The Islands of the Blessed sot-3

by Nancy Farmer

  When they were finished, Whush staggered back and led them through the halls to the Shoney’s audience chamber. On the way Jack distinctly heard the fin man muttering ow… ow ow… ow as he walked along. He seemed to have a thundering headache. Here and there in the hallways, fin folk were collapsed on the floor. “Kelp lager,” said the Bard, poking at one with his staff. “They never know when they’ve had enough.”

  “Will the Shoney also be—?” Jack began.

  “He doesn’t allow himself to get drunk. I wish he did, because he’d be easier to deal with. Let me do the talking. He’s going to be angry enough when I tell him why we’re here.”

  The Shoney’s audience chamber was filled to overflowing with chests of jewels and coins. Odd treasures stood everywhere—statues, furniture, goblets, Christian crosses, vases painted with flowers, and bolts of cloth that shimmered like pearls. Thorgil touched one of the bolts, and her fingers came away shining with gold dust.

  One statue was of a man with the head of a long-nosed dog. Another was of a dancer standing on one leg. He had four arms fanned out on either side of him. “Are there truly such people?” Jack whispered to the Bard.

  I’ve never been sure, said the Shoney. He was sitting in a chair so surrounded by treasures that the boy hadn’t seen him. I haven’t seen anything like them, but my knowledge ends at the edge of the sea.

  Jack thought each of the treasures was beautiful on its own, but when they were jumbled up together, it was hard to appreciate them. The chamber reminded him of the chief’s root cellar, with basket upon basket of apples, turnips, and onions, stacked with firewood and cider kegs.

  “I am here for a serious purpose,” the Bard said.

  You always are. What is it this time? The Shoney seemed unimpressed.

  “I wish to speak of your daughter.”

  The Shoney sat straight up as though he’d been stabbed. What right have you to ask about my child? It was your kind who slew her, your people who left her spirit to wander.

  “I know. That’s why I’m here.”

  I hunted for her murderer. I watched the Holy Isle, and he did not come within my reach. When the isle was destroyed, I rejoiced, but he was not among the bodies that fell into my realm. Long years have I searched for Father Severus. Have you come to deliver him into my hands?

  “I can’t do that—hear me out!” The Bard raised his staff as the Shoney loomed over him. For the first time Jack felt a breeze in Notland. It came through the door and blew a film of shimmering dust from the treasures stacked around the room. The dust flowed along the floor, piling up in a shining border against a wall. The breeze died.

  “Your daughter’s plea was brought before the councils of the nine worlds, and I gave my oath that I would free her spirit.” The Bard then described what had happened in the village. “In her rage and sorrow she slew innocent beings. For this she has lost the right to demand Father Severus’ death.”

  The Shoney bellowed like an enraged bull. The ground shook and the vases and goblets rattled. Several fin men rushed into the chamber.

  “Anger won’t save your daughter,” the Bard said in the shocking silence that followed. “If you truly care for her, you’ll listen to me.”

  Be gone, all of you, the Shoney ordered his men. But don’t go far. I may need you to throw these humans into the giant eel pit.

  “Threats won’t help either,” the Bard said calmly. “Really, Shoney, I expected more sense from you. You’re too old to throw tantrums.”

  Jack thought the Bard had gone too far this time, because the Shoney raised a jeweled goblet as if he intended to bring it down on someone’s head. But after a moment he lowered his arm.

  “Very good,” said the old man, as if he were lecturing an unruly child. “If your daughter starts killing again, her spirit will never find peace. She’ll be trapped like a hogboon in an unending round of destruction. Eventually, like a hogboon, she will vanish utterly from the living stream.”

  The Shoney moaned softly.

  “The comb and mirror I have brought are for her tomb. I know these are the traditional grave gifts for mermaids and fin wives.”

  Shellia. Her name was Shellia. The creature hunched over with his face in his hands.

  “Take me to her tomb at nightfall,” the Bard commanded. “Let me lay the grave gifts inside. Then it will be time to summon Shellia and send her to the farther sea.”

