Or had this been Thorolf ’s house? He squinted about, but there was no clue to show who had been living here, no personal possessions, or bedding, or stores.
Something bounded through the rafters like a squirrel, carolling, “Ooh, a house, a house, a lovely house!”
It fetched up on a crossbeam just overhead, and peeped at Peer upside down, wispy hair trailing like old cobwebs.
“You like it?” asked Peer.
“A house!” the Nis sang. Hilde squinted up, but the Nis had scuffled into an angle of the rafters. “I likes it, Peer Ulfsson,” came its muffled voice, “but it needs – spring-cleaning!” And it flung a bird’s nest down at them, giggling.
“Well, the Nis approves.” Peer brushed twigs out of his hair. “What do you think?”
“I can’t wait to light the fire,” said Hilde. “Hot food tonight!”
“Sleeping under a roof, warm and dry!” said Peer.
They looked at each other and laughed. “I can’t wait to explore. It looks so wild and beautiful. No farms, no fields. No sheep, no cows, no villages…”
“No Thorolf.”
“He’ll turn up,” said Hilde optimistically. “You know, that first night on the ship, when Astrid told me about Harald and Gunnar being outlawed, I thought I’d made a terrible mistake. I thought we should never have come. But I like all of the men now, don’t you? Even Gunnar.”
“Except Harald,” said Peer.
“Except Harald,” Hilde agreed. “Come on, we’ve spent long enough in here. I wonder which house we’ll use. Shall we look at the other one?”
“Hey!” Peer raised his voice. “Nithing – want to see the other house?”
With a scuttle and a rush, the Nis was at the door. It scampered out, and Peer was surprised to see that dusk was falling. The sun had sunk below the hills, and the wooded slopes looked dark and mysterious. Down by the ship, the men had lit a fire on the shore. Around the flames, the evening turned a deeper blue. One side of Water Snake gleamed, her red and black strakes warm in the firelight. On her other side lay a black shadow double. The shadows were confusing, Peer thought. There seemed too many people criss-crossing in front of the fire.
“We should go and help,” said Hilde. “Look, they’re bringing things up already.” Someone was coming slowly up the path, as if stiff from weeks at sea. His face was indistinct in the dusk. He turned aside, heading for the other house. Hilde called out, “Hello! Is that one ours?”
Whoever it was made no reply, but turned in to the porch of the second house. Hilde shrugged. “He didn’t hear me. It must be that one.”
They walked across. Flat stones made a short path outside the door, which was shut. Peer lifted the latch. The Nis darted between his feet – and sprang back like a startled cat, all arched spine and splayed limbs. Peer saved himself by clutching at the doorpost. “What are you doing?” he cried.
The Nis was creeping backwards, bristling. “Not nice,” it squeaked. “Not a nice house at all, Peer Ulfsson. The other one is better!” It shook itself and shot decisively away.
With an odd feeling under his ribs, Peer shoved the door wide open and looked in. He didn’t step over the threshold. Hilde craned over his shoulder.
It was just like the first house. Same long fire pit, same smoke holes, same dusty-looking benches and line of dim posts leading to a doorway at the far end.
This house was colder than the first. The air felt disturbed, as though someone had recently passed through. But it was empty.
“Surely we saw —” Hilde broke off. “Or is he in the room at the far end?”
“In the dark? Hiding?” Peer looked at her. “Do you want to find out?”
“No,” said Hilde. “Let’s go.”
Peer tugged the door shut. “I agree with the Nis. I like the other house better.”
Not quite running, they hurried back past the first of the houses. The fire crackling merrily on the beach looked like a beacon of safety.
Magnus and Halfdan were struggling over the rise, carrying a big chest. They put it down, wiping their faces, and Magnus sat on it.
“That looks heavy,” Hilde called. No one but Peer would have noticed the slight quaver in her voice.
“Women’s stuff,” Magnus sniffed. “Bedlinen. And clothes.” He looked past the houses at the steep woods, and shivered. “I’d forgotten the forest was so close. Looks like it’s got nearer. Looks like —” He stopped.
“What?”
