Troll Mill (13 page)

Back in the house, a steady lapping came from the bowl under the table. Gudrun smiled to herself and pretended to pay no attention. Then, as she built up the fire, one
of the cats strolled out from under the table, licking her whiskers.

Gudrun’s hands flew to her face. “Oh, my goodness!” she wailed. The Nis was fiercely protective of its food. All the household animals had learned to stay well clear of its dish, on pain of pinched ears and tweaked whiskers. The complacent cat sat down by the hearth for a good wash—and Gudrun knew that the Nis had gone.

Run away? For good?
She turned to the door quickly, with the idea of calling it back. But before she got there, the door flew open and the twins tumbled in with Alf, slamming it behind them.

“Ma!” Sigrid grabbed her with cold hands. “There are trolls in the wood! We saw a little dark thing slinking between the trees!”

“Trolls? Why, no, that could be the Nis,” said Gudrun. “Which way was it going? It’s been very naughty!”

“The Nis?” Sigrid’s face cleared. “It was going down toward the mill. What’s it done?”

“Only spilt the broth! Only thrown soot all over the place!”

Sigurd’s face was a mixture of awe and
amusement. He nudged his sister. “What would Ma do to us if we were that bad?”

“It wasn’t funny,” Gudrun began, but she was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“I’ll go!” cried Sigurd, before Gudrun could speak. Using both hands, he lifted the latch and opened the door a few inches, blocking it with his body.

Gudrun and Sigrid tried to see past, but all they could hear was a low mumble from outside and Sigurd’s polite answers:

“Yes, this is Ralf Eiriksson’s house. I’m his son.

“A new baby? Yes, we have!

“I don’t know, I’ll ask.”

He turned, holding the door half open. “It’s an old lady, Ma. She wants to see the baby. Can she come in?”

For the rest of her life, Gudrun wondered what stopped her from saying yes. Had it been Alf, stiffly facing the door with his lips raised over his teeth? Or the damp draft, flowing into the house like a breath from the weedy bottom of a well? Or had she simply felt unwilling to let a stranger into the house after sunset? Whatever the reason, she placed
a hand on Sigurd’s shoulder, moved him aside, and confronted the visitor herself.

And indeed it was only an old woman leaning on a stick. Her bent body was a dark outline against the last of the light, and a greenish-black scarf was wrapped tightly around her head. All Gudrun could see of her face was her eyes, glittering like two stars reflected in dark water.

“Good evening to you,” said the old woman with a sly chuckle. “That’s a fine boy you have there, mistress. A handsome fellow. And the little girl, too. I was watching them, the pretty pair, as I came up through the wood. Running ahead, they were, and never saw me. Aren’t you afraid to let them play so late?”

“Who are you? What do you want?” Gudrun asked.

“I’ve been told about this baby you’ve taken in, mistress. I’d like to see the bairn.”

Gudrun shook her head. “She’s asleep, and I won’t wake her.”

“Old granny won’t wake her, dearie! I’ve rocked many a baby to sleep.”

“I can’t let you in, I’m too busy,” said Gudrun. “Good night.” She tried to close the
door, but the old woman thrust her stick in the way and leaned her weight on it. “Busy? Of course you are. A mother’s always busy. You look tired, mistress—white and pinched. And no wonder, wearing yourself out looking after all these children, and a man who’s always roaming, never home.”

“He’ll be home soon enough,” said Gudrun. She pushed at the door, but the old woman’s stick appeared to have taken root and Gudrun couldn’t shift it.

“And isn’t it good of you to take in another bairn,” crooned the old woman. “Another mouth to feed. Another child to wake you at night and chain you to the house by day, to be cleaned and carried and nursed and sung to.”

Gudrun bit her lip.

The old woman shifted her grip on the stick. Her voice dropped. “I know how you feel, my dearie. I know the black hour in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep for the crying child and you’re like to drop from weariness. I know your bones ache to the very marrow. I know your heart sank when the boy brought this baby home.”

“N-no!” Gudrun stammered. The numbing
draft blew around her, colder and colder, and the sweetish, rotten smell grew stronger.

