to her brother, who was staring into the cradle as if he’d seen an adder.

  He said in a choked whisper, “It isn’t him.”

  The infant stirred and rolled over onto its back, and the reflected glow from the crystal ceiling played over its sleeping face. Sigrid pressed her hands to her mouth.

  It was the ugliest baby she had ever seen.

  Its skin was crumpled, wrinkled, and damp, like hands that have been in the wash too long. A squashed little red snout twitched and snuffled in the middle of its face. Above the tightly shut eyes, long hairs sprang from its brows, like bristles on a pig’s skin. Its mouth was extremely wide, and its ears were hairy.

  Sigurd looked sick. “It’s a troll. So we’ve come all this way for nothing!”

  “Where’s Eirik?” asked Sigrid faintly.

  “How should I know?” Sigurd kicked the floor savagely. “Come on, we can’t stay here.”

  “But we can’t leave Eirik!”

  “How can we find him now?” Sigurd asked in despair. “He might be anywhere.” He tried to drag her toward the door.

  “But the light was taking us to him,” Sigrid argued.

  In the cot, the troll baby cautiously opened one eye and peeped at them.

  The twins didn’t notice.

  “Don’t you see?” Sigurd jigged with panicked impatience. “We asked the light to take us to a baby. So it brought us here, to the most important baby it knows.”

  The troll baby quickly closed its eye. Then it opened the other a slit and peeked through its lashes.

  “That’s a monster, not a baby!” Sigrid cried.

  “It’s a prince,” said Sigurd gloomily. “Remember what the Nis told Peer? About the troll princess having a son?”

  Sigrid stiffened. “A prince!”

  “What does it matter, Sigrid—just come now, before we get caught!”

  But Sigrid seemed to catch fire. She jerked free from Sigurd, flew back to the cot, and scooped the troll baby into her arms, all swaddled up like an enormous cocoon, with its wizened face sticking out at the end.

  “What are you doing?” Sigurd screeched.

  “We’re taking it with us.” She gripped the baby—which appeared to be sound asleep still—and faced Sigurd with hot cheeks and flashing eyes. “If they’ve got our baby, we’ll take theirs!”

  Sigurd’s mouth fell open. “We can’t do that.”

  “Oh yes, we can!” Sigrid stamped her foot.

  Their eyes met. Sigurd’s stunned expression slowly altered into one of mischievous glee. “All right, then! We’ll do it.” He laughed excitedly. “We’ll trade their prince for Eirik. Let’s go!”

  Holding their breath, the twins stole out into the corridor, where the ball of light was bouncing gently off the walls. Sigurd looked up, his face stark in the blue glow. “Back the way we came, please!” he ordered, with a slight quiver to his voice. What if it realized what they were doing? But obediently it began rolling along the ceiling.

  They hurried after. Sigrid had to keep stopping to hitch up the troll baby. “It’s awfully heavy,” she whispered. “Like carrying a stone.”

  “Let me take it for a bit.” Somehow they shuffled the baby from Sigrid’s arms to Sigurd’s. Its cold, hairy ear twitched against his cheek and he shuddered, pulling away. “Is it awake?”

  A diamond glint squeezed through the troll baby’s flickering lashes. The next second, its eyes were tightly shut again.

  The twins exchanged scared glances. “Hurry!” said Sigurd. “We’re done for if it starts yelling.”

  Moments later, they reached the dark pit in the floor of the tunnel. The light hovered over it, sinking slowly.

  “That’s where we’ve got to go,” panted Sigurd. “Back down the pine tree. Listen. You go first, climb down halfway, and I’ll try and lower the baby to you. Then I’ll climb past you,
and we’ll do the same thing again.”

  Sigrid nodded. With a set face, she sat on the edge and dipped her legs into the darkness, feeling about for the first spokes of the pine tree. She turned on her stomach and slithered down till she was neck-deep in the hole.

  “All right?” whispered Sigurd.

  “I can’t see my feet. And my skirt’s catching!” The dead tree shivered and rustled as she kicked her way lower.

  “Stop there!” Sigurd hissed. “Lean on the branches. Are you ready? Now reach up as high as you can. Here it comes!” He knelt awkwardly on the brink of the pit and, getting a good grip of the swaddled bundle, lifted it out over the drop.

  The troll baby’s eyes flew open. It grimaced in alarm.

  “Don’t drop me!” it squawked in a shrill, harsh voice.

  Sigurd nearly let go.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE NIS CONFESSES

  GUDRUN AND ALF ran as fast as they could. Beyond the sheepfold, the ground lifted in a series of shallow rises, with the steepening fells closing in on either side. In the cool evening air, raucous bleating and frenzied barking echoed off the slopes. Loki and the sheep—and, presumably, the trolls—were out of sight over one of the ridges, but Gudrun had no doubt as to what was going on.

  “Hilde! Peer! I’m coming!” she cried again, out of breath—and wondered why she couldn’t hear them shouting. The next minute, she scrambled up over the rise and saw why.

  Hilde and Peer were nowhere to be seen. There were no trolls, either. Instead, just twenty yards away, a monstrous figure was stalking the sheep. A mane of matted, coalblack hair grew over his shoulders, and a heavy club swung in his right hand. Suddenly he broke into a deep-throated shout: “Ho! Ho!” Waving his arms, he drove a terrified group of sheep and lambs toward the steep valleyside. Loki skirmished furiously at his heels.

  Gudrun felt as if the ground had split open in front of her. She gasped aloud. “That’s one of the Grimsson brothers! That’s Grim Grimsson!”