The Islands of the Blessed

by Nancy Farmer

  “It’s a long story,” the boy said wearily.

  They made camp on Grim’s Island that night, using rations from the ship because little else was available. Jack unfolded the saga of St. Columba’s cave and the tunnel leading up through the heart of the mountain. When he got to the part about Olaf, everyone cried out in disbelief.

  Thorgil shouted them down. “He was there! I saw him!”

  “If you could see the dead,” Eric the Rash said, his eyes rounded with fear, “then you must be dead too—ow!”

  Thorgil had poked him viciously with a branch from the fire. “Does that feel like a ghost?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.” The warrior rubbed the burn on his arm.

  “My little sister is not a draugr/” roared Schlaup. His body got larger and lumpier, and everyone got ready to flee.

  “Of course she’s not a draugr,” Rune said quickly. “Dragon Tongue used to say there were paths between the nine worlds for those with the eyes to see them. You don’t have to be dead to use them.”

  Schlaup’s shape settled back to normal.

  Jack told them of Bjorn Skull-Splitter and Einar Adder-Tooth, and no one was surprised to find bitter enemies in the same afterlife. “IT’S MORE FUN TO SLICE UP ENEMIES THAN FRIENDS,” Eric Pretty-Face explained.

  Everyone listened rapturously as the boy described Heidrun, whose udders gave never-ending mead, and Sæhrímnir, who was devoured each night and sprang to life again in the morning. “Mead and roast pork forever,” Sven the Vengeful said with a sigh. “You can’t beat it.”

  Jack spoke of Valkyries and—with a glance at Thorgil to see how she was taking it—of how they cared for heroes after a day of fighting. Most of all, he spoke of Olaf, but he kept secret the encounter with Odin.

  “I wish I could have seen Father,” said Skakki wistfully as they sat around a driftwood fire rippling with blue and green flames. “It’s so like him not to be satisfied with Valhalla. He never stayed in one place long and used to spend one winter out of three with the Mountain Queen. Speaking of which, I’m giving Father’s hall to Schlaup once I’ve moved the family to Horse Island. I think he’ll be happier there.”

  Jack thought so too. Both he and Thorgil congratulated Schlaup.

  “You can visit. Everyone can visit,” the giant said. “When winter comes”—he paused to organize the words—“my sisters, Fonn and Forath, will stay. They like snow.”

  And a jolly time they’ll have too, thought Jack. He could see Mrs. Tanner roasting elks in the fireplace and the troll-maidens smiling, or at least baring their fangs, at Ymma and Ythla.

  In the morning, before they set sail, Skakki and Schlaup looked for a way onto the mountain. Even the half-troll couldn’t haul himself up the sheer cliffs, nor were they able to find St. Columba’s cave. When Jack wriggled into the small cave where Father Severus had spent a winter and reached through the hole at the end, his hand met rock only a few inches away.

  It’s like the hazel wood, Jack thought. The paths open only when it’s time for them to open.

  Summer was over and the wheel of the year had turned toward fall. They sailed back along the coast to Bebba’s Town. There was need to hurry, for trees were changing color and the few fields they passed were yellow. They reminded Jack of the barrows in Notland, and he felt a sadness that would not lift. For the first time in his life he had no direction.

  First, he had been a farm brat chasing sheep. Then he became the Bard’s apprentice. He had been carried off to the Northland with his sister and had won their freedom. He’d had to set forth again when she was kidnapped by the Lady of the Lake. Each adventure had led to new adventures, with periods between to rest up. Now he had only one task left: to rescue the Bard’s daughter. What would he do when that was accomplished?

  He wasn’t ready to be a bard. True, he could do a few tricks and remembered some of the recipes for elixirs. But it was depressingly clear to him that he wasn’t much better than the third-rate skald Adder-Tongue had hired to sing praises. Would that be his fate—to go from hall to hall like Big Half and Little Half until people got tired of him and threw him out?

