LITMIR.BIZ

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lucky thing!”

      “Yes, but I’ll miss you. Will you miss me?” he whispered, leaning close. She stepped back with a bright smile. (If my hair really smells of onions, I’ll kill Ma…)

      A moment later, people were crowding in. Gunnar Ingolfsson filled the doorframe, a thickset, sandy-bearded man in a heavy wolfskin cloak. After him came a tall, pale girl. A flustered Gudrun came forward to greet them, wiping her hands on her apron. And the last to come in…

      Hilde blinked. In walked a boy who made Arnë look like an overgrown, ruddy-faced farmhand. He wore his fine cloak with a confident swagger. Long golden hair tumbled over his shoulders and down his back.

       Harald Silkenhair? He’s like a young hero from a saga.

      “He’s just like a prince from a fairy tale,” Sigrid breathed. “Hilde, look, he’s even got a sword!”

      Eirik struggled, kicking Sigrid with his bare toes till she put him down. He ran forward, a sturdy little figure in a nightshirt, blocking Harald’s way, and gazed up in wide-eyed admiration. “Show me your sword,” he demanded.

      Harald’s lips quirked, and he went down on one knee. He slid his sword a few inches out of the sheath. “Meet Bone-biter. No!” he warned, as Eirik’s chubby hand went out. “She’s sharp.Touch the handle.”

      Rather uneasily Hilde watched Eirik stretch out a finger. The hilt of the sword was wrapped with silver wire. “Shiny,” said Eirik, his voice soft with awe. He looked up at Harald. “Did you cut off the twoll’s head?”

      Harald frowned. Hilde cut in. “It’s just a story he’s been listening to. He thinks—”

      “He thinks you’re a prince who killed some trolls,” blurted Sigrid, blushing.

      Harald ran the sword back into its sheath. “Not trolls,” he said, laughing, “not trolls.” He leaned forward and ruffled Eirik’s hair. “When you’re a man, maybe you’ll have a sword like this.” And he got to his feet.

      “Wasn’t that nice of him?” Sigrid whispered to Hilde.

      “I…suppose so,” said Hilde slowly. Sigrid was right. It was very nice of this young warrior to take notice of a small boy. So why should she feel so uncomfortable about it? Meet Bone-biter. Little boys always worshipped heroes, didn’t they? What could be wrong with that?

      Harald turned to Gudrun. “Lady!” He bowed over her rough hand as though it were the white hand of a queen, and declaimed with a flourish:

       “Far have we fared on the wide ocean,Where seabirds scream and the whales wander.Glad of our landfall, thanks we giveTo our fair hostess for this fine welcome.”

      “Goodness!” Gudrun fluttered as Harald let go her hand. “Poetry!”

      “His own.” Gunnar watched his son with a kind of rough delight.

      “I’m honoured,” Gudrun exclaimed. “You’re most welcome. What a shame my father-in-law isn’t still alive. He was such a fine poet himself. He would so much have enjoyed this meeting.”

      Would he? thought Hilde, watching her mother’s pleased pink flush. Or would he have thought Master Harald Silkenhair was a young whippersnapper?

      She looked at Harald, wondering how many times he’d used that verse. Could he possibly be poking fun? But before she could consider the matter any further, Arnë tapped her shoulder. “Hilde, this is Gunnar’s wife, Astrid.”

      Hilde turned, nearly bumping against a tall girl standing close behind her, muffled in an expensive-looking dark blue cloak with the hood up. A brown and white goatskin bag was slung over her shoulder on a long strap, which she clutched with long thin-wristed hands. She had ice-maiden skin, so white and thin that the blue veins glistened through, wide grey eyes, a neat straight nose like a cat’s with little curling nostrils, and pale closely-shut lips.

      Their eyes met. For a second Hilde felt she was looking into the eyes of a deer or a hare, a wild animal who glares at you before bolting.

      Then Astrid pushed her hood down. Out sprang a bright cloud of amber hair, frizzing and fizzling, catching the light in a million fiery glints. The hair transformed her cold, still face. With her hood down, she was beautiful.

      Hilde held out her hand, puzzled. Gunnar’s wife? She doesn’t look much older than me. She can’t possibly be that boy’s mother!

      Astrid touched Hilde’s hand with chilly fingers. There was a pause, and Hilde racked her brains for something to say. “Have you been to Vinland too?”

      “No!” said Astrid in a low, curt voice. After a moment she added with reluctance, “Gunnar and I were only married in the fall. He’s an old friend of my father, Grimolf Sigurdsson of Westfold. He came to stay with us, and—I suppose he liked the look of me. I’m his second wife.”

      So that’s it. Poor girl. Gunnar looks older than Pa. I’m glad I don’t have to marry an old man just because he’s rich. Aloud Hilde said, “How exciting! And now you can travel with him right across the world.”

      But perhaps Astrid could tell what Hilde was thinking. Instead of answering she merely raised a scornful eyebrow. Then she stared at the floor. Hilde pursed her lips in annoyance.

      “Not everyone wants to travel across the world, Hilde,” Arnë said with a smile. “Seafaring is hard for women.”

      “I’d love to go to Vinland,” said Hilde immediately, determined to show Arnë that whatever most women were like, she was different.

      Astrid looked up quickly, but before she or Arnë could reply, the door opened. A half-grown black puppy tumbled in and dashed around the room barking excitedly, followed by Peer’s dog Loki. A cheerful voice called, “Hey, hey, what’s this? Visitors?”

      “Ralf,” cried Gudrun. “Get down, Gryla, stop barking! Sigurd, tie your puppy up. Ralf, look who Arnë’s brought to see us!”

      The girls were left together. Hilde was about to make an excuse and slip away when Astrid touched her arm, and said stiffly, “Did you mean that? Would you really like to go to Vinland?”

      Hilde opened her mouth to give some airy reply. Nothing came out. The warm, stifling world of the farmhouse wrapped around her throat like a tight scarf. She stared at Astrid, choking on the unfairness of it. Here was this awful boring girl, with her grand snooty manners, sailing off to Vinland while Hilde had to stay at home.

       She doesn’t know how lucky she is. Oh, if only I had her chance. I want to see something new. I want to go far away. I want to—I want to find Soria Moria Castle, east of the sun and west of the moon!

      Astrid was watching her like a cat. “Come with me!” she said.

      Hilde made a strangled noise between a laugh and a hiccup. “What?”

      “Come with me. Ask your mother. I’ll do my best to help you. I’ll tell Gunnar I want another girl for company. It’s true anyway.And then you’ll be on my side, won’t you?”

      “On your s-side?” Hilde stammered, taken aback.

      Something flashed at the back of Astrid’s eyes. “Nobody asked me if I wanted to come to Vinland. Nobody asked me if I wanted to marry Gunnar. Well, my father asked, but he certainly wasn’t listening for an answer. He’d already agreed. He wouldn’t insult a man like Gunnar.”

      “Was—was there somebody else you liked?”

      “There may have been,” said Astrid warily.

      “My father would never do that to me,” said Hilde, appalled.

      Astrid shrugged. “Lucky you. I thought of putting the cold curse on Gunnar, but someone’s done it already. He’s never warm. See?”

      The cold curse?

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