“Let go of me,” panted Peer, still struggling as Grim nodded and went out. “Let me go!”
Loki trotted in at Uncle Grim’s heels, looking wary and puzzled.
“They can’t fight in here,” said Uncle Baldur over Peer’s head.
“No,” Grim agreed, “we’ll have it in the yard. I give you ten to one he lasts a good five minutes before Grendel grips him. He’s quick, you see.”
“Done!” Baldur grinned. “Speed won’t save him from Grendel. One good crunch and it’ll all be over.” Peer couldn’t believe they were talking about his beloved dog.
“Loki can’t fight, he won’t fight,” he cried. “He doesn’t know how.”
Paying no attention, Uncle Baldur dragged him outside with Loki, while Uncle Grim brought Grendel along by the collar, holding a flaring torch in the other hand to light the dogfight. The snow had stopped falling, but was blowing about the yard chased by a cruel little wind. It was an unbearably cold night.
Peer looked at the two dogs in despair. Grendel dwarfed little Loki. He was built like a wolf, but thicker and taller, with massive head and powerful jaws. Loki curled his tail between his legs and trembled.
“Three… two… one! Eat him, Grendel!” yelled Uncle Baldur, releasing Loki. At the same moment Uncle Grim let go of Grendel, who sprang forward snarling.
Loki took one look and ran for his life. But Grendel’s long legs gained on him. At the edge of the sheepfold Loki doubled back, his front and back legs crossing each other in his efforts to escape, and the two dogs merged in a rolling tangle near the barn wall, falling over and over in a spray of snow. “Gren-del! Gren-del!” shouted Baldur.
“Loki! Run!” screamed Peer.
Suddenly an avalanche of snow slumped off the barn roof on top of the two dogs, burying them. There was a moment’s surprised silence as they struggled to rise, shaking themselves free. Peer caught a flicker of movement running along the barn roof, and was sure it was the Nis. “Oh, thank you,” he breathed.
Loki got his wits back before Grendel did. He jumped out of the drift and raced across the yard towards the road. “Head him off!” shouted Uncle Baldur, and Grim tried to bar his way, swinging the blazing torch. Loki whizzed between his legs and was out of the yard and over the wooden bridge before Grendel could catch him. Grim slipped and fell, cursing. Peer and Uncle Baldur ran past, following the two dogs over the icy bridge. They were already out of sight. Where, oh where was Loki?
A shivering howl of triumph quivered up and up until it seemed to reach the frosty stars. It lingered in the cold air, holding Peer motionless till it died away. Uncle Baldur too, was frozen in his steps. Grim came limping up, the blazing branch in one hand, the other hand pressed to his hip.
“He’s got the little beggar,” he said.
Tears of horror rose in Peer’s eyes. He stumbled along the kicked-up path to the millpond, and his uncles followed, Baldur grumbling: “Didn’t get to see anything. No fun at all. Call that a fight?”
Peer blundered out of the bushes on the edge of the millpond, and stopped dead. A few yards away Grendel stood with his back to Peer, hackles raised and head lowered threateningly. At the very brink of the millpond, Loki faced him at bay. Loki’s head was up and he looked this way and that with quick, desperate movements.
No wonder Grendel had howled in triumph. Loki was cornered. Behind him, the millpond reflected the starlight with a thin layer of milky ice. To his left, the dark waters of the sluice poured in icicles down to the rapidly freezing stream.
Grendel’s breath steamed. The flames from Grim’s torch lit the snow to rosy warmth and glistened on every yellow tooth in Grendel’s head. He was waiting for his master’s signal to bring the fight to its end. Even across the yards of snow, Peer could see Loki shaking.
“Good lad, Grendel,” puffed Uncle Baldur. “Get him!”
Peer clapped his hands over his eyes, but lowered them at a shout from Baldur. Loki had turned and leaped out on to the ice. Amazingly, it held him. He slithered across it, paws scrabbling.
“Oh Loki – go on, go on,” panted Peer. Uncle Grim gave a bellow of alarm. “Grendel! Stop!”
He was too late. Grendel launched himself after Loki. With a splintering crash he went straight through the fragile ice and was struggling in the black water.
Grim ran to the edge. He plunged the branch he held into the water. The flames sizzled out. “Here Grendel! Grip hold!” he shouted, but Grendel took no notice. He tried to follow Loki, snarling and raking at the ice with his claws. It broke into crazy pieces. He could smash his way across!
Loki had reached the far bank. It was steep; he scrambled up, clinging desperately with his front paws, kicking with his back legs, but the loose snow collapsed under him and he tumbled back on to the ice.
“Pay up,” said Grim to Baldur.
“He’ll catch him yet,” said Baldur, watching Grendel crashing his way across.
Loki flung himself a second time at the bank. Again his twisting body fell back on to the ice. Grendel was halfway over by now, his great strength breaking a jagged passage. Peer could not stand it. Without even thinking he filled his lungs and ran forward. “Granny!” he yelled, so loudly his voice cracked. “Granny Greenteeth!”
Baldur and Grim glanced at him in angry surprise. Then Baldur bit off an exclamation and pointed.
Something was happening to Grendel, out there in the middle of the pond. He writhed, splashing, biting at something that seemed to have risen beside him. It was hard to see in the bitter starlight. Could those be skinny white arms twining about Grendel’s neck, pulling him under? The chunks of broken ice danced and clashed. There was a thrashing struggle just below the surface, a choked-off bark – and Grendel was gone.
“Granny Greenteeth!” Peer whispered, hugging himself and shuddering.
There was a loud wail from Uncle Grim. “Grendel!”
“She’s got him,” said Uncle Baldur, shrugging, but his mouth was set.
On his third try, Loki reached the top of the bank and hurtled away into the woods. Uncle Grim forgot his sorrow. “You owe me, Baldur. Pay up!”
“Later,” said Baldur. “When we’re rich. And we’d better get on with that.” He stared at Peer, who quailed, expecting to be blamed for Grendel’s awful fate. But it seemed that Uncle Baldur had taken Peer’s shout for a warning, and wasn’t thinking about that.
“Tonight is midwinter’s eve,” he said softly, still staring at Peer. “Don’t forget, Grim, we’re invited to a wedding. It’s time we went to get the presents!”
Peer tried to dash for it, but Uncle Baldur caught his arm. “What shall we do with him, Grim? We don’t want to take him along with us.”
“Lock him up. Shut him up in the privy,” Grim growled. “There’s no window, and we can block up the door.”
Peer struggled, but the two big men dragged him down the path to the mill. Uncle Baldur hauled open the privy door and thrust him inside. “You’ll not die of cold,” he joked. “Where there’s dirt there’s warmth.” He shoved the door shut and Peer heard logs being piled against it. With a last effort he beat his fists on the rough planks, screaming, “Let me out! Where are you going?”
“To pay a little visit to Ralf ’s farm, of course,” came Baldur’s muffled voice. They clumped away, leaving Peer to gasp for his breath in the cold and stinking darkness.
Chapter 12
Stolen in the Storm
“THERE’S A HEAVY snow coming,” Eirik said to Gudrun. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“And what if there is?” Gudrun slapped the dough she was kneading. “I don’t have to worry about the weather any more.”
Hilde, pulling on her thick-fur lined boots, looked anxiously at her mother. Gudrun was very pale these days.
“It’s not snowing yet,” she said. “Just freezing hard.” She belted her sheepskin jacket with a piece of string, and took the lantern from its hook. “I’m going to feed the cows.”
Eirik looked up. �
��I’ll help,” he offered.
“Oh, I don’t need any help, Grandpa…”
“Don’t be an old fool, Eirik,” Gudrun snapped. “Stay in the warmth.”
Eirik was offended and hurt, and Hilde saw it. “If Sigurd and Sigrid come out with me, Eirik could keep an eye on them. They need some fresh air.”
“No we don’t,” objected Sigrid.
“You’ll do what you’re told!” Hilde hissed.
“Can we have a snowball fight?” asked Sigurd.
“Certainly, if you don’t go out of Grandpa’s sight,” said Hilde briskly. She pushed their boots on and pulled their woolly caps over their ears. Gudrun wrapped up Eirik till he was almost circular.
Hilde filled her pockets with stones – handy for throwing at trolls – and bundled the little ones ahead of her out of the door. They screamed with delight and slid off across the icy yard. Gudrun appeared in the doorway supporting Eirik, who shook her off irritably and stepped after Hilde. He staggered, and Hilde leaped to help him. “Leave me alone, girl,” he growled at her. “I can manage!”
