West of the Moon

by Katherine Langrish

  “Hey!” he shouted, flapping them, and the lubbers flinched and jumped. “We’ve got blankets for you. See? Lovely blankets, right here!”

  The lubbers gaped at Peer, and at the dark figure lurking in the mist. “We got an agreement with Granny Greenteeth,” one of them croaked. “Gennleman’s honour – and all that…”

  “It’s a trick,” screeched Hilde. “She hasn’t got any blankets. She’ll only drown you!”

  “Meddling little miss!” Granny Greenteeth drew herself up, swaying. Her eyes widened into white circles, and her voice thickened and slurred. “That child is my price. Sssssss! My price. I’ll have the ssseal baby.”

  Gudrun rushed at her. “You shan’t have any of my children!” But she clutched at a moving wraith of mist. Granny Greenteeth had fallen to the ground. Her arms melted to her sides in long dark ribbons. Her body twisted and thrashed. A huge eel lay coiling in the grass, snapping at Gudrun’s ankles. As Gudrun jumped back with a cry, it slid swiftly over the bank and into the mill pond. The water closed over it with a swirl of oily ripples.

  “She’s gone,” Peer cried. “All right, you lubbers. Hand over the babies, and we’ll give you the blankets.”

  The lubbers looked at each other.

  “Do as he says,” growled the first. “I’m sick of carting them around.” It turned to Peer. “Throw us the blankets!”

  Peer hesitated, then tossed the blankets so that they fell halfway between the lubbers and himself. The second lubber lowered Eirik to the ground and drew back. Eirik crawled towards Gudrun, who darted at him. “My darling!” She caught him up, but Eirik twisted round to look back.

  “Man,” he cooed. The second lubber whimpered, and its eyes gleamed.

  The first lubber hung back, holding Ran up like a shield.

  “Put her down,” demanded Peer.

  “You don’t need ’em both!”

  “Both babies, or no blankets.” Peer’s voice shook with tension. He stepped forwards.

  “All right, all right!” the first lubber screamed. Without warning it tossed Ran into the air, and dived for the blankets.

  Then everything happened at once, and it seemed to happen very slowly. Peer saw Ran arcing towards him, her arms flying wide, her head tipping back. He seemed to stare for hours into her eyes. At the edge of sight he saw Gudrun turn, her mouth opening in terror; he saw Hilde lunge forward, but yards out of reach. His own arms came up. He plucked Ran out of the air. Trying to protect her from the impact, he reeled, and then was falling, falling slowly backwards, the baby clutched to his chest. He still had time to see everything as he fell: Gudrun and Hilde screaming, the lubbers grovelling for the blankets, Loki barking, the Nis jumping about. He fell through a layer of white mist, and all the people on the bank faded like phantoms. Then the mill pond hit him in the back.

  There was a crash of water in his ears, and water filled his eyes and rushed up his nose, and covered his face. He lost hold of Ran.

  Everything was black. Which way was up? He thrashed for air and light. With terror he felt a muscular body bend briefly against his side and glide on past.

  He slipped into a colder layer. His groping hands touched something impossibly soft, melting ghost-like from his fingers. Mud – the mud at the bottom of the mill pond. He could sink into it and go on sinking for ever.

  He was strangling. Stars tingled in the water. Something caught in his clothes: a hard root or tangle of branches. He wrenched desperately, feeling clouds of mud billowing past him like smoke.

  Then he saw her, or thought he did: Granny Greenteeth in human form, sitting on the bottom of the mill pond with Ran in her arms. A greenish light clung around them. Granny Greenteeth’s hair was waving upwards in a terrible aureole as she bent over Ran, rocking to and fro.

  The flashing stars turned red. He could see Ran’s face by them, blood red and sickly green. Her dark eyes stared out into the water, expressionless, hopeless.

  So this was the end of little Ran’s short life. She might be a seal baby, she might last longer underwater than another child, but she would still drown. And then? Would some inhuman part of her linger in the mill pond, to be brought up as Granny Greenteeth’s child – another malignant water spirit to haunt the mill? He thought with fierce sorrow of Bjørn tickling Ran, Sigurd whistling to her, Gudrun feeding her.

  She never had a chance.

