The Land of the Silver Apples

by Nancy Farmer

  “He—he called out that he was stuck,” said the shield maiden. “I was lagging behind with the supplies, and I heard Heinrich scream. I held up the torch and saw—” Thorgil broke off.

  Jack and Pega waited. The shield maiden was clearly having trouble saying exactly what she saw. The sun had finally found its way into the narrow valley and roused a family of otters. They slid past on the stream, bobbed down, and came up with small silver fish in their paws. They were not in the least afraid of the humans on the bank.

  “When I was very small,” Thorgil said, gulping, “I found a nest of snakes while digging for wild garlic in the forest. They were slithering all over each other, hissing and baring their fangs. I ran home and was beaten for not fetching the garlic. That’s what I saw in the cave, only this nest was much, much bigger. There were hundreds of serpents, and in the middle was Heinrich. They were wrapped around his arms and legs, and as I watched, one went down his throat. But before I could do anything, the ground started shaking! I’ve never felt anything like it. The rocks tumbled down, and I couldn’t stay on my feet. Then something struck me from behind. When I awoke, the tunnel we’d come through had collapsed and a hole had opened up in the roof.”

  “And Heinrich?” said Pega.

  “Gone. Buried behind the rocks.” Thorgil looked down at her hands.

  “He fell into a knucker hole,” said Jack. “We were almost trapped by one too. It looked like a giant tick.”

  “No. A bedbug,” Pega insisted.

  “I swear by Odin it was a nest of snakes,” said Thorgil.

  “We’re all probably right. I think a knucker looks like your worst nightmare,” Jack said wisely.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  THE BUGABOO

  By this time the sun was flooding into the little valley. All three children were depressed by Thorgil’s tale, and Jack suggested they share the rest of her story later. He had filled his pockets with the excess cheese, which was fortunate, for the mushroom-shaped pots had vanished.

  “It gives me the creeps to know that some creature can come and go without us seeing it.” Pega shivered.

  “It seems friendly,” Jack said.

  “Yes, but it won’t come out into the open. How am I going to sleep with that thing tiptoeing around? And why was it hanging over me?”

  “Perhaps you looked the most edible,” suggested Thorgil.

  “Stop that,” said Jack. He was reluctant to leave the crevice in the mountains. It seemed so safe after the whispering trees and the shock of finding Thorgil half devoured by moss. But they had no choice.

  They continued to follow the strip of meadow between the rocks and the forest. No one said anything. No one made the decision to go on. It was simply the easiest thing to do.

  They passed groves of aspen, birch, alder, and ash, broken up by gnarled, lichen-encrusted oaks and lime trees that cast an eerie green shade. Presently, Jack noticed that the sun, instead of being behind them, was on their left. They had come to the end of the valley and were following the mountains around to the other side. Yet still there was no way out, and the rocks were still too steep to climb.

  “I think this is leading us back,” said Thorgil. “I had hoped to return to the ship, but the tunnel was blocked.” They rested by a little rushing stream, and Jack passed around the cheese he’d taken. Much had happened since he last saw Thorgil, and he told her first of his return to the village and of the Bard’s travels in the body of Bold Heart.

  “That was Bold Heart?” cried the shield maiden. “That stupid bird told me he was the Bard, but I assumed he was lying. So many birds do.”

  “You can understand birds?” said Pega.

  The shield maiden nodded curtly. Jack remembered she didn’t like understanding them. She said they reminded her of a mob of drunk Northmen and never shut up.

  “What’s that one saying?” said Pega, pointing at a finch warbling on an elder bush.

  Thorgil listened. “He’s saying, I’m itchy. I’m itchy. I’m itchy.’ And that one’s saying, ‘So am I. So am I. So am I.’ The one on the beech tree is singing, ‘Bird lice, bird lice, we’ve all got bird lice!’”

  “Knowing does kind of take the fun out of it,” decided Pega.

  They traveled on. Jack told Thorgil about Lucy’s madness, the destruction of St. Filian’s Well, and Brutus’s disappearance.

  “You caused the earthquake?” cried Thorgil when he got to that part.

  “I didn’t mean to. I was angry. The Bard says never to do magic when you’re angry.”

