“HOW DID YOU guess the thing could be driven away by fire?” asked Tjørvi in admiration.
Astrid and Floki looked at each other. “We didn’t,” said Astrid.
Floki shook his head. “Nah. We just thought, what’s worse? Fighting with the rest of you, or hiding in the house waiting for it to come and get us?”
“And there weren’t any weapons left,” Astrid added. “So the Nis said —”
“Aha – the Nis!” Tjørvi interrupted, glancing up. There were no secrets left. The Nis sat openly on a beam overhead, guzzling a bowlful of hot groute. “That was the Nis’s idea, was it? I wish I’d known we had a Nis with us all this time.”
“Wait,” Ottar interrupted. “Let me tell the others all that.” He turned and began to translate.
Peer drew Hilde against him. She whispered, “It’s a full house.”
It was. Sinumkw’s warriors sat cross-legged on the floor by the fire, or sprawled on the sleeping benches. The firelight shone on their oiled black hair and brown faces, still smudged with war paint. Peer smiled as he looked around. Trades and swaps were happening already. Halfdan had a tuft of blue feathers in his hair. Tjørvi was sporting Kopit’s beartooth necklace, and Kopit had slung Tjørvi’s steel knife around his neck. Both looked very happy with their bargains.
“So the Nis suggested the torches?” Peer tipped his head back. “Well done!”
The Nis was licking its messy fingers, and a splash of groute dripped into Peer’s hair. “I has lots of good ideas,” it boasted. “Has you heard how we threw the clothes at Harald?”
“Hilde’s told me.” Peer wished he could have seen Harald struggling to fight a rain of socks and trousers.
“What name suits me best, Peer Ulfsson?” the Nis enquired. It upended the basin and stuck its entire face inside to lick out the bottom. “‘Nithing the Seafarer’ – or ‘Nithing the Warrior’?”
“Oh well – erm…”
“It was brave of you and Floki to come out,” Hilde said to Astrid. “Weren’t you afraid of hurting the baby, running like that?”
“It was time I did something to help.” Astrid pressed a hand to her stomach. “He’s fine. I can feel him kicking.”
Sinumkw spoke to her across the fire, his dark eyes gleaming. Astrid raised her brows and turned to Ottar. “What does he say?”
“He says a brave mother makes a brave son,” said Ottar.
Astrid’s eyes filled.
“Don’t cry,” Hilde said softly.
“I’m not,” Astrid muttered, dashing a hand across her face. “Well, yes I am. I’m thinking of Gunnar. He’ll never see his son now. If it is a boy, I mean. A son like Harald. And I promised I’d save him, and I harmed him instead.”
“You didn’t harm him,” Hilde protested.
“Yes, I did. I was so angry when he slapped me. I wanted revenge. I could have warned Harald not to crush the egg, but I didn’t. I’m not a nice person like you. It’s true about troll blood, you see. It always comes out in the end. And my son will inherit it from me. He’ll be the same.”
“How can you say that?” Hilde began, but there was an outburst of excitement in the roof. The Nis knocked its empty bowl off the beam, just missing Peer’s head, and scrabbled in an angle of the rafters, scattering straw and dust.
“See, see?” It tossed something light into Astrid’s lap. A tiny hollow egg.
“I finds it on the floor when I is tidying up,” the Nis chirped. “When Harald Silkenhair makes all that mess and leaves it for the Nis to clear away. And I thinks, a thrush egg! I keeps it, I puts it in my den to look pretty, in my nice nest up in the roof.” It looked down at Astrid with sharp eyes. “It’s empty,” it added.
Astrid’s hand closed around it. “Harald didn’t smash it after all,” she breathed. “Then – it didn’t matter…”
“Oh, Astrid,” said Hilde impatiently. “Gunnar died because of what he did – not because of what you did. Do stop going on about your troll blood. Take my advice. Don’t tell your baby anything about it, and he’ll grow up fine.”
Astrid looked at her with slowly dawning relief. “Do you think – if I’d never known…?” She took a deep breath. “I could forget about it. I could be just like anyone else…”
The Nis cracked its knuckles gleefully. “Always, always the Nis finds the answer. Maybe I should be ‘Nithing the Clever’…”
Troll blood, Peer thought. What does it mean to have troll blood? He remembered, all those years ago, how his two bullying uncles had turned into trolls after drinking troll beer. But they’d been trolls on the inside all along. Perhaps being a troll was more to do with how you behaved than the blood you inherited. If you howled to the jenu, the jenu would howl back.
