Читать книгу West of the Moon - Katherine Langrish - Страница 20

Chapter 14

Peer Alone

PEER CROUCHED, his mind spinning. Were they after him? How could they know where he was?

Had they caught Hilde? Were they taking her to the Troll King all by herself?

Cheek pressed to the stone, he looked around the edge. And one thing was clear: his uncles had no idea he was there. Their hoods pulled well down, they trudged past his hiding place without looking left or right. And Hilde wasn’t with them. He sighed in relief. But each of them carried a large bundle over his shoulder.

What were those bundles? Was it just the poor light, or were they moving? Peer strained his eyes. With a jolt of horror he suddenly saw what they were. Two small children, bundled in sacking and swathed in ropes.

“Sigurd and Sigrid!” Peer breathed. A girl and a boy. Twins.

A matching pair!

He stood in the snow, in full view if his uncles turned around, his mind racing. What could he do? What could he possibly do, all by himself? How could he rescue the twins from two huge, powerful men – or from a whole hill full of trolls?

If he had been slower leaving the mill, or if he had gone by the road, he would never have known – never have seen what his uncles were doing. He gazed after their disappearing backs. It was nearly too late. In a moment they would vanish into the dim night and falling snow. He could go on to Hammerhaven as if nothing had happened.

But into his head slipped a memory, the memory of Sigrid’s high little voice in the summer, screaming at Uncle Baldur: “I don’t like the nasty man! I hate him!” Sigrid and Sigurd were only little, but they were his friends.

Peer stood as still as the big stone. He knew what he should do. He should follow, and see where his uncles were taking the children. He should tell the whole village what they had done. If he didn’t he would blame himself for ever.

“Loki!” he said with a furious sob. “This way!”

Loki gambolled along at his heels, thinking this was a game. Peer was terrified he would bark and give them away. He was afraid of losing his uncles, and afraid of getting too close. Already their shadowy shapes were disappearing into a little valley. Peer ran, as if in a bad dream. His cumbersome boots dragged half off at each stride.

The valley was no more than a dimple on the hillside, but it was full of drifted snow. Both Peer’s boots came off as he ploughed through it. There was no time to empty out the snow; he just shoved his numb feet back in and plunged on. The tracks turned uphill again. Peer dropped into a plod, forced himself to run, fell to plodding again. On and on he went. It stopped snowing, and the moon sailed out over a landscape of white slopes and black rocks. Deep dragging marks showed where his uncles had turned aside towards the foot of a cliff – twenty feet or so of glistening stone capped with a snowy overhang. The tracks continued along the base to a place where a rockfall of boulders offered a way up. Peer and Loki picked their way, slipping and bruising themselves on half-buried stones.

At the top of the cliff, the ground levelled out into a wide ledge. Peer reached it, gasping. A few hundred yards ahead, clear in the moonlight, two dark figures strode towards a narrow ravine. If they turned around, Peer would be in plain view. But they didn’t turn.

He looked back, realising he was not far from the top of Troll Fell. The land fell away in all directions, and he could sense the bulk of the mountain below him. Other lonely peaks reared up white in the dark sky to the north. An inhuman silence reigned.

Loki pawed at his legs. Peer was suddenly very thankful for his dog. “Good boy. Come on!”

The snow was shallow here, combed thin by the wind. Peer hurried up the slope in his uncles’ tracks, determined to keep them – and the twins – in sight to the end. They were heading into the ravine. Steep cliffs leaned over, slashed black with shadows. And then a shrill yell rang out, ringing off the rocks. Uncle Baldur was shouting to the gatekeeper of Troll Fell: “Open! Open up!”

The troll gate opened.

A hairline of light appeared in the dark root of the cliff. Silently and swiftly it widened as the stone door turned on unseen pivots. Spellbound, Peer crouched in the snow as golden light spilled down the mountain.

The dark shapes of his two uncles, carrying the bundles that were Sigurd and Sigrid, stood out black for a moment against the gold, then vanished inside. Smoothly, silently, the door swung shut. The rectangle of light shrank to a line, narrowed to a filament, and was gone. The shock passed through the ground as though Troll Fell shivered, and prickled over Peer’s skin.

He ran, scrambling over the pebbles at the base of the cliff and threw himself at the cold face, patting and fumbling for the door. Nothing. Solid stone without a crack. His legs gave way. He sank to the ground, ashamed to have come so far and been so useless. His hand felt something in the snow beside him. It was Sigrid’s woolly cap, gritty with melting snow crystals, but still warm.

Peer bent his head on to his knees.

Loki sensed Peer’s despair. He lifted his muzzle to the sky and let the misery within him float away in a long, musical howl. The eerie sound echoed in the cliffs, and brought Peer back to his feet. “Quiet, Loki. Hush!” But Loki, surprised and impressed by the noise he had made, was doing it again.

