Troll Blood
The dramatic and gripping conclusion to Katherine Langrish’s highly-acclaimed TROLL trilogy.When seafaring traders, Gunnar, and his sword-wielding son, Harald Silkenhair, land in Trollsvik, looking for crew to join their journey to Vinland (North America), Hilde is desperate to join the ship. She begs her parents to let her go as Gunnar’s wife Astrid’s companion, and when Peer agrees to go and look after her, her parents reluctantly agree.But Gunnar and Harald are dangerous men. Harald has killed a man, and Gunnar has been cursed and is losing his wits in fear that the dead man’s ghost is following him. Harald has an uncontrollable, raging temper, and a perilous rivalry develops between he and Peer.By the time they finally reach the shores of Vinland, the settlement is looking less of an attractive proposition. And that's before they meet the "Skraelings" (the Native American people) and the terrifying Jenu – the cannibal giant with a heart of ice…Action-packed, suspense-fuelled and with a wonderful cast of characters, Troll Blood is a truly rip-roaring read.
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Troll Blood
Katherine Langrish
For all my family
Many thanks to:Phil Scott for telling me about the Viking Ship Museum,
the staff of the Viking Ship Museum, Roskilde, Denmark,who showed me how to sail a reconstructed Viking-age ship,
Diane Chisholm of the Mi’kmaq Resource Centre,University of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia,who patiently answered my many enquiries,
Dr Ruth Holmes Whitehead, who kindly read the manuscriptand made many invaluable suggestions concerning Mi’kmaq lore.
As always, any remaining mistakes are my own responsibility.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER 3 “Be careful what you wish for”
CHAPTER 4 The Nis Amuses Itself
CHAPTER 14 Disturbances and Tall Tales
CHAPTER 15 A Walk on the Beach
CHAPTER 18 “A Son like Harald.”
CHAPTER 19 Down the Dark River
CHAPTER 20 Thorolf the Seafarer
The Mist Persons are busy, crouching on wave-splashed rocks out in the gulf, blowing chilly whiteness over the sea. Their breath rolls like a tide over the beach and the boggy meadowlands near the river mouth, and flows far up the valley, spreading into the dark woods on either side.
A birch-bark canoe comes whirling down river through the wet fog. Kneeling in the prow, Kwimu braces himself against the cross-piece. He lifts a long pole like a lance, ready to fend off rocks. Each bend, each stretch of rapids comes as a surprise. Even the banks are hard to see.
The canoe bucks. Kwimu feels the river hump its back like an animal. The canoe shoots over the hump and goes arrowing into a narrow gorge, where tall cliffs squeeze the water into a mad downhill dash. Spray splashes in, and Fox, curled against his knees, shakes an irritated head. Fox hates getting wet.
A rock! Kwimu jabs the pole, swaying to keep his balance as the canoe swerves lightly away. It hurtles down a sleek slope and goes shivering and bouncing into roaring white water at the bottom. Again and again Kwimu flicks out the pole, striking here and there, turning the canoe between the rocks. Sometimes a whirlpool catches them, trying to hold them back and pull them down, but Kwimu’s father Sinumkw, kneeling behind him, gives a mighty thrust with his paddle and sends them shooting on.
A bend in the river. More rocks. Kwimu throws back his wet hair, every muscle tense. They dart down, twining into the curve, hugging the base of the cliff where the water is deeper and smoother. It’s cold here; the wet, grainy stone drips, and the mist writhes in weird shapes. There’s a splash and an echo, and it’s not just the paddle. The canoe tilts, veers. Fox springs up, snarling, showing his white teeth and black gums, and for a heartbeat Kwimu sees a thin muddy hand clutch at the prow. A head plastered with wet hair rises from the water. It winks at him with an expression of sullen glee, and ducks under.
Cold with shock, Kwimu flings a wild glance back at his father. But Sinumkw simply shouts, “Look what you’re doing!” And they’re snatched into the next stretch of rapids.
They hurtle into the cross-currents, Sinumkw paddling grimly. Kwimu thrusts and fends with dripping hair and aching arms until the gorge widens, the cliffs drop back, and the canoe spills out into calm water flowing between high banks covered with trees. On either side, the grey-robed forest rises, fading into mist.
Kwimu twists round, panting. “Did you see?” he bursts out. “Did you see the Water Person—the Grabber-from-Beneath?”
Sinumkw frowns, but says calmly, “I saw nothing but the rocks and the rapids.”
“He was there,” Kwimu insists. “And Fox saw him too.”
His father nods. “Maybe. But if you’d taken your eyes off the water for a moment longer, we’d have capsized. So his trick didn’t work. Anyway, well done! That’s the worst stretch over. No more rapids between here and the sea. And we’ll land here, I think.”
He drives his paddle into the water. The canoe pivots towards the shore.
“But I thought we were going all the way down to the sea. Can’t we go on in the canoe? It’s so much quicker than walking,” Kwimu pleads as they lift the canoe out of the water.
“Quicker, yes,” says Sinumkw drily. “Speed isn’t everything. Just look around. Somebody’s been cutting trees.” Kwimu looks up in surprise, and his father is right—the bank is littered with chips of yellow wood, and studded with stumps like broken teeth. Piles of lopped branches lie in the trampled undergrowth.
Sinumkw picks up some scattered chips. “These aren’t fresh. This was done moons ago, before the winter.”
“Who would need so many trees?” Kwimu asks quietly. His scalp prickles.There are Other Persons in the woods. One of them cuts down trees. Sometimes, in lonely parts of the forest, hunters hear the sound of an axe, chopping—and a tree comes crashing down, though no one is visible.
