The Islands of the Blessed

by Nancy Farmer

  Jack looked from one to the other, annoyed that they hadn’t included him in the plan. “How do you know Ethne will be ready?”

  “We Northmen have much experience with hunger, especially during winter,” Thorgil explained. “At first you crave food all the time. You can’t think of anything else. But after a while you fall into a kind of trance and feel nothing at all. At the end of winter Olaf used to go around to the farms and wake people up. That’s what’s wrong with Ethne. She’s been eating that wretched monastery food for so long, her spirits are in a deep sleep.”

  “The comb and mirror?”

  “Those were my idea,” said the Bard. “My daughter isn’t the most imaginative creature alive, and I’m fairly certain she has no idea how much her beauty has faded. When she looks into the mirror, she’s going to get the shock of her life.”

  “She already has.” Thorgil chuckled. “She was running her fingers through that rat’s nest of hair when I left.”

  That evening King Brutus threw one of his parties. The central courtyard was filled with lanterns, and musicians played sweet music from bowers around the edge. Tables were set with roast salmon, suckling pig, green peas flavored with mint, apples cooked with honey, and many other delights. Jack thought of Ethne and wished he could send something to her.

  Much of the entertainment was provided by Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, whose tall figure sent a memory of pain down Jack’s spine. She had paralyzed him with elf-shot at their first meeting. The Lady danced with her nymphs around a fountain, she in shimmering white robes with her pale gold hair floating like a mist, the nymphs in glittering scales. Afterward they twined around the king’s throne, and Nimue insisted on feeding bits of marzipan “to her dear Brutie-Wootie.”

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” said Thorgil.

  “If she keeps feeding Brutie-Wootie that gooey stuff, he’s going to throw up,” Jack said. They both laughed.

  The air was soft and warm. Unseen flowers wafted perfume over the courtyard, knights danced with ladies, pages went around with trays of sweets, and as the daylight faded in the west, a full yellow moon rose over the fortress wall. Jack suddenly came alert.

  “The moon was only half full last night,” he said.

  “That means this courtyard is full of glamour,” said Thorgil, wrinkling her nose. “I told you those floors were unsafe. All Nimue has to do is turn the glamour off, and everything falls into the cellar.”

  “I think—hope—most of this is real.” Jack looked around for the Bard and found him sitting against a far wall, observing the festivities. He was shadowy, as though he were sitting under a half-moon rather than a full one. The old man wouldn’t be taken in by glamour, the boy thought. He’d know what was real and what wasn’t.

  “I hated this place when it was in the grip of Unlife,” Jack said, “but I don’t like it much now, either. Why can’t people enjoy things as they are?”

  “We’ll soon have a ship under our feet and a wind at our backs. You can’t get realer than that,” said Thorgil. For the first time Jack felt a stir of interest in the adventure they were about to have. Up till then he’d been eaten up with chores—selling potions, bartering, packing, feeding horses, running errands. Now they were about to turn their backs on the safe, predictable world and go off into the blue. Who wouldn’t be happy about that?

  But first they had to settle the problem of the Tanners.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  SCHLAUP’S BETROTHAL

  “You like Mrs. Tanner, don’t you?” said Skakki for the fifth time.

  Schlaup shuffled nervously from foot to foot. “Sure,” he said, also for the fifth time. The Bard, Jack, Thorgil, and Skakki were meeting with him in a secluded corner of the secret Northman harbor.

  “And you’ve said you want her for a wife,” prompted Skakki. Jack closed his eyes. This had to be the most insane idea ever, trying to get a declaration of marriage out of a tongue-tied lout, but the Bard had said it was their best option. Troll males fell in love only once, and it was clear that Schlaup was besotted with Mrs. Tanner.

  “Sure, I want to marry her, but …” The giant wrinkled his browridge in perplexity.

  “Well, what?” demanded Jack. They’d been going at this for an hour, trying to extract a response from the bashful lout. If it were up to him, he’d dump the Tanners on a lonely beach and make them walk back to Bebba’s Town. But Thorgil had pointed out that they knew the location of the secret Northman harbor. They would most certainly sell that information.

