West of the Moon

by Katherine Langrish

  “I saw it!” came a cry from the darkness beyond the sail. Everyone froze. Peer came scrambling along the side, skirting the hold. “It’s all right,” he gasped. “It was only a seagull. A huge one, with great flapping wings – must have been attracted by our lantern.”

  Hilde shut her eyes and crossed her fingers. Gunnar stared; the men broke into raucous disbelief. “A gull?” “Never!” “That was no gull – no gull screams like that!”

  “It was a just a gull!” Peer shouted. “Look!” He held up a fistful of white feathers, then opened his fingers and let the wind pick them away. “Didn’t you see it, Astrid?”

  Astrid was on her feet now. “Me? Oh, yes! My goodness, it frightened me, it flew right in front of my face. Its wings must have been six feet across!”

  “Not as big as that,” Hilde joined in, scowling. Stupid girl, why does she have to exaggerate? “Maybe four feet.”

  “You saw it too?” Gunnar said slowly.

  Hilde returned his stare, eye to eye. “How could you miss it?”

  “All right. All right!” Gunnar swung round. “A bird, lads, a great stupid bird.” He clapped his good hand across his eyes, rubbing it to and fro, gritting his teeth as though in pain. “A gull!” he gasped. Laughing or crying? His whole body shook.

  Astrid threw her cloak around him. “Come with me, Gunnar, I’ll give you something to make you sleep.” He grabbed her and for a moment buried his head against her neck like a child hiding its face. Astrid patted his shoulder. She led him away.

  Halfdan coughed, apologising to Harald. “I’m sorry, master. I don’t rightly know what I was thinking. I had such a shock when that great bird flew right over my head – sort of whirled round me, like, screaming…”

  Hilde bit down a nervous giggle. Soon everyone would think they’d seen it.

  “All right, Halfdan.” Harald strode down the deck and dragged Peer aside. “That was no gull,” he said in a low, hard voice.

  “You saw the feathers,” Peer said, his face unmoving.

  “From a distance. Before they blew away. And I happen to remember that we have a white hen on board.”

  Hilde edged closer. Peer said, “What are you saying? You think I would open the coops, grab a couple of chickens, pull out their feathers, and then come and tell a story about a seagull? Why would I do that?”

  An uncertain flicker crossed Harald’s face.

  “Gunnar seems glad to think it was only a gull,” Peer pressed on. “What else could it have been?”

  Harald’s eyes narrowed. His fingers tightened on Peer’s arm. “Let’s leave my father out of it, Barelegs. I don’t know what it was, but I think you do; and I hope it’s no longer on this ship, because if I find it I’m going to kill it. And it was no seagull.”

  He glared at Peer and swung away.

  “Why does he call you that – Barelegs?” asked Hilde angrily.

  “He does it to annoy me.” Peer sounded exhausted. “I’d better get back on duty.”

  “Using the feathers was a great idea. Where’s the Nis?”

  “Hiding in the chicken coop.” Peer’s voice was suddenly furious. “It’s terrified. Miserable. What was Astrid thinking of, to bring it here?”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out next,” said Hilde.

  The two of them were standing close together. She couldn’t see Peer’s face very well – he was just a dark shape against the sky – but he moved towards her. She had the feeling he was about to say something more. But a second later he just said, “Good luck,” and went off forward.

  She climbed into the sleeping sack with a lot less care than the first time. Astrid was already there again, lying on her side. Hilde poked her.

  “You stole the Nis.”

  “Bravo,” said Astrid in a muffled voice, her arm across her face.

  “Kidnapped it. What did you do? Drug it?”

  “I put a tiny, tiny bit of henbane in the groute, to make it sleep,” said Astrid indignantly. “That’s all. And then I very carefully scooped it into my bag. It had a nice snooze, and woke up a little while ago.”

  “Stuffed at the bottom of the sleeping sack. How could you? And why? It belongs at home. The Nis would never, never want to cross the sea!”

  “I brought it because it will be useful,” Astrid whispered. “Wait till we get to Vinland, that’s all. Who’ll be doing the housework? We will, the only women. Cooking? You and me. Collecting firewood, carrying water? Us again. The men will be hunting and trapping for furs – guess who’ll be cleaning the hides? Believe me, you’ll be glad of some extra help.”