  For a long while the Shoney sat. She was so beautiful the last time I saw her, he said at last. So young and happy. Her bones were carried by the dolphins to Notland. They had not seen her drown or they could have saved her, but they knew what had happened to her. And who was responsible. I will call Shair Shair to go with us, though it will break her heart.

  When night fell, Whush led a troop of fin men carrying flaming torches, and the Shoney and Shair Shair walked behind. In the middle were Thorgil with the mirror and comb, Jack with Fair Lamenting, and the Bard. As they went, though no one had spread word of this expedition, fin men and wives, mermaids and merlads came out of their houses to pay homage. They seemed to know it was a solemn occasion, for they were entirely silent.

  The procession came to the dark stream, now only a shadowy gash dividing the realm of the dead from the rest of Notland. Somehow Jack knew the water rushing by was very cold. He didn’t have any desire to touch it. They crossed a bridge to a path that wound through the barrows until they came to the outer edge of Notland.

  The fog came down like a wall, with only a small gray circle lit by the torches. And before it Jack saw a tomb unlike any of the others. It wasn’t made of earth, but of stones so cleverly fitted together that it resembled a wave frozen in the instant before it breaks. In the middle was a door. On either side were slabs of rock to seal the opening.

  Shellia’s tomb, said the Shoney. His wife moaned and collapsed on the ground. Several fin men ran to help her. The Shoney didn’t move.

  The Bard took the mirror and comb from Thorgil. “I remind you, Shoney, of the promise your men made before we entered Notland,” he said. “We must be allowed to leave once Shellia is laid to rest.”

  You may go if you are successful, the Shoney said.

  Jack didn’t like the implied threat in this reply, but the Bard accepted it. He carried the grave gifts inside, lighting his way with the pale glow from his staff. Jack could see shadows moving as the old man walked around. “The tomb is beautifully done,” he said when he had emerged. “You have carved her history into the walls and filled it with her toys, but the mirror you left her was broken.”

  I know. She would not rest until she was given a life for a life.

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said the Bard. “Jack, hand me Fair Lamenting.”

  The boy quickly unwrapped it. The old man removed a lump of iron from his carrying bag and fastened it to a string inside.

  So that is Fair Lamenting, the Shoney said. It has long called to my kind under the sea. I should hate it, but it is too beautiful. I should desire it for my wealth-hoard, yet greed dies when I gaze upon it. I must be getting sick.

  “There’s nothing wrong with you,” said the Bard. “Fair Lamenting is beyond earthly concerns.”

  “Where did the clapper come from?” asked Jack.

  “I found it,” Thorgil bragged. “I went to every blacksmith in Bebba’s Town until I found the one Ythla had traded with. He had six or seven similar lumps, but this one still had a pattern of scales on one side.”

  Jack felt depressed. It had been such a marvelous work of art.

  “You should look after your wife, Shoney,” the Bard advised. “The sight of a draugr can be upsetting.”

  Jack waited in fear and anticipation as the old man swung the bell. He remembered the golden chime rolling through the hazel wood and the rapture that swept over him. It was the most sublime sound he had ever heard, yet it was frightening as well—too intense, too alive and overwhelming.

  The bell rang.

  It was… ni
ce. More than nice, Jack told himself, wanting to believe. The Bard frowned and rang it again.

  The Shoney bent down to inspect it. Is this the music that called my daughter from the sea? I expected more.

  The Bard impatiently rang it again, and now Jack heard a tinny note, not unlike a rock rolling around in a brass cauldron.

  “I’m sure I found the right blacksmith,” protested Thorgil. “It was the only lump with a pattern of scales.”

  The old man laid Fair Lamenting on the ground and leaned heavily on his staff as though he were exhausted. “I don’t doubt you, child. It isn’t your fault. It’s simply that the magic of the clapper lay in its art, and now that’s gone. I had hoped there was enough magic left to summon the draugr, but I dared not try until we got here.”

  You mean you can’t call back my daughter? demanded the Shoney. I’ve suffered and Shair Shair has suffered for nothing?

