Viking Ships at Sunrise

by Mary Pope Osborne

  Jack looked at the misty gray sea.

  “Do not worry,” said Brother Patrick. “They cannot land safely on this island before daylight. They’re not as good sailors as some people.” He winked at Annie.

  “Too bad for them,” she said cheerfully.

  “But tell me, why have you come here?” asked Brother Patrick.

  “Oh,” said Jack. “I almost forgot.”

  He pulled Morgan’s paper from his leather bag. He showed the Latin words to the monk.

  “This is the title of a story that we have to take back to our friend and teacher, Morgan le Fay,” said Annie.

  “I see … ” said Brother Patrick. He gave Jack and Annie a mysterious look.

  What’s he thinking? Jack wondered.

  But the monk changed the subject.

  “I think you would like to visit our monastery,” he said.

  “What’s that?” said Annie.

  “The place where we monks live and work,” said Brother Patrick. “Come.”

  “But the sun’s not up yet,” said Jack. “Won’t the others be asleep?”

  “Oh, no,” said Brother Patrick. “In the summer, we rise long before daylight. We have much to do. You’ll see.”

  The monk led them up a dirt path. Jack hoped their book was at the monastery. He wanted to leave the gloomy island with its threat of Viking invaders as soon as possible.

  A low bell started to ring. Jack saw a lonely church steeple against the gray sky ahead.

  The monastery had a stone wall all around it.

  Brother Patrick took Jack and Annie through the gate. Beyond the gate was a small church with a hanging bell.

  There was also a vegetable garden and six stone huts shaped like giant beehives.

  “We grow all our own food,” said Brother Patrick. “Carrots, turnips, spinach, wheat, and beans.”

  He led them to the entrance of the first hut. Jack and Annie peeked inside. A monk was pulling flat bread from a low stone oven.

  “This is our bakery,” Brother Patrick said.

  “It smells good!” said Annie.

  “Come along,” Brother Patrick said.

  He pointed to each hut as they passed.

  “There are our sleeping quarters,” he said. “And that’s where we spin our cloth. In here, we cobble our sandals. There we carve our wooden tools.”

  In each of the huts, Jack and Annie could see monks. They were busy spinning or cobbling or carving.

  Finally, Brother Patrick came to the largest beehive-like hut.

  “I have saved the best for last,” he said. “This is where we do our most important work.”

  He stepped inside.

  Jack and Annie followed.

  The hut was warm and peaceful, yet very alive. It glowed with the golden light of many candles.

  Monks sat at wooden tables. Some were reading. Others played chess. Best of all, some were writing and painting in books.

  “This is our library,” said Brother Patrick. “Here we study math, history, and poetry. We play chess. And we make books.”

  “Jack,” said Annie. “I think this is it.”

  “What?” said Jack.

  “Civilization!” said Annie.

  Brother Patrick laughed.

  “Yes, this is where civilization hides,” he said. “On top of our lonely island in the sea.”

  “Oh, man,” said Jack. “I love this place.”

  “What kind of books do you make here?” asked Annie.

  “Books of wonder,” said Brother Patrick. “We record Christian stories as well as the old myths of Ireland.”

  “Myths?” said Jack.

  “Yes,” said Brother Patrick. “They were gathered from our storytellers—the old women who sing the tales of long ago, when people believed in magic.”

  “Wow,” said Annie.

  “Come,” said Brother Patrick, “look at the book of Brother Michael. He has worked on it his whole life.”

  Brother Patrick led Jack and Annie over to an old monk. The monk was painting a blue border around one of the pages in a book.

  “Michael, these two Master Librarians from faraway would like to see your work,” said Brother Patrick.

  The old monk looked up at Jack and Annie. His wrinkled face broke into a smile.

  “Welcome,” said Brother Michael in a thin, shaky voice.

  “Hi,” said Annie.

  Brother Michael showed them the cover of his book. It was decorated with gleaming red and blue jewels.

  Then he turned the pages. Each was covered with fancy writing and delicate paintings in green, gold, and blue.

  “I wish I could paint like that,” said Annie.

  “It’s beautiful,” whispered Jack.

  “Thank you,” said Brother Michael.

  “How do you make a book like this?” asked Annie.

  “I write on sheepskin and use goose quill pens,” said Brother Michael. “My paints are made of earth and plants.”

  “Wow,” said Annie.

  “Show Michael what you are seeking,” Brother Patrick said.

  “Oh, right!” said Jack. He pulled out the paper Morgan had given them. He showed the Latin writing to the old monk.

  Brother Michael nodded.

  “Yes,” he said with a smile. “I know that one quite well.”

  Brother Michael turned to the page he had been painting with a blue border. He pointed to the writing at the top of the page.

  “Oh, man,” whispered Jack.

  The words were:

  “We found our story!” said Jack.

  “Yay!” said Annie.

  “Indeed,” said Brother Patrick. “But alas, Brother Michael has not yet completed his work. You will have to return for it.”

  “Oh, shoot,” said Annie.

  Jack was disappointed, too.

  “I don’t know if we’ll be able to come back,” he said.

  “I don’t know if we can even leave without the story,” said Annie.

