Nancy - The Islands of the Blessed

The dwarf returned with food and excused himself. They ate. The silence of the hall settled over them. The sun lowered until it shone directly inside, and a haze of dust motes drifted through the light. “How do all those people fit in here at night?” Jack said at last.

“I imagine most of them return to the village before dark,” said the Bard. “I suggest we do the same. There’s something wrong here, and I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“I should get Bjorn’s permission to camp on the beach,” Skakki argued. “Besides, he may have useful information about Notland.”

“The only information he could possibly have is a warning to stay away from the wretched place.” The Bard was getting tired and cranky. He thumped his staff on the floor. “Where is that so-called king?”

As if by magic, Little Half appeared. “I’m dreadfully sorry, honored guests. The king was called away to tend to a dead sheep. A terrible bird came out of the sky and frightened it into a ravine. They’ve gone off to retrieve the body. He sends his most sincere apologies and hopes you will accept his hospitality tonight.”

“Unfortunately, we must return to our ship,” said the Bard, rising to his feet. But at that moment a horn sounded and servants streamed into the hall bearing platters of food. They began setting the tables with trenchers of bread, wheels of cheese, pots of yellow butter, and a variety of roasted meats. A drinking horn was set up on a metal stand at each place.

At the same time, the village workers filed past and disappeared through the iron door. But when the Bard, Skakki, Jack, and Thorgil tried to follow them, they found a row of grim Northman warriors blocking their way. “Where did they come from?” said Jack.

“I’ve been a fool,” the Bard said. “All that waiting was a trick to keep us here. I don’t know why, but the reason can’t be good.”

“Bjorn was Olaf’s best friend,” protested Skakki.

“We’ll see,” the old man said. There was nothing to do except sit down and try to look cheerful about it. The tables were laden with food, yet no one arrived to eat it. The sun slid below the cliff. Seagulls wheeled in great flocks before going off to wherever they would spend the night.

The servants lit the fireplace and set fish-oil lamps in alcoves along the walls. They fitted bundles of straw into the windows and fastened sheepskins over them to keep out drafts. The air quickly became stale.

At last, just before sundown, the iron door opened. A tall man wearing a leather helmet and vest came in. The helmet covered most of his face, so Jack couldn’t tell what he looked like, but he guessed it was Bjorn Skull-Splitter. Behind the king came several men carrying the flayed carcass of a sheep.

“By Thor!” cried the king to Big Half, who quickly ran to help him. “I never saw a bird of its like. It could have scared me into a ravine.”

“Did you manage to shoot it?” Big Half said.

Jack held his breath. He was certain the giant bird was Seafarer, who was only trying to find them.

“The rotten thing kept the sun at its back,” said the king. “I shot at it but kept getting blinded. Never mind! I’ll kill it tomorrow.” Big Half unlaced his master’s vest and removed his boots. The king himself took off the helmet and shook out his hair. “So you’re Olaf One-Brow’s brat,” he said, turning to Skakki. “If you’ve come here for vengeance, you’re seeking an early grave.”

“I thought you said he was a friend,” whispered Thorgil.

“Bjorn Skull-Splitter was a friend,” said Skakki, rising to his feet. “Einar Adder-Tooth wasn’t.”

“I’ve taken you by surprise,” said Adder-Tooth, “but never fear. The rules of hospitality hold. I never kill a man without giving him a good meal.” He clapped his hands, and a servant darted out with an ale-horn. The silent warriors sat down at the tables, and now all the ale-horns were filled. The men set about carving themselves chunks of meat and cheese with the knives people carried for this purpose. Servants ladled stew onto the trenchers.

“Eat up! You never know where the next meal is coming from—or if you’ll be here to enjoy it,” Adder-Tooth said heartily. He dug his thumb into a pot of butter and smeared it on a chunk of bread. “Bjorn thought his last moment had come when I dumped him into the sea. He lived to eat many a fine meal, thanks to Olaf, curse him, but no longer.”

Skakki laid his hand on his knife. “Kindly refrain from insulting my father. He died a hero’s death in Jotunheim and was given a funeral pyre worthy of the gods themselves.”

“Oh, I heard about it. No one’s questioning his honor. Bjorn, on the other hand, would have been better off drowning. At least he’d be feasting with Ran and Aegir instead of roaming the icy halls of Hel.”

“I knew Bjorn,” said Skakki. “He would not meet a coward’s end.”

Adder-Tooth waved his ale-horn at him. “Sit down! You’re making me nervous, and that isn’t good for your health.”

The sea captain glanced at the Bard, who nodded. Skakki sat down, but neither he nor the others took food. The king ate heartily and so did his followers, although Jack noticed that Little Half seemed to have no appetite. The boy watched Adder-Tooth carefully, trying to gauge what sort of man he was. Like all Northmen, he would be a bully. He obviously enjoyed killing, but the laws of hospitality forbade him from slaying an enemy who had been given sanctuary under his roof.

For that matter, why had Adder-Tooth invited them in? Jack caught a glimpse of the king tearing apart a joint of mutton. His front teeth had been filed into points.

