Isrid thanked him. “To say truth, ’twas even this I was waiting for. We know well, we poor folk under the uplands here, that you will ever do us a kind turn if you can, when you come hither.” She ran up to the hut to fetch a bundle and a cloak.
It was indeed so that Lavrans liked well to come among these small folk who lived on clearings and leaseholdings high up on the outskirts of the parish; amongst them he was always glad and merry. He talked with them of the ways of the forest beasts and the reindeer of the upland wastes, and of all the uncanny things that are stirring in such places. And he stood by them and helped them with word and deed; saw to their sick cattle, helped them with their errands to the smith or to the carpenter; nay, would sometimes take hold himself and bend his great strength to the work, when the worst stones or roots were to be broken out of the earth. Therefore were these people ever glad to greet Lavrans Björgulfsön and Guldsveinen, the great red stallion that he rode upon. ’Twas a comely beast with a shining skin, white mane and tail and light eyes — strong and fiery, so that his fame was spread through all the country round; but with his master he was gentle as a lamb, and Lavrans used to say that the horse was dear to him as a younger brother.
Lavrans’ first errand was to see to the beacon on Heimhaugen. For in the hard and troubled times a hundred years or more gone by, the yeomen of the dales had built beacons here and there high up on the fells above them, like the seamarks in the roadsteads upon the coast. But these beacons in the uplands were not in the ward of the King’s levies, but were cared for by the yeoman guilds,* and the guild brothers took turns at their tending.
When they were come to the first sæter, Lavrans turned out all but the pack-horse to graze there; and now they took a steep footpath upwards. Before long the trees grew thin and scattered. Great firs stood dead and white as bones upon the marshy grounds — and now Kristin saw bare greystone peaks rising to the sky on all hands. They climbed long stretches amid loose stones, and at times the becks ran in the track, so that her father must carry her. The wind blew strong and fresh up here, and the ground was black with berries amidst the heather, but Lavrans said they could not stop now to gather them. Arne sprang now in front and now behind, plucked berries for her, and told her whose the sæters were that they saw below them in the forest — for there was forest over the whole of Hövringsvangen in those days.
And now they were close below the highest round bare top and saw the great pile of timber against the sky, with the watch-house under the lee of a crag.
As they came up over the brow the wind rushed against them and buffeted their clothing — it seemed to Kristin as though something living, that dwelt up here, met and greeted them. It blew gustily around her and Arne as they went forward over the mosses, till they sate them down far out on a jutting point, and Kristin gazed with great eyes— never before had she dreamed that the world was so big and wide.
Forest-shagged ranges lay below her on all sides; the valley was but a cleft betwixt the huge fells, and the side-glens still lesser clefts; there were many such, yet was there little of dale and much of fell. All around grey peaks, flaming with golden lichen, rose above the sea of forest, and far off, on the very brink of heaven, stood blue crests flashing here and there with snow, and melting, before their eyes, into the grey-blue and pure white summer-clouds. But north-eastwards, nearer by — just beyond the sæter woods — lay a cluster of mighty slate-coloured domes with streaks of new-fallen snow down their slopes. These Kristin guessed to be the Boar Fells she had heard tell of, for they were indeed like naught but a herd of heavy boar wending inland that had just turned their backs upon the parish. Yet Arne told her ’twas a half-day’s ride to get even so far.
Kristin had ever thought that could she but win over the top of the home-fells she would look down upon another parish like their own, with tilled farms and dwellings, and ’twas great wonder to her now to see how far it was betwixt the places where folks dwelt. She saw the small yellow and green flecks down below in the dale-bottom, and the tiny clearings with their grey dots of houses amid the hill forests; she began to take tale of them, but when she had reckoned three times twelve, she could keep count of them no longer. Yet the human dwelling-places were as nothing in that waste.
