Troll Mill

“Will you, Gudrun?” Tears sprang into Peer’s eyes, and he turned away. “I think she is hungry. She was chewing my collar bone half the way home,” he said over his shoulder.

Hilde laughed at him shakily. “That wouldn’t do her much good!”

They all stood round, staring at Gudrun as she held the baby, rocking gently. Even the twins were silent, one leaning each side of their mother. The baby’s dark hair fluffed up as it dried, and she nuzzled into Gudrun’s breast, sucking strongly and blinking upwards with vague, bright eyes.

Ralf blew his nose. “Now–Peer. Tell us what happened!”

“We were down on the shore. I was going to stay with Bjørn, because of the rain. Bjørn gave me a fish to take up to Kersten–we were going to have it for supper. Then—” Peer broke off, trying to make sense of his memories. “Kersten came running down through the sand dunes. It was pouring with rain. She ran smack into me! She had the baby. She said…I can’t remember exactly what, but she pushed the baby at me and told me to take it to you, Gudrun. She said, “Is Gudrun still giving suck?” And then she ran past me and down the shingle. I shouted for Bjørn, but—”

He stopped again. “She was wearing this big fur cloak,” he whispered. “Before Bjørn could get to her, she’d thrown herself into the sea.”

Gudrun’s eyes were bright with tears.

“She’s gone back to the sea,” she said softly. “Do you remember, Ralf, how they all said Bjørn’s bride was a seal woman?”

Ralf’s head jerked up. “Nonsense!” He punched his fist into his palm. “Utter nonsense. I’ve never believed it, and I never shall.”

“Don’t you see?” Gudrun persisted. “That fur cloak will have been her sealskin.”

“Explain,” demanded Hilde.

Gudrun went on talking quietly, almost singing, crooning over the baby. “It’s the grey seals I’m talking about. They can be seals in the water but people on land, shedding their skins like fur cloaks. If a man meets a seal woman while she’s in her mortal shape and he hides her sealskin, he has power over her. Then she must marry him and bear his children. But if ever she finds her sealskin again, then woe betide! She’ll return to the sea and break his heart.”

Hilde was horrified. “Did Bjørn do that to Kersten?”

“No, he did not,” said Ralf angrily. “Don’t fill their heads with this nonsense, Gudrun. Kersten and Bjørn were an ordinary loving couple.”

“Then why did she throw herself into the sea?” asked Hilde. She leaned forward, touching Peer’s hand. “What happened, Peer? What happened to Kersten?”

But Peer was no longer certain what he remembered. He rubbed his hands over his eyes, pressing till coloured lights danced on the darkness. “I don’t know,” he groaned. “She seemed to roll into the sea. The waves broke over her and she disappeared. It was getting dark, and I was yards away. I thought…I don’t know what I thought. I thought she’d drown.”

“What did Bjørn do?” Sigrid asked in a small voice.

Peer put an arm around her. “He went after her, Siggy. He jumped in the boat and went rowing out…”

“Will he find her?” Sigrid’s eyes were round and scared. “Will he?”

Ralf stood. He paced up and down, shaking his head. “I can’t bear to think of it!” he exclaimed. “I ought to go down there now–see if there’s anything I can do. Didn’t you raise the alarm, Peer? Bjørn needs help!”

Peer went a painful red. “I—” he stammered. “I never thought of it! I’m sorry! I just–I only–I wanted to bring the baby home!”

Hilde rolled her eyes. “You’d better get down there straight away, Pa!” she said.

“I will.” Ralf was already pulling on his boots. “Now, don’t worry, Gudrun–but I won’t be back tonight. I’ll get some of the men together–we’ll comb the shore. If Bjørn hasn’t found her, we’ll search again when it’s light.”

“I’ll come!” Peer got up, staggering slightly.

“No, you stay and rest,” said Ralf kindly. “You did the best you could, Peer. You can join the search tomorrow. Right–I’m off!”The door slammed behind him.

Hilde puffed out her cheeks and sat down. “How awful.”

“Why didn’t I tell everyone?” Peer beat his forehead with the heel of his hand. “How could I be so stupid? I even saw Einar, and I dodged him because I was too embarrassed to explain…”

Hilde patted his shoulder. “You’re hopeless, Peer,” she said affectionately. “But listen! You brought the baby safely home.”

Peer caught her hand, but she drew it away. Gudrun looked up, closing her dress and tucking the shawl more tightly around the baby.

“There, she’s had enough now. She’s falling asleep. Peer, don’t upset yourself. Ralf has rushed off like this because he can’t bear sitting still, but really there’s nothing useful anyone can do till daybreak. Now eat your stew before it goes cold. Hilde, get the twins to bed. We’ll put this little one in the cradle with Eirik.”