  But she has me! Rage crackled through him. He struggled like a madman. The obstruction holding him gave way. Plunging his arms into the mud, he pulled himself forwards, stirring up more sediment. Granny Greenteeth, her head bowed, did not see. He reached for Ran. His hands clamped around her small body, and he pulled her away. Granny Greenteeth looked up. Her eyes fixed on him, lidless and blank and terrible. She lunged at him jaws wide. He gave a last, desperate, flailing kick, and a flash of scarlet lightning blotted out his sight.

  With a roar and a rush, the other world came back: the world of air and light and sound. His head broke through into a mild, twilit evening. He stood, staggered, nearly fell, floundering waist-deep in the pond. Pain stabbed his chest, and he clasped little Ran as though a knife skewered them together. Any minute now, Granny Greenteeth would grab his legs. He choked, choked again. Half the mill pond seemed to pour from his throat and nose.

  “Peer! Over here!” Hilde was halfway into the water, clinging to a willow branch with one hand and stretching out the other. “Back!” Peer spluttered. “Or – she’ll get you!”

  Against his chest the baby jerked, convulsed, opened her mouth. She scrunched up her face, clenched her tiny fists, drew in a mighty breath, and let out an ear-shattering scream. Peer wallowed towards the bank, holding her: a cold little dripping morsel, hiccupping and kicking, and screaming again and again her indignation and fury and fright. Ran had found her voice at last!

  He hauled himself up the bank, feeling as though he had been underwater for hours, though it could have been no more than minutes. Loki and Alf dashed up to welcome him. Peer hugged them, and climbed shakily to his feet.

  Eirik was crying. “Man!” he wailed, pointing in the direction the lubbers had run off, taking the blankets with them. “Man gone!”

  “Home, right away.” Gudrun set off through the mill yard, tight-lipped. Neither she nor Hilde looked happy, Peer realised. “What’s th’matter?” he asked Hilde foggily as he stumbled along beside her. “We got the babies back.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “But not the twins.”

  The shock woke him right up. “I forgot!” He was tongue-tied with shame. How could I? What must she think? And he’d fallen into the mill pond, nearly drowning Ran. What an idiot!

  “Oh, Peer!” Hilde’s voice was low. “It was so awful when you went into the water. You were gone for ages. I thought you’d never come up. There, there,” she added distractedly to Ran. “Poor little thing, you’ll soon be home, and dry… If only the twins have got back. If only…”

  They hurried up the path, Eirik and Ran trying to out-do one another. The wood rang with their uncontrollable grief, but as Peer lagged behind, he began to notice other noises. What was that whooping, high up in the birchwoods?

  Gudrun was almost running, and Hilde hurried to catch up. The group was strung out along the track. As Peer came out of the wood, Gudrun was pushing at the farmhouse door.

  “It’s barred!” she called.

  “Barred!” Hilde turned to Peer with excited eyes. “Then the twins must be here. They’ve come home!”

  “Children, are you there?” Gudrun put her ear to the door. “Open up! Let us in!” They waited, shifting restlessly in the dusk. Eirik had quietened, but Ran was still producing sniffling sobs. A boy’s muffled voice, loaded with suspicion, called from inside, “Who is it?”

  “That’s Sigurd!” Gudrun sagged with relief. She turned back to the door. “It’s me, it’s all of us. Quickly, let us in!”

  “Whatever’s that noise?” Hilde broke in. Someone in the house was singing or chanting in an odd squeaky voice,
and it didn’t sound like either of the twins. The hairs prickled on Peer’s neck. And there was that whooping in the wood…

  He looked over his shoulder. Troll Fell reared against the sky like some enormous wave. A light shone from the crest, yellow as the evening star.

  “Troll Fell’s open! They’ve lifted the top of the hill. But… why?”

  A yell sounded amongst the trees. There was a prolonged echoing crack of splintering branches. More cries – and a dark flood, pricked with torches, spilled from the edge of the wood.

  “The trolls are coming,” Peer shouted. “They’ve sent a whole army!” A stone flew past his head.

  “Trolls!” Hilde hammered on the door. “Open up, let us in! Open the door, twins, quick!” More stones thudded against the house wall.

  A wild figure came leaping over the foremost trolls, skirt kilted up, mouth wide open in a skirling yell. The troll princess! Peer thought dizzily. What’s she doing here? Torch flames streamed over the attack.