  Thorgil, too, was immersed in gloom. She wouldn’t recite her bloodthirsty poetry even when Eric Pretty-Face asked her nicely to sing about freezing to death. She was closed in, not accessible to anyone except Seafarer. The bird sat by her constantly, crooning softly. “He is mourning his lost flock,” she translated on one of the few occasions she consented to talk. “They are lost in the far south and he will never see them again.”

  Jack knew she was thinking about her shattered dream of becoming a Valkyrie.

  The ship sped before a swift wind, and soon they had passed Edwin’s Town and were approaching the Holy Isle. Jack saw a few campfires on the isle after dark and guessed that monks were trying to rebuild the monastery.

  They arrived at Bebba’s Town in the middle of the night, the only safe time for a shipload of berserkers and a half-troll to dock. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” Skakki said as they silently rowed to shore. “I’m afraid to wait. I can smell ice on the wind. As it is, we’ll be lucky to get Egil to Horse Island before winter sets in.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Thorgil said listlessly.

  “I do worry, little sister. Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I’ve given an oath to save Dragon Tongue’s daughter.”

  “But what will you do afterward?” Skakki asked.

  “If the snows hold off, we’ll go on to the village,” said Jack. “If not, we’ll spend the winter with King Brutus.” The boy had no enthusiasm for either path. He would be an embarrassment to the village, not skilled enough for a bard and too educated for a farm brat. King Brutus would put up with him for a while, but the Lady of the Lake was obviously more to the king’s liking. Eventually, Jack would have to move on.

  “I don’t like this,” said Skakki.

  “It is our fate,” Thorgil said. “In the spring look for us again, or if you don’t find us, we’ll meet in Valhalla.” She looked away. Jack knew she had no real hope, or desire, now to go to Valhalla.

  “Little sister,” rumbled Schlaup, planting a large kiss on the shield maiden’s head, “you can stay with me.”

  “Perhaps I will,” Thorgil said sadly. Jack knew she didn’t belong there, either.

  The ship pulled into the dock, and Schlaup lifted both of them out. “Be careful. I’ll look for you in spring,” said Skakki. The ship pulled away, and Jack watched it disappear in the darkness. Gone were his friends Rune, Sven the Vengeful, Eric Pretty-Face, Eric the Rash, Skakki, and Schlaup. For a moment he felt as though he had been sealed into a tomb. Then he scolded himself for self-pity.

  Chapter Forty-two

  FLYING VENOM

  “I told Seafarer I was going to look for a nesting site,” said Thorgil. “He understood that. His kind do it every year. Skakki will take him to Horse Island, where there are dozens of rocks covered with seabirds for company. Perhaps a lady albatross will be blown there someday.”

  They carried their belongings along the dock, and Jack noticed that there were no ships in the harbor. He found this odd. Bebba’s Town wasn’t as important as Edwin’s Town, but it was still a thriving port. Even in winter, there should have been a few vessels waiting out the storms.

  They found a secluded beach and made camp under some trees above the high tide line. But they slept fitfully, for in places with many people, thieves were possible. “I suppose it’s safe to build a fire,” said Jack as the wet fog surrounding them turned pale with dawn. In spite of St. Columba’s robe, both of them were cold and damp. The wood they gathered was damp too, but Jack was able to call up fire with the new staff. “Does that work better than your old staff?” Thorgil asked. She spread her travel cloak out to dry.

  “It’s different.” Jack had used it to call up fire, drive away annoying flies, and summon a wind—things he’d already learned. But sometimes St. Columba’s staff had a mind of its own. On
the way to Bebba’s Town, Eric Pretty-Face had complained about a hangnail. Jack had impulsively grasped the warrior’s hand. Warmth had spread from the staff to both of them, and when he let go of Eric’s hand, the hangnail was gone.

  The Northman was spooked by this. So was Jack. He didn’t like powers he couldn’t control.

  Thorgil unpacked a bag of dried fish and berries. “It’s awfully quiet here,” she remarked.

  Jack raised his head to listen. She was right. They weren’t far from the dock, and normally there would be a hubbub of noises at this time of the morning. “Perhaps it’s a holiday.”

  “Or perhaps a dragon landed and ate everyone up.” Thorgil sucked on the fish. It was too tough to chew.