“Now Father-in-law, do take care!” shrilled Gudrun.
Eirik really lost his temper. “Women, women,” he shouted, “cluck, cluck, never leave you alone. I wish my son was here. He’d know I’m not in the grave yet!” He slipped on a particularly glossy patch of ice and sat down hard.
Hilde rushed to pick him up. Sigurd and Sigrid threw snow about, quarrelling. Gudrun clung to the doorpost, calling out instructions. Eirik sat puffing with shock.
There was an apologetic cough. “Can we help?” Hilde looked up to see Bjørn and Arne climbing over the gate. The two young men pulled Eirik to his feet and dusted the snow off him tactfully. Eirik dabbed at himself, muttering.
“It was the ice,” Hilde explained awkwardly. “It was so slippery that he – he slipped.”
“Ah yes, it’s slippery stuff, ice,” said Arne with a grin. He became serious again. “We’ve brought some news.”
“Come inside then, before you freeze,” snapped Gudrun, holding the door open. “Hurry! I’m losing all the warmth.”
They all trooped into the house. “It’s nothing much,” Bjørn began, but Gudrun stopped him. “Not a word! Not a word of your news do I wish to hear till we’ve shown you some hospitality. We still know how to welcome our neighbours here, I hope. Hilde, where’s your manners? Fetch some ale.”
“In some houses,” Eirik grumbled under his breath, “it’s the man who calls for ale!”
The ale was drunk in an atmosphere of polite discomfort. “Well,” said Arne, when Gudrun finally allowed him to speak, “we spoke to the Grimsson boys today. We came straight on from the mill, in fact. They’ve heard about Ralf. They were – celebrating, I’m afraid.”
“Boasting about how they’re going to steal Ralf’s land,” Bjørn added.
“We wiped the smile off Baldur’s fat face. We told him to leave you alone.”
“Did you see Peer? Was he all right?” asked Hilde anxiously.
Bjørn looked thoughtful. “Yes, we saw him. I hope so. There was a little noise going on when we left, and I forgot to speak to him.”
“Bjørn lost his temper,” Arne grinned.
Gudrun’s eyes were wet. She mopped them quickly with her apron. “You’re such good friends,” she exclaimed, stretching out her hands. The young men flushed.
“So we’ll keep a close eye on the Grimssons for you,” Arne went on hastily, “if Eirik has no objection, that is?”
Everyone looked at Eirik. “What?” said Eirik. “No, er – of course not. Keep an eye on them for all you’re worth, young fellow!”
“Good,” said Arne. “If they start any trouble, let us know.” He stood up.
“I’ll come out with you,” said Hilde. She slipped out ahead of Bjørn and Arne, surprising three small trolls who were sneaking across the yard.
“Get out!” she yelled, scrabbling in her pocket for stones. They bolted under the gate, and Arne and Bjørn ran up. “Are you all right? We heard you shout.”
“Quite all right, Bjørn, thank you. I was frightening away a few trolls.”
Arne looked at her admiringly. “So you know how to deal with trolls?”
“I’m a pretty good shot,” Hilde boasted.
“But where are you going? To feed the cows? Can I help?”
“No, no!” said Hilde, blushing as Bjørn nudged his brother and grinned. “You should both get home. Grandfather’s bones tell him a snowstorm is coming.” As she spoke she realised it was already snowing again. “And it looks as if he’s right,” she added.
Arne and Bjørn said goodnight, and Hilde dived into the dark cowshed. She pulled down hay for Bonny and her calf, and threw down fresh straw. When the animals were comfortable, she left the sheltered shed, tramped across the wild white yard and banged on the farmhouse door. She waited, shivering, while Gudrun unbarred it, and then jumped inside, gasping and laughing and brushing off snow.
“Brrr! Shut the door, mother! Whatever are you waiting for?”
“The twins, of course. Aren’t they with you?”
“No!” said Hilde, alarmed. “Weren’t they with you?”
Gudrun slammed the door. “I thought they went out after you the second time. They went out just before Bjørn and Arne.”
“They never joined me. I’ve been in the shed.”
They looked at each other.
“Listen,” said Gudrun in a low voice. She pointed to Eirik, asleep by the fire. “Don’t wake him yet. Take the lanterns and go round the steading – call them. They may be building a snow fort or something. If not – ah!” She moved her hands despairingly. “What then?”