  Brother Patrick looked puzzled.

  The two kids looked at each other, then back at Brother Patrick. It was too hard to explain about the tree house and how the magic worked.

  Jack shrugged.

  “We’ll just have to try,” he said.

  Outside, the church bell began ringing.

  “It is time now for our sunrise prayers,” said Brother Patrick. “Will you join us?”

  “Thanks, but we better try to go home now,” said Jack.

  Brother Patrick nodded and led them into the garden. When he opened the gate, they stopped.

  The horizon glowed pink and purple. The sun had started to rise.

  No one spoke as the great, fiery ball rose slowly over the ocean.

  Finally, Brother Patrick broke the silence. “Shine, O light of the sun,” he said softly, “on this day filled with wonder.”

  “That’s beautiful,” said Annie.

  Jack smiled. He agreed.

  Brother Patrick turned to them. “It is such sights as this that inspire our bookmaking,” he said. “Now go, and may God be with you on your voyage home.”

  “Thanks,” said Jack and Annie.

  “Do you need me to guide you to your boat?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” said Jack.

  “Follow the path to the top of the cliff,” said Brother Patrick. “Then use my rope to help you down the steps.”

  “Okay,” said Annie. “Bye!” And she went through the gate.

  Jack wanted to go home, but he hated leaving the monastery. It was filled with people doing his favorite things: reading and learning.

  “I really like it here,” he said to Brother Patrick.

  “I’m glad. But you must go now, while the weather is with you,” said the monk. “Everything can change in an instant.”

  Then Brother Patrick turned and went into the church.

  Jack hurried out the gate. Before he went further, he stopped and pulled out his notebook.

  He quic
kly made two lists:

  “Come on!” Annie called from the top of the steps.

  “Coming,” Jack called.

  He put away his notebook and ran along the dirt path to the edge of the cliff.

  Overhead, flocks of gulls circled in the purple sky. Their cries sounded like screams.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Jack said.

  “Maybe they always do this at sunrise,” said Annie. “Let me go first.”

  Clutching the rope, she started down the steps.

  Jack grabbed the rope and started down. The birds’ cries went on. They worried him. They sounded like warnings.

  Jack reached the rocky ledge and let go of the rope.

  “Let’s go!” Annie called from the tree house.

  Jack looked at the horizon one last time.

  His heart nearly stopped. A ship was outlined against the sky! Behind it, he saw two smaller ships.

  As the ships came into view, their bright sails were filled with wind and their serpent prows blazed in the new sunlight.

  “Oh, no,” Jack whispered. “Vikings!”

  “Annie!” Jack cried. “Vikings!”

  Annie looked out the tree house window. “Vikings?”

  “They’re headed straight for the island!” said Jack.

  He turned back to the stone steps.

  “Where are you going?” cried Annie.

  “To warn the monks!” Jack said.

  “I’ll come, too!” cried Annie. She scrambled out of the tree house.

  “Hurry!” said Jack.

  Jack didn’t even use the rope. He pulled himself up the steep steps with his hands.

  As Jack and Annie climbed up the face of the cliff, clouds began to cover the sun. When they reached the top, a fog had almost hidden the serpent ships.

  “Run!” cried Annie.

  The fog blanketed the whole island. Jack and Annie could barely see the path to the monastery.

  When they arrived at the gate, the misty white world was silent.

  “Vikings!” Jack cried. “Vikings!”

  “The monks are still in church!” said Annie. She yanked the bell rope.

  Dong! Dong!

  Jack and Annie watched as Brother Patrick and the other monks ran out of the church.

  “The Vikings are coming!” Jack shouted.

  Brother Patrick’s rosy face turned white.

  “Make haste!” he said to the other monks. “Gather the books and hide.”

  The monks ran into the library. Brother Patrick turned to Jack and Annie.

  “We have a secret hiding place, a cave on the other side of the island,” he said. “You can come with us. But I am not certain you will be safe.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Jack. “We’re going to try to go home.”

  “Do not use the steps,” Brother Patrick said. “The Vikings will climb them.”

  “Then how do we get down?” said Jack.

  “Go that way,” said Brother Patrick, pointing. “At the cliff’s edge are two large rocks. A path between those rocks will take you down to the shore. Then you can walk around to your boat.”

  “Thanks!” said Annie.

  “Be careful!” said Brother Patrick. He hurried inside the library.

  “Wait!” came a thin voice as Jack and Annie turned to run.

  It was Brother Michael. He hobbled over to them, holding out his book of Irish tales.

  “Take it,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” Jack asked. He knew it was Brother Michael’s life’s work.

  “Please,” said Brother Michael. “It is better that the world should have some of it than none at all. Just in case … ”

  “We’ll take good care of it,” said Jack. He gently placed the jeweled book in his leather bag.

  “Good luck!” said Annie.

  Annie and Jack waved good-bye to the old man. Then they raced to the rocks that Brother Patrick had told them about.

  At the rocks, the sea gulls still screeched. Jack could barely see the steep path leading down into the fog.

  “Go slowly,” Jack whispered to Annie as they started down.

