Troll Mill

“She came from the islands,” said Bjørn reluctantly.

The family nodded. “The islands!”,“Ah…”, “So that explains it!”

But it doesn’t, thought Peer, it doesn’t explain anything, and we all know it. Why aren’t we talking about what really happened?

“I must go.” Bjørn got up, stiff as an old man. “Must try and find her…”

Ralf shook his head in rough pity. “She’s gone, Bjørn. Accept it, lad. Oh, we can search along the shore, but whatever we find, it won’t be your Kersten any more.”

Bjørn’s face set, so hard and unhappy that Peer jumped to his feet. “But we’ll help him. Won’t we, Ralf?”

“Of course we will—” began Ralf. But Bjørn laid a hand on his arm.

“Kersten’s not dead, Ralf. I know she hasn’t drowned.”

With a worried frown, Ralf blew out his cheeks and ran his hands through his hair. “Well–if that’s how you feel, Bjørn, we won’t give up yet. What’s your plan?”

Before Bjørn could reply, Peer clapped a hand to his mouth. “I forgot!” He looked at Bjørn, stricken. “I completely forgot. When I went to your house last night, Bjørn, you’d been robbed! Your big chest was open, and it was empty. The key was on the floor.”

Everyone gaped at him. Peer rattled on, afraid to stop. “And so…maybe that upset Kersten?” He faltered. “I should have told you before, but it–it went clean out of my mind. Have you lost something special?”

“Don’t worry, Peer, I’d already guessed,” said Bjørn quietly. “Special? You could say so. Kersten took the key. Kersten robbed the chest.”

“What?” cried Ralf. But Gudrun interrupted.

“She took her sealskin, didn’t she?” she asked. “You kept her sealskin in that chest.”

“Oh, now, come on,” began Ralf. This time Bjørn cut across him.

“Was it wrong, Gudrun? Do you blame me?” he begged in a low voice.

“Oh, Bjørn,” said Gudrun. She looked around, as if asking the others for help. Bjørn leaned forwards, his eyes fixed on her face. Gudrun swallowed. “It’s not for me to judge,” she told him very gently. “Did Kersten?”

Bjørn shook his head. “She never said so. But perhaps…perhaps she’s angry with me. I’ve got to find her. I’ve got to know. It’s out to the skerries I’m bound, and looking for a bull seal with a scarred shoulder…”

“Why?” Peer rose to his feet. He felt dizzy. He imagined Kersten in the dark room, on her knees before the chest, flinging the lid back, dragging out the heavy sealskin, stroking it, wrapping herself in it. Is Hilde right? He glared at Bjørn. “What’s going on? Tell us the truth, Bjørn. Was Kersten really a seal woman? Did you trap her?”

“Trap her?” Bjørn went white. “We were happy!”

“Then why keep the sealskin locked up?” Peer threw back at him.

The air prickled, as before thunder. For a second Bjørn looked as if he might hit Peer.

“Because I—”

He gulped and started again. “At first I was afraid she would leave. Then, later, I didn’t think it mattered any more. She was my wife! She wasn’t a prisoner!” The last word was almost a shout.

“But she ran away!” Peer was breathless. “She ran away from you.”

“Gods, Peer, what do you take me for?” Bjørn cried. “You don’t know what you’re saying. All right, listen! This is how I found Kersten–and I’ve never told the story to another living soul.”

Gudrun made a murmur of protest, but Bjørn ignored it.

“Seven–yes, seven years ago, when Arnë was a young lad about your age–we were out in the boat together, hunting seal among the skerries beyond the fjord mouth. I told Arnë to land me on one of the rocks. I’d lie hidden with a harpoon, waiting for the seals to come, and he could take the boat out to the fishing grounds and come back for me later.

“So he brought the boat alongside one of the big skerries where the seals lie, and I scrambled ashore and watched him row away. It was fine–and fresh–and lonely when the boat had gone. Just me, and the islands on the horizon, and the tide swirling between the skerries. No seals yet, only a few black cormorants diving off the rocks, so I found a sheltered place and lay down in the sunshine on a litter of seaweed and sticks and old gulls’ feathers, with my harpoon near at hand.”

His voice began to relax into a quiet, storytelling rhythm.

“No sound but the sea slopping up against the rocks, and the cries of the cormorants. The rocks felt warm in the sun, winking with bits of crystal. I lay still, so as not to frighten the seals when they came. You know how they float, with their heads just out of the water, watching for danger?

“And so, after a time, I suppose I dropped off to sleep. When I woke it was low tide. The skerry was bigger, going down in great rocky steps to a wide broken platform on the westward side. And there they were! I could see the seals basking, scratching themselves in the sunshine. I took my harpoon and climbed over the rocks as quietly as I could.”

“Go on,” prompted Ralf, as Bjørn fell silent.