  “It wouldn’t be decent,” Schlaup mumbled.

  “Of course it isn’t decent! We’re talking about the Tanners here,” cried Jack, losing his temper.

  “Now, lad, we don’t have a lot of choices,” said the Bard. “We can’t free them and we can’t kill them. The only other possibility is to take them along.”

  “I know a man in Edwin’s Town who’d buy them as slaves,” offered Skakki.

  “Never!” roared Schlaup with more energy than he’d shown so far.

  “Then you have to make a decision, big brother,” said Thorgil. “I don’t know what you’re so worried about. If one wife doesn’t work out, you can always get more. Olaf had three—four, if we include your mother.”

  “I know how these things are done,” Schlaup burst out suddenly. “Just because I’m not smart doesn’t mean I don’t know how marriages happen. First, the troll-maiden asks you to dance. She brings you presents: elks, bears, that sort of thing. Then she weaves you a cloak out of spidersilk, which she has pulled herself from the spinnerets of a giant spider. Lastly”—he blushed deeply, turning a bright orange—”she drags you into her cave. The next morning everyone looks to see how many scratches she’s left on your browridge.”

  Everyone stared openmouthed at the giant. They had never heard him talk so much.

  “So that’s the problem,” exclaimed Skakki. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Schlaup, my brother, humans don’t get wives the same way. That’s why your sisters handed you over to us. You couldn’t talk with your mind, and the troll-maidens ignored you.”

  “You don’t have to rub it in,” the giant said.

  “I’m not trying to be insulting. You have to learn how to court women the Northman way. Now, Olaf won my mother, Heide, in Finnmark,” Skakki explained. “She was the daughter of the village headman and an important wise woman. He traded many furs for her. She also demanded an amber necklace, silver bracelets, and her own personal wealth-hoard.”

  “What about Dotti and Lotti?” said Jack, naming the other two wives.

  “They were bargains. Olaf threw them over his shoulders during a raid and made off with them.”

  “That’s all the courtship they got?” said Jack.

  “Pretty much,” admitted Skakki. Thorgil laughed and the Bard shook his head.

  “Don’t listen to them, Schlaup,” the old man said. “A true Northman marriage requires a woman’s consent.”

  Schlaup’s ears swiveled forward to better concentrate on the Bard’s words. His eyes closed until only a strip of dark showed between the lids. His lips moved silently. Jack suspected that the giant wasn’t stupid at all but that he had trouble with human speech. He’d spent most of his life surrounded by silence.

  “The kind of marriage Dotti and Lotti had was very close to slavery,” said the Bard.

  “Olaf was always good to them,” Thorgil protested.

  “Olaf was many things. He made toys, he loved music, he played stupid practical jokes, he liked to roll in a meadow like a horse. He was loyal, brave, and kind. But he was also a berserker. He carried Dotti and Lotti away from a burning village after killing their families.”

  Schlaup nodded to show that he understood. “Trolls burn villages too,” he said.

  “It’s a favorite pastime with bullies all over the world,” said the Bard. “Now, your marriage, Schlaup my lad, should not involve carrying off a shrieking woman. Pillaging is wrong.”

&n
bsp; “Oh, bother! And I was so looking forward to Mrs. Tanner’s screams,” said Thorgil.

  “You must gain your future bride’s consent,” the old man continued, ignoring her. “I would begin by offering her a share of whatever pearls, amethysts, topazes, amber, and silver you acquire on your travels.”

  “What?” cried Jack and Skakki at the same time.

  “You should also build her a hall of her own and let her run your affairs while you’re at sea.”

  “She’ll rob him blind!” said Jack.

  Schlaup, meanwhile, was bobbing his head enthusiastically. “I can do that! I can do all of that!”

  The Bard smiled. “I’m sure you can. Well, Skakki, I think it’s time to announce a betrothal party.”

  Skakki went off to do this, and Schlaup returned to the ship to find a present for Mrs. Tanner. Thorgil moodily drew triangles in the sand with the tip of her spear. They represented the valknut, the mind-fetter Odin cast over warriors doomed to die. Jack watched a pair of ants trying to drag a dead beetle to their nest. “It’s not fair,” he said at last. “The Tanners lie, cheat, and steal, and they get rewarded.”

