Nancy - The Islands of the Blessed

“Why would something want to kill me?” Jack asked.

“Why does fire burn and water drown? It’s what happens when one falls into their power.”

“And the bee?”

“Ah! There’s the interesting part,” said the Bard. He stroked the head of the albatross, and the great bird purred deep in his throat. “That small creature sacrificed itself to save you. It was no more random than Pega happening to have a candle in the dungeons of Elfland, or Severus happening to be in the forest when Aiden needed rescuing. Think of the momentous events of the past three years. The Holy Isle was destroyed and the Northmen learned that easy plunder was to be found in monasteries. You’d think this would prove the end of Christianity, but it hasn’t.”

“Northmen have been raiding more monasteries?” Jack said. He hadn’t heard about it.

“Oh, yes. But at the same time, odd things have been occurring in the realms of the old gods. Elfland was laid bare to the light of truth, hobgoblins returned to Middle Earth, Unlife was driven from Din Guardi. It looks to me as though a profound shift has taken place in the life force. I’d guess that you have some purpose to fulfill and that is why you were saved. But don’t get a swelled head over it. A cabbage has a purpose when someone needs to make soup.”

The next day Seafarer returned with news of islands. The albatross was only interested in certain things and so they learned a great deal about fish. Much food, Seafarer exulted. Many birds. They fear me. Feels good.

Are there houses? Thorgil asked in Bird.

Don’t know, Seafarer said. But when they came to the first island, they did find houses of a sort. Domes of turf bulged on the rocks, and the folk within hissed in a strange language and refused to come out.

“I think they’re Picts,” said Skakki. “Olaf arrived at some sort of trading agreement with them, but he said it was more trouble than it was worth. Farther on is Horse Island, ruled by Bjorn Skull-Splitter. He’s one of my father’s best friends. It’s an excellent place to camp while we’re waiting for you to return from Notland.”

Of course he’s called Skull-Splitter, Jack thought moodily as he watched the greenish depths of the sea. No friend of Olaf’s could possibly be called Bjorn the Beloved. And he wondered what mayhem the man had committed to earn his name. The water was amazingly rich with life, from long, trailing forests of seaweed to teeming shoals of fish. Dolphins swam alongside the ship, diving in unison. Otters floated on their backs, munching crabs in their paws. They looked like humans eating chunks of bread.

The ship passed many small islands, some no more than rocks jutting out of the sea. All of them seemed deserted, although Jack saw standing stones in odd patterns and, once, a windowless tower. Horse Island was large and treeless with a few rugged cliffs topped by wiry grass. Jack thought it dreary compared to the sea.

Rune steered the ship to a bay with a beach and a village beyond the coarse sand. A crowd began to gather at their approach, and Skakki blew his father’s horn in welcome. The crowd didn’t react.

“They’re too quiet,” said Thorgil.

“They don’t recognize the ship,” Skakki said.

“That shouldn’t make a difference. We sent them a traditional greeting and they didn’t answer it,” said the Bard. “Let’s stay out of arrow range for a while.” Skakki ordered the oarsmen to halt their forward movement.

Jack observed houses made of turf that blended so well with the ground, at first he thought he was looking at tiny hills. The Northmen inhabitants wore turf-colored clothes and turf-colored boots. With their hair the color of dry grass, they could have been fragments of island that had awakened and decided to walk around. Even the smaller, darker Picts among them faded into the background like noonday shadows.

Jack found their continued silence oppressive. He had little experience of Northman settlements, but his memory of Olaf’s village was of wild celebration when anyone showed up. They welcomed visitors with trade goods and fresh gossip.

“Blow your horn again,” suggested the Bard.

“I’ll call them,” said Schlaup. He stood up before anyone could stop him and roared, “HEY, YOU! WE’RE OLAF ONE-BROW’S PEOPLE! TALK TO US!” His voice boomed like a clap of thunder, and to all appearances he was a villager’s worst nightmare: a huge, dangerous troll. Everyone fled and in a moment the beach was deserted. The Bard was laughing so hard, he had to wipe his eyes with his sleeve.

“You got their attention all right, Schlaup,” he said, wheezing. “Oh, my! They’re probably swimming to the next island by now.”

“At least they know who we are,” said Skakki with a rueful smile. “I’m sure Bjorn won’t be so skittish.” He gave the order to land, and when everyone had disembarked, Schlaup dragged the ship onto the sand. “I came here when I was twelve and we were treated like kings,” Skakki remembered. “Olaf saved Bjorn’s life during a sea battle, you see. There’s nothing Bjorn wouldn’t do for him, or any of us, either.”

“Sea battle?” said Jack. It hadn’t occurred to him that you could fight on water.

“Einar Adder-Tooth sank Bjorn’s ship, and Olaf jumped in to save him because he couldn’t swim. Poor Bjorn has always been scared spitless of water. He panicked and fought when Olaf tried to rescue him, and Olaf had to knock him out. By the time they got to safety, Adder-Tooth had disappeared into the fog.”

Close up, Jack could see many more houses clustered together like giant molehills. They formed a barrier to the rest of the island, and he thought they could provide a good place for an ambush.

“Bjorn’s hall is that way,” Skakki said.