The old woman leaned forward. “And who could blame you?” she muttered. “After all, the child isn’t yours. She’s barely human. The offspring of a fisherman and a seal-woman? The seal-folk don’t want her. As for the fisherman—every time he looks at her, he’ll be reminded of what he’s lost. Give her to me!”

Barely human?
Gudrun’s skin stung at the remembered touch of Ran’s cold little fingers. She clutched at her breast.

“Give her to me, mistress,” coaxed the old woman. “I’ll take good care of her. The stream can sing to her all night. She’ll have the softest, softest cradle. Her own mother didn’t want her. Let me take up the burden. She’s no good to you!”

Gudrun struggled. Behind her, Sigurd crouched on the floor like a rabbit facing a stoat. Alf was growling steadily. There seemed to be a high-pitched ringing in her ears, singing
danger, danger.
“Why do you want her?” she gasped.

“Because nobody else does,”
hissed the old woman. “I look after all the unwanted ones.
They come to me for a little comfort and a long sleep. And I’m lonely, mistress. You have plenty. Give me the child to rock to my bosom at night.”

Gudrun couldn’t breathe. Her head hurt. In the quiet she heard water dripping. She looked down at where a pair of very large bare feet protruded from the hem of the old woman’s dark dress. They were gnarled and sinewy and streaked with mud, and seemed to be a greenish color. And water leaked around them, pooling and spreading.

“Let me in,” whispered the old woman. One of those big, wet feet shuffled forward over the threshold.

As hard as she could, Gudrun stamped on it.

The old woman yelled and snatched her foot back. Gudrun fell against the door. She slammed it shut and began dragging the heavy wooden bar across. “Help me, twins!” Sigurd flung himself alongside her. The bar clattered into the slots. Sigurd yelped and sucked his thumb. There was a shriek from outside.

“Very well, my fine mistress! We’ll see! You’ll soon weary of a bairn that’s half a seal
pup out of the sea. She’ll come to me at last, to darkness under the water. And I’ll dandle her in my arms….”

Gudrun and Sigurd huddled against the door, panting and listening. Sigurd clung to her waist, and she put her arm around him and hugged him tightly. Her hair was coming down, and she swiped a strand out of her eyes and looked up across the room.

Sigrid was backed up against the far wall, with Ran in her arms. Her eyes were wild, her lips trembled, but she held the baby firmly and defiantly.

“Has that thing gone? It can’t have her, Mamma. It can’t have her!”

“Yes, yes, it’s gone,” soothed Gudrun. There were no more sounds from outside, but she wasn’t going to open the door and check. She let go of Sigurd and came toward Sigrid, her arms out. “That’s right, Sigrid! She’s our baby! It can’t have her!”

Her knees gave way suddenly, and she sank to the ground.

THE NIS IN DISGRACE

P
EER
, H
ILDE, AND
Ralf stopped on the doorstep to take off their boots. Ralf tried the door and then thumped on it. “We’re back!” he called cheerfully.

There was a muffled cry from inside, followed by bumping and crashing as Gudrun and the children unbarred the door. Their pale faces came peeping around it. “Ralf!” Gudrun wailed.

Ralf made for her at once, one boot on and one off. “What’s wrong?” His arms went around her in a solid and comforting hug. Gudrun clutched him.

“Granny Green-teeth has been here!”

“Granny Green-teeth?” Hilde screeched.

“What?” exclaimed Ralf. “Now wait a minute, Gudrun, calm down. What happened?
Tell me quietly.”

Gudrun gripped his hand. “An old woman came to the door. She was dripping all over the doorstep. See, it’s still wet! She came for Ran. She wanted to take her away. I wouldn’t let her in. Oh, Ralf! I stamped on her foot!”

Ralf began to laugh. “You stamped on old Granny Green-teeth? Good for you! My word, the sparks must have flown.”

Instead of answering, Gudrun gulped on a sob. Ralf looked into her face.

“I’m sorry.” He hugged her again. “I’m a fool. I wish I’d been here. But you’re safe, and I’m proud of you. Proud of you!”