She knew that in the wild woods wolves and bears lorded it, and that under every stone there dwelt trolls and goblins and elfin-folk, and she was afraid, for no one knew the number of them-but there must be many times more of them than of Christian men and women. Then she called aloud on her father, but he could not hear for the blowing of the wind — he and his men were busy rolling heavy stones up the bare mountain-top to pile round the timbers of the beacon.
But Isrid came to the children and showed Kristin where the fell west of Vaage lay. And Arne pointed out the Grayfell, where folk from the parish took reindeer in pits, and where the King’s falcon-catchers lay in stone huts. That was a trade Arne thought to take to some day — but if he did he would learn as well to train the birds for the chase — and he held his arms aloft as though to cast a hawk.
Isrid shook her head.
“ ’Tis a hard and evil life, that, Arne Gyrdsön. ’Twould be a heavy sorrow for your mother, boy, should you ever come to be a falcon-catcher. None may earn his bread in those wild hills except he join in fellowship with the worst of men — ay, and with them that are worse still.”
Lavrans had come toward them and had heard this last word. “Ay,” says he, “there’s more than one hide of land in there that pays neither tax nor tithe —”
“Yes; many a thing must you have seen,” said Isrid coaxingly, “you who fare so far afield —”
“Ay, ay,” said Lavrans slowly. “Maybe — but methinks ’tis well not to speak of such things overmuch. One should not, I say, grudge folks who have lost their peace in the parish, whatever peace they can find among the fells. Yet have I seen yellow fields and brave meadows where few folk know that such things be; and herds have I seen of cattle and small stock, but of these I know not whether they belonged to mankind or to other folk —”
“Oh, ay!” says Isrid. “Bears and wolves get the blame for the beasts that are missed from the sæters here, but there are worse thieves among the fells than they.”
“Do you call them worse?” asked Lavrans thoughtfully, stroking his daughter’s cap. “In the hills to the south under the Boar Fells I once saw three little lads, and the greatest was even as Kristin here — yellow hair they had, and coats of skin. They gnashed their teeth at me like wolf-cubs before they ran to hide. ’Twere little wonder if the poor man who owned them were fain to lift a cow or two —”
“Oh, both wolves and bears have young!” says Isrid testily; “and you spare not them, Lavrans, neither them nor their young. Yet they have no lore of law nor of Christendom, as have these evil-doers you wish so well to —”
“Think you I wish them too well, because I wish them a little better than the worst?” said Lavrans, smiling a little. “But come now, let us see what cheer Ragnfrid has sent with us to-day.” He took Kristin by the hand and led her with him. And as they went he bent and said softly, “I thought of your three small brothers, little Kristin.”
They peeped into the watch-house, but it was close in there and smelt of mould. Kristin took a look around, but there were only some earthen benches about the walls, a hearth-stone in the middle of the floor, and some barrels of tar and faggots of pine-roots and birch-bark. Lavrans thought ’twould be best they should eat without doors, and a little way down among the birches they found a fine piece of green sward.
The pack-horse was unloaded, and they stretched themselves upon the grass. In the wallets Ragnfrid had given them was plenty food of the best — soft bread and bannocks, butter and cheese, pork and wind-dried reindeer meat, lard, boiled brisket of beef, two kegs with German beer, and of mead a little jar. The carving of the meat and portioning it round went quickly, while Halvdan, the oldest of the men, struck fire and made a blaze — it was safer to have a good fire
out here in the woods.
Isrid and Arne gathered heather and dwarf-birch and cast it on the blaze. It crackled as the fire tore the fresh green from the twigs, and small white flakes flew high upon the wisps of red flame; the smoke whirled thick and black toward the clear sky. Kristin sat and watched; it seemed to her the fire was glad that it was out there, and free, and could play and frisk. ’Twas otherwise than when, at home, it sat upon the hearth and must work at cooking food and giving light to the folks in the room.
She sat nestled by her father with one arm upon his knee; he gave her all she would have of the best, and bade her drink her fill of the beer and taste well of the mead.
