The Islands of the Blessed sot-3

by Nancy Farmer

  From whence comes the wind

  That stirs the sea,

  From where the force

  That fans fire to flame?

  On the great Tree sits an eagle.

  His wings drive the foam-tipped wave

  Over the ale-horn of the sea.

  The air of this world

  Flows from his wings.

  Marvelous are the winds made,

  Yet never seen.

  In the distance a small speck marked out the position of Egil Long-Spear’s craft. The fat knorr was ideal for carrying trade goods, but it was also easy to overtake and plunder. Thus Egil depended on Skakki’s protection, while at the same time he provided cover for the berserkers.

  One thing Jack had forgotten was the smell of the ship. The Northmen’s boots stank like carrion and their clothes reeked of sweat. Bilge sloshed beneath their feet and the very timbers of the craft were soaked with ancient fish blood and worse. The breeze carried away some, but not all of it. The Tanners were draped over the side, throwing up, and Jack, to his shame, soon joined them.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A LOVE STORY

  They passed small islands inhabited only by gulls, eiders, and puffins. To the left the mainland was a green smear, and to the right endless waves came out of the east and rocked the ship. It was a calm sea, although the Tanners complained loudly and feared they would be sent to the bottom at any moment.

  “Wait till they see a real storm,” said Thorgil, who was watching the distant shoreline with Jack.

  “Let’s hope we get to Bebba’s Town before anything happens,” Jack said. They were moving slowly to keep pace with Egil. The Bard and Rune had settled in the stern, and from time to time one of them would take up his harp and sing.

  Then crew members would gather around and the rear of the ship would sink perilously low while the prow lifted.

  That evening they camped on a bluff overhanging the sea. The two ships bobbed side by side, for there was no good place to draw up on land. Egil’s sheep bleated plaintively as they eyed the shore, and tenderhearted Schlaup waded out to them with armloads of grass. Egil’s men built a bonfire. The Bard told the story of how he spent a week on an ice floe with a bear. Rune recounted the saga of Olaf One-Brow rescuing Ivar the Boneless from trolls, but not before Ivar had married Frith Half-Troll.

  “What a huge mistake that was,” said Sven the Vengeful.

  “You can’t really blame Ivar,” Eric Long-Spear argued. “She was very beautiful when she was in a good mood.”

  “You know what happens when half-trolls lose their tempers—” Sven began.

  “Careful!” Eric glanced toward Schlaup, but Schlaup wasn’t paying attention. He was sniffing Mrs. Tanner’s braid, and she was smiling girlishly.

  Jack was astounded. The giant couldn’t possibly—it wasn’t thinkable that—“Does he like her?” Jack whispered to Thorgil.

  Thorgil laughed. “Why not? Mrs. Tanner is sturdy. That’s important to a troll. She’s already proven she can have children. And she orders him around.”

  Which was true, thought Jack. Once Ymma and Ythla’s mother had realized that Schlaup could be bullied, she gave him a constant stream of orders. The giant was sent hunting for snacks, furs to rest on, bags of cider. He stood obediently in the sun to provide her with shade. It was what louts were used to from their females.

  “What can she possibly see in him?” said Jack.

  “I’m surprised you can even ask that question about my brother,” replied Thorgil indignantly. “He’s big, he’s strong, and he’s clearly a good provider. She needs someone to take care of her and the children.”

  It made sense, Jack conceded, but he still wasn’t convinced. It suited Mrs. Tanner to have a willing slave for as long as the voyage lasted. He doubted whether she wanted a half-troll trailing after her when they reached land. Thorgil might not be able to see Schlaup’s defects, but any normal person would. “By the way, where are Ymma and Ythla?” he asked.

  Thorgil looked around. “On the ship, I suppose. They can’t swim and they refused to let Schlaup carry them ashore.” Then the Bard called for Thorgil to recite poetry, and she rose gladly to perform.

  Seafarer, who had been sitting at her feet, rose too and gave a loud scream that everyone had learned was a victory cry. His irritability and willingness to fight had charmed the Northmen from the very beginning. Seafarer, for his part, considered the crew to be part of his flock. I am great; I am powerful; I am terrifying, he screamed.