Gudrun cried into his shoulder. Then she pulled herself together and stood back, wiping her eyes. “The twins were so brave! Sigurd helped me bar the door, and Sigrid—why, she picked up little Ran and stood there like a—a …”

“A mother wolf!” supplied Sigurd, and Sigrid dissolved into shaky giggles. She was still holding Ran. Her arms were trembling, and she kept hoisting the baby up.

“Give me that child, she’s too heavy for you.” Hilde lifted the baby away from her
little sister. Sigrid sat down thankfully.

“Tell them what we heard—Granny Green-teeth talking with the lubbers,” Peer whispered to Hilde.

“I’m not telling the twins about that,” Hilde whispered back. “They’re scared enough already. But however did Granny Green-teeth find out about Ran?”

Gudrun heard the question. “I think I know!” she cried, nodding.

“Just let me get my other boot off, and then tell us everything.” Ralf turned to shut the door, but before he could close it, something small shot in from outside and hurtled between his legs. He gasped and swore. “What in thunder …?”

Over by the fire, the cat puffed out her fur with a horrible shriek. She rose up in an arch, spat, and dashed outside. Under the table something thumped and clattered and fizzed. The Nis’s empty dish came careering out on its rim and bowled to a giddy standstill against the wall.

“You see! The Nis is back.” Gudrun gave a hysterical laugh. “That’s the sort of tantrum I’ve been putting up with today. And there’s
your answer, Hilde. The Nis has been jealous of little Ran ever since she came: It wants rid of her! This evening it upset the broth and threw soot about, and when I scolded, it rushed out of the house in a temper. After that, the twins spotted it going down through the wood. I believe it went straight to Granny Green-teeth!”

“Oh no,” breathed Peer. “It wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t it, Peer?” Gudrun inquired frostily. “You know best. But if you’re talking to the Nis tonight, give it a word of warning from me.” She raised her voice, clearly intending the Nis to hear her. “Tell it there’s no place in this house for quarrelsome, idle troublemakers!”

Peer felt Hilde’s eyes on him. With a stab of dread, he remembered the little scuttling shadow he had seen near the millpond. It must have been the Nis. But why? Could there be an innocent reason why the Nis might want to visit the mill? He tried to think of one, and failed. The Nis hated the mill and the millpond as much as Peer did, and for the same reason: It had been badly treated by the Grimsson brothers. It would never go near
the place, unless for some special purpose.

Had the Nis sent Granny Green-teeth up to the farm? He feared so. The pale faces of Gudrun and the twins floated in a foggy haze—did the fire usually smoke this much? His eyes stung and his hands were cold.

He had to tell. “I think I saw it this evening,” he began in a troubled voice, but broke off as something nudged him under the table. He glanced down, expecting to see Loki. Instead, light dry fingers caught pleadingly at his knee. Two beady eyes glinted up at him.

The words stuck in his throat. He stopped in confusion. They were waiting for him to finish. Should he lie?
But Hilde knows I saw it. And it is very jealous of Ran. What if it went to Granny Green-teeth in a fit of temper? It might be sorry now.

The truth
, he thought. “Down by the millpond, I saw it,” he stammered. “But I’m sure there’s an explanation, Gudrun. I mean, I know it can be vain and quarrelsome, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be treacherous.”

The clutching hand abruptly let go. Ralf wore a dark frown on his usually pleasant
face. “The Nis was at the millpond? It rushed down there in a temper, just before Granny Green-teeth turned up? That’s bad, Peer. That looks very bad.”

There was an awkward, heavy silence, and everyone looked into the corners of the room to see where the Nis was lurking.

“What will you do?” Peer asked miserably, feeling a complete traitor. In a way, the Nis was his oldest friend. He’d met it even before he’d met Hilde.
It saved my life, and it saved Loki! I was the one who even brought it here.

“I don’t know,” said Gudrun wearily. “I think it may have to go. I don’t see how we can trust it again.”

“Don’t feel bad, Peer,” said Ralf in a kind voice. “It isn’t your fault.” He looked at his wife. “Shall we talk about it later? After supper?”

Gudrun whirled with a cry of alarm and lifted the pot of barley broth from the embers. “Oh dear!” She was almost in tears again. “It’s been keeping warm for hours, and now look at it! All dried up.”