“Like it’s watching us.” Magnus laughed to show he didn’t really think so, but Hilde and Peer both turned to look back at the dark rampart of trees.
Hilde froze. “Peer. What’s that, by the second house?”
It was hard to be sure – a blackish blur that could be a tall shrub, or a forgotten woodpile. But it looked like a man, standing silently beside the door of the furthest house.
Magnus sucked air through his remaining teeth.
“I see what you mean,” said Peer with dry lips. “But I think it’s just the shadow of the porch.”
Floki arrived, bent double under a sack. Behind him Gunnar and Astrid walked together. “Aye, aye, it all looks much as it did,” Gunnar said to her, sniffing the air like an old dog. “I remember —”
He stopped and seemed to choke. Astrid caught his arm. “There…” he croaked, staring up the slope. “Who’s that – in the doorway?”
The man was gone as he spoke. Peer was sure now it was only the shadow of the porch. Yet the house door was slowly opening, swinging back in a gesture of invitation. Come in.
“Peer, you didn’t shut that door,” said Hilde, alarmed by Gunnar’s face. Gunnar turned straining eyes on Peer.
“Yes I did,” Peer blurted.
“I latched it.”
Gunnar stumbled like a deer with an arrow in its heart. He clutched Astrid’s shoulder. Her breath hissed as she braced him.
A white moon was rising out of the sea. The temperature was dropping. Down in the marshes a duck quacked sharply. From somewhere in the shaggy hills came a distant, thin howl. Wolf?
Loki pricked his ears. Magnus and Halfdan stood tensely by the chest. They made no move to pick it up again. Their breath came in clouds. Floki, who had dropped his sack, looked round as if wondering whether to run back to the ship.
Harald came loping up towards them. “What’s wrong?”
Gunnar’s teeth clacked. “I – I’m not well.”
Harald pushed Astrid aside, dragging his father’s arm over his shoulders. “You heard!” he snapped at the others. “I’ll get him indoors. You women – make a fire in the house. Our own house, the first one,” he added roughly, seeing Hilde about to ask. “The rest of you bring the stuff up from the ship.”
Peer lay on his back, unable to sleep. Odd to lie on a bed that didn’t move – odd to look up at a roof – odd to smell smoke after weeks of cold fresh air.
Gunnar and Astrid had retired into the little room at the end of the house. They had a grand bed, which had been brought up in pieces from the ship and slotted together. Astrid had covered it with linen sheets, a goosefeather bolster and woollen blankets. Hilde was shut in with them, away from the men, in a small closet bed panelled off from the rest of their room. Peer felt sorry for her. He was glad to be out here in the hall where the fire had a chance of warming the air.
The house was so cold. They’d piled branches and logs in the hearth and kindled an enormous blaze, but it would take days for the thick sod walls to warm through. The smoke hung in the rafters as though it couldn’t remember the way out.
Around him his shipmates talked in whispers.
“…the skipper looks bad…”
“…what d’you think he saw?”
“…any door can swing open…”
“…aye, but it’s odd it happened just then…”
“…he does look bad…”
“…the cold curse…”
“…d’you think it’s the skipper it’s after, or all of us?”
“…shut up, Floki, I keep telling you…”
At last the whispers died and the snores took over. Peer turned on his side and watched the fire sink to a blue and yllow flicker over whispering embers. Every so often, the powdery grey wood-ash tumbled, opening gashes of glowing red. Then, across the hearth, apple-green eyes gleamed. The Nis crept out on to the hearthstones, warming its spindly hands.
It was a comforting sight. At least we got here, all of us, alive and well. He tried to keep watching the Nis. But sleep pounced on him like a hunting cat, and tossed him away into oblivion.
Chapter 53
Seidr
HILDE LAY AWAKE in her cramped little closet. It was hardly more than a hole in the wall with a wooden lining. The bed – a straw mattress on planks – wasn’t long enough to stretch out on. If she lay down, she had to curl up. The bedding, like the mattress, had come from the ship. Both were slightly damp and smelled of sea water.
It was pitch-black, not a scrap of light, and her toes were freezing. She envied Peer, asleep in the fire hall. She lay rubbing her feet together and wondered if she dared creep out to warm herself at the hearth. Surely the men would be asleep by now? But what about Astrid and Gunnar?
