Troll and Trylleri

by Joyce Holt

  Gyda pulled her mother aside most evenings, trying to find one ally in her opinions about the rise of nations, but Aslaug cared nothing for matters on that grand a scale.

  One night, while supper was stewing and Gyda was maundering to an ever-suffering stableman, Jorunn stood in the lee of a sleigh and checked for Svana. She expected to find a dark hut, as always.

  She was surprised to see the glint of Svana's eyes where she sat in a corner. Dim light flickered on the soft curve of her cheek. There must be a low fire in the hearth.

  Svana looked back and forth, as if following a conversation.

  Jorunn turned an ear to the key.

  Her father's slurred voice sounded first. "Roll again. I'll win it all back."

  "And wager what?"

  Jorunn sucked a breath of dismay. It was Utlagi the Sour who had answered. They were drunk, and gambling, and tempers rising.

  "You have nothing left to wager," Utlagi snarled. "You've lost it all, and given me none of my due."

  "I'll make good."

  "You never have before. Why should I trust you? I won a wife from you, but you let her flee away. You'll have to make that right before I ever take your word as true."

  "Are you questioning my honor?" Knut bellowed.

  "Ja, I am. You're an oath-breaker."

  There came the sound of bodies smashing, grunts of pain, one small squeal, then labored breaths gasping.

  "I have an idea," Knut grated.

  "Vel, imagine that."

  "I have two daughters, you know. The younger one is still here."

  "Øy, is that what sits in the corner?"

  "You can marry her."

  Jorunn gasped.

  "How old is she?" Utlagi asked.

  "You, girl, how many winters have you?"

  "N-nine," came Svana's small voice.

  "Too young," Utlagi growled. "The Ting would never approve. Got to be thirteen at the youngest."

  "You can have another wife in the meantime, and I'll save her for you."

  "I don't know. Let me see her. See whether she's worth the bargain."

  There came a yelp. Jorunn jerked, went to watching rather than listening. Her heart thundered so loud in her ears now, she could have heard nothing anyway. What was her father doing, promising Svana to that wife-killer? The monsters! The filthy, scheming trolls!

  Svana's fearful eyes glinted in the firelight. Knut's hand gripped her upper arm, turned her this way and that.

  Jorunn's eyes filled with tears so she could hardly see. She blinked furiously. Her stomach knotted.

  Knut grabbed Svana's chin, tilted her head so the light fell on her face, her sweet child's face.

  Jorunn whispered into the key, "Svana! Svana! Do not despair! I will come for you!"

  The tears froze on her cheeks. She herself wallowed deep in despair. She'd been making that same vow every day since she'd left, but never a step taken to fulfill it.

  So far from home, how would she find a way to return? How could she save Svana unless she found a way to support the two of them? Who would ever take in a luckless drudge who couldn't bake, couldn't sew? Where would they live?

  "We'll make do with a corner in a byre," Jorunn whispered into the frigid wind. "We'll serve as lowly goat-girls, if nothing else. I'll ask Valka for help in learning, in learning—" She blinked stiff lashes against the winter night.

  Valka was a troll. Would Valka lift even one finger to help?

  * * *

  The remainder of the journey stretched like a string of gristle, an agonizing wait for Jorunn. Her mistress was out of sorts and short of temper. Dagmær lashed everyone in reach of her sharp tongue. Brynja was miserable with grief and failing dreams.

  Jorunn clung to the list of lake names, the waterway chain that would lead her home, muttered it under her breath by day, mouthed it at night as she waited for the merciful forgetfulness of sleep.

  Ketill asked Jorunn what was troubling her so. How could she answer? She mumbled something about worry for Gyda's sake. The third time he asked, one snowy evening, she told him the barest details of her sister's plight.

  He rocked back on his heels and hummed in thought. "Øy, that would explain the misery in your glance. I thought it might be a young man you pined for, an ache that with time might ease."

  "I'll have no ease until she's safely away."

  The next day they arrived at Kvien, heralded onto the grounds by the romping spisshunds. Once again Gyda went first to check the hawks. She sent Jorunn to fetch strips of meat from the cold-hut. "Too much," she scolded when Jorunn returned. "I want them hungry enough in the morning for a successful hunt."

