“But they can’t expect you to miss out on Christmas with your family,” Mum said as she came to the bottom of the stairs. “It’s in the ironing basket, Dani. Get Ruairi’s fleece while you’re there, and don’t forget it’s cold on Yondersaay now—not like when we’re usually there—bring your snow boots and thermal socks.”
“You don’t understand—” Dad was saying.
“I understand. You’re talking about commitment—”
“I can’t find it, Mum! My purple jumper. Where is my purple jumper?”
Mum and Dad’s heads popped into view at the bottom of the stairs. “Watch your tone, young lady!” they snapped, together. Then their heads disappeared, and the living room door slammed shut. Ruairi and Dani stopped what they were doing and came to the top of the stairs. They stood looking at the closed door.
“It’s all your fault,” Ruairi said, close to tears.
Dani put her arm around her little brother’s shoulder. “It’s not my fault, it’s not anybody’s fault.”
“I know,” he said, as they ambled back to their packing.
“Cheer up, guys,” Mum said from her position in front of them in the line. “You’ll see him in a day or two.”
Ruairi glanced back past airport security one last time to see if he could still see Dad waving, but he couldn’t. He collected his shoes and belt and backpack and caught up with Dani, Mum, and Granny at the gate.
“You heard Dad,” Mum said as Ruairi reached her. “He’s going to call in a favor at the department and get parachute-dropped with his inflatable dinghy backpack from one of their stealth recon drones on their routine sweep of the North Atlantic. Shouldn’t take him long to paddle to Yondersaay from the drop point.”
“And if they’re not going near Yondersaay?” Dani asked.
“Then he’ll find another way; you know Dad.” Mum led them to their seats. “Granny?”
“Yes, dear?”
“We have such a long journey ahead of us—lots of flying and sailing and waiting in waiting rooms. And then more flying and sailing and waiting and driving.”
“Yes, dear, we do.”
“Will you tell us one of your stories to keep us going?” Mum said.
“Well, now,” Granny said, “I suppose that would be one way to pass the time. But what if nobody wants to hear my stories?”
“We do, Granny,” Ruairi said. “Only not the one about the one-eyed tortoise who took a hundred years to lay an egg.”
“Or the one about how handbags were invented,” Dani said.
“You don’t like those stories?” Granny asked, and Dani and Ruairi shook their heads.
The Millers found their row and took their seats.
“Hmm, let me see.” Granny closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “It wasn’t today or yesterday …” Granny began. This was the way she always began her stories.
“Granny, you’re supposed to say ‘Once upon a time,’” Dani said.
“No, Dani. ‘Once upon a time,’ is the ordinary way to begin an ordinary story. There are no ordinary stories about Yondersaay. Besides, when you hear a story that begins ‘Once upon a time,’ you start out with a set of expectations. You are not surprised when the beans turn out to be magic beans or when the frog turns into a prince. You expect everything to end ‘happily ever after’ with the baddies getting their comeuppance and the goodies getting married. This is not one of those stories. This is a true story; it actually happened. There are no poison apples or handsome frogs, and I’m sorry to tell you, Yondersaay stories don’t all end up ‘happily ever after.’”
“Okay, Granny,” Dani said as Granny wedged herself into her seat. “As you were …”
The King of the Danes
“It wasn’t today or yesterday,” Granny began again. “It was a long, long time ago when the world was warmer, and some believed the sun moved around the earth. There was a Viking of old called King Dudo the Mightily Impressive, lord over all Denmark. King Dudo was a big man, broad and tall, with tanned skin tight across bulging muscles and long reddish-blond hair that fell in thick waves to his elbows—a mighty warrior. All who fought with him worshipped him, and those who fought against him trembled in fear at the very sight of him. An adventurer, he pillaged and plundered as far north as the turn in the world and as far south as the oceans of sand.
“One bright autumn, King Dudo and his warriors set sail from their homeland to the northern-most seas of the world. They wore thick layers of skins and furs against the cold of the northern air.
“Among their number on this westward voyage was a famous monk from the lