PEER OPENED HIS eyes and saw a dark roof space pierced with sunbeams. Straw prickled under him. Behind a plank partition to his left, something large was champing and stirring.
Slowly he remembered. He and the twins were sleeping in the cowshed to leave more room for the guests. With a sinking heart, he remembered more. Had he really promised to go away for an unknown period of time, on a strange ship, to a strange land? Spring was on the way. He’d been looking forward to the lambs being born, the barley coming up, rowing out with Bjørn and Sigurd to gather seagulls’ eggs from the islands. Now, all that would go on without him.
He sat up. On mounded straw between him and the door, the twins slept, cocooned in blankets. From a warm nest in the straw beside him, Loki got up, stretching and yawning.
Peer stared at his dog. Was it fair to take him on a ship, for weeks at sea? Loki lifted a paw and scraped at Peer’s arm, probably hoping for breakfast.
“Loki, old fellow,” Peer murmured. “What shall we do? Do you want to come with me?” Loki’s tail hit the ground, once, twice.
“Good boy!” Peer was fooling himself, and he knew it: Loki always wagged his tail when Peer spoke to him. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t leave Loki behind, so at least that was decided. He lay back in the straw and wished he could go back to sleep – that today need never start – that he didn’t have to remember what Hilde had said last night. Peer’s my brother.
A brother! A safe, dependable brother, to be relied on and ignored. Didn’t she know how he felt about her?
Perhaps not: he’d been so careful to keep things friendly all year. Perhaps she thought he’d got over it. He wished he’d kissed her again, even if she’d been angry. He wished he’d tried.
Oh, what was the use? Peer’s my brother! It was hopeless.
“Psst,” came a piercing whisper. “Peer! Are you really going to Vinland?”
He raised his hot face from the crackling straw and saw Sigrid sitting up, arms wrapped neatly round her knees.
“Looks like it,” he said gloomily.
“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”
“But Hilde wants to, and I’ve promised to go with her.”
“Oh, Hilde,” said Sigrid crossly. “Why do you always do what she wants?”
“I don’t.” He thought about it. “Do I?”
“Yes, you do.” Sigrid sat up straighter and wagged her finger at him: Peer almost smiled, but she was quite serious. “You’ve got to be tougher, Peer. Sometimes, Hilde ought to do what you want.”
Peer stared at her until Sigrid wriggled and said, “What?”
“You’re a very clever girl, Siggy,” he said. “And you are absolutely right!”
She beamed. Peer threw back his blankets. “Time to get up!” And he pulled open the creaking cowshed door and stuck his head out.
A wind with ice in its teeth blew down from the mountains. A seagull tilted overhead, dark against the blue and white sky, then bright against the hillside as it went sweeping off down the valley. Peer watched it go. A fair wind for sailing west. So we really are leaving. Today.
But Sigrid’s simple words had acted like magic. He set his jaw. I’ve messed about long enough, trying to be whatever Hilde wants. From now on, I’ll act the way I feel!
He stepped out, alive and determined, and trod on something shrivelled and whip-like lying by the corner of the cowshed. Loki sniffed it and backed off, sneezing. It was the troll’s tail. Peer picked it up by the tip. It was heavier and bonier than he’d expected: he threw it on the dung heap with a shudder. A rusty smear stained the bare earth where the tail had lain. He scuffed dirt over it so that Sigrid would not see, and went into the house.
Gudrun and Hilde were sorting clothes. Peer put away his faint hope that Hilde might have changed her mind. Astrid sat like a queen in Ralf ’s big chair with little Elli on her knee. She was letting the baby play with a bunch of keys that dangled from her belt, jigging her up and down and humming some strange little song that rose and fell. Ralf, Gunnar and Harald were nowhere to be seen.
“Eat something quickly, Peer. Gunnar wants to catch the morning tide.” Gudrun’s voice was brittle.
“The men have gone to the ship, to load up more food and fresh water. We’re to follow as soon as we can,” Hilde added. Peer could tell she was bursting with excitement.