  “Believe me, I would do anything in my power to save your child. I have vowed to do it. I will do it, but I don’t know how.” The old man tottered to a rock and sat down. “Where do I go first? Return to the village? Do I wait until Shellia emerges of her own accord and starts killing? It will be too late then.”

  Jack tipped the bell on its side and removed the clapper. It did have a faint fretwork of scales in one section, but this was battered until it was almost unrecognizable. A memory hovered just out of reach in his mind, something important, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. Each time he tried to capture it, it slipped away like a fish diving into deep water.

  Fish. Why that image? But of course the original clapper had looked like a fish, the Salmon of Knowledge that knew the pathways between this world and the next. And then he understood. “Your flute, sir,” Jack said. “The flute of Amergin is the right shape.”

  “You’re right,” murmured the Bard. “It was made by the same hand.” The old man quickly found the instrument and attached it to the bell. One chime and everyone knew instantly that this was the real Fair Lamenting. The fin men sank to their knees. Shair Shair collapsed into the Shoney’s arms. Thorgil grabbed Jack as though they were on the deck of a ship in a stormy sea. The chime went on and on, fading slowly and sweetly until it seemed impossible that one note could endure so long. Then it was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  A LIFE FOR A LIFE

  I did not understand my daughter’s longing before, said the Shoney. I want something and do not know what it is. The gold, the jewels, the wealth I have accumulated are as nothing, and my life has been wasted in useless pleasures. It is a cruel thing, this bell, yet fair beyond reckoning.

  The Bard rang Fair Lamenting again and waited. The silence grew. Jack listened for the sounds that were always present, even on the darkest night, on land—the crickets and frogs, dogs barking at a passing fox, leaves sighing in the breeze. There was nothing except the rustle of the torches. What a melancholy place Notland was, Jack thought, without the bustle of life. Even the mermaids, and he had heard they could lure sailors with their beautiful singing, were voiceless here. Everything was silent except—

  Jack heard a woman sobbing in the distance. It went on and on, as though there could be no end to such sorrow. It came gradually closer, and a foul stench arose. The air turned cold. A darkness among the barrows grew thicker, taller, more terrible, and a mist rose from the ground.

  Who calls? said a voice full of death.

  Shellia, groaned Shair Shair. Oh, Shellia, what has happened to you?

  Deep was my love. Bitter was my fate. I was left to perish and may not rest until life has been given for life.

  “Now, that’s something we have to discuss,” said the Bard. “I agree that Severus deserves punishment, but he’s stupid rather than evil. And you haven’t been exactly innocent either. You can’t ask for his life.”

  I disagree, the Shoney said. Lure him to the water’s edge and we’ll see what’s what.

  “No, no, no!” said the Bard impatiently. “You can’t keep heaping up revenge, or we’ll never see the end of souls asking for justice. Severus doesn’t deserve death.”

  Deep was my love. Bitter was my fate. I followed his ship until the waves overcame me. I may not rest until life has been given for life.

  “See, that’s what happens with unquiet spirits,” said the Bard. “They get locked into an idea and it’s hard to shake them loose. Shellia, believe me, Severus will pay for what he did to you, but you can’t afford to wait for it. The longer you spend in this world, the more you will be tempted to kill. Soon you will be unable to stop.”

  I am owed his death. I will take him in my arms, and together we will swim to the sea where winter never comes.

  He’s not worth it, interrupted the Shoney. He’s a dried-up old stick and will make you as miserable in the next life as this one.

  Father, the draugr said with a sigh. The voice was no longer cruel and full of jagged rocks.

  Shellia, cried Shair Shair. There is a new mirror in your tomb, the finest that has been seen in this land, for your long journey. There is a comb for your beautiful hair.

  The draugr turned to her mother, and the darkness shrank until it was no larger than a young woman. I may not go until life has been given for life. Deep was my love. Bitter was my—

  “You’re getting into a rut,” the Bard said. “If you do any more killing, you won’t be able to leave this world. You’ll be stuck like a wretched hogboon.”