  “Let us in!” Gudrun beat on the door with the flat of her hand. At last there was a rattle and a clunk as Sigurd removed the bar. The door opened a crack. “It’s them,” they heard him shout, and the group of them pushed inside, the dogs squeezing between their legs. The door clapped shut. Peer and Hilde crashed the bar back into its slots and leaned on it, breathless.

  Next second, it jumped and shuddered under an enormous blow.

  “Give me my child!” screamed the voice of the troll princess outside the door.

  “Her child?” Gudrun said. “What does she mean? We haven’t got her child.”

  “That’s what you fink, missus!” said a scratchy voice. Out of the cradle rose the wrinkled face and protruding hairy ears of the troll baby. It gave Gudrun a slow grin, showing every single one of its teeth.

  “Oh my goodness!” shrieked Gudrun. “What in the world is that?”

  Chapter 38

  The Miller of Troll Fell

  BEFORE ANYONE COULD answer, stones rattled on the wooden planking. The farmhouse trembled as the trolls stormed around the walls, plucking at the shutters and yelling.

  Sigurd clung to Gudrun, shouting explanations. But Sigrid seized Eirik and hugged him tight. Tears poured down her face.

  “Here,” said Hilde into Peer’s ear. She shoved a dry jerkin into his arms, and turned to strip Ran of her sodden clothing. Peer put it on, shivering. The noise outside was terrific. The dogs crept under the table.

  Gudrun turned on the troll baby. “You! What’s your name?”

  “Me?” smirked the troll baby. “I’m jus’ meself. No name yet, missus!”

  “Is that your mother outside?” demanded Gudrun. In a lull in the racket, the troll princess’s voice soared shrilly skywards: “I want my child!”

  The troll baby winked. “That’s her.”

  “I see.” Gudrun’s lips thinned. “The twins did very wrong to steal you away. No!” – as Sigurd tried to protest – “I’ll speak to you later. She must have her child back immediately!”

  “Ma,” protested Hilde, “if we open that door, they’ll tear us to pieces!”

  At that very moment, someone leaped on to the roof with a tremendous thump. Heavy footfalls thudded from one gable end to the other, and back again. Crash, crash, crash! The rafters groaned in warning.

  A fearsome face plunged through the smoke hole and twisted about, glaring. The mouth was at the top; the eyes were at the bottom: it shook a ruff of sooty hair and screeched, “I can see him, princess! I knew they’d be hiding him here. I’ll punish them for you. I’ll rip their arms and legs off!”

  It was Baldur Grimsson, looking in upside down. Hilde jabbed a broom at him. He disappeared, but they heard contemptuous laughter. What if he came through the roof?

  “Rock-a-bye, baby,” giggled the troll in the cradle. Gudrun advanced on it, rolling up her sleeves, and it squealed. “Don’t hurt me!”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Gudrun. “But you’re not staying here another minute.”

  “Wait, Gudrun.” Peer caught her arm. “Let me out first. I’ll try and draw Uncle Baldur off.”

  “Peer, are you mad?” Hilde shouted.

  “No. I’ve got an idea. No time to explain.” He seized a pinewood torch – Ralf kept a collection of trimmed branches near the door – and shoved it into the embers. It crackled and flared. He looked round at the family. His family.

  Ralf told me to look after them. And I will. He slipped his free hand into his pocket. It was half full of wet silt, but the carved comb was still there.

  “Here, Hilde. I made this for you. Sorry it’s got a bit dirty – but you’d better have it now. When I tell you, open the door.” He cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled. “Uncle Baldur! Can you hear me? Who’s the miller of Troll Fell? You… or me?”

  He nodded to Hilde. “Now!”

  She flung herself at the door. As soon as it was wide enough, Peer slipped out. As it slammed behind him, he charged through the assembled trolls, waving his torch so fiercely that they fell back.

  “UNCLE BALDUR!” he yelled again. “COME AND GET ME!” He turned and looked, poised to run.

  The Grimsson brothers were outlined against the sky, monstrous riders sitting astride the ridge and kicking great wounds in the turf roof. But now they saw him. They both rose, towering against the stars.

  “COME AND GET ME!” Peer taunted once more, and waited till he saw both his uncles run down the slant of the roof and leap into the crowd of trolls. Then he took to his heels.