“Wait a moment,” cautioned the Bard. “He may be a dear friend, but you haven’t been here for six years. We look like a band of berserkers—excuse me, most of you are berserkers. It wouldn’t be the first time someone raided an island.”

Sven the Vengeful, Eric the Rash, and Eric Pretty-Face looked uncomfortable. Jack knew they were thinking of the Holy Isle.

“I suggest that the crew be left here to guard the ship,” the old man said. “Skakki, Jack, Thorgil, and I will make contact with Bjorn. He won’t be alarmed by a small group, and it will give him time to recognize Skakki. You’re twice the size you were last time,” he told the young sea captain. “They won’t be afraid of an old man leaning on a staff, although they should be, and Jack doesn’t look at all alarming.”

I beg your pardon, Jack thought. Are we forgetting I overthrew Frith Half-Troll and broke the spell of Unlife on Din Guardi? But he realized that his victories came about through magic, not brute force, which was what the islanders would be looking for.

“As for Thorgil, who would suspect a young lady dressed in the finest Din Guardi has to offer?”

“What?” cried Thorgil.

“Brutus sent along the dress you wore to the monastery,”

the Bard said. “I can’t think of a better disguise for a dangerous warrior.”

The shield maiden blushed. “You think I’m dangerous? Truly?”

“Like a coiled dragon.”

And so Thorgil hid behind the ship to change clothes while the others waited. They set out with the Bard going first. Jack had been correct. The village was like a maze with paths going everywhere and each dwelling exactly like the others. Once inside, it was impossible to see landmarks, and they soon found themselves back on the beach. Thorgil called to Seafarer for help.

The great albatross floated lazily overhead. Many two-legged beasts, he called out. Hide like crabs.

“I thought so,” muttered the Bard. But the hidden villagers didn’t attack, and with Seafarer as beacon, the group easily found its way through.

Beyond lay a sweep of uninhabited land covered with grass, heather, and a few marshes. It was beautiful in a desolate way and a relief after the closely packed houses. The wind blew unhindered across this open space, bringing with it the smell of the sea, and a well-trodden path told them the direction of Bjorn’s hall. “It’s made of stone.” Skakki raised his voice to be heard over the wind. “He built it with the remains of old ruins he found lying around. Very impressive.”

“And very foolish,” said the Bard so that only Jack could hear. “Some old ruins have an evil past. He’ll be lucky to wind up with only a ghost or two.”

Seafarer flew above, diving occasionally to terrify gulls.

After he scattered them, he would loudly proclaim his superiority and insult the gulls’ ancestry. Seafarer, Jack decided, was ideally suited to living with Northmen.

“Horses!” Thorgil cried suddenly. A herd of small but powerfully built beasts had suddenly appeared—or perhaps they had been there all along. They were earth-colored, the brown of turf and gray of chalk. Their skins were mottled like rocks flecked with lichen. Standing still, they could have faded into a hillside, but they weren’t still now. A stallion screamed and pawed the ground as the mares gathered into a tight knot with the foals at the center.

“By Thor, they’ve gone completely wild,” exclaimed Skakki. “I’m sure they’re part of Bjorn Skull-Splitter’s herd, because there were no horses on the island before he got here.”

“Be careful!” called Jack, for Thorgil was advancing on the stallion. Jack started forward, but the Bard put his hand on the boy’s arm.

“They won’t harm her,” he said.

Jack wasn’t sure. The stallion snorted and stamped. He backed up slightly as if unsure how to deal with this human who didn’t understand her danger.

The shield maiden halted. She held out her hands, palms up, and chanted:

Man by� on myrg�e his magan leof:

sceal �eah anra gehwylc o�rum swican…

Horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors,

a steed in the pride of its hoofs…

Jack was astounded. It was a charm his mother had used to calm one of John the Fletcher’s horses after a thunderstorm. Thorgil continued to speak softly and earnestly to the stallion. Jack couldn’t hear everything because of the wind, but he could see the horse calm down and the knot of mares relax their protective circle around the foals. Finally, the stallion came up to the shield maiden, and she breathed into his nostrils. He lowered his head.

“There’s something I haven’t seen for many a long year,” said the Bard.

Thorgil swung herself onto the stallion’s back. Jack braced himself for a battle between the two, but the horse accepted her weight as though he’d known her all his life. “Now I look like a proper lady going on a visit,” she announced.

“Pull your skirts down. You’ll make a better impression,” said Skakki.

They went on, leaving the herd of mares behind, and when Jack looked back, he could see nothing but heather and mottled rocks. He tried to touch the stallion, and the beast snapped viciously at him. “He’s not tame,” Thorgil warned.

“Where did you learn that charm?” Jack asked.

A shadow of pain crossed the shield maiden’s face, and she paused before speaking. “My mother taught it to me. She said she was taken captive while clearing weeds from an outline of a horse carved into a hill. It was a holy place, she said, but I never bothered to ask her about it. My father carried her off… not Olaf—the one before.” Thorgil fell silent. Jack knew it was difficult for her to remember her real father, the terrible Thorgrim, who had killed her brother in a berserker rage. When Thorgrim fell in battle, he demanded that Allyson, Thorgil’s mother, be sacrificed on his funeral pyre.