  “Think about it,” said the Bard. “Schlaup has little chance of finding a wife either here or in Jotunheim. He has fallen in love with Mrs. Tanner, who we all agree has the soul of a bog rat, but she’s the one he wants. He will always want her, for louts fall in love only once. We know Mrs. Tanner will agree to anything if she thinks she can get her hands on pearls, amethysts, topazes, amber, and silver. Problem one solved: a willing bridegroom and a willing bride.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Now, whether Schlaup actually brings home anything valuable is another matter. Wealth means little to him. Lay on the roast elk and a few barrels of beer, and he’s perfectly happy.”

  Jack grinned as he saw where the Bard’s argument was going. “What about the new hall?”

  “We certainly can’t have the Tanners moving in with Skakki and his large household. Heide would have their skins tacked to the wall in no time. Problem two solved and domestic squabbles avoided. As for stealing, exactly where would the Tanners go with their ill-gotten goods in the middle of an isolated Northman village surrounded by icy mountains, trolls, and storm-lashed seas?”

  Thorgil laughed so hard she fell off her rock. “By Balder’s backside, you’re crafty! Remind me never to cross swords with you.”

  “Most people who have crossed swords with me,” the Bard said with a gentle smile, “are no longer among the living.”

  That night they had the betrothal ceremony. The actual wedding would take place in the Northland. There would be feasting and gift-giving aplenty once they arrived there, Skakki said. King Ivar, whose wits were somewhat addled since losing Frith, could be talked into donating his great hall for the ceremony. It was as grand as a palace, Skakki said, what with all the carvings and tapestries.

  Jack could see he was laying it on thick for Mrs. Tanner—or Ydgith. For the first time everyone learned her first name. At the mention of king and palace, her eyes grew very round. She was even more impressed by the promise of pearls, amethysts, topazes, amber, and silver, and dazzled by the necklace of heavy gold links Schlaup placed around her neck.

  “It’s part of the wealth-hoard the Mountain Queen sent with him,” Skakki whispered to Jack. “I brought it along in case he wanted to barter, but Schlaup doesn’t understand the value of gold. When he gets tired of admiring its color, he simply drops it on the ground.”

  The betrothal was celebrated with gusto. Rune recounted the love story of Balder and Nanna, the god and goddess of spring. Jack gave them the tale of the Irish god Aengus, who fell in love with the Elf King’s daughter in a dream. Thorgil was discouraged from singing at all because she only liked battle scenes with bodies piling up.

  They feasted, danced, and drank toast after toast to the new couple. The only discordant note was when Ymma and Ythla threw themselves on the sand and vowed to kill themselves rather than be dragged off to the Northland. “Stop whining, you little beasts,” said their mother. “You’re not spoiling the first good thing that ever happened to me.”

  But Schlaup, alarmed that they might carry out their threat, found them each a gold ring to wear.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  THE SACRIFICIAL STONE

  Little do land folk know, who hide in safe houses,

  Of what we suffer on storm-wracked seas.

  Our sails hung with ice, our faces lashed by hail,

  We ride the salt wave with only the scream of wind

  For song and biting frost for fellowship.

  Jack pulled his cloak tighter and listened to Thorgil declaim poetry at the prow of the ship. They wore thick woolen mantles treated with oil to keep the rain out. All day they had encountered storms. None of these lasted long, but no one could settle into a steady work rhythm. It was “Up oars,”

  “Down oars,”

  “More sail,”

  “Less sail,” and “Aegir’s armpits! That was a big wave!” They were in a sunny period now, but the wind was full of ice.

  “You can count on Thorgil to make bad weather worse,” Jack observed.

  “Northmen believe in facing things head-on,” said the Bard. He was comfortably wrapped in fleece over his usual white robe. The wind had burnished his face to a rosy glow.

  They had left the hidden port two days before, after the betrothal ceremony. Egil’s cargo had been stored there with half of Egil’s crew to guard it. Egil’s ship and the rest of the men had gone south to deliver the grain.