The wind rose outside and buffeted the straw bales in the windows. The iron door rattled as though someone were trying to pull it open. One of the warriors jumped to his feet.

“Sit down,” the king said irritably. “The hogboon can’t pass the wall.”

For the first time the Bard spoke. “Don’t tell me you’ve been foolish enough to have dealings with a hogboon.”

Adder-Tooth laughed so explosively, bits of food flew over his chest. “I’ve been waiting to see how long it took to get a Dragon Tongue scolding. Ivar the Boneless used to cringe waiting for them.”

“You may laugh if you like,” the old man said, nettled, “but there’s a reason you hide behind that disgraceful wall.”

“I do not hide!” shouted the king, knocking over his ale-horn and causing his neighbors to recoil.

“Now who’s cringing?” the Bard said. Jack held his breath. He expected the hall to break into open warfare, but after a moment Adder-Tooth settled down.

“The one who begged to have a sword in his hand at the end, but was too weak to grasp it, was Bjorn.”

Little Half swung his short legs off the bench, went to the far end of the hall, and turned his back on the assembly. After a moment his brother joined him.

“I had sworn an oath to destroy Bjorn,” Adder-Tooth continued, “but he shut himself into this hall and I couldn’t reach him. What was I to do? My honor was at stake. And so I found a wise woman who was willing to help me.”

“You mean you threatened her,” the Bard said.

“So what if I did? She was a poisonous old hag and not fit to live anyhow. She demanded silver and free passage to another island. I had to find her a cloak dyed blue with woad.

She needed a hood and gloves made of catskin. She had to sit on a cushion filled with feathers so her spirit could fly. Paugh! Sei�er makes me sick!” Adder-Tooth said, naming the magic women used.

“Not sick enough to stay away from it,” remarked the Bard. The king glared at him and drank another horn of ale. It was his sixth or seventh, Jack thought.

“The ceremony was done under the full moon. The hag sat on an old grave and chewed one of those red mushrooms that grow under birch trees.”

“Atterswam,” murmured the Bard.

“Yes, that. She went into a trance. I had expected her to contact spirits and tell me how to break into Bjorn’s stronghold, but something unexpected happened. She began to scream. Her body writhed and she flopped around like a hooked salmon. I didn’t touch her. I don’t meddle with sei�er even when I’m paying for it. Her form began to change, and suddenly she wasn’t there at all. In her place was the hogboon. It had eaten her all up.”

A hush fell over the hall. Wind burrowed through the straw and made the lamps in the alcoves flutter. The followers of the king had stopped eating. Beyond the howl of the wind and the sea crashing below the cliff, Jack heard voices. They were like men caught in a deadly trap—a sinking ship or a fire. They shouted for help, but no aid was coming and they knew it. They raged against their fate.

“Shouldn’t we try to help them?” Jack said, fearful and yet unwilling to ignore them.

“They are not living men,” said the Bard. Nothing he said could have been more dreadful.

Little Half moaned and buried his face in his hands. “I knew we shouldn’t have touched that tower.”

“Shut up! It was either that or the hogboon!” shouted the king. “We need music. Wake up my skald! The swine is probably drunk, but he’ll sing the better for it. More ale! More mead!”

Servants hurried to obey, and soon a bedraggled young man stumbled into the hall carrying a harp. He ran his fingers through his hair. “What kind of song—?” he began.

“I don’t care so long as it’s loud!” roared Adder-Tooth.

It was evidently a request the skald had heard before. Shouting rather than singing, he recited the tale of King Siggeir, who captured a rival’s ten sons and left them, bound and helpless, in a deep, dark forest. Each night a giant she-wolf appeared and devoured one of them. On the tenth night the youngest son, who was named Sigmund, clamped on to the wolf’s tongue with his teeth and ripped it out. After which, Sigmund was rescued by his sister and went on to have many other nasty adventures.

Jack tried not to listen. It was the usual Northman entertainment. The warriors cheered every time Sigmund did something appalling. Much ale was drunk. Someone got sick in the straw. Eventually, most of the men crawled into sleeping cupboards along the walls and passed out. But a few stayed awake to guard the gate. Adder-Tooth was carried by servants to his private bedroom.

The Bard, Skakki, Jack, and Thorgil remained seated. “We must leave tomorrow,” said Thorgil, who had been silent for a long time. She had dropped all pretense of being a delicate princess. Her gray eyes raked over the squalid hall and found nothing to her liking. “Gods! I’d forgotten what a drunken revel was like.”

“This was no revel,” said the Bard. “They were drinking to hide fear.”

Big Half and Little Half appeared, with the young skald fluttering behind them. “You should eat,” Little Half said. “I have cheese and bread in the pantry that hasn’t been mauled.”

“Is this how these men spend every night?” said the Bard, disgusted.

“I’m afraid so.”

“I can’t tell you how honored I am to meet the great Dragon Tongue,” gushed the skald.

“So you should be,” the old man said absentmindedly. “Thank you for your offer, Little Half. We would welcome food that hasn’t been slobbered on.” Soon everyone was enjoying a peaceful meal. If it hadn’t been for the drunken snores and the guards lurking by the gate, it would have been almost cheerful. The terrible cries in the wind had vanished.