  “Whoops!” said Annie. She slipped and fell forward, bumping into Jack. “My foot got caught in my stupid dress—”

  “Shh!” said Jack.

  He held on to Annie. They listened as pebbles and rocks rolled down the cliff.

  Jack took a deep breath.

  “We’ve got to watch out for Vikings, too,” he whispered.

  They started down the steep path again. They went one step at a time. The sound of the waves against the rocks grew louder.

  Finally, they stepped down onto a flat strip of pebbles.

  “Where are we?” whispered Annie.

  “I don’t know,” said Jack.

  “Oh, look!” said Annie. She pointed to the shoreline.

  Through the fog rose the serpent prows of the Viking ships!

  Jack and Annie crept closer to the ships. Their sails were down. Each ship had been tied to a tall jagged rock. They seemed deserted as they bobbed in the shallow waves.

  Jack really wanted to check out the ships. But he was afraid of wasting time.

  “We’d better find the tree house,” he said to Annie.

  They crept away from the three Viking ships.

  Suddenly, they both froze.

  Through the mist, they saw a group of Viking warriors. The Vikings were looking at the top of the cliff.

  Their long yellow hair hung down from beneath their iron helmets. They carried round wooden shields and swords and axes.

  “It looks like they’re planning to climb the cliff,” whispered Annie.

  “We need to hide until they go,” whispered Jack. “Then we can look for the tree house.”

  “Let’s hide in a ship!” said Annie.

  “Good idea,” said Jack.

  They crept back to where the ships were tied.

  Jack was happy to see that the sides of the smallest ship were very low. They would easily be able to climb over them.

  “You go first,” said Annie.

  Jack waded through the shallow water. It was cold!

  He reached the ship and grabbed one side. He pushed himself up and onto the ship’s deck.

  The ship jerked forward. Jack looked at the shore. It was now thirty feet away. The ship’s anchoring rope was pulled tight. The serpent prow bobbed up and down with the waves.

  The fog and the movement of the ship made Jack feel as if he was in a dream. For a moment, he forgot to be scared of the Vikings.

  “This is so cool,” he called. “Come on, Annie!”

  Annie started to wade out to the ship. Suddenly, she disappeared.

  “Annie?” called Jack.

  Her head popped out of the water. She splashed with her arms.

  “It—it’s deep!” she gasped. “My dress—too heavy!”

  “Use the rope!” called Jack. “Like when we climbed the stairs!”

  Annie grabbed the rope that stretched from ship to shore. It held her weight as she began inching along it.

  “Hold on tight!” cried Jack.

  “I—I am!” gasped Annie.

  She kept going, hand over hand, along the rope, toward the ship.

  When Annie got close to the ship, Jack reached out to help her. As he pulled her in, the side of the ship dipped down.

  Then the rope went slack, and the Viking ship slid out to sea.

  Annie fell to the deck of the ship.

  Jack pulled the rope out of the water. The end of it was still tied in a loop.

  “What happened?” asked Annie.

  “We’re heading out to sea,” said Jack. “I guess all the pulling lifted the rope off the rock.”

  Annie sat up and looked at the misty whiteness.

  “I can’t see the island,” she said.

  “I can’t see anything,” said Jack.

  Annie looked at Jack.

  “Do you think this is our darkest hour?” she asked.
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  “I don’t know,” said Jack. “Maybe the book will help.”

  He pulled out their research book. He found a picture of a Viking ship. He read the caption aloud:

  Viking warships were the best ships of their times. When there was no wind, the crew would take down the sails and row with oars. The smallest ships had four rowers, and the largest had as many as thirty-two. Rowers sat on boxes that stored their belongings.

  “Great,” said Annie, jumping up. “This isn’t our darkest hour!”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Jack.

  “There’s still hope,” said Annie. “We can row to the other side of the island and find the tree house.”

  “Are you nuts?” said Jack.

  “Please, Jack,” said Annie. “Can we just try?”

  She grabbed one of the oars. She could barely lift it.

  “Forget it, Annie,” said Jack. “It takes four big Viking guys to row this thing. You’re too little. I’m too little.”

  “Come on, Jack. Just try,” said Annie. “You get an oar, too. We’ll sit on boxes across from each other.”

  “Oh, brother,” said Jack.

  Annie dragged her long oar over to a storage box.

  “I’m not doing this alone,” she said.

  Jack groaned. Then he dragged an oar to the box across from Annie.

  “Cool!” said Annie. She peered into a storage box. “Look, one for each of us!”

  She lifted out two small Viking helmets.

  “Maybe these were made for Viking kids who sometimes ride in this ship,” said Annie.

  “Maybe,” said Jack.

  He hadn’t thought of Vikings as real people before—people with families and little kids.

  Annie pulled off her scarf and put a helmet on her head.

  “Now I feel like a Viking, too,” she said. “I bet it will help me row.”

  She handed Jack a helmet. He put it on. It made him feel a little different.

  “I don’t know about this,” he said. The helmet wasn’t as heavy as the one he had worn in the time of castles. But it was still pretty heavy.

  “Well, I’m braver with mine on,” said Annie.

  Jack smiled. He didn’t know how Annie could be braver than she already was.