She fumbled for the edge of the panel and slid it back a few inches. It was as dark out there as it was in here: and just as cold. She listened for the sound of quiet breathing that would tell her Gunnar and Astrid were asleep.
Only they weren’t; they were muttering together. Hilde tried to drag the panel closed again, but it stuck. She tugged at it, hearing Astrid murmur, “Gunnar, you mustn’t fret. I’ll look after you.”
Gunnar said unsteadily – it sounded as if his teeth were still chattering – “How c-can you protect me?”
Hilde paused silently. She knew she shouldn’t, but she had to listen to this.
“You men never know how to do things,” said Astrid. “You should have run needles into his feet after he was shrouded. That would have stopped him walking.”
Hilde went cold all over. Is this Erlend she’s talking about? Gunnar’s laugh turned into a cough. “We didn’t bother with shrouds. Besides, it’s too late now.” He was silent, shivering – Hilde heard the air hissing between his teeth. “I saw him on the ship,” he whispered suddenly. “All swollen up and black.”
“Hush!”
“If – if anything does come, Harald’s sleeping in front of the doorway.”
Is he, indeed? Hilde thanked her stars she hadn’t gone creeping out.
“And what can Harald do?” Astrid said softly. “You need me.”
“I can’t sleep. I daren’t sleep.”
“You can, and you will. There are ways. If you trust me.”
“You’re – my wife,” said Gunnar. Then came an odd sound, which puzzled Hilde, till she realised, her fingers curling, that it was a kiss. There’d been no intimacy on the ship. She’d never seen Gunnar kissing Astrid, or Astrid kissing Gunnar. But in private of course they would. Frantically she wrenched at the panel. It wouldn’t budge.
“Gunnar,” said Astrid on a deep, purring note, “give me your soul.”
Hilde’s heart almost stopped. Gunnar mumbled something; it sounded like, “How?” or “Why?”
Astrid whispered rapidly, “Because I can take it from your lips with your breath, and keep it safe. I’ll hide it away where no one can find it. I’ll lock it round with charms. No ghost can touch you then. You’ll sleep safe. No dreams. Nothing will harm you…”
Her voice sank away. There was a long, busy silence. At last Astrid murmured, “Hush. Sleep. Sleep.”
Gunnar didn’t answer. Soon afterwards Hilde heard a gentle snore.
The bedroom was still dark, but she heard the bedclothes stir, and a quiet footfall on the earth floor. She held her breath. In a moment she heard Astrid whispering very softly, “Those who sleep, sleep on still. Those who wake, wake.” The outer door creaked. A rosy glow of firelight brightened the room, and Hilde caught sight of Astrid’s dark shape slipping through the door. She must be stepping right over Harald, if he lay across the threshold. Moments later she returned, carrying a smoking stick with a glowing end. She pushed the door shut, and stopped.
She’s seen the open panel.
But what Astrid could see would be a black gap in the wall. Hilde shut her eyes and breathed evenly. Brightness shone through her closed lids. She felt the heat of the glowing stick very near her face. She kept still – not afraid, but intensely curious.
The stick was withdrawn. Darkness and cold returned. Hilde’s eyes flew open. Astrid was on the other side of the room, using the stick to light a shallow oil lamp. Now a single flame twinkled star-like in the gloom.
Astrid sat on the bed. From under the bolster she pulled out her goatskin bag, and hugged it to herself. She reached in, and drew out something small and square that gleamed bone-yellow. Hilde thought she knew what it was. She wriggled a little closer to the panel.
Yes. The little buzzing box.
But Astrid set it aside and reached into the bag again. This time she came out with a package wrapped in a linen cloth. She undid the linen, and inside was a mass of sheepswool. From the middle of the sheepswool she picked out something small and held it to the light. Now Hilde could see what it was: a hollow bird’s egg that gleamed half-transparent against the flame. With gentle fingers Astrid lifted the egg to her lips. She seemed to blow into it, a single puff. Pattering out some charm under her breath she pulled the wool around the eggshell, and rewrapped it in the linen. Briskly now, as though everything was complete, she popped package and box back into her bag and slipped the bag back under the bolster. She reached for the oil lamp and pinched out the flame. Blackness flooded back.