  “That’s a wonderful skill!” exclaimed Thorgil. “You could cause an avalanche to fall on your enemies. You could wipe out a whole village.”

  “Oh, bother,” muttered Jack. He’d forgotten how blood-thirsty she was. But on the whole they spent a pleasant day swapping tales and reminiscing about their adventures in Jotunheim. Jack didn’t notice until late afternoon that Pega had said nothing for a very long time.

  He looked for a place to spend the night, but this time he found no friendly side valley. They’d have to camp on the rocks or go under the trees.

  “I will not go under the trees,” Thorgil said.

  “Frightened?” said Pega waspishly.

  “Only thralls are afraid,” the shield maiden hissed.

  “That’s lucky, because there are no thralls here,” retorted Pega. “As for me, I’m going to find a nice, soft little bed of moss. I suppose you’d prefer to cower on the rocks.”

  “Pega!” cried Jack. He was surprised. It wasn’t like her to pick fights.

  But Thorgil merely grunted. “I choose my battles. I don’t care to wake with a monster leaning over me.”

  Pega stamped off to the trees, though not actually under the branches, Jack noticed. Thorgil found a smooth shelf of rock. “This makes no sense,” Jack told her. “We have to stay together.”

  “Then let her come here,” the shield maiden said.

  “I’m not moving!” called Pega.

  Jack looked from one to the other, trying to think of a way to bring them together. He couldn’t understand why this argument had suddenly surfaced. “At least let’s tell stories or something. I’m not sleepy yet.” Grudgingly, the girls met halfway between their chosen camps. It wasn’t a good place, being somewhat marshy, but Jack was grateful for whatever he could get. What could have caused this problem? he wondered. You expected ratty behavior from Thorgil—the time to worry was when she was being nice—but Pega had always been eager to please.

  “I know one story I’d like,” Pega declared. “I’d like to know why a famous warrior ended up covered in moss.”

  “It’s a fair question,” admitted Thorgil. “I’d rather answer it before it gets dark.”

  After the earthquake, the shield maiden began, she’d climbed up to the hole in the roof. It was such a relief to be outside, she decided to look for water before returning. “I found a stream and then set about getting food,” she said. “All my supplies, except for this knife, had disappeared in the rock slide. I thought hunting would be difficult, but the animals were amazingly tame. Stupid, in fact. They practically lay down and asked me to kill them.”

  “Oh, Thorgil,” said Jack. “That should have told you this place was magic. Don’t you remember the Valley of Yggdrassil? Killing those animals was forbidden.”

  “I was hungry,” Thorgil said with some irritation. “In my opinion a fawn that sits down in front of someone who’s hungry is committing suicide.”

  “You didn’t—,” said Pega.

  “Of course I did,” said the shield maiden. “Then I couldn’t find firewood to cook it. I tried to tear off branches, but the trees here must be made of iron. All I could do was hack off a few twigs. When I returned to the fawn, it was gone. I felt something watching me.”

  “Crumbs!” said Pega, hugging herself.

  “It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever encountered, not like a human, animal, or troll. It was cold. Like a tree. I could feel its thoughts. I
t wasn’t angry. It merely wanted to get rid of me in that slow, patient way trees have when they ooze sap over an annoying beetle.”

  Jack shivered. He remembered the casual way the Hedge surrounding Din Guardi had put out a branch to scratch his face.

  “I had the strongest desire to lie down. I knew—I knew,” said Thorgil, her voice suddenly husky, “that if I stayed, I wouldn’t have the strength to resist. So I started running. To be more exact, I went mad.”

  “Berserk?” Jack guessed.

  “Going berserk would have been fun. All that hacking, chopping, and pillaging … Ah, well.” Thorgil sighed. “What I felt was panic.”

  Jack nodded. He knew she hadn’t been able to go berserk since drinking from Mimir’s Well.

  “I simply ran … and ran … and ran. When I stopped for breath, the trees closed in around me, so I went on until my legs collapsed under me. I stabbed the moss and screamed to keep it away, but it had all the time in the world. At last I could fight no longer and lay down. I could feel roots creeping around me and moss stealing over my arms and legs. Its thoughts were like decaying leaf mold—oh!” Thorgil shuddered violently. Jack put his arms around her.

