fool. I want to get home.”
“Liar! Thief!” Uncle Baldur swayed, shaking his fist. “You watch out. If the trolls don’t get you, I will! You’ll steal no more. That’s finished. If the Gaffer —”
A blinding whip of lightning cracked across the sky, accompanied by a heart-stopping jolt of thunder. The rain came down twice as hard. Uncle Baldur threw himself back on his seat and shook the reins. The oxen plodded forwards. The rider trotted past without another word and struck off along an even rougher track that led off to the right.
Peer clung to the side of the cart.
Well, that’s it, he said to himself. Uncle Baldur is mad. Completely crazy.
Sick with cold, he tried to picture his father’s bright, kind eyes – his thin shoulders hunched from bending over chisel and plane. What would he say now, if only he knew?
He’d say, ‘Keep your heart up!’ After all, I’ve got another uncle at the mill. Maybe he’ll take after my side of the family. Maybe – just maybe – he’ll be a little like Father. There can only be one Uncle Baldur…
The cart rattled down the last slope and trundled over a shaky wooden bridge. “Gee!” howled Uncle Baldur, his voice almost lost in the roar of the water hurtling beneath. On the other side of the bridge, Peer saw the mill, crouching dismally on the bank with dripping thatch and sly little black windows. Wild trees pressed around it, tossing despairing arms in the wind. Uncle Baldur drove the cart into a pinched little yard. Ahead was a line of mean-looking sheds, and on the other side lurked a dark barn with a gaping entrance like an open mouth.
The weary oxen splashed to a halt. A wolf-like baying broke out from some unseen dog. Uncle Baldur dropped the reins and stretched his arms till the joints cracked.
“Home!” he proclaimed, jumping down. He strode across to the door of the mill and kicked it open. Frail firelight leaked out. “Grim!” he called triumphantly. “I’m back. And I’ve got him!” The door banged shut. Peer sat out in the rain, shivering with hope and fear.
“Grim,” he muttered. “Uncle Grim will be different, I know he will. There can’t be another Uncle Baldur.”
The latch lifted with a noisy click. A new, deep voice said loudly, “Let’s take a look at him, then!”
The mill door swung slowly open. Out strode the burly shape of Uncle Baldur. At his heels trod someone else – someone unbelievably familiar. Flabbergasted, Peer squinted through the rain. It couldn’t be true! But it was, and there was nothing left to hope for. He shook his head in horrified despair.
Chapter 2
The Departure of Ralf
IN A SMALL damp farmhouse higher up the valley, Hilde threw down her knitting. Her eyes ached from peering at the stitches in the firelight. And she was worried.
“Ma? He’s so late. Do you think he’s all right?”
Before Gudrun could answer, the wind pounced on the house as if trying to tear it loose from the hillside. Eerie voices wailed and chattered outside as rain lashed the closed wooden shutters. It was a night for wolves, trolls, bears. And Hilde’s father was out there, riding home over the shaggy black shoulder of Troll Fell. Even if he was hurt or in trouble, she and her mother could only wait, anxiously listening, while her grandfather dozed fitfully by the fire. But then she heard the clop and clatter of the pony’s feet trotting into the yard.
“At last!” said Gudrun, smiling. And Hilde ran out into the wild, wet night.
“I’m back!” Ralf threw her the reins. His long blond hair was plastered to his head, and his boots and leggings were covered in mud.
“You’re soaking! I’ll rub the pony down. You go in and get dry,” said Hilde, leading the steaming animal into the stable. Ralf came with her to unbuckle the packs. “How was the trip?”
“Fine! I got everything your mother wanted from the market. It’s been a long day, though. And I overtook that madman Baldur Grimsson coming back over Troll Fell.”
“What happened?” asked Hilde sharply.
“Oh, he yelled a few insults, as usual. That’s not my news. Hilde —” Ralf stopped and gave her a strange look, excited yet apprehensive.
“What? What is it?” Hilde stopped grooming the pony.
“There’s a new ship in the harbour! A new longship, ready to sail! And I – well, no, I’d better tell your mother first. Be quick as you can, now, and you’ll soon hear all about it.” He tugged her long hair and left her.
What was he up to? Hilde rubbed the pony dry and threw down fresh straw, hurrying so she could get back to the family. It was creepy in the stable with the wind howling outside. The lantern cast huge shadows. Whistling to keep up her courage, she turned to the door – and saw with horror a thin black arm come through the loophole and grope about for the latch. She screamed and hit it with the broom. It vanished.
“Trolls!” Hilde hissed. “Not again!” Clutching the broom she waited a moment, recovered her breath, tiptoed to the door and peered out.
Falling rain glittered in the doorway. A black shadow shifted in the mud. Squatting there, its knees up past its ears, was a thing about the size of a large dog. She saw a fat paunchy body slung between long legs, and damp bald skin twitching in the rain. Glowing yellow eyes blinked from a wrinkled pug face. For one fascinated second they stared at each other, troll and girl; then Hilde was splattered with mud as the troll sprang away in a couple of long, liquid jumps.
Hilde flew across the yard and wrenched open the farmhouse door to tell everyone about it. She tumbled straight into a colossal row.
“I never heard such a ridiculous idea in my WHOLE LIFE,” Hilde’s mother was yelling at Ralf. “You’re a FARMER, not some sort of VIKING!”
Hilde let go of the door. It slammed behind her with a deafening bang. And so she forgot about the troll, and didn’t see it leap as suddenly as a frog on to the low eaves of their thick turf roof and go scrambling up to the ridge.
“Why should it be ridiculous?” Ralf bellowed back. “That’s what half these fellows ARE – farmers and Vikings!”
“Ma – Pa – stop it!” cried Hilde. “What’s happening? Stop it – you’ll wake the little ones!”
In fact the twins were already awake – and bawling.
The wind managed an extra strong blast. All the birch trees growing up the sides of Troll Fell reeled and danced. Up on the roof the troll clung on, whimpering, and one of its large black ears blew inside out like a dog’s. It squirmed along to where a hole had been cut out to let smoke escape, and peered over at the fierce red eye of the fire. It pulled back, coughing and chattering to itself: “Hutututu!” But the sound was lost in a rattle of sleet that fell hissing into the flames.
“Very well,” said Gudrun, suddenly deadly quiet. “Let’s see what your father thinks about his only son sailing off on a longship into storms and whirlpools and goodness knows what. It will break his heart!”
“Why don’t you let him speak for himself?” Ralf roared.