Hilde knew what she’d seen. It was seidr – magic, that Astrid had been practising. She didn’t know if she believed in it or not: or whether Astrid did. The important thing was that if Gunnar believed his soul was safely hidden, he’d be less afraid – of ghosts, or whatever he thought was threatening him.
She curled up, shivering. Why shouldn’t Astrid look after Gunnar? But it was all so black and secret. “You should have run needles into his feet before he was shrouded.” Hilde shuddered. How can she talk like that? How does she even know such a thing?
She remembered how Astrid had said, “There’s troll blood in me,” and, “Of course I tell lies – how else do I get what I want?”
What did Astrid want? Could you ever trust somebody with troll blood?
Hilde woke with a jerk of panic. Why was it so dark? She flung out a hand and felt it knock against wood.
Someone knocked back. “Did you sleep soundly?” It was Astrid. She was carrying the oil lamp, and its flame reflected little points of fire in her eyes.
Hilde sat up. She was about to say, not very well. Then she thought Astrid might have reasons for asking. “Yes, thanks,” she said cautiously, rubbing a cricked neck. “Is it early? It’s so dark.”
“Only in here,” said Astrid. “It’s light outside. And the fire’s burning well in the hall. Listen, Gunnar’s feverish. He should stay in bed. Boil some water for me, will you? I’ll make him another drink of willowbark.”
Chilled and stiff, Hilde came out into the fire hall. It smelled of warm smoke and salty, sweaty men. Harald, Peer and Tjørvi were up. The rest were still in their blankets. Harald was combing his hair. Tjørvi sat cross-legged on the bench, spooning groute from a wooden bowl. Peer was putting more wood on the fire. He looked up at her, his fair hair ruffled, a streak of charcoal on his forehead, and his face lit with sweet, uncomplicated pleasure.
Hilde was used to people being glad to see her. Back at home, Ma, Pa, the twins, even the babies, greeted her every morning with loving warmth. Even the quarrels were loving quarrels. She’d never thought about it. She’d taken it for granted.
Now, after a night spent in Astrid and Gunnar’s cold, dark room, here was Peer, simply happy to see her, and showing it. It was like stepping into sunlight and fresh air. A stra
nge thought crossed her mind. We belong together.
“Hilde.” He kicked a log further into the flames and came towards her. There was golden down on his jaw, the soft beginnings of a beard. His lanky frame was filling out: he was broader across the shoulders than she’d thought: he moved lightly, with grace. I once said he looked like a heron. Not any more...
“Hilde?” he asked, puzzled.
She jumped. How long had she been staring at him, dumb as a post?
“Is something wrong?” He threw a glance at the dark doorway behind her, ready to tackle anyone who might have upset her.
“I’m fine.” She pulled herself together. “I’m fine, but Gunnar’s not well. Astrid says he shouldn’t get up.”
“Still ill?” Harald looked up sharply. “You should have said so at once!” He vanished into the far room with a swirl of his cloak. Hilde and Peer crowded around the door.
Gunnar sat facing them, leaning against the headboard, red-eyed and pale-faced, wrapped in his wolfskin cloak. Astrid sat on the bedside, singing softly.
Harald gave her a dark glance and knelt on the other side of the bed. “Father,” his voice was full of tender respect, “can’t you get up?”
“He’d much better not,” said Astrid.
“I didn’t ask you,” said Harald, with a snap. “Father?”
“I – I tried.” Gunnar lifted his hand to his throat as if it hurt. “Dizzy. Listen, son…” He muttered hoarse instructions. “Water Snake’s boat should be unloaded for use in the river. Some of the men should go hunting…”
“Yes, father. But get up! Don’t lie in bed like a woman. Fight it off. Get out into the sunshine.”
“Fight it off?” said Astrid scornfully. “How can he do that? There are things you can’t fight with a sword, Harald.” Her voice dropped into a sinister sing-song. “Bodiless things. Insubstantial things. Things you had better leave to me.”
“What – things?” said Harald between his teeth.
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