  I have already killed.

  “What?” shouted the old man. “Are you an idiot as well as a spoiled, self-centered mermaid? Don’t give me that ‘deep was my love’ garbage. You saw something you wanted and didn’t get it. Well, boo hoo! We don’t always get what we want.”

  Jack was shocked, and both the Shoney and Shair Shair looked extremely upset. This had to be one of the Dragon Tongue scoldings that made Northman kings cower in fear. He was afraid that the draugr would revert to her giant, menacing shape, but she did nothing of the kind. If anything, she became smaller.

  You said you were going to ring the bell. I waited ever so long, the draugr said in a sulky voice. You shouldn’t promise things if you aren’t going to do them.

  “I know. I apologize. Events happened beyond my control,” said the Bard.

  The bell did ring and I followed it through the earth. After a while I came out into a sty that smelted worse than a rotting whale. A man was there.

  “Mrs. Tanner’s brother,” cried Thorgil. “She must have found her way to his hut.”

  I asked him where Severus was, but he wouldn’t answer. He cowered before me. I breathed into his face and went back into the earth.

  “Would that… kill him?” faltered Jack, thinking it was no great loss if it had.

  “Worse,” the Bard groaned. “Draugr breath contains flying venom. She has infected him with a fatal illness, but it doesn’t end there. Whoever comes in contact with him will get sick too.”

  “I hunted for Mrs. Tanner’s brother when I was looking for the bell’s clapper,” said Thorgil. “His house had caught fire in the night and had burned to ashes. No one had seen him since. I think it likely he died before he could spread the disease.”

  “Dear Freya, I hope that’s true,” said the Bard.

  The sky above showed the faintest glimmer of light. It was no longer dead black, but a deep gray. On land such a change would have meant birdsong and a breeze. Here nothing heralded the coming of dawn. The air was as still and stagnant as before.

  “You must enter the tomb before the sun rises, Shellia,” the Bard said gently. “Do not be afraid. Remember the bright seas of your youth and the sound of waves and the birds calling your name. You will find that joy again, but only if you let go of this world.”

  We love you, daughter, said the Shoney and Shair Shair. They held out their arms but did not dare touch the darkness their child had become.

  No! I won’t go. Why should I? cried the draugr. Deep was my love. Bitter was my fate. I will return to the village and s
pread such death that it will be talked of for a millennium.

  “I command you by root, by stone, by sea to enter that tomb!” roared the Bard, raising his staff. The draugr laughed and began to drift away.

  You can’t stop me! she jeered.

  The old man snatched up Fair Lamenting and rang it with such force that Shellia was dragged back against her will. “Ha! Got your attention that time. I will stop you,” said the Bard. He rang the bell again, softly. Jack thought it was like the first voice he had ever heard—his mother? His grandmother? The midwife who had taken him into her arms on the night of his birth? Whoever it was, the voice was infinitely gentle and compelling. He couldn’t think of turning away from such love.

  I am still owed life for life, the draugr said with a sigh.

  “You shall have it.” The Bard walked toward the tomb, carrying Fair Lamenting, and the draugr followed. She was almost visible, no longer a dark stain against the night, but a young woman.

  “You can’t go in there!” Jack cried as he realized what was happening.

  The old man turned and smiled. “Remember the story of Beowulf, lad. He knew he would die when he fought the dragon. Yet the lives of his people depended on it and he embraced his fate gladly. One old man is a small price to pay to keep plague from our land.”

  “A death worthy of Valhalla,” murmured Thorgil.

  “Don’t you start with your Northman stupidity,” Jack shouted at her. “The draugr doesn’t deserve mercy, sir. She’s a selfish brat. You said so yourself. I won’t let you go in there.”

  The Bard rang Fair Lamenting again. The same gentle, compelling voice held Jack back.

  “I won’t let you,” the boy said weakly.

  “I’m proud of you, lad. Never forget that, but you cannot go against fate,” the old man said. “Remember your promise, Shoney. These two are allowed to leave Notland.”