Gudrun bundled up a big armful of cloaks, shifts and dresses. “You’d better just take everything. Peer, you can have some of Ralf ’s winter things. You’ve grown so much this year—” She broke off, folding her lips tight.
“Where’s Eirik?” asked Peer.
“Pa took him along to see the ship,” said Hilde. “It would have been tricky to manage him and Elli and the baggage too. And of course Ma wants to come down to the ship as well, because —” She stopped.
But for once Peer wasn’t interested in sparing Hilde’s feelings. He completed the sentence for her: “Because she wants to be with you as long as she can.”
There was a moment when no one spoke, and in the interval they heard Astrid singing to Elli, clapping the baby’s hands together at the end of each line:
“Two little children on a summer’s night,
Went to the well in the pale moonlight.
The lonely moon-man, spotted and old
Scooped them up in his arms so cold.
They live in the moon now, high in the air.
When you are old and grey, darling,
They’ll still be there.”
“I’ll take her, shall I?” Peer almost snatched Elli away from Astrid.
“What a strange rhyme,” said Gudrun. Astrid looked up: “It’s one my mother used to sing. What a lovely baby Elli is. Why has she got webbed fingers?”
“She’s Bjørn’s daughter,” Peer snapped, as though that explained it. His friend’s tragic marriage with a seal woman was none of Astrid’s business. Gudrun must have thought so too, for she said, clearing her throat, “Now, I wonder where the Nis is. I haven’t seen it this morning.”
Peer made a startled, warning gesture towards Astrid. But Hilde shook her head. “It’s all right, Astrid knows.”
“Knows about the Nis?” Peer looked at Astrid in suspicious astonishment.
“I saw it,” Astrid said. “I knew it wasn’t a troll. And don’t worry, I haven’t told Harald.” She gave him a sweet smile. “You’re a good liar, aren’t you, Peer? You fooled Gunnar and Harald, anyway. But not me. I asked Hilde, and she told me it was a Nis. I even put its food down last night, Gudrun showed me how, after everyone went to bed. It likes groute, doesn’t it? Barley porridge, with a dab of butter? And then it does the housework.”
“Or not,” said Gudrun. “As the case may be.” She put her hands on her hips. “Well, if Gunnar wants you on that boat before noon, we’d better move.”
There seemed mountains of stuff to load on to the pony. “We’ll never need it all, surely?” Hilde laughed.
“I’m sure you will,” said her mother grimly.
“What’s this?” Peer picked up a tightly rolled sausage of woollen fabric.
“That’s a sleeping sack,” said Gudrun. “Big enough for two. It’s for you, Peer – we’ve only the one, and Astrid says she’ll share hers with Hilde. Ralf used it last, when he went a-Viking.”
“Thank you, Gudrun,” Peer said with gratitude. He hadn’t thought about sleeping arrangements. What else had he missed?
“My tools – I’ll need them.” He dashed back into the empty house and looked around, caught by the strangeness of it all. Would he ever come back?
“Nis,” he called quietly, and then, using the little creature’s secret name, “Nithing? Are you there?” Nothing rustled or scampered. No inquisitive nose came poking out over the roofbeams.
“Nis?”
Perhaps it was curled up somewhere, fast asleep after the shocks and excitement of last night. “I’m going,” he called, raising his voice. “Goodbye, Nis… I’m going away. Look after the family.” Again he waited, but only silence followed. “Till we meet again,” he ended forlornly.
He picked up his heavy wooden toolbox, and went out, closing the door. The pony lowered its head and snorted indignantly as this last load was strapped on.
“On guard!” said Gudrun to grey-muzzled old Alf, who settled down in front of the doorstep, ears pricked. Hilde carried Elli. Astrid was wrapped in her blue cloak again, shoulder braced against the weight of her bulging goatskin bag. Peer held out his hand. “Give that to me, Astrid. I’ll carry it for you.”
“No!” Astrid clutched the strap. “I’ll carry it myself. It’s quite light.”
It looked heavy to Peer, but he didn’t care enough to insist. “Everyone ready? Off we go.”
