Troll Blood by Katherine Langrish Read Free Book Online

wall into the rafters.
    He closed the door. The room was hot, bright, and crowded, the atmosphere unnaturally hushed. Peer’s taut nerves twanged.
What’s going on? Trouble?
    A strong voice chanted:
    “The hound of heaven, the ship-seizer
,
hunted us over the wild waters.
Weary wanderers, we fled before
the wide jaws of the wind-wolf.”
    It was Harald, the center of attention, standing at the long trestle table reciting his poetry to the family. He made a brave sight, gold gleaming at his neck. Everyone listened in apparent admiration. No one had eyes for Peer.
    Peer waited by the door, hungry and cross. In full flow,Harald chanted on. It was all about the voyage to Vinland, and he was making it sound pretty stormy and adventurous. Once, he caught Peer’s eye, and a faint smirk fled across his face.
    Would the poem never end? Was Harald deliberately spinning it out to keep him waiting? Something scuffled overhead. Dust dropped in a fairy cascade. Suppressing a sneeze, Peer rubbed his eyes and saw flickering movement along the roof beams. It would be the Nis poking about among the cobwebs, chasing spiders—one of its favorite games. Good. At least the Nis couldn’t be bothered with Harald Silkenhair!
    At last Harald’s voice rose in triumphant climax:
    “But our sleek ship, our proud sea-serpent
bore us swiftly to a safe haven
,
an empty land, fleeced in forests
,
land for our labors, land for claiming!”
    Everyone but Peer clapped and cheered. Harald flung himself back on the bench, lifted his cup, and tossed down a draft of ale. “Great stuff!” roared Ralf, pounding the table. “Grand! ‘Our sleek ship, our proud sea-serpent!’ I’ve always wished I could make poetry. My father could, but I can’t. ‘An empty land, fleeced in forests.’ That’s not right, though. Vinland isn’t empty. There are people there.”
    Harald’s laugh was a jeer. “People? You mean the Skraelings?”
    Peer didn’t know what a Skraeling was, but nothing would have induced him to ask. He squeezed down the room and reached over Arnë’s shoulder to grab some food. Gudrun smiled at him, and Hilde flipped him a wave, but the benches were full, so he folded himself into a corner near the fire, sitting on the earth floor with his back against one of the big wooden posts that held up the roof. Loki came out from under the table to greet him. Peer pulled him close and fed him a piece of cheese.
    Sigurd was asking loudly, “What’s a Skraeling?”
    “Skraelings, laddie?” Gunnar set down his horn cup with a crack. “A Skraeling is a wretch, a pitiful rascal. It’s what we call those creatures who live in Vinland. No better than trolls. They live in tents made from bits of tree bark. They dress in skins. Your little sister knows more than the Skraelings do. Why,” he guffawed, “at one place we stopped they were so ignorant that they bartered good furs for a few miserable pieces of red cloth. And when we ran short of cloth, we tore it into thinner and thinner strips, and still the Skraelings paid in furs.”
    “That’s not what Pa told us,” said Hilde. Peer nodded agreement. Ralf’s stories had made these people sound like tall forest spirits, flitting between the trees with bright feathers in their black hair.
    Ralf said mildly, “I thought they were fine people. And why shouldn’t they barter furs for cloth, if cloth was a rarity? I don’t call that proof of ignorance.”
    Gunnar stared as though he wasn’t used to being disagreed with. Gudrun broke in, “But aren’t they dangerous? Isn’t that how you lost your hand, Gunnar—fighting Skraelings?”
    “Skraelings? No!” Gunnar’s face darkened. “No. It happened in Westfold before I left. An argument in an alehouse.” Here his wife gave him a cold glance, Peer noticed—perhaps she didn’t approve of alehouse fights. “The man jumped me before I was ready for him. Luckily I had my boy here with me.”
    “What did Harald do?” Sigurd asked