  Be still. Pecks-from-Afar speaks, said Jack. For a while he had wondered how to say Thorgil’s name in Bird, but the albatross had renamed her after watching the shield maiden throw a spear. Seafarer settled down with a grunt of satisfaction.

  Thorgil gave one of her usual bloodthirsty sagas in which everyone died messily. Jack listened with only half an ear. He wondered what Ymma and Ythla were up to on the ship.

  But the next days passed peacefully—or as peacefully as time ever passed on a Northman ship. Rune told Eric Pretty-Face to shut up because he was making him go deaf, and Eric punched Sven the Vengeful to sooth his feelings. Sven the Vengeful threatened to rip his head off, and Skakki said, “Calm them,” to Schlaup, after which Eric and Sven woke up at opposite ends of the ship without quite remembering how they got there.

  The final campsite, close to Bebba’s Town, was a small inlet cut off from the mainland by high cliffs. Northmen had visited it often enough to build a small dock, huts, and permanent corrals for horses and sheep. Egil off-loaded his cargo. Skakki made camp, for the berserkers couldn’t show themselves so close to the Holy Isle. Some people in Bebba’s Town might recognize them. Thorgil gave Seafarer over to the care of Rune until she returned.

  The plan was this: Egil would take the Bard and his companions to town and wait for the old man to buy grain and settle the problem of the draugr with Father Severus. Afterward Egil would take them back to the village while Skakki waited at the secret port.

  In the morning Jack and Thorgil changed into the magnificent clothes the Lady of the Lake had given them. Jack wore a white tunic and a blue cloak embroidered with silver moons and stars. Thorgil had a dark blue tunic and a leaf green robe with vines around the edge. They had both grown in the past year, yet curiously, the clothes had grown with them. The Bard said that the cloth had been woven from the hair of goats that fed upon the leaves of Yggdrassil. Thus, it renewed itself as the Great Tree did.

  They would visit King Brutus first to ask for lodging. “I don’t fancy sleeping at the monastery after confronting Severus about the draugr,” the Bard said.

  “Are you going to summon her?” asked Jack.

  “It depends on how Severus reacts. First, I very much want to know what’s become of my daughter. I regularly send swallows to check up on her. They report that she has become increasingly unhappy.”

  Jack wasn’t surprised. Ethne was half-elf and had spent most of her life enjoying pleasures humans could only dream of. He couldn’t see her living as a nun.

  “For the past two months the swallows haven’t been able to find her at all. I tried farseeing and had only a brief vision of her in a small, dark room. It’s worrying.”

  But when Egil’s ship cast off, a crisis developed. Schlaup suddenly realized that the Tanners were departing and demanded to be taken along. “No, Schlaup. Stay,” ordered Skakki.

  “I want my troll-flower,” the giant bellowed. “I want her for a wife.”

  Mrs. Tanner and her daughters were hiding behind a heap of baskets on Egil’s ship, and Jack realized she had hoped to slip away before Schlaup noticed.

  “You can’t go into Bebba’s Town. They’ll kill you,” Skakki explained.

  “Not me,” said the giant, thumping his chest.

  “Yes, you. And me. We can’t stand against a whole town.”

  “Then she stays!” Schlaup suddenly seemed a lot larger. Jack remembered how Frith shape-shifted when she fell into a snit and worried about what form th
e giant was capable of taking. The Northmen backed away. The Bard raised his staff. But it was Mrs. Tanner who saved the day.

  “Bad Schlaup!” she screamed from the ship. “I’ll come back when I’ve finished my shopping trip. If you cause any more trouble, I’ll come over there and box your ears!”

  This would take some doing, Jack thought, because she could hardly reach them.

  Schlaup gave in at once. “I’m sorry, troll-flower. Don’t be mad.” His lip quivered.

  “That’s better,” said Mrs. Tanner. “If you’re a good lout, I’ll bring you a treat from Bebba’s Town. Now sit down and behave.” The giant crouched obediently on the dock as the ship pulled away, and Jack could see his shape long after the other people faded from view.

  He found the Bard standing at the prow, gazing at the waves dividing to either side. “Excuse me, sir,” he said. “What’s going to happen if Mrs. Tanner doesn’t come back? I don’t think she means to.”