“I was sun-struck, perhaps,” he said slowly. “At least, as I crept over the rocks, I found it hard to see clearly. I felt dizzy and my head ached, and I remember seeing things that could not be. White bees buzzed around my head. I saw faces in the rocks. The sea chuckled and gurgled in secret holes under my feet. I heard a chattering and humming. I thought I heard voices. And then, on the flat rocks where the seals lay, I saw three fair women sitting. Their dark hair blew in tangled strands and they combed it out with long fingers. At their feet, three sealskins lay in wet gleaming folds.”

The family sat spellbound, their eyes fixed on Bjørn, who stared at the wall as if seeing right through it to the far-distant skerry and the washing waves.

“I leaped down the rocks,” he went on in the same far-off voice. “The air was singing and ringing. The sun winked off the water, sharp as needles. In the blink of an eye the women were gone. All but the nearest! As her sisters threw on their skins and plunged into the water with the seals, I snatched up her sealskin. Heavy, it was–glossy and greasy and reeking of the sea.

“She screamed like a seagull, and her hair fell down over her face and her white shoulders. She stretched out pleading fingers. How she wept! I almost gave it back to her–for sheer pity–but it seemed wrong to wrap such beauty in a stinking sealskin…

“Then I heard a shout. It was Arnë calling, and the boat came knocking along the side of the skerry. And I knew I had to choose.”

Bjørn’s square brown hands knotted. “I’m just a fisherman!” He looked up defiantly. “There I stood with the catch of my life. Suppose I let her go? I already knew that I was caught too. I’d never forget her. I’d grow old still dreaming of her, wishing I’d had the courage to do…what I did then.

“I threw the sealskin down to Arnë. And I put my two arms around her, and wrapped her in my cloak and lifted her into the boat.”

Gudrun breathed out a long, wistful sigh. Ralf shuffled his feet uneasily. Hilde sat frowning, her eyes intent on Bjørn. Even the babies were quiet. Peer’s head ached fiercely. So Bjørn admitted it–he had stolen Kersten! In the silence, Sigrid piped up in a puzzled voice. “Is this a true story, Bjørn?”

Bjørn gave a brief, unhappy smile. “A true story?” he echoed. “There are so many stories, aren’t there, sweetheart? Who knows which are true? I told Arnë a different story, and it may have been a better one. He was only fifteen then, no older than Peer is now, and I could see he was scared. ‘Who’s this, brother?’ said he, and his teeth chattered. So I told him I’d found the girl stranded on the skerry. ‘Likely her boat went down,’ I said. ‘No wonder if she’s a bit dazed. Who knows how many nights and days she’s spent on that rock, with only the seals and the sea birds for company?’

“Arnë accepted it. Even to me, it sounded reasonable. But the weather suddenly changed, with a black squall driving over the sea and the waves clapping against the skerries in spouts of foam.

“As the boat tossed and Arnë rowed, a face rose out of the water–a face that looked half-human, with furious eyes and snarling teeth. A great bull seal it was, that charged at the boat, roaring. He’d have tipped us over. I still had the harpoon. I threw it without even thinking. It sank deep into his shoulder. He screamed, and the line burned though my hands as he dived, and the water around us was streaked with dark blood and red bubbles. Arnë gave a shout, and the girl flung herself at me, screeching like a wildcat. I had to hold her off, and we fell down together in the bottom of the boat as it pitched and swung. I was nearly as crazy as she. The seal in the water, what was it? Her father, her brother? I knew I’d done her wrong.

“At last she lay quiet. Her long hair trailed in the water, over the side of the boat. I looked at her and it came to me that–” Bjørn hesitated. “–that I was in love with a wild thing out of the sea. With no name. What words could there be between us? What understanding? And so I gave her the only gift I could. I named her, ‘Kersten’.

“Kersten,” he repeated gently. “Well, the sea calmed as though we’d thrown oil on the water. And she leaned towards me, shivering and smiling. Yes, she smiled at me and took my hand, and she spoke for the first time. ‘Do you really wish me to be Kersten? Can you pay the price?’

“I said I would, I would pay anything. She put her fingers on my lips.

“‘Hush! It will be a hard price,’ she said, ‘hard as tearing the heart from your body–and we will both pay it. For as long as you keep the sealskin safe, I will be your Kersten. And while I am with you, the seal folk will befriend you and drive the mackerel to your nets. But beware of the day we part’.”

There was quite a silence.

“So that’s the story.” Bjørn looked up, his face bleak. “I kept the sealskin locked away, but the years went by and I got careless. I stopped carrying the key about with me–I left it on the shelf. Surely Kersten knew, although I never told her. I thought she loved me. She did love me! But she took the key and unlocked the sealskin. They’ve called her back, the seal people. Why did she go? Why, without a word to me? After seven years, how could she leave me?