  “The Nis is a person, not a thing. You can’t force it to help you! And what will my mother think when she finds it’s disappeared?”

  “Oh, stop complaining.” Astrid sounded sour. “If she’s as fond of you as she pretends to be, she’ll be glad you’ve got it. I think it was very clever of me to bring the Nis.”

  “Clever?” Hilde’s voice rose. “What about the fuss we’ve just had? If it hadn’t been for Peer —”

  “I approve of that boy,” said Astrid. “He thinks quickly.”

  “I don’t suppose he approves of you. The Nis should go home.”

  “Tell Gunnar to turn the ship round, then.”

  “I know it’s too late for that,” said Hilde angrily. “But when I go home next summer, the Nis will come with me.”

  “But you won’t be going home.”

  “Of course I… What do you mean?”

  Astrid gave a brittle laugh. “Well, you may go home, of course. Eventually. But it won’t be next year, or the year after that, or —”

  “What do you mean?”

  Astrid stuck her face close to Hilde’s. “Gunnar and Harald are outlaws. They wouldn’t pay the blood price for the man they killed in Westfold, so they’ve been outlawed for five years. That’s why we’re going to Vinland. Now you know.”

  The ship pitched, and Hilde’s stomach seemed to pitch sickeningly with it. Five years?

  “Who else knows?” she got out. “Arne?”

  “Arne? Why Arne? Oh, you think he should have told you, because he likes you? Well maybe you’d better marry him. Because we’ll be living in Vinland for a very long time.” She turned away from Hilde with a heave and a flounce, and lay still.

  Hilde wanted to spring up and rush to tell Peer. She forced herself to lie still, biting her knuckles, thinking furiously.

  It could be true. It must be. But she’s lying about Arne. If he knew Gunnar was outlawed, he’d never have sailed with him.

  Five years!

  She became aware of a fine tremor running through Astrid from head to foot.

  She’s crying.

  Let her cry.

  But she put out a quiet hand. Astrid flinched and froze. “What’s the matter?” Hilde whispered, knowing it was a stupid question.

  “I suppose you hate me,” Astrid muttered.

  Hilde was still very angry. “You should have told the truth.”

  “You were warned.” Astrid twisted round like an eel. “I told you I’m part troll. Of course I tell lies and steal things. How else can I get what I want?”

  “And you’ve got it, have you? Is this what you wanted?”

  “I never get anything I want,” said Astrid bitterly. “It’s always the same. If I like someone, I lose them.”

  Hilde remembered how Astrid had hinted before at someone she’d loved and lost. She said more gently, “Was there really someone you wanted to marry before your father made you marry Gunnar?”

  “Yes,” Astrid sniffed.

  “What was he called?”

  “Erlend,” said Astrid. “Erlend Asmundsson. But now he’s dead.”

  “Dead!” Hilde fell silent. Something in Astrid’s gruff voice suggested an awful possibility. “Astrid. The man Harald killed in Westfold – in the fight when Gunnar lost his hand —”

  “Well?”

  Hilde hardly dared say it. “He wasn’t the same person, was he? I me
an – he wasn’t Erlend? He wasn’t killed in a quarrel over you?”

  For a couple of heartbeats Astrid was very still. It was too dark to see her face. At last she sighed: a long, silent, stealthy breath.

  “You’ve guessed,” she whispered softly. “He was. Yes, he was. That’s exactly what happened.”

  Chapter 48

  The Nis at Sea

  “NIS!” PEER CROUCHED on the cargo, trying to see into the chicken coop. His blood was racing. I faced down Harald.

  More than that – standing next to Hilde in the dark, he’d nearly kissed her. At the last moment, he’d lost his nerve. What if she protested, shoved him away? Everyone would know.

  He was furious with himself. So much for those bold resolutions to behave as he felt. Well, he couldn’t cope with it now. He bundled the thoughts away and tried to concentrate on the Nis. He had to get it out of this coop. In the darkness he could only make out a whitish frill of feathers here, the glint of an eye there. The hens crooned softly, weird burbling sounds. But he thought he could also detect quick, shallow breathing.

  “Nis, it’s me, Peer. It’s all right.”

  Loki lurked behind him, interested and suspicious. Peer pushed him. “Go and lie down. I can’t have you upsetting the Nis now. Go!” Loki backed reluctantly away.