  “I imagine Schlaup will be upset,” the Bard said.

  “Yes, but what will he do?”

  “He won’t harm us. It’s not in his nature.” The old man sat down on one of the chests from the Roman house. It was filled with jars of Beelzebub’s Remedy Against Flies.

  “On the shore just now,” the boy said, unsure how to describe it, “Schlaup looked different. Bigger. I remembered Frith…”

  “Ah! So that’s what you’re worried about. The answer is yes, Schlaup can shape-shift if he falls into a snit, but he would never attack friends. He’s anchored by Olaf’s solid character. He has his father’s openheartedness and his troll mother’s inability to lie. It’s bad luck that he’s managed to fall in love with someone who doesn’t know the meaning of truth.”

  “Love?” said Jack, appalled.

  “I’m afraid so. And you’re quite right: Mrs. Tanner hasn’t the slightest intention of coming back. Schlaup may well fall into a snit when he discovers he’s been lied to, but we’ll have to deal with it when the time comes. Do you know how he earned his name?”

  Jack shook his head. He sat down across from the Bard and felt the mist being cast up by the prow. Egil’s figurehead, an eagle with wings upraised and beak opened to scream, was circled by a delicate rainbow where the sun shone on the spray.

  “There’s an island in the far north with a mountain completely encased in ice,” said the Bard. “Rivers that flowed down its sides have frozen, and snow adds to its height every year. The peak can be seen for many miles, and even when it isn’t visible, it casts a bright reflection against the sky.”

  “Rune told me about that island. He said the Northmen use it for navigation.”

  “I’ve been there,” said the old man. “Rune has visited it several times in search of sea ivory. But this mountain has a fire inside. Rune says it contains a dragon, but I’m more inclined to think there’s a crack leading down to Muspelheim, the world of fire.”

  A seagull floated idly past, did a double take, and turned back to land by the Bard. It settled down as tame as you please, and the old man stroked its feathers. Just like St. Cuthbert, thought Jack.

  “At any rate, the fire occasionally breaks through,” the Bard continued. “It melts the ice from below until suddenly the whole side of the mountain comes loose and roars down in one glorious, gigantic avalanche. That’s what the Northmen call a schlaup. And that, apparently, is what our friend looks like when he falls into a snit. I’d like time alone now to think, lad. We’re getting close to Bebba’s Town.”

  On the way to the stern, Jack passed the Tanners, who were huddled in a tight group with their many bags around them like a fortress. They reminded him of a flock of ravens guarding the carcass of a deer.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE PINK PALACE

  The first thing Jack saw on land was the fortress of Din Guardi rising from a shelf of rock. He had to rub his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. A year ago the fortress had been so utterly destroyed that not one stone had been left standing on another. Yet here it was again, grander than before. The old walls had been gray and pockmarked as though they were suffering from some disease. Now they were a delicate pink. The battlements, once so forbidding, were decorated by green stonework so cleverly made that it looked like vines scrolling along the top. At each corner was a pink tower with the prettiest flags imaginable fluttering in the breeze.

  Perhaps it had looked so in the days of Lancelot, King Brutus’ ancestor, Jack thought. In those days it had been called Joyous Garde and had been the home of music and laughter. But when it fell into Unlife, all joy fled. The halls became icy all year round, and not even weeds could grow in Din Guardi’s grim, gray courtyards.

  “How in Middle Earth did Brutus do it?” said Thorgil, standing beside Jack.

  “He was helped by the Lady of the Lake,” said Jack. “She must have used magic.”

  “Then I wouldn’t trust the floors in that place. I saw the magic of Elfland fall apart,” the shield maiden said.

  “He had the monks of St. Filian’s to do the heaviest work, and they don’t have any magic at all.”

  The ship turned toward the port of Bebba’s Town and Egil’s crew guided it in. The men had been carefully picked. There wasn’t a berserker among them, for such warriors were impossible to control, and they had exchanged their leather armor for tunics. Each of them knew enough Saxon to pose as someone from another part of the country. There were differences. Egil’s crewmen were taller than the local people and their blue eyes sometimes had a wolfish gleam. An observant man would have noticed the calluses that indicated the use of weapons, but most people weren’t observant.