  Jorunn returned half the meat to the larder. By now the bustle of home-coming had died down. Folk had gone into hall or byre, and the houseyard was deserted. With a few moments to herself, Jorunn ran to the goat shed. One of the dogs had been traipsing at her heels, but it wouldn't come close to Valka's abode.

  No wonder. A new door had been hung, and yesterday's snow covered any debris on the ground, but there still appeared raw slashes in the planking to one side of the entryway.

  Damage from trolls breaking in. They had milled about in the houseyard, right here where she stood. Jorunn stared at the claw-marks in the planking. Did Valka have talons for nails? Jorunn hadn't noticed, and surely she would have, every time the goatherd took a bowl from her. She thought back to that day at Dondstad, the frantic woman on the sledge from Moen, the lathered horse, the wounded husband. The armless, lifeless youth. Mauled by trolls.

  She nearly turned back to the hall, then stood wavering. Harald had told that tale about befriending a hulder-lad in his youth. He had ventured into Svartalfheim, the realm of trolls, and had spoken with the hulder-lad's elders as if man to man.

  She drew a deep breath and rapped on the door. "Valka," she hissed, a tremor in her voice. "I'm back. I'll b-bring you porridge again, whenever I can, for fr-friendship's sake. May I speak with you sometime?"

  "In trouble again?" came a creaky reply. "He gone now, fat pig-man. The master banish him, and I don't smell no Toothgnasher about. What trouble you got?"

  Jorunn gulped. She had wondered at Valka's odd wording, had guessed it merely a dialect from a far dale. Far indeed. "I got trouble, ja," she said. "Looks like you got trouble, too. How are you faring?"

  "Never better, now there's hope for porridge. Lots of butter?"

  "I don't know. We've only just arrived. If there's butter at the high table, I'll make sure you get a share. Valka, I've heard— I've heard there were—" Jorunn faltered. Should she even mention it? "There were creatures prowling here. Hulking big creatures. Breaking into your shed. Only your shed. Looking for you, I'm guessing. They didn't track you to the borg, too, did they?"

  "Nei, too slow, too dull-witted. They never find me." There came a chuckle, then a startled snort. "Wait, wait, what you mean, you be guessing? What you guess?"

  "Why you like buttery porridge so. Why you hide from daylight. Why you have a magic bone-flute. A flute that works, that works – trylleri."

  Silence fell. From inside came soft bleats of goats, nothing more. At last Valka spoke, and her voice was low as a wolverine's growl. "You going to tell other mankinds?"

  "Nei."

  "You going to chase me out, away?"

  "Nei."

  "You going to—"

  "Valka, all I want is a word of wisdom! I need to learn. You know more than just how to charm the goats with your flute. You know everyday knacks to work with the herd."

  "Why you want to learn that stuff?" There was scorn and skepticism in Valka's voice. "You got warm den in big hall."

  "I can't stay. I must go home, a long trek, and find work, and I'm good for nothing indoors. I must—" She broke off, for along came two youths hauling firewood.

  "Go away," Valka grumped. "Go back to warm den. Leave me be in quiet and dark."

  Jorunn shifted, watching the youths who gazed back with curiosity. "I'll bring porridge whenever I may," s
he repeated. "For friendship's sake."

  36 – Middling Wise

  Jorunn trudged into the mead-hall, where the steward was reporting to Gunnarr the doings in his absence. The steading folk had brought most household items down from the refuge, but had not yet hung up the tapestries and banners. The hall seemed a dark place without those bright colors and bold images.

  At the cousins' bedchamber Jorunn found Drifa unpacking under Brynja's watch. She had no orders from her own mistress, but knew well enough what was wanted. She set Gyda's things in order – map roll and sewing basket in the corner, slippers on a shelf, spare cloak hanging from a knob.

  From beyond the planked inner wall came Dagmær's voice, shrill with irritation.

  Brynja paced about, wringing her hands. "Øy, what a mother-in-law she'll make. If Mundi comes to visit before she settles down, he may change his mind. And Gyda will poke and pry to see how he stands. What if he doesn't—"

  Drifa clucked in sympathy. "Hush, now. He's not marrying your mother nor your cousin. It's you he wants. He'll take you away from all this fuss and bother."

  "But it's such a long time till Midsummer. Øy, this dreadful winter!"