“What next?” said Hilde grimly. “Don’t worry, mother. I’ll find them.” She plunged back out into the darkness.
The lantern shone on to snow whirling on the ground, picked up and flung about by the wind. It was hard to walk in a straight line.
“Sigurd?” she shouted. “Sigrid? Where are you? Come in at once, supper’s ready!
“Sigurd! Come here now!
“Children! I’ll smack you if you don’t come!”
A night bird shrieked. What bird would be out in such a night? Huuu – hutututu! She shivered. That was no bird; the trolls were out. The wind swept snow into her eyes. She went round to the sheepfold, swinging the lantern. The sheep lay huddled in the shelter of the fence, drifted snow on their backs.
“Sigurd? Sigrid?”
She held the lantern close to the ground, searching for tracks. Her own were obvious, and there were a lot of larger half-filled prints which must belong to Bjørn and Arne. The small light tracks of the little children had disappeared as completely as they had themselves.
“Oh where are you?” she cried – and stealthy movements caught her eye. She whirled. Trolls were creeping up to the very edge of her lantern’s pool of light, and their eyes reflected flashes of green and red. Hilde stamped her foot and shouted. They scattered, but a moment later a hail of snowballs flew at her, some loaded with stones. She stumbled back to the house.
Gudrun pulled the door open. “Have you found them?”
“No! Ma, the trolls are out there. They’ve been snowballing me. Ma, can the trolls have stolen them?” She clutched her mother’s arm, and they stared at each other, white-faced.
“We must tell Eirik,” said Gudrun. She ran to shake his shoulder. “Eirik, wake up! Wake up! Sigurd and Sigrid are missing!”
Eirik opened his eyes with a start and listened, bewildered, while Hilde and Gudrun gabbled.
“They’re missing!”
“It was after Bjørn and Arne left!”
“No, it was before!”
“They went out with you the first time.”
“I know, but —”
“Did they ever come back in?”
“I don’t remember. Did they, Grandfather?”
Eirik slapped his knee in irritation. “What are you talking about?” he asked.
H
ilde repeated the story in desperation. “They’re lost! In the snow! And the trolls are out! And I made them go! Oh, if only they come back, I’ll never be mean to them again!” She began to cry.
“Have you looked for them?” Eirik asked. Gudrun’s control broke.
“Of course she’s looked for them! Why can’t you listen? Oh what shall we do? My poor little twins, lured away to die in the snow! I told Ralf there’d be trouble with the trolls, I told him, but would he listen? Oh, what shall we do?” She threw her apron over her head and sat down crying hysterically.
Eirik struggled upright in his chair. “Hush, Gudrun, hush,” he began, but as she paid no attention he cleared his throat and thundered, “Woman!”
It worked. Gudrun raised a startled face.
“Will you be quiet?” Eirik demanded. He got to his feet in great excitement. “It’s not the trolls. It’s not the trolls, I say. It’s the Grimssons who’ve stolen our children away!”
“The Grimssons?” Gudrun asked in wonderment.
“Of course it is!” Eirik raised his stick and whacked it down. “What did you tell us about them, Hilde? Didn’t they want a pair of children? And isn’t tonight midwinter’s eve?”
“They’ve taken Sigrid?” screamed Hilde. “They’ve taken Sigurd and Sigrid?”
Alf sprang up, barking. “I’ll kill them!” Hilde yelled.
Eirik was still explaining. “…crept up under cover of darkness – probably followed Arne and Bjørn – lay in wait –”
“All that fuss when you fell over,” gasped Hilde. “Perhaps they grabbed them then. There did seem a lot of big footprints, but I never thought! Oh, I can’t bear it! They’ll be so frightened!” She turned. “Mother, where are you going?”
Gudrun, white-lipped, was wrapping herself up. “To look for them, of course. You stay here and look after Grandpa.”
“By Odin,” shouted Eirik furiously, “you take me for a dotard, you do. Hilde will stay here. Gudrun, you will come with me. We shall go to Arne Egilsson’s and raise the village. Ha!” He stamped his foot down into a boot and broke into an old battle chant.
Gudrun shrugged. Her pale face softened into a very faint smile.
West of the Moon Page 9