  The broad knorr edged its way to the dock and was soon tied up. Many people watched to see what sort of cargo this unusual ship carried. Egil brought out only a few trade items—soapstone bowls, frying pans, and copper cauldrons—for he had already done the bulk of his trading. The Bard’s goods would be kept on board until market day.

  “You can sleep here until you find a place to stay,” Egil told Mrs. Tanner.

  “I’ve had enough of ships,” she spat at him. “Death traps, that’s what I call them. Besides, I have a brother in this town and it’s his duty to do right by us.” Without a thank-you or even a good-bye, Mrs. Tanner started off with Ymma and Ythla in her wake. They dragged the bulky bags behind them.

  “Good riddance,” muttered Jack.

  His spirits rose as they walked along the road to Din Guardi, even though he had to carry Fair Lamenting. The bell was wrapped in many layers of cloth and the resulting bundle was too large to tuck under his arm. Townspeople stood aside, impressed by Jack’s and Thorgil’s clothes and even more so by the Bard in his spotless white robe. The old man had added a wreath of oak leaves. That, along with the blackened ash wood staff, told everyone that he was an important wizard.

  There was no longer a border of hedges around Din Guardi, for which Jack was grateful. It had formed a barrier between the fortress and the outside world, but its purpose had not been for protection. The Hedge had been like a silent army of closely massed trees, ever watchful at the boundaries of Unlife. When you passed through the tunnel linking the fortress with the outside world, branches reached out to catch your feet or scratch your face. When Unlife failed, the Hedge had torn apart the old Din Guardi and the men who were caught within had not been seen again.

  Now the new building was open to the sea and sky. Jack thought it made an impressive sight, but he was surprised to see no sentries. The front gate stood open. “Isn’t that dangerous?” he said.

  “Hall built of stone, sword close to hand, yet all fails when vigilance wanders,” quoted Thorgil.

  “Quite right, shield maiden,” said the Bard. “Brutus is a weak king, more suited to singing love ditties, but he’s all we have to work with.” They went inside and wandered around until they encountered a servant carrying a tray of meat pies. “Announce our arrival,” the old man ordered. “Tell King Brutus that Dragon Tongue has arrived with two
friends. We request lodging.” The servant didn’t question the Bard’s authority and hurried off to obey.

  “The floor plan is different from what I remember,” complained the old man. “It’s not intelligently laid out for defense. I believe Brutus has forgotten that this building is meant to house an army ready for battle. I ask you, who ever heard of pink as a proper color for a fortress?”

  Presently, the servant returned and led them to the throne room. Brutus was lounging on a couch, and all around him, on floor cushions or standing by his side, were ladies in long, flowing gowns. Some held musical instruments and others held trays of food. All of them were vying for the king’s attention. He lazily accepted their tribute—a honey cake, a morsel of chicken—and waved languidly at whichever musician he wished to hear.

  “Wasting your time as usual, I see,” said the Bard, rapping his staff smartly on the floor.

  “Dragon Tongue!” cried Brutus, rising to his feet. “What a pleasure to see you! And you, too, Jack. Thorgil, you’ve turned out to be quite a charmer.”

  Thorgil blushed and Jack felt annoyed. The shield maiden always ignored his compliments, but she was smiling now.

  “I must disagree, dear Dragon Tongue. Ladies are never a waste of time,” said Brutus. The court women giggled and fluffed their hair.

  “Try to remember you’re a king. Your business is to rule,” the Bard snapped, but Brutus wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed.

  “Father Severus attends to the ruling,” he said. “He’s much better at keeping order, and he positively enjoys hearing dreary old court cases. He’s the abbot of the monastery now, you know. My job is to inspire.”

  The old man shook his head. “You’re hopeless, like all the rest of the Lancelot family. But I’ve come here on business. Our village has been devastated by a Wild Hunt, and I must trade for grain. Is there a corner in this pink monstrosity where an old man and a couple of children can rest their heads?”

  “Of course!” Brutus said. “Let’s see… the Amethyst Suite is available, or you might like the Swan Room. It’s all in white. My goodness, you’d melt right into the background!” The king was overcome with mirth.