Through the wood and downhill to the old wooden bridge: each twist of the path so familiar, Peer could have walked it with his eyes shut. Past the ruined mill, where a whiff of charcoal still hung in the damp air, and back into the trees. On down the long slope, till they came to the handful of shaggy little houses that made up Trollsvik. They swished through the prickly grass of the sand dunes and on to the crunching shingle.
The fjord was blue-grey: beyond the shelter of the little harbour, it was rough with white caps. Short, stiff waves followed one another in to land. And there was the ship, Water Snake, bare mast towering over the little jetty, forestay and backstay making a great inverted V. It was a shock to see her, somehow – so real, so —
“So big!” Gudrun gasped.
Astrid stopped, her cloak flapping in the wind. Her face was sombre, and she braced her shoulders. “Here we go again!”
Most of the village was there on the shore, trying to sell things to Gunnar, and getting in the way of cursing sailors manhandling barrels of fresh water and provisions.
There was Harald, his long hair clubbed back in a ponytail, heaving crates around with the crew. Peer’s eyebrows rose in grudging respect: he’d thought Harald too much the ‘young lord’ to bother with real work. He noticed with relief that neither Harald nor Gunnar were wearing swords this morning. That would even things out a bit. Of course, those long steel swords would rust so easily: they’d be packed away in greased wool for the voyage.
Ralf and Arne came to unload the pony. Ralf seized Hilde. “Are you sure about this?” And before Peer could hear her reply, somebody grabbed him, too.
It was Bjørn, a tight frown on his face. “Have you gone crazy?” he demanded. “How can you think of sailing with Harald?”
Peer’s gaze slid past Bjørn’s shoulder. “I’ll be all right, Pa,” Hilde was saying in an earnest voice. “I really, truly want to go.”
“Ah,” Bjørn said. “This is Hilde’s idea, is it? I might have known.”
“Not entirely,” said Peer, blushing.
“I thought we were going to work together. I thought you wanted to build boats, like your father.”
“I do.” Peer touched the silver ring he always wore, which had belonged to his father. He added earnestly, “I do want to work with you, Bjørn. When I come back —”
“When you come back!” Bjørn exploded. “If you come back! Peer, this is no fishing trip. Whatever they say, Gunnar and his men are Vikings, and that ship is like a spark from a bonfire that goes floating off, setting trouble alight wherever it lands.” He added, “I’m not usually so poetical. But you see what I mean?”
“Yes,” said Peer. “But your brother’s going, isn’t he? This is a trading voyage, not a Viking raid. Gunnar has his wife with him. He’s not going to fight anyone, he’s going to Vinland to cut down trees for timber. Besides —”
He broke off. Who am I trying to convince? Yet he still felt the unexpected longing that had squeezed his heart yesterday evening, as he looked westwards from the stern of Water Snake. “Bjørn,” he said awkwardly. “The very last ship my father worked on, the Long Serpent, she’s in Vinland now. Think of it, she sailed all that way! I’d like to follow after her, just once. I’d like to find Thorolf and say, ‘Remember me? I’m the son of the man who built your ship.’”
Bjørn began to speak, then shook his head. They looked at each other while the gulls screamed, and the men shouted on the jetty, and the wind whipped their clothes.
“One thing you should know,” Bjørn said at last. “Gunnar’s own men have been gossiping that he and Harald killed a man in Westfold and had to run for it. No wonder they’re on their way back to Vinland.”
“That’s no secret,” said Peer. “He told us about it. That’s when he lost his hand. It was self-defence. The other man started it.”
“You mean, the same way you ‘started’ that fight with Harald yesterday?”
“You may be right,” said Peer after a pause. “But I won’t back out now.”
Bjørn sighed. “Arne won’t change his mind, either. He’s always been crazy, but I thought you had sense. Well, stick together.” He caught Peer’s expression. “You can trust Arne. You know him. But keep out of Harald’s beautiful hair.” He clapped Peer on the back. “Come back rich! And now we’d better go and help, before Gunnar decides you’re nothing but a useless passenger.”