  “Nis, do come out,” Peer pleaded. “If I stay here much longer, someone will notice, and we need to talk. I have to explain what’s happening.”

  No reply.

  “All right, come and find me. I’ll be in the prow, by myself – that’s the pointed bit with the dragon head,” he added. “But don’t leave it too long, or they’ll change the watch, and somebody else will be there.”

  Before he could move, a sliver of a voice whimpered, “Wait…”

  “I am waiting,” Peer said after a moment, as patiently as he could.

  “Has there been a flood?” the voice quavered.

  “A flood? All this water? That’s not a flood, Nis, it’s the sea. We’re at sea.”

  No answer, though a hen squawked, as though someone had startled it with a sharp movement.

  “In a boat,” Peer amplified. “I know it’s very frightening for you, but come out and let me tell you how it happened.”

  A moment later, the hens rustled again. From under their feathers a small shadow scuttled on all fours. It slipped between the bars of the coop.

  Peer led the way into the windy bows. Up here it was like balancing on a high seesaw. Spray flew past the dragon neck, and the decking was wet. He tucked himself into the angle below the dragon, next to the anchor, and the Nis actually climbed into his lap. Loki pressed jealously against Peer’s knees, grumbling. Peer gently rubbed the little creature’s shoulders, feeling the tiny knobbles of its backbone under its ragged grey clothes. Its heart was jumping in its sides. The wind messed its wispy hair, and it had lost its little red hat.

  “Where am I?” it wailed. “Why is I here? One minute I was supping up my groute, Peer Ulfsson, nice groute with butter and a bit of cream – and the next, I wakes up in the dark bag, all hot and smothery, and then I gets out, and there’s no house, and no hills. Where’s Troll Fell, Peer Ulfsson? Where’s home?”

  “Good question,” Peer muttered. He tried to explain. “We’re a long way from home, Nis. How much did you overhear, last night? This ship is going to Vinland…”

  The Nis listened fearfully. At last it interrupted. “But how did I get here, Peer Ulfsson?”

  Peer hesitated; he knew the Nis wouldn’t like this. “I’m afraid Astrid stole you. I think she must have put something in your food.”

  “In – my – food?” the Nis repeated slowly, swelling. In the darkness its eyes were two angry sparks. “Something in my food, my lovely food that the mistress gives me?” Peer nodded.

  The Nis took a deep breath, but at that moment Loki lost control of himself and lunged at it. With a terrified shriek, the Nis hopped up to the base of the dragon neck, where it crouched precariously, holding on by the forestay.

  “Get down from there,” Peer cried. “Look out!”

  “Keep that dog off me,” panted the Nis, “or … Oooh!” It leaped for the deck as the prow plunged into a big wave, and spray soaked them.

  The Nis curled on the planking like a drowned spider, coughing and wailing. Loki tried to pounce on it. Peer grabbed his collar. “Sit!” he ordered angrily.

  The Nis had been drugged, kidnapped, made to look a fool, and finally drenched. How could he salve its wounded pride? Then he saw someone clambering towards him from the waist of the ship. By the size of the silhouette, it was Big Tjørvi. There wasn’t a moment to lose. Peer tore open his thick jerkin and the linen shirt under it, scooped up the limp Nis, and stuffed it out of sight against his skin. He’d done the same thing with orphaned lambs in bad weather, and the Nis was no bigger.

  “Off you go, son.” Tjørvi patted him on the shoulder. “Your turn to sleep.” Peer was grateful for the friendly tone. He would have stayed and talked, but he was afraid Tjørvi would notice the lump he was clasping to his chest. And the Nis squirmed about, and trickles of sea water ran down under his clothes.

  He unrolled his sleeping sack one-handed and slithered in, cold and damp. What a good thing he had a sack of his own and didn’t have to share with another of the men! He made a space for Loki, who crept in and turned around. The Nis crawled out of his jerkin and wrung out its beard, snivelling. Loki growled. Peer grabbed his muzzle. “Loki, stop it,” he said in a low, fierce voice. “From now on, you and the Nis have got to be friends.”

  The Nis huddled against him, dabbing at itself like a wet cat. Peer gave Loki a warning tap on the nose, and released him. “Bad dog!” he added for good measure. Loki flattened himself in shame.

