Troll Mill (21 page)

“Ow!” She sucked the scratch. “The wall feels like teeth!”

To one side of the door was a stone platform covered with fleeces, obviously a bed. On the other side was a plain wooden chair with a straw seat and a carved back and, next to it, a highchair with a bar across the seat to stop a child from falling out.

At the foot of the bed, near the brazier, was a stout wooden cot, the sides carved in woven patterns with little snarling faces. A string of pinecones dangled over it.

“It’s a nursery,” Sigurd said. “He must be in the cot. Hurry!”

They scurried across the floor. Her heart banging with hope and terror, Sigrid peered over the edge of the cot. There at the bottom was a soft, humped shape, just Eirik’s size: an infant sleeping on its side, rolled up in black lambskins.

“Oh, he’s safe! We’ve found him!”

She reached out. Sigurd grabbed her. “Stop!”

“What’s wrong?” She turned a frightened face to her brother, who was staring into the cradle as if he’d seen an adder.

He said in a choked whisper, “It isn’t him.”

The infant stirred and rolled over onto its back, and the reflected glow from the crystal ceiling played over its sleeping face. Sigrid pressed her hands to her mouth.

It was the ugliest baby she had ever seen.

Its skin was crumpled, wrinkled, and damp, like hands that have been in the wash too long. A squashed little red snout twitched and snuffled in the middle of its face. Above the tightly shut eyes, long hairs sprang from its brows, like bristles on a pig’s skin. Its mouth was extremely wide, and its ears were hairy.

Sigurd looked sick. “It’s a troll. So we’ve come all this way for nothing!”

“Where’s Eirik?” asked Sigrid faintly.

“How should I know?” Sigurd kicked the floor savagely. “Come on, we can’t stay here.”

“But we can’t leave Eirik!”

“How can we find him now?” Sigurd asked
in despair. “He might be anywhere.” He tried to drag her toward the door.

“But the light was taking us to him,” Sigrid argued.

In the cot, the troll baby cautiously opened one eye and peeped at them.

The twins didn’t notice.

“Don’t you see?” Sigurd jigged with panicked impatience. “We asked the light to take us to a
baby.
So it brought us here, to the most important baby it knows.”

The troll baby quickly closed its eye. Then it opened the other a slit and peeked through its lashes.

“That’s a monster, not a baby!” Sigrid cried.

“It’s a prince,” said Sigurd gloomily. “Remember what the Nis told Peer? About the troll princess having a son?”

Sigrid stiffened. “A prince!”

“What does it matter, Sigrid—just come now, before we get caught!”

But Sigrid seemed to catch fire. She jerked free from Sigurd, flew back to the cot, and scooped the troll baby into her arms, all swaddled up like an enormous cocoon, with
its wizened face sticking out at the end.

“What are you
doing?”
Sigurd screeched.

“We’re taking it with us.” She gripped the baby—which appeared to be sound asleep still—and faced Sigurd with hot cheeks and flashing eyes. “If they’ve got our baby, we’ll take theirs!”

Sigurd’s mouth fell open. “We can’t do that.”

“Oh yes, we can!” Sigrid stamped her foot.

Their eyes met. Sigurd’s stunned expression slowly altered into one of mischievous glee. “All right, then! We’ll do it.” He laughed excitedly. “We’ll trade their prince for Eirik. Let’s go!”

Holding their breath, the twins stole out into the corridor, where the ball of light was bouncing gently off the walls. Sigurd looked up, his face stark in the blue glow. “Back the way we came, please!” he ordered, with a slight quiver to his voice. What if it realized what they were doing? But obediently it began rolling along the ceiling.

They hurried after. Sigrid had to keep stopping to hitch up the troll baby. “It’s awfully heavy,” she whispered. “Like carrying a stone.”

“Let me take it for a bit.” Somehow they shuffled the baby from Sigrid’s arms to Sigurd’s. Its cold, hairy ear twitched against his cheek and he shuddered, pulling away. “Is it awake?”

A diamond glint squeezed through the troll baby’s flickering lashes. The next second, its eyes were tightly shut again.

The twins exchanged scared glances. “Hurry!” said Sigurd. “We’re done for if it starts yelling.”

Moments later, they reached the dark pit in the floor of the tunnel. The light hovered over it, sinking slowly.

“That’s where we’ve got to go,” panted Sigurd. “Back down the pine tree. Listen. You go first, climb down halfway, and I’ll try and lower the baby to you. Then I’ll climb past you, and we’ll do the same thing again.”

Sigrid nodded. With a set face, she sat on the edge and dipped her legs into the darkness, feeling about for the first spokes of the pine tree. She turned on her stomach and slithered down till she was neck-deep in the hole.

“All right?” whispered Sigurd.

“I can’t see my feet. And my skirt’s catching!” The dead tree shivered and rustled as she kicked her way lower.

“Stop there!” Sigurd hissed. “Lean on the branches. Are you ready? Now reach up as high as you can. Here it comes!” He knelt awkwardly on the brink of the pit and, getting a good grip of the swaddled bundle, lifted it out over the drop.

The troll baby’s eyes flew open. It grimaced in alarm.

“Don’t drop me!” it squawked in a shrill, harsh voice.

Sigurd nearly let go.

THE NIS CONFESSES

G
UDRUN AND
A
LF
ran as fast as they could. Beyond the sheepfold, the ground lifted in a series of shallow rises, with the steepening fells closing in on either side. In the cool evening air, raucous bleating and frenzied barking echoed off the slopes. Loki and the sheep—and, presumably, the trolls—were out of sight over one of the ridges, but Gudrun had no doubt as to what was going on.

“Hilde! Peer! I’m coming!” she cried again, out of breath—and wondered why she couldn’t hear them shouting. The next minute, she scrambled up over the rise and saw why.

Hilde and Peer were nowhere to be seen. There were no trolls, either. Instead, just twenty yards away, a monstrous figure was
stalking the sheep. A mane of matted, coalblack hair grew over his shoulders, and a heavy club swung in his right hand. Suddenly he broke into a deep-throated shout: “Ho! Ho!” Waving his arms, he drove a terrified group of sheep and lambs toward the steep valleyside. Loki skirmished furiously at his heels.

Gudrun felt as if the ground had split open in front of her. She gasped aloud. “That’s one of the Grimsson brothers! That’s Grim Grimsson!”

Grim Grimsson advanced upon the sheep, thwacking his club into the palm of his hand. Trapped against the slope, the frightened ewes and their lambs bunched together. They milled restlessly,
baaing
in panic, and then scattered, dashing for freedom. Some sprang up the hillside. One galloped straight past Grim’s legs, her lamb following close. Grim lunged. Sudden as a spider, he sank a massive hairy hand into the tangled wool of her back. He hoisted her up, struggling and kicking. His arm rose and fell.

Gudrun heard the dull knock of his club, and so did Alf. His rough hackles bristled up. Growling, he launched himself forward in a
gallant attempt to save the sheep.

“Alf! Heel!” Gudrun rapped out, afraid for the dogs. She whistled for Loki, who came pounding toward her. But she couldn’t bear to creep timidly away. It was senseless, she knew, but she ran forward a few paces, shouting, “Grim Grimsson! Leave our sheep alone, you thieving rascal!”

The big man turned, hitching the dead sheep under his arm, and Gudrun saw the curling tusks winking from his mouth like white knives. She stood still, dry with fear. She’d forgotten. This was no longer merely their bad-tempered neighbor from the mill. This was a troll-creature from under the fell!

For a second or two, Grim stared at her, and she stared back. She could never outrun him. The twilight thickened. Suddenly Grim threw back his head, exposing a throat as pale as the underbelly of a slug, and howled like a wolf. It seemed the wild sound must reach to the lonely top of Troll Fell. The dogs growled and whimpered.

Grim waited till the echoes died. Then, with the sheep tucked under his arm, he strode up the side of the valley. The orphaned
lamb ran uncertainly after him, crying.

As if released from a spell, Gudrun started forward. She had some confused idea of rescuing the lamb, but then noticed that both the dogs had wheeled and were looking alertly toward the farmhouse. She heard a distant cry.

“Ma … Ma!”

“The twins!” She plunged back down the slope, slithering and sliding. It was almost dark now, and she couldn’t see where her feet were going: She tripped over tufts of grass, skidded on stones. Loki shot ahead; Alf panted at her heels. It was like a nightmare: The valley swung from side to side as she ran; the stars jolted in the sky. The farmhouse loomed below her, silent and still.