  He braced himself for a blow—Thorgil wasn’t exactly keen on sympathy—but the shield maiden was too overcome to object. After a while she shook him off and gave him a fierce little smile.

  By now the valley was in shadow. Stars were beginning to appear in the deep blue sky, and a cold dampness seeped from the meadow. “Which is it to be?” said Jack. “The trees or the rocks?”

  Pega hunched over, looking more than ever like a large frog in a small pond. “After that story I don’t want to get close to the trees either,” she said, “but I want my own rock.”

  “I don’t know why you’re in such a snit,” said Jack sharply. Thorgil’s story had upset him more than he cared to admit. “You want to be alone? Fine. Get your own personal rock. We’ll stay here.”

  He felt guilty about letting her go, but he was tired and didn’t want to spend half the night arguing. Thorgil had found a protected place between two boulders. They curled up side by side and talked about Jotunheim. The shield maiden went to sleep, but Jack stared up at the sky between the boulders and tried to make plans. He heard Pega sobbing quietly.

  Oh, bedbugs, he thought, using one of Pega’s favorite swearwords. I’d better go over there. Then he heard another sound. At first it was a murmur, like a distant stream, but it grew. Jack’s heart stood still. The murmur separated into voices that were almost, but not quite, clear. Pega had fallen dead silent.

  Jack stood up carefully. A full moon cast an eerie light over the hillside. He saw Pega sitting not far away, and all around her the rocks flickered as though something was running over them. Beautiful lady, the voices sang. Fairest of the fair. Never weep for we are with you. We adore you. We love you.

  “Jack?” croaked Pega, so terrified she could hardly speak.

  “Thorgil,” Jack whispered. He knew he would need her help. The shield maiden shot straight up with her knife drawn, ready for action.

  “It’s that thing I saw this morning, only there’s more of him,” she said.

  “We’re coming, Pega,” said Jack, staff poised at the ready.

  We mean no harm, the voices whispered. The lady weeps and so we came. Fairest of the fair. We love you.

  “They’re touching me,” squeaked Pega.

  “You’re frightening her,” said Jack.

  You hurt her, the voices said accusingly. You drove her away and she wept.

  “I did not. She wanted to be alone.”

  Not her. Not her. Her loneliness called to us. Cruel mud man.

  “Jack, get them to stop touching me,” wailed Pega.

  “You heard her,” said Jack. “Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it at once.”

  “Shall I attack?” whispered Thorgil.

  “Not yet. Look, you really are frightening her,” called Jack. “Why don’t you come out in the open so we can see you?”

  Lovely one, is that your wish? The voices sounded like wind in trees.

  “Yes! Keep your hands to yourselves,” said Pega. Then, like water that suddenly becomes still so you can see into its depths, the creatures appeared. There were hundreds of them! They formed a dense ring around Pega but, fortunately, not too close to her. Jack couldn’t think what to do. How on earth was he going to make all those creatures go away?

  They were like small men, dressed in clothes that blended with the rocks. Their skin was covered in blotches, and they had large, sleepy-looking eyes. Their noses were two slits above a wide, lipless mouth, and their hair—what there was of it—was plastered over damp-looking foreheads. They had long fingers that were flattened unpleasantly at the ends.

  “Kobolds,” whispered Thorgil beside him.

  “You’ve seen them before?” he said in a low voice.

  “They infested Olaf’s ship on his trip up the Rhine. He had to get a wise woman to drive them out.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “No,” said Thorgil. “They only play pranks and steal things.”

  “Steal things!” cried a voice behind them. Both Jack and Thorgil jumped. One of the creatures was standing far too close for comfort. “Steal things! I like that! After all the nice things we’ve done for you—bringing you food and keeping the Forest Lord busy at the other end of the valley.”

  “Olaf also said they were touchy,” added Thorgil.

  “I’m sorry,” said Jack, bowing politely. “We didn’t mean to insult you. We’re extremely grateful for your help.”

  “Hmf!” said the creature.