“Don’t touch the sail,” Astrid said to Hilde. “That red colour comes off all over your clothes.”
Hilde looked around, wondering where she could sit. The ship was full of scrambling seamen.
“Keep out of their way.” Astrid perched on a barrel, forward of the mast, and began to tie her hair up in a headscarf. “It’ll be better when we’re sailing.”
“Mind out, Miss.” One of the men pushed past Hilde. “Here, you, son,” – this was to Peer – “give me a hand with these oars.”
Hilde craned her neck to see if Ma and Pa were still watching. Of course, they were. She gave a desperate little wave. This is awful. If only we could just get going.
A rope flipped past her ears. Arne jumped down into the ship and pushed off aft. Bjørn tossed another rope down to him. Harald took the tiller. A gap of water opened between the ship and the jetty. Hilde stared at it. It was only a stride wide. She could step over that easily, if she wanted.
With a heavy wooden clatter, the oars went out through the oarholes: only three on each side, but Water Snake was moving steadily away. For a moment longer, the gap was still narrow enough to jump: then, finally and for ever, too wide.
Pa’s arm lifted. Sigurd and Sigrid waved, and she heard tem yelling, “Goodbye, goodbye!” Even Eirik opened and closed his fingers, and Sigrid flapped Elli’s arm up and down. But Ma didn’t move. Hilde raised her own arm and flailed it madly.
Too late to say the things she should have said. I love you. I’ll miss you all so much. Too late to change her mind. Ma, please wave…
And at last, Gudrun’s hand came slowly up. She waved, and as long as Hilde watched she continued to wave across the broadening water, till at last the jetty was out of sight.
Hilde’s throat ached from not crying. She turned a stiff neck to look round at the ship: her new world. Her new home. And there was Peer, wrenching away at one of the oars. He looked up and caught her eye, and gave her an odd, lopsided smile.
It’s going to be all right, she thought, comforted.
“Oars in,” Gunnar bellowed. “Up with the sail!”
Water Snake began to seesaw, pitching and rolling over steep, choppy waves. Peer laid his wet oar on top of the others in a rattling pile, and scrambled to the stern to help pull on the halyard that raised the yard.
“Hey – up! Hey – up!” Each heave lifted the heavy spar a foot or two higher. When it was halfway up the mast, Arne yanked the lacing to unfurl the sail, and swag upon swag of hard-woven, greasy fabric dropped across the ship. “Haul!” Up went the sail again, opening out like a vast red hand to blot out the sky and half the horizon: a towering square of living, struggling, flapping cloth. The men on the braces hauled the yard around, fighting for control. The sail tautened and filled, and the ship sped forwards so suddenly that Peer hd to catch at the shrouds to keep his balance.
“Right lads, listen up!” shouted Gunnar. There was a better colour in his face: he straddled forwards, his good hand on Harald’s shoulder to help his balance, bad arm tucked under his cloak.
“Some of us are old friends already. Magnus, Floki, Halfdan…” His eye roamed across the men, who grinned or nodded as he named them. “The way I like to run things is this: you jump when I say jump, and we’ll get along fine. We’re going a long way together, so if you don’t like the idea, you’d better start swimming.” He bared his teeth ferociously, and the men laughed. “I lost my hand a few weeks ago. If anyone thinks that makes me less of a man, speak up now.” The men glanced at each other. No one spoke. “We’re going to Vinland, boys, and we’ll come back rich! That’s all, except… we’re the crew of the Water Snake, we are, and there isn’t a better ship on the sea.”
The men cheered. Even Peer felt a stirring in his blood. The crew of the Water Snake – sailing to Vinland, across the world!
Waves smacked into the prow. The dragonhead nodded and plunged. They were out of the fjord already, and the wind was strengthening.
He looked back. There was the familiar peak of Troll Fell, piebald with snow-streaks, but behind it, other mountains jostled into view, trying to get a good look at Water Snake as she sailed out. As the ship drew further and further away, the details vanished, and it became more and more difficult to pick out Troll Fell from amongst its rivals, until at last they all merged and flattened into a long blue smudge of coastline.