“She will be so tipsy she’ll never get down to the sæter on her feet,” said Halvdan, laughing; but Lavrans stroked her round cheeks:
“Then here are folk enough who can bear her — it will do her good — drink you too, Arne; God’s gifts do good, not harm, to you that are yet growing — make sweet, red blood, and give deep sleep, and rouse not madness and folly —”
The men, too, drank often and deep; neither was Isrid backward. And soon their voices and the roar and crackle of the fire were but a far-off hubbub in Kristin’s ears, and she began to grow heavy of head. She was still aware how they questioned Lavrans and would have him tell of the strange things he had met with when out a-hunting. But much he would not say; and this seemed to her so good and so safe — and then she had eaten so well.
Her father had a slice of soft barley-bread in his hand; he pinched small bits of it between his fingers into shapes of horses, and, cutting shreds of meat, he set these astride the steeds and made them ride over his thigh and into Kristin’s mouth. But soon she was so weary she could neither open her mouth nor chew — and so she sank back upon the ground and slept.
When she came to herself again she was lying in a warm darkness within her father’s arm — he had wrapped his cloak about them both. Kristin sat up, wiped the moisture from her face, and unloosed her cap that the air might dry her damp locks.
The day was surely far spent, for the sunlight was golden, and the shadows had lengthened and fell now toward the south-east. No breath of wind was stirring, and gnats and flies buzzed and swarmed about the group of sleeping men. Kristin sat stock still, scratched her gnat-bitten hands and gazed about her. The mountain-top above them shone white with moss and golden with lichen in the sunshine, and the pile of weather-beaten timber stood against the sky like the skeleton of some wondrous beast.
She grew ill at ease — it was so strange to see them all sleeping there in the naked daylight. At home if by hap she woke at night, she lay snug in the dark with her mother on the one side, and on the other the tapestry stretched upon the wall. And then she knew that the chamber with its smoke-vent was shut and barred against the night and the weather without, and sounds of slumber came from the folk who lay soft and safe on the pillows ’twixt the skins. But all these bodies, lying twisted and bent on the hillside, about the little heap of black and white ashes, might well be dead — some lay upon their faces, some upon their backs with knees updrawn, and the noises that came from them scared her. Her father snored deeply, but when Halvdan drew a breath, it piped and whistled in his nose. And Arne lay upon his side, his face hidden on his arm, and his glossy, light brown hair spread out amongst the heather; he lay so still Kristin grew afraid lest he be dead. She had to bend forward and touch him, and on this he turned a little in his sleep.
Kristin suddenly bethought her, maybe they had slept through the night and this was the next day — and this frightened her so that she shook her father; but he only grunted and slept on. Kristin herself was still heavy of head, but she dared not lie down to sleep again. And so she crept forward to the fire and raked in it with a stick — there were still some embers aglow beneath. She threw upon it heather and small twigs which she broke off round about her — she dared not pass the ring of sleepers to find bigger branches.
There came a rattling and crashing in the woods near by, and Kristin’s heart sank and she went cold with fear. But then she spied a red shape amidst the trees, and Guldsveinen broke out of the thicket. He stood there and gazed upon her with his clear, bright eyes. She was so glad to see him, she leapt to her feet and ran to the stallion. And there, too, was the brown horse Arne had ridden, and the pack-horse as well. Now she felt safe and happy again; she went and patted them all three upon their flanks, but Guldsveinen bent his head so that she could reach up to fondle his cheeks, and pull his yellow-white forelock, while he nosed round her hands with his soft muzzle.
The horses wandered, feeding, down the birch-grown slope, and Kristin went with them — she felt there was naught to fear so long as she kept close to Guldsveinen — he had driven off a bear before now, she knew. And the bilberries grew so thick in here, and the child was thirsty now, with a bad taste in her mouth; the beer was not to her liking any more, but the sweet, juicy berries were good as wine. Away, on a scree, she saw raspberries growing too, so she grasped Guldsveinen by the mane, and sweetly bade him go there with her, and the stallion followed willingly with the little maid. Thus, as she wandered farther and farther down the hillside, he followed her when she called, and the other two horses followed Guldsveinen.