  “Could you ask your companions to let our friend go? She’s really upset.”

  “We aren’t doing anything to her. You’re the ones who made her feel unwelcome.”

  “Yes, well, we’re sorry about that, too. Couldn’t you let us go to her?” asked Jack.

  “Nobody’s stopping you,” sneered the creature.

  Jack and Thorgil approached the ring. It opened to let them through and closed behind them. Jack was aware of hundreds of froggy eyes watching him. He felt their hands flutter against him, like being buffeted by clouds of moths.

  “I can see why Pega was upset,” said Thorgil, jabbing at an invisible stomach with her elbow.

  “Oh, Jack! Jack!” Pega cried, flinging her arms around him when at last he reached her. “Why are they all here? Why are they watching me? What are they?”

  “Thorgil says they’re kobolds.”

  “Not quite correct.” A larger and more lavishly speckled creature suddenly popped up beside Pega, and she screamed. “‘Kobolds’ is what we’re called in Germany. Here we’re known as hobgoblins. Some also refer to us as brownies, fenoderees, or, my personal favorite, bugaboos.”

  “You’re a bugaboo?” Pega said faintly.

  “Dear lady, I am the Bugaboo, the ruler of this place.”

  “And I’m his Nemesis,” said the creature who had been talking to Jack and Thorgil earlier.

  “Hurrah for the Bugaboo and his Nemesis!” cried all the other creatures, dancing around so ecstatically that they popped in and out of sight.

  “What’s a nemesis?” growled Thorgil. She was not taking the incessant interest of the hobgoblins well. She kept slapping little hands that were trying to feel her clothes, her hair, her skin. This didn’t do the slightest good. The creatures merely giggled and came straight back.

  “Every king has to have a nemesis,” said the Nemesis, puffing out his chest, “to tell him when he’s wrong or being stupid or lazy. Otherwise, he gets too full of himself. Don’t you have them?”

  “I don’t think our kings like to be criticized,” said Jack.

  “Well, of course they don’t! Criticism is supposed to hurt. Otherwise, it’s no good.”

  “Our kings,” Jack said, “kill people who make them angry.”

  A shocked silence fell over the gathering. “Did he say ‘kill people’?” murmured
one of the creatures.

  “We don’t approve of it, but it happens,” said Jack.

  “Perfectly disgusting,” said the Nemesis, running his long fingers through his hair. “I must say, I’m not surprised. Mud men are savages at the best of times.”

  “Now, now. We mustn’t be rude to our guests,” protested the Bugaboo. “We’re perfectly delighted to have visitors. So little happens in the valley, especially since that awful rock slide. You must come back to our halls for a party. We have one every night.”

  “There you go, sucking up as usual,” grumbled the Nemesis. But he joined the others in herding Jack, Thorgil, and Pega along the rocks in the brilliant moonlight.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE

  They walked on, surrounded by the mob of hobgoblins with no chance of breaking free. They hugged themselves against the cold, and their breath came out as mist. Presently, they came to a path paved with round, transparent pebbles. The moon was reflected inside each pebble so that it appeared to be a path of raindrops shimmering in the night.

  “What magic is this?” said Thorgil, halting. Several hobgoblins bumped into her.

  “No magic. They’re moonstones,” the Bugaboo explained. The shield maiden immediately knelt down and scooped some up. But they dissolved into water in her hands.

  Jack had been trying to remember stories about hobgoblins. He recalled that goblins (who were surely related) had a bad reputation where children were concerned. “We should be going on our way,” he told the Bugaboo. “We’re most grateful for your invitation, but we’re on an important quest and have no time to visit.”

  “Nonsense. You have all the time in the world,” said the hobgoblin king.

  “I’m afraid not. My father is being held prisoner. He’ll be killed if we don’t return as soon as possible.”

  “Look at the moon,” the Bugaboo commanded.

  It was full and very bright. It was full last night, too, Jack thought again with a whisper of alarm.

  The Bugaboo’s eyes were large and dark under their sleepy lids. The moon was reflected in them, as it was in the pebbles. “Night after night it rises, always perfect and never moth-eaten as it is in your world. The elves call it the Silver Apple.”