And tomorrow, thought Peer, we’ll give Harald’s sword to Sinumkw. Kiunik and Tia’m can take it with them on the Ghost Road, on their long journey to the Land of Souls.
He looked at Floki, who sat silently with lowered head. “Hey, Floki.” Floki looked up out of red-rimmed eyes. Peer leaned across. “It was great, the way you ran out with the torches. Magnus would be so proud.”
Floki didn’t speak. But his rough, freckled hand came out to grip Peer’s. He sniffed.
There was a shrill yap, a screech, and a roar of laughter. The Nis shot into the rafters, chittering hysterically. Hilde stifled giggles. “Did you see that? The Nis got the nerve to creep up behind Kwimu, and it got too near that pet fox of his.” She looked more closely. “It’s not a fox, is it? What on earth…?”
Kwimu smiled across at them. For a second, Peer was sure the fox winked. But a moment later, Kwimu lifted it, and it was just a fur pouch, with the mask and paws and tail of a fox attached. He plunged his hand into it and pulled out a pipe. He lit it and handed it to his father.
The noise and chatter died. The Norsemen watched curiously.
“He’s swallowing fire!”
“They’ll never believe this at home.”
“It’s a sign of friendship,” said Peer. “Isn’t it, Ottar? If he gives the pipe to you, make sure you take it.”
Sinumkw blew out a thin flutter of smoke. He rose ceremoniously and passed the pipe to Peer. Peer drew down a mouthful of sweet smoke.
“Arne…” He held out the pipe. Arne looked at it without moving. Then he scratched his head. “A sign of friendship, eh? All right, I’ll give it a go.” He took the pipe, sucked on it, and coughed. “Not bad!” he said with watering eyes, handing it on to Tjørvi. He added gruffly, “I’m glad you’re not dead.”
“Thanks,” said Peer. They looked at each other with uncertain smiles.
With jokes and back-slapping, the pipe passed around the room. Up in the rafters, the Nis spluttered, pretending to be annoyed by the smoke. Considering it spent most of its time in the haze of woodsmoke floating about the rafters, that was rich, Peer thought. He stood on tiptoe and whispered, “Here’s a good name. How about ‘Nithing the Wise Warrior’?” The Nis purred.
“What are you thinking?” Hilde asked Peer as he sat down.
He stretched. “Oh, lots of things. What to do next. How to spend the winter. When to go home. Whether Ottar will come with us. And who’s going to decide it all? Now Gunnar’s gone, who’s going to lead us?”
“You, I should think,” said Hilde.
“Me?” He stared at her.
“Yes, you.” Hilde grinned at him. “Who else will do all the thinking?” She leaned against him and whispered into his ear, “So go on. What’s going to happen to us?”
Peer dropped his arm around her shoulders. He thought of the months of cold ahead; the blizzards; the creatures like the jenu lurking in the woods. He thought of trying to cross the immense ocean dividing them from home, with no Gunnar to guide them, and only five men to sail the ship. He remembered the storms and icebergs of the voyage out. He looked down at Hilde, and saw his own fears in her eyes.
“The winter will pass,” he whispered back. “Perhaps we’ll stay here in the house for the whole of it. Or, if they’ll let us, we’ll go back to the village with Kwimu and the People, and go hunting and trapping with them. Astrid’s baby will be born there, and she’ll have lots of women to help her, not just you by yourself. And then the spring will come. The ice will melt, and the buds will thicken on the trees. We’ll take Water Snake out of her winter quarters and push her down into the sea. And we’ll sail away.
“It’ll take us a long time, weeks and weeks, but we’ll sight Greenland and the Islands of Sheep. We’ll follow the whales home. And one day, we’ll see our own mountain again. Troll Fell.
“I wonder if it will be sunrise. Or sunset, or raining, or foggy even. Maybe we’ll meet Bjørn in his faering, coming out to the fishing grounds. But anyway, we’ll sail in to the jetty and walk up through Trollsvik. And we’ll see the farmhouse, with the smoke rising from the roof. And Gudrun will dash out to meet us, and Ralf will come running from the field…”
Hilde was smiling, though her eyes were full of tears.
“And I’ll say, ‘Here we are. We’re back. And we want to get married.’”
“That will be such a happy ending,” Hilde sighed.
“There’s never any ending,” said Peer softly. “Life goes on.”