“Twins!” Gudrun shrieked. “Sigrid! Sigurd!”

No answer. The farmyard was deserted. No one called from the house, no one ran out into the twilight to meet her. The farmhouse door stood half open. Even before she shoved it wide and stumbled into the warm, homely gloom, Gudrun knew that the twins were gone.

Every muscle melted with terror. She
staggered over to the cradle and looked in. It was empty. They had all gone, all been taken! The floor pressed up under her feet and whirled round. She sank down beside the cradle, sick and dizzy.

Time passed—long or short, she couldn’t tell. She raised a hand to her throat, which was sore from screaming. The dogs were poking cold noses into her face. Then Loki sprang away. His tail slapped against her. He was barking again—excited, welcoming barks. The door scraped. Feet clattered on the floor. There were voices:

“Ma!”

“Gudrun!”

“Ma, are you all right?”

Hands grasped her, dragged her to her feet. “Lean on me, Gudrun.” A man’s voice—no, it was Peer’s, deep with concern. He supported her to a bench. She sat down with a thump, and their faces swam into focus: Peer and Hilde, staring at her with frightened eyes. She tried to see past them. “Where’s—where’s—” Her breath wouldn’t come right, her teeth chattered.
This is ridiculous
, she thought, and made an effort. “Where’s
Sigurd and Sigrid? Where are the
babies?”
she asked in a shuddering wail.

“Ma.” Hilde knelt on the floor and took her mother’s cold hands. “Listen to me now. This is important. The Grimsson brothers are back. Baldur Grimsson is down at the mill. Have you seen Grim? Did he take the children?”

Gudrun managed to shake her head. “No. S-seen him, yes. But he took—a sheep. H-heard the twins shouting. When I came back, they were gone!”

“Not the Grimssons.” Hilde was pale. “In that case, Granny Green-teeth?”

“But could she take all four of them?” Peer asked in a low voice.

“I don’t know, maybe the twins chased after her. If only we’d been here, if only we knew what happened!” She buried her face in her hands for a second. “Peer, what should we do?”

Hilde needs me! I’ve got to be strong. I’ve got to think of something.
Peer’s blood ran warmer and quicker. The haze of shock, from leaving the trolls and Uncle Baldur in control of the mill, cleared a little. He said slowly, “Perhaps the Nis saw what happened.”

“The Nis!”

“If it really is in the cowshed …”

“Oh, quick!” Hilde jumped up. “Go on, Peer, it only speaks to you. Go! Find it!”

She pushed him out of the door. Peer dashed across the yard, vaguely noticing that the moon was rising. The cowshed, with its thick walls and turf roof, was very dark inside. At first he could see nothing.

“Nis!” he called, quietly but urgently. “Nis, are you here?”

Silence, but Peer felt it was a listening silence. “We need you,” he went on. “The twins have gone, and both the babies. It’s desperate, Nis. Gudrun’s beside herself. Did you see what happened?”

After a second, a little voice quavered from a far corner. “Does they think it was me?”

“No, Nis, no one thinks that. Please help us!”

There was a rustle of straw and a scuffling noise. A small dark figure could now be dimly seen, crouching on one of the stalls. It drew an unsteady breath. “This is all my fault,” it said brokenly.

“I’m sure it isn’t.” Peer tried to curb his impatience. “Please, Nis, just tell me if you
saw anything or not.”

But the Nis was off.
“Aieeee!” it
wailed. “What is a Nis for? To protect the house! Now the children is lost! Gone, and it is all my fault. Here I was, Peer Ulfsson, curled up in my cold, dark corner, because the mistress doesn’t want me anymore. I hears screaming, Peer Ulfsson, and I looks out, and there is the thieves, running, running. And I thinks,
Good, the seal-baby has gone!
But then I looks again, and I sees little Eirik—they has taken little Eirik as well, and it is
all my fault!”

Peer tried to interrupt, but the Nis babbled on. “And the twins, I sees the twins chasing after, and I tries to follow, Peer Ulfsson! I tries, but I loses them in the woods—the woods is so dark. And then the mistress comes home, and she is screaming too. How can I face her? She will be so angry with the poor Nis! I will—have to—go
—awa-a-ay!”