  “Nis,” Peer began, “I’m really sorry this has happened, but I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.” As he said it, he realised he meant it. “Hilde will be glad too. We’re going to need all the friends we can get.” He added, hoping the Nis would be pleased, “Do you know you just scared everyone on board nearly to death? They all thought you were some kind of – I don’t know, ghost or evil spirit, or something.”

  But the Nis took offence. “I was never bad, Peer Ulfsson, I never does anything but sweep the house and help, and I doesn’t deserve to be taken away and put in a bag. And I doesn’t like ghosts. All stiff and cold, they are, and they make nasty sliding draughts.”

  Icy fingertips tickled Peer’s neck. He said hastily, “Oh, come on, Nis, you know you enjoy playing tricks.” The Nis sniffed.

  “I bet you’re the first Nis in the world who has ever gone to sea,” Peer went on. “Imagine that, the very first!” Inspired, he added, “You should have a special name. People who do important things always get given special names. Like Thorolf. They call him ‘The Seafarer,’ because he’s such a good sailor.”

  The Nis stared at him, dewdrop eyes luminous with excitement. “Could I really, Peer Ulfsson? Could I really be called that?”

  “‘Nithing the Seafarer’?” Peer asked. “Yes, why not?”

  “‘Nithing the Seafarer’,” the Nis breathed. It did a little hop.

  “That’s right,” Peer said, smiling. “And when we get to Vinland you’ll meet Thorolf, and you’ll see he’s a real hero, a real sailor – and you’ll be a hero too. But listen. You mustn’t let Harald or Gunnar or the others on this ship see you. Harald’s dangerous, Nis. If he finds you, he’ll try and kill you. He told me so.”

  “Don’t worry, Peer Ulfsson.” The Nis had completely recovered its spirits. “They can’t catch me,” it boasted. “Nithing the Seafarer is too quick, too clever.”

  Peer said no more. He didn’t want to frighten the Nis, and he reckoned it could keep out of sight if it tried – there were plenty of hiding places on board. He yawned. With three of them in it, the sleeping sack was beginning to feel steamily warm, though reeking of salty wet dog. He was dropping asleep, when the Nis jerked and wriggled. He forced his eyes open
– and held his breath. The disgraced Loki had wormed his way so close to the Nis that he was nosing its fluffy hair. His tongue flicked out in an apologetic lick – and another – and to Peer’s utter astonishment the Nis cuddled contentedly against Loki’s side and allowed the dog to go on washing him with repetitive strokes of his long warm tongue.

  Friends at last! Deeply relieved, Peer closed his eyes. A moment later, he was fast asleep.

  “Lee-oh! Let go and haul!”

  A wet rope whipped through a hole in the gunwale, scattering icy water into Peer’s hair. Someone jumped over him – he got a good view of a pair of boots just missing his head. Up in the sky, as it seemed, the yard changed angle as the men on the braces hauled it round. Peer felt the deck tip as the ship heeled and the sail filled. Gunnar was putting Water Snake on to the port tack.

  Peer hadn’t slept for more than a few hours, but it was too uncomfortable to lie there any longer. There was no sign of the Nis. He dragged a reluctant Loki out of his warm nest, rolled up the sack, and looked around.

  Dawn was in the sky. Water Snake rode over broad grey swells, leaving a wake like a long furrow drawn across the sea. Most of the crew were up, but no one seemed inclined to talk. Magnus stood at the tiller. He nodded to Peer and spat over the side. “I hate the first night at sea,” he yawned, “and that one was worse than most.” Peer grinned wanly. Gunnar stood bundled in his cloak on the port side, brooding.

  “G’morning,” said Hilde. He turned. She looked pale and moved stiffly. Her hair was tousled. She had wrapped herself in a brown shawl, and the tip of her nose was pink with cold. He wanted to hug her to his side and warm her up. But would that be lover-like, or brotherly, or just plain affectionate? He didn’t know. And suddenly he didn’t care.

  “You look frozen,” he said. “Want to share my cloak?”

  Hilde leaned on him and shivered. “What wouldn’t I gve,” she said through chattering teeth, “to be standing over a nice hot fire?”

  “Sorry you came?” said Peer, half-teasing.