  Dreadful indeed, Jorunn thought as she sorted Gyda's garb, setting aside those that needed mending or laundering, then laid out the two gowns she thought her mistress most likely to choose. A long time till Midsummer – long enough for her to trek home before the thaw? She dashed off to the hall's central hearth to fetch warm water for washing up.

  As she was filling a basin, Gyda came in. She nodded at Jorunn as she swept past, and led on to her chamber, where uneasy stillness now reigned. The chill in the room came not so much from drafty walls but from the tension between the cousins, a stress that the turmoil of travel had glossed over. Now in the chamber that had heard so many confidences and easy chatter, Brynja sat stiff as a ship's figurehead. Her lips made a tight little line while Drifa combed out her hair. Gyda said nothing as she washed hands and face.

  The strain grew until the air nigh rang with silence as loud as any thunder-thrum. Drifa cast an imploring glance at Jorunn, who held a towel ready for her mistress.

  She shrugged. What was she supposed to do about a falling out between the cousins?

  But then Jorunn saw Brynja's cheeks brighten with rosy patches and a glint of moisture in her eyes. She drew a deep breath and spoke the old words. "The greatest treasure is a trusted friend. Let nothing fray that fellowship. The heart will ache, empty and hollow, when friendship's bonds are broken. From the Sayings of the Wise, my ladies." She scooped up the soiled garments and hurried from the room before Gyda could aim a rebuke.

  Drifa came out on her heels. "Very well-spoken," the older woman said. "Perhaps you could give my Brynja even more comfort. Give her a glimpse of what the coming days hold in store for our dale. She frets not only over her wedding but about the course of her marriage. Will Harald's wrath reach this high in the mountains and lay ruin to our hopes?"

  Jorunn gaped then blurted, "I don't know the future! That's for the Norns! That's for Skuld herself! I'm no one but a cotter with a good memory for the old sayings!"

  Drifa took her arm. "But you knew of the death of Prince Dond. And that Harald would forget all about Kvien."

  "Guesses. Hunches. Dreams."

  "Vel, can you not guess or dream about what is in store for my Brynja? Her heart is so heavy at a time it ought to dance with delight."

  "Middling wise a man should be, not all-knowing, say the Wise. To see beforehand one's full fate makes too heavy a burden to bear."

  Drifa pulled back, brows knit in thought. "You're right. You're right."

  "Harald has many battles ahead, north in Trondelag. That should keep him away long enough for things to settle here, don't you think?"

  "That may be so. Wise words."

  Jorunn went on with her laundry, shaking her head. If she could see things to come, her own heart wouldn't hang heavy as a stone for worry.

  * * *

  As Jorunn finished braiding Gyda's hair the next morning, she listened to small talk between the cousins. They had forged a truce wherein neither would mention Harald or any matter beyond their own dale. "You don't want the old harper for the wedding procession," Gyda told Brynja. "Not unless you put him in a cart, he's so slow of foot."

  "Can his son manage? It would be his first. We should have him play for us some evening and see if he'll do."

  When Jorunn laid out Gyda's two most favored gowns and her hawking garb, her mistress arched a brow. "So you've the wits to watch, I'm seeing of late. Learning my tastes."

  Jorunn's breath caught for a moment. What had Toothgnasher said? The wit to watch, the wit to wonder. Vel, she wondered all the time. Where to buy skis. How to slip Gyda's reins and head off on her own path, and when. How to travel all the way back to Morgedal, avoiding man and beast and ogre on the daunting journey. How to win a place of her own, some corner in a goatshed like Valka, she and Svana.

  So many strands, all tangled, how was she to weave them all together?

  Then rumor of her inquiries about skis made it to Gyda's ears. "You think to leave?" the king's daughter snapped, rising from her seat at firstfare. The chatter in the hall sank to murmurs as folk gave half an ear to the outrage. At his seat nearby, the smith leered.

  "From the same mouth come ancient words of wisdom," Gyda said, "and the folly to trump all follies! You can't go back to Telemark! Not on your own, by ski. The journey wore us out, and that by sleigh! It would take more than what little winter we have left to travel even half that way, and leave you stranded in Ringerike, of all places."

  "I'm a cotter's daughter, Mistress. I'm used to hardships."

  "You're my housegirl, and I do not give you leave to go."

  "My sister's life is at stake. If it takes me a year to trudge back, I will do it."