Somewhere near at hand she heard the gurgling and trickling of a beck; she followed the sound till she found it, and then lay out upon a great slab and washed her hot, gnat-bitten face and hands. Below the slab the water stood, a still, black pool, for over against it there rose a wall of rock behind some small birches and willows. It made the finest of mirrors, and Kristin leaned over and looked at herself in the water, for she wished to see whether ’twas true, as Isrid said, that she bore a likeness to her father.
She smiled and nodded and bent forward till her hair met the bright hair about the round, great-eyed child-face she saw in the beck.
Round about grew a great plenty of those gay, pink flower clusters they name valerian — redder far and finer here by the fell-beck than at home by the river. Of these Kristin plucked, and bound them about with grass, till she had woven herself the finest, thickest wreath of rose-pink. The child pressed it down on her head and ran to the pool to see how she looked now she was decked out like a grown maid who goes a-dancing.
She stooped over the water and saw her own dark image rise from the bottom and grow clearer as it came to meet her — and then in the mirror of the pool she saw another figure standing among the birches opposite and bending toward her. In haste she got upon her knees and gazed across. At first she thought it was but the rock and the bushes clinging round its foot. But all at once she was aware of a face amid the leaves — there stood a lady, pale, with waving, flaxen hair — the great, light-grey eyes and wide, pink nostrils were like Guldsveinen’s. She was clad in something light, leaf-green, and branches and twigs hid her up to the broad breasts, which were covered over with brooches and sparkling chains.
The little girl gazed upon the figure, and as she gazed the lady raised a hand and showed her a wreath of golden flowers — she beckoned with it.
Behind her Kristin heard Guldsveinen neigh loud in fear. She turned her head — the stallion reared, screaming till the echoes rang, then flung around and fled up the hill with a thunder of hoofs. The other horses followed — straight up the scree, while stones came rumbling down and boughs and roots broke and rattled.
Then Kristin screamed aloud. “Father!” she shrieked, “father!” She gained her feet, tore after the horses and dared not look behind. She clambered up the scree, trod on the hem of her dress and slipped back downwards; climbed again, catching at the stones with bleeding hands, creeping on sore bruised knees, and crying now to Guldsveinen, now to her father — sweat started from every pore of her body and ran like water into her eyes, and her heart beat as though twould break against her ribs, while sobs of terror choked her throat:
“Oh, father! oh, father!”
Then his voice sounded somewhere above: she saw him come with great bounds down the scree
— the bright, sunlit scree; birch and aspen stood along it and blinked from their small silvered leaves — the hillside was so quiet, so bright, while her father came leaping, calling her by name; and Kristin sank down and knew that now she was saved.
“Sancta Maria!” Lavrans knelt and clasped his daughter. He was pale and strange about the mouth, so that Kristin grew yet more afraid; ’twas as though only now in his face she read how great had been her peril.
“Child, child —” He lifted her bleeding hands, looked at them, saw the wreath upon her bare head, and touched it. “What is it — how came you hither, my little Kristin — ?”
“I went with Guldsveinen,” she sobbed upon his breast. “I got so afraid seeing you all asleep, but then Guldsveinen came, and then there was some one by the beck down yonder that beckoned me —”
“Who beckoned — was it a man?”
“No, ’twas a lady — she beckoned with a wreath of gold — I think ’twas the dwarf-maiden,* father —”
“Jesus Kristus!” said Lavrans softly, and crossed himself and the child.
He helped her up the scree till they came to a grassy slope; then he lifted and bore her. She clung about his neck and sobbed — could not stop for all his soothing.
Soon they met the men and Isrid. The woman smote her hands together, when she heard what had befallen:
“Ay, ’twas the elf-maiden* sure enough — she would have lured the fair child into the mountain, trust you me.”
“Hold your peace!” bade Lavrans sternly. “Never should we have talked of such things here in the woods as we did — one knows not what may lie beneath the rocks and hearken to each word.”