“Oooo…ooo…ooo…!” The sound trailed away. To Peer it seemed as though all the mountains were looking at them. It was awful. The rebounding echoes came fainter and fainter. And then came an echo that was not an echo.

Peer froze. “Was that – a bark?”

Unmistakably, a second bark came from somewhere below them on the hill. Loki shot off. Moments later he reappeared, leaping crazily around another dog – an old sheepdog, by the look of it – that was trotting steadily uphill. Peer couldn’t believe his eyes. A shepherd? On top of Troll Fell at this hour?

Somebody was coming, all right, puffing up the slope. Somebody too small to be a shepherd…

“Loki!” cried a clear, incredulous voice. “Peer? What are you doing here?”

“Hilde!” yelled Peer. He rushed to meet her; he grabbed her hands. Words tumbled out. “It was Uncle Baldur – Uncle Grim. I was escaping – I saw them carrying the twins. They went into the mountain, Hilde, I couldn’t stop them. What shall we do?”

Hilde pulled off her cap and pushed the hair out of her eyes. “You saw them? And you followed? Oh well done, Peer!”

“How did you know where to come?” Peer still couldn’t believe it.

“Alf and I discovered this place when we were gathering sheep at the beginning of winter,” Hilde told him. “Alf. My dog.” Alf licked her mittened hand. “Tonight, when we realised the twins had been stolen —” her voice shook, “Mother and Grandfather went to the village to rouse everyone. I was supposed to stay behind in case – in case the twins came back; but I knew they wouldn’t. I couldn’t bear to wait. I decided to come here. Alf knows the way.”

“The door’s shut,” said Peer. “I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.”

“Well, if the door’s shut, let’s go and knock on it,” said Hilde.

“I found this,” said Peer unhappily. He handed her Sigrid’s cap. Hilde looked at it silently and tucked it into her pocket.

“But even if they hear us knocking,” Peer went on, “why should they let us in?”

“They’ll let us in,” said Hilde with strange confidence, “when they know I’ve got this!”

She pulled out a small bundle wrapped in cloth and unrolled it. Peer gasped. “Is that —?”

“The famous cup? Yes,” said Hilde. She turned it this way and that. The gold gleamed pale in the moonlight and the moulding winked white fire. “Let’s see how badly the Gaffer of Troll Fell wants it back! Let’s go. It’ll soon be dawn, and they won’t open the troll gate after sunrise. Hurry!”

She picked up a stone and pounded the rock face, shouting. “Open up! Open up! I’m Hilde, Ralf ’s daughter!”

“Open up!” Peer joined in. They hammered on the cliff. The dogs barked.

“Wait a minute,” panted Hilde. They listened. The echoes died away. It was growing lighter every moment.

“Open up!” called Hilde. “Tell the Gaffer I’ve brought his cup. Remember? The cup Ralf Eiriksson took, years ago!”

Years ago! Years ago! The echo sprang to and fro. Hilde bit her lip. “It’s not working.” Her face was wan in the cold pre-dawn glow.

Peer caught her arm. A vertical black seam ran down the rock face. It split apart. They smelled sparks. The soles of their feet tickled. The stone door swung slowly inwards, revealing nothing but a gaping darkness.

Hilde stepped forwards, but Peer dragged her back. “You can’t go in there!”

“Yes I can. Let go!”

“Not in the dark! You’ll get lost – trapped!” He hung on. She twisted a foot behind his leg and tripped him. They fell together, sobbing and struggling.

“Let – me – go!” Hilde shrieked, her face inches from his. “You don’t have to come! They’re not your brother and sister! If you’re such a coward, go home!”

Peer let go. He lay back on the ground, chest heaving. Tears leaked from under his eyelids. Hilde scrambled up. “I’m sorry,” she said between gasps. “I’m sorry.”

Behind her loomed the cliff and the tall black slot of the troll gate. The thought of disappearing into it filled Peer with terror, but he got to his feet. “You’re not going alone,” he said fiercely, “I’m coming with you.”

“Oh Peer!” Hilde wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “Come on then. Wait! Just a minute.” She bent to the dogs. “Go home, Alf. Good boy. Go home, you hear me? And take Loki. You can’t come with us.”

“Off you go, Loki,” said Peer, clenching his teeth.

Alf sniffed Loki. He turned and trotted a few paces downhill. He stopped and looked round. “Go home, Loki!” said Peer loudly. The old dog barked, and slowly Loki began to follow him. “Goodbye!” muttered Peer. He watched the two dogs going away down the hill and felt lonelier than ever before in his life.

“Come on!” Hilde beckoned anxiously. The moon was paling and the sky was pink.

Sucking in a huge gasp of the cold, fresh air, filling his lungs as if it was the last breath he would ever take, Peer turned his back on the sunrise and followed Hilde into Troll Fell.