  "I will not allow it. I find your services useful."

  "My sister—"

  "Is also a cotter's daughter, used to hardships. She can fend the way you did."

  "But my father's plans for her—" Jorunn trailed off, her throat clenching tight.

  "Are you seeing afar again?" Gyda's eyes narrowed, stabbing like blue steel blades.

  Jorunn's heart skipped a beat. What did Gyda guess? "I know he will plan for her what he had planned for me, the only reason I fled from Dondstad under your wing."

  "Not for the love of me, hmm?" Gyda snapped. Her mouth twisted in mockery. "And what dire fate did he plan for you?"

  But before Jorunn could tell about the wife-killer, Toli came bounding in. "Are you coming?" he asked. "The hawks are hungry, beating at anyone who comes close."

  Gyda demanded her hunting hood and stepped down from the dais. "Any signs of the molt beginning?" she asked her young brother.

  "Nei," he said. "They're in fine form."

  Jorunn ran to fetch Gyda's hood and a stool as well. She caught sight of Ketill watching in concern from the lowest table among the other stablemen, and Fleinn the smith flashing his white teeth at her troubles.

  Gyda had halted by the steward and, jabbing a finger in Jorunn's direction, spoke to him in a low voice. He nodded, and she continued on her way.

  His gaze fixed on Jorunn as she passed him by. "I'll be watching your comings and goings," he murmured. "Don't do anything foolish."

  Jorunn scurried after Gyda. Her cheeks and ears burned in spite of the chill wind in the houseyard. "I ache with fear for my sister," she began as she tightened the ski bindings.

  "Still your foolish tongue," Gyda snapped, turning a deaf ear.

  Her heart twisting at the wrong of it all, Jorunn watched the hawking party skid away on their hunt. She thought she felt the steward's gaze upon her, but when she turned, he was nowhere in sight. She fled to the goat shed.

  Valka let her in, but only after much begging. "True, I needing help," the hulder-maid said grudgingly. "My little goat-mamas dropping their kids. Sit with Wall-Eye there. Me, I help Knobby-Knees. She having hard
time."

  In the half-light from a wind-hole cracked ajar, Jorunn watched the goatherd more than she did the fat-bellied, wall-eyed goat which paced about the shed, losing itself among its restless herdmates.

  Valka soothed another doe that was lying in a corner, nostrils flaring, its whole body stiff. Jorunn had helped with kidding time at a neighbor's cot a season or two, and Valka showed no less tenderness than that cotter had. For a heartbeat, Jorunn wondered if that glimpse of a tail had been a trick of lighting. The key wouldn't show things untrue, would it? Not such a fanciful thing as that!

  Nei, no deception. The hulder-girl's every movement spoke her nature, skulking, clinging to shadows, hiding her face. And there was the magical flute.

  Jorunn glanced at the goatherd's gnarled hand, stroking the goat's head. The skin didn't look dark and scaly like tree-bark, as said in legend. If there was any truth to the tales, the hulder-maid must have cast a glamour to fool the eyes of the Kvien-folk. "Why are you hiding here, Valka?" she asked at last. "Why live among mankind?"

  The goatherd turned her dark beady gaze. "Why you hide from pig-keeper?"

  Jorunn blinked. "He's a nasty, grasping leech." She sat still a while, watching Wall-Eye halt her pacing and stand panting, legs rigid as fence posts. She looked back again. "Are you hiding from a leech in Svartalfheim?"

  Valka made a hideous noise, a rattling wheezing chuckle. "Hiding from my betrothed. Don't wanna wed. My olde-olde-mama say I must. I say, nei. Run away."

  Jorunn gaped. Shook her head. Gave a chuckle of her own. "That's why the trolls come prowling all about. They're looking for you, aren't they?"

  "Think they take me back. Hah! I too smart for them. Hide where be flames and clang-clang bells and iron." She shuddered. "Not so bad. Can do it," she muttered, as if bolstering herself to endure.

  "Your olde-olde-mama, is she a jotun?"

  "Ja. Bigger than shed, here. Queen of our warren. Everyone do what Olde-Olde-Mama say. Everyone but Valka." She chortled again. "I like mankind world. Midgard nice in winter. Summer, øy – must go all squinty in summer, but I do it. Cover eyes, that help. So. That be my trouble. What be yours?"