  Gudrun swung the troll baby out of the cradle. It eyed her with alarm, flattening its ears. “Don’t squirm,” she told it grimly. “I’m going to have a word with your mother.”

  “No, Ma!” said Hilde.

  “Well? Surely you don’t want to keep it?”

  “No, but —”

  “And you’ll agree that the trolls didn’t steal the twins? Or Ran, or Eirik?”

  “No, but —”

  “Then this time, we’re at fault, and I’m not afraid to admit it. Lift the bar.”

  “But …” The words died on Hilde’s lips. She did as she was told.

  “Stand back!” commanded Gudrun. She marched out with the troll baby in her arms.

  A shout went up from the trolls. Looking over her mother’s shoulder, Hilde saw them swarming round the doorway, thick as angry bees. In front of Gudrun stood the troll princess, her wild hair floating out, a coronet of leaves slipping from her head, her slanted eyes flashing. “Aha!” she hissed.

  “Mammy!” said the troll baby feebly.

  “My precious princeling!” The troll princess snatched her child from Gudrun and squashed it against her bosom. “My little king!” She glared at Gudrun. “How dare you steal him from me?”

  “Mmmf. Mmmf.” The troll baby struggled to breathe. It bit. The princess loosened her clutch, squealing.

  “Mammy, don’t fuss,” it complained. “Anyway, it wasn’t her that took me. It was her children. No, stop it – get off…”

  It disappeared into another stifling embrace. The princess stepped forwards, snarling, “Your children stole my baby?”

  “He’s been perfectly safe,” Gudrun cried. “They meant no harm. They took your – your son – because they thought the trolls had stolen their own little brother and sister. Believe me, I’ve been as upset as you have.”

  A muffled howl came from the troll baby. It popped out its head, tousled and breathless, with crumpled ears. “Let go! I want those children, Mammy. I wanna – I wanna – I wanna play with them!” It bared its teeth and bit her again.

  “Ouch!” The troll princess snatched her fingers away. “Naughty little – poppet! It’s all in fun,” she added hastily to Gudrun. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  “Just so,” Gudrun agreed with an odd smile. The crowd of trolls pressed closer to the door, buzzing. The princess lashed her tail suspiciously, breathing hard. Gudrun maintained her smile. The troll baby crossed its eyes, sticking out a long purple tong
ue.

  Then the princess sprang forwards. Gudrun recoiled, stepping on Hilde’s toes. But the princess cast herself into Gudrun’s arms, crying dramatically, “I was wrong! My baby needs you. Your children shall be his little playmates. We must be friends. Who but a mother can understand a mother’s heart? Ah, the little ones. What a trial they are! How one suffers!”

  Open-mouthed, Hilde watched her mother patting the troll princess on the back, the troll baby awkwardly squished between them.

  “It’s your first, isn’t it?” Gudrun was asking. “Of course. Now don’t you worry, my dear, it’s – he’s – fine. Never mind his tantrums. He’s been fed, so he can’t be hungry. He’s – um – he’s very advanced for his age!”

  “Oh, do you think so?” The troll princess drew back and looked at her infant with tearful pride. “I was a little worried – he only has thirty teeth.”

  Ma clearly had things under control. Hilde slithered past her mother, out of the door, and threaded her way through the squeaking, jostling, chattering trolls. She broke into a run. She had to find Peer.

  Peer burst out of the woods and raced down the track to the mill. The wind blew the torch flames shrunken and small: he was afraid it would go out. He was afraid of tripping. He was afraid the Grimssons would catch him. Worst of all, he was afraid that they would give up the chase and go back to the farm.

  He reached the mill pond and risked a glance back. Were they behind him? Come on, come on! He jogged anxiously from foot to foot. Had he out-run his lumbering uncles?

  Start the mill! That would bring Uncle Baldur like a wasp to honey. He dashed up to the sluice and sidled along the pank. Holding the torch high, he pulled up the sluice gate one-handed: it came crookedly, and then jammed open. Water rushed through. With a creaking rumble, the mill clattered into life.

  Angry yells echoed from the edge of the wood. Peer bounded back to the path and ran to the bridge, where, suddenly inspired, he waved the torch over his head and shouted, “Come on, you fat fools!” They came thundering down the hill, and he ran into the yard and waited, head high, heart pounding. The torch drooped in his hand, and the flames crept upwards, unfurling bright yellow petals.