“Can I?” Sigrid asked, stretching her arms out.

“Yes, but be careful,” said Gudrun, handing her over. Sigrid grappled the bundle of shawl and baby with exaggerated care. “She’s sweet. I wish I had a little sister.” She lowered her into the wide cradle. “I’ll put her on her side. Isn’t she tiny? Doesn’t Eirik look big beside her?”

Peer came to look over her shoulder. The two babies lay side by side, a complete contrast to one another. Eirik’s fair skin and rosy cheeks made the new baby look brown and sallow. Her thin little wrists looked delicate and fragile compared with Eirik’s sturdy dimpled arms.

“Is she sickly?” asked Hilde dubiously.

“No, no,” said Gudrun. “She’s much younger, that’s all. Hardly three months old, when I come to think. I wish now I’d visited Kersten. ‘Never put things off’, as my mother used to say. But I’ve been so busy, and little Eirik is such a handful.”

“Well, he’s in for a surprise when he wakes up tomorrow,” said Hilde. “Twins! Bedtime!” She chased them under the blankets, but Sigrid stuck her head out to call, “I like the new baby, Ma. Can we keep her?”

Gudrun whirled, eyes snapping. “Not another word from you, miss!” She beckoned Peer and Hilde to the other end of the long hearth. “Talk quietly,” she whispered. “I want them to sleep. Tell me again. What happened when Kersten ran down to the water?”

Peer closed his eyes. Inwardly he saw that flying figure. He saw Bjørn, turning his head and beginning to race across the shingle. He saw Kersten, throwing herself to the ground, pulling the cloak over her.

“She saw Bjørn coming, I think,” he said slowly. “And she just dived to the ground, and rolled herself up in the cloak and crawled into the water. And I looked away then, because Bjørn was pushing the boat out. He rowed out, shouting for her–but it was so wet and misty, I lost sight of him.”

They sat in a huddle with their heads together.

“I couldn’t stop her!” Peer cried. “I was holding the baby…”

“Hush.” Gudrun took his hand. “No one blames you, Peer. And Kersten trusted you with her child. But the seals–didn’t you see any seals?”

“Yes,” Peer admitted slowly. “After Bjørn disappeared, the water was full of them. But–Gudrun!” He swallowed. Can it be true? Is that really what I saw? Does it mean Bjørn once trapped Kersten…and kept her against her will?

Gudrun wiped her eyes. “It’s sad, either way,” she said quietly. “And worst of all for that poor little mite over there. Well, we’d better all go to bed. There’ll be plenty to do in the morning.”

Glumly, they wished one another good night. Peer had been given old Eirik’s sleeping place, a bunk built into the wall with a sliding wooden panel for privacy. He clambered in, but as usual left the panel half-open so he could see out into the room. Loki got up from his place by the fire, stretched, and pottered over to jump up on Peer’s blankets. He turned round three times and settled down behind Peer’s knees, yawning. The familiar weight was comforting. Peer slid a hand down to scratch his dog’s ears.

He lay, bone weary but unable to sleep, staring out into the darkened room. Gudrun had covered the fire with chunks of turf to keep it burning till morning. Small red eyes winked hotly from chinks and crannies, and he sniffed the homely smell of scorching earth and wood smoke. On the other side of the room, he heard Hilde tossing and turning. After a while she sighed and lay still. Gudrun snored.

Rain tapped on the shutters. Every time Peer closed his eyes he saw Kersten, rushing past him, hurling herself into the sea. I should have stopped her. I should have raised the alarm. I did everything wrong. Was Bjørn still out there, rowing hopelessly over dark wastes of heaving water?

Peer dropped into an uneasy doze. A cobwebby shadow scampered from a dark corner to sit hunched on the hearthstones. Peer woke. He heard a faint sound, a steady lapping like a cat’s. A satisfied sigh. The click of a wooden bowl set stealthily down.

Peer watched between his lashes as the Nis set the room to rights, a little rushing shadow, swift as a bat. He hadn’t seen the Nis in a long time. Sometimes he glimpsed a wispy grey beard or a little red cap glowing in the firelight, but when he looked closer it was always just a bit of sheep’s wool escaped from Gudrun’s spindle, or a bright rag wrapped around Sigrid’s doll. He’d been hurt that the Nis wanted so little to do with him, when they’d shared so much. The Nis had rescued him from the lubbers, the disgusting creatures who lived in his uncles’ freezing privy. It had helped to save Loki from his uncles’ savage dog, Grendel. But now, living in a happy household with plenty to eat, it kept out of his way.

“Perhaps you don’t need one another any more,” Hilde had suggested when he talked to her about it. “Down at the mill you were both outcasts. Your uncles treated you both so badly, you had something in common.” Peer saw what she meant, but still he missed the Nis.