  Ydgith had established herself as queen of this tiny outpost, with Ymma and Ythla as her princesses. By the time Egil had gone south and Skakki north, she had managed to get her own hut, a supply of food, and new clothes for herself and her daughters. Her last words to Schlaup were, “Remember to get me freshwater pearls up north. I understand they’re common there.”

  Thorgil continued to describe the miseries of sailing until Eric Pretty-Face bellowed, “BLOODY HEL! THAT’S THE THIRD TIME YOU’VE DESCRIBED FREEZING TO DEATH. SING ABOUT SOMETHING ELSE!” The shield maiden stalked off to sit by Schlaup in the middle of the ship.

  “I like frost,” the giant said to cheer her up. “Fonn and Forath used to take me on picnics in the frost.”

  “You miss them, don’t you?” Thorgil said.

  Schlaup nodded. “When I marry …” He paused to marshal the words in his head, then continued, “I will take Ydgith to Jotunheim. To meet Mother.”

  Jack choked back a laugh. He could imagine Mrs. Tanner’s reaction to her new mother-in-law, a nine-foot-tall mountain queen with bristly orange hair and fangs.

  The shadow of the great bird Seafarer crossed the deck, made a lazy circle, and floated north again. The albatross had proven to be a most valuable crew member. He could see the coast when they couldn’t. He brought back information of islands, lonely villages, and inlets where they might spend the night without being discovered.

  The Northmen’s knowledge of the coast was imperfect. Even Rune’s memory contained information only about the few places he had visited, and so Seafarer guided them most of the time. On the first day he directed them to a run of herring so dense, the ship was unable to move until the run passed. The Northmen dipped the fish out with nets, and Seafarer gorged himself until he was too heavy to fly.

  That night they ate to their hearts’ content and fell asleep around a roaring fire. But the next it rained, and they shivered under oilskins until dawn.

  Thorgil pointed out a few of the places she recognized. “Those are the old strongholds of the Picts,” she said, pointing at solitary round towers on the distant hills. “Rune thinks they’re deserted now.” It was a wild and forbidding coast, with many cracks opening up to the sea. The waves sent spray high into these channels, while between them cliffs jutted out like teeth.

  “I have seen lights in those towers when all else was asleep,” the Bard said, shading his eyes against the afternoon sun. “I h
ave heard the huushayuu call to arms where no army has marched for countless years.”

  “What’s a huushayuu?” said Jack, repressing a shiver. The word had a breathy sound that recalled evil memories.

  “The Pictish war trumpet,” the old man replied. Jack remembered darkness falling over a slave market long ago and men whose bodies seemed to writhe with vines. “The huushayuu was half as tall as a man, and its voice carried over vast distances. There was never only one of them. The Picts always had ten or twenty trumpeters, for the sound alone made an enemy’s heart melt within him. The Romans called it a ‘carnyx.’”

  “Olaf had an old carnyx hanging on his wall,” Thorgil recalled. “It was shaped like a striking snake with a boar’s head. He refused to let anyone touch it because he’d found it in a tomb.”

  The Bard gazed with dislike at the distant towers gliding by. “That was a Roman copy. A true huushayuu has the head of a Pictish beast. The jaw is hinged with a metal tongue inside.”

  Seafarer returned with the report that a deserted bay lay just ahead, and Skakki gave the order to turn toward land. The Bard quickly canceled that order. “We should go north until the light fails,” he said. “If we don’t find a harbor, it is still better to lie out at sea than approach that shore.”

  They left the round towers behind, and the cliffs became ever steeper and more jagged. Finally, just as the last band of red faded in the western sky, they came to a white sandy beach. It lay before a peaceful valley ringed by hills, and the Bard pronounced it fit for habitation.

  Schlaup dragged the ship above the high tide mark all by himself. He was hopeless at many chores. He rowed too powerfully to work with others and couldn’t navigate across a mud puddle. But where strength was concerned, there was no matching him.

  “What does a carnyx sound like?” Jack said later, when they had eaten and were stretched out under the stars. He was unwilling to use the Pictish word huushayuu.