  “There aren’t any dragons here.”

  “Until now.” The shield maiden smiled with a trace of her old malice. Jack thought she must be feeling better.

  They ate and listened to the drip of fog and the whisper of the sea advancing and retreating. The beach was sheltered from large waves by outlying islands. Finally, the fog began to lift and a wan sun appeared in the east. It didn’t bring much warmth.

  “It’s a long walk and we should begin,” said Jack, lifting his carrying bag and taking up his staff. They made their way to the dock. From there they took a path to the main road leading to Din Guardi. Even now, they saw no one and the harbor was entirely empty. A light mist fumed from the ground. The silence and muted light made everything seem remote, as though they, Jack and Thorgil, were walking through another world.

  “This had better not be glamour,” said Thorgil, kicking at a stone.

  “I don’t know what it is,” Jack said uneasily. “It’s too quiet.” But at that moment a company of Saxon men suddenly loomed before them. They didn’t look as dangerous or as well trained as the Northmen, but they were armed with the crude weapons available to villagers.

  “Halt! No one goes farther!” shouted their captain. “Where’ve you come from?”

  “The harbor,” said Jack.

  “Then go back to your ship. No one enters Bebba’s Town.”

  “Why not? Has there been an invasion?”

  The captain laughed bitterly. “Aye, you could say that. Flying venom has struck this town.”

  “Flying venom!” echoed Jack. “How bad is it?”

  “It burns you with fever. Or it enters the lungs and you drown. No matter what it does, in the end you die. So far it has been contained in the monastery, but Father Severus has ordered us to keep all folk indoors and all travelers away.”

  “What about King Brutus?” Thorgil asked.

  The captain spat. “Don’t worry about him. He feasts every night with his courtiers. We can smell the food and hear fine music, but none enter or leave. It is said the Lady of the Lake keeps him company.”

  Jack’s mind was whirling with possibilities. This had to be the disease the draugr breathed into the face of Mrs. Tanner’s brother. “We must see King Brutus at once,” he said.

  “Not likely! His gates are locked.”

  “What about Father Severus?” Jack said.

  “The monastery is the last place you want to be,” the captain said. He crossed himself and his men followed suit. “When the disease spread from their infirmary to the monks, Father Severus ordered the monastery doors sealed. They will not be opened until spring.”

  “But the monks will die!” cried Jack. Ethne will die, he thought.

  “Aye, and find welcome in Heaven. Go back to your ship, young travelers, and thank God for such saints as Father Severus. There hasn’t been a case of flying venom since he sealed their doors.”

  “We’ll take our chances,” said Jack, with more courage than he felt. He stood as tall as possible, with the white robe of St. Columba about his shoulders and the staff at his side.

  “You will not,” the captain replied. “We’ve been given orders to slay those who disobey.” His men fanned out across the road. They grasped their knives, clubs, and axes.

  Orders from Father Severus, no doubt, the boy thought. He wondered how many hapless travelers had been killed with those crude weapons.

  “Return or die!”

  Jack began to speak. He didn’t know where the words came from, or even what language they were. But the meaning hovered briefly in his mind:

  I arise today through the strength of Heaven,

  Light of sun, brilliance of moon,

  Splendor of fire, speed of lightning,

  Swiftness of wind, depth of sea,

  Stability of earth, firmness of rock.

  I summon today all these powers

  Between me and this evil.

  A light filled the air around him. He placed the robe of St. Columba around Thorgil, and the light covered her as well.

  “Where are they? What happened to them?” shouted the captain of the Saxons. The men scattered along the road, probing bushes with their clubs.

  “It’s wizardry!” one of them cried. “Satan is after us!” At that, all the men panicked and fled, with the captain following and bawling orders at them.

  They aren’t like Northmen, Jack thought with grim humor. Northmen would take on Satan without thinking twice. And that was because they didn’t think in the first place.

  “What just happened?” whispered Thorgil.

  “Walk with me,” Jack said. They continued along the road, and presently the captain passed them without his men. He was shading his eyes and trying to find any trace of the fugitives. Jack had to credit him with bravery.

  The road took them into town, and they saw another group of watchmen patrolling the market square. When anyone appeared, he was stopped and escorted to his destination. People were still being allowed to trade, but their movements were controlled. What incredible authority Father Severus must have, Jack thought, to make the townsfolk so obedient.

  They walked past houses with gardens and chicken pens. Farther on, the dwellings were humbler, but the farms were more extensive. All was orderly, if very, very subdued.

  The fortress of Din Guardi sat on its stone shelf over the sea, but there was little about it to strike fear into the heart of enemies. No army of berserkers would be dismayed by the pretty pink towers or stonework carved to resemble vines. Still, it was solidly built and the gate was closed. You couldn’t just walk in, as the Bard had before.

  Jack felt the light around them drift away. He took a deep breath.

  “Now will you tell me what happened?” demanded Thorgil. “You cast a spell in a strange language and turned us invisible. I didn’t know you had that kind of magic.”

  “Neither did I,” admitted Jack. “I think that was a lorica, a warding-spell. I saw the Bard do it, but he couldn’t teach it to me. He said that the words came when needed and that you couldn’t remember them afterward.”

  “I could,” boasted Thorgil, and then stopped. “By the Aesir, I can’t! What good is a spell you can’t call up at will?”

  “I think it’s something you can’t own,” said Jack. “Anyhow, we’re visible now, and we should ask for help from King Brutus. I’m very worried about Ethne.”

  Not only was the gate closed, but the windows on the landward side appeared to have been bricked up. A sheer cliff prevented them from looking on the seaward side. “Do you think they’re dead?” said Thorgil.

  “Listen,” Jack said. Above the waves they heard singing and laughter. A breeze brought them the smell of roasting meat.

  “Nidhogg’s fangs!” swore the shield maiden, naming the dragon that gnawed at the roots of Yggdrassil. “Brutus is feasting while his people suffer! No Northman king would sink so low. Even Ivar at his most foolish looked after his folk in winter.”

  “I wonder if Brutus even knows what’s going on out here,” Jack said.

  “Can you use your new powers to knock down the gate?”

  “Perhaps,” Jack said doubtfully. He stood in front of the massive wooden doors and tried to draw up fire, but nothing happened. Only the sounds of merriment fl
oated out to mock him. “I don’t know how to use St. Columba’s staff,” he admitted. “Sometimes it obeys me, but mostly it does things I don’t expect.”

  “We’ll have to go on to the monastery,” Thorgil said.

  “I had hoped …” Jack trailed off as he gazed unhappily at the lovely green stonework at the top of the wall. The Lady of the Lake had decorated it with jeweled flowers. How much of the fortress was real and how much was glamour he couldn’t tell. It was still a barrier he couldn’t cross. “I had hoped to find Ethne inside. The Bard wanted King Brutus to rescue her and make her his queen.”

  “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Thorgil hefted her pack, and they set off in the direction of St. Filian’s. Jack resigned himself to a long walk, but when they passed a field containing a few stray ponies, the shield maiden whistled sharply. Two of the ponies looked up and cantered toward them.

  “How did you do that?” Jack said with admiration.

  Thorgil shrugged. “It’s like the lorica, I guess. It just happens.”

  The shield maiden’s pony accepted her gladly, but Jack’s danced around so much, she had to calm it by whispering into its ear. Even so, it hunched its back and made every effort to make the ride uncomfortable. “Let’s stop for a few minutes,” said Jack when they got to the pine forest overlooking St. Filian’s. “I need to think.” He gratefully slid off his pony and found a comfortable patch of grass.

  The walls below were beautifully whitewashed, but Jack thought the gardens and orchards looked neglected. The lake had invaded some of the fields, and a long tongue of water lapped at the monastery door. To one side was the small white convent. “We should go there if we can’t get into St. Filian’s,” Jack said. “Perhaps the nuns weren’t infected.”

  “Or they might all be dead.” Thorgil, as was her way, faced the possibility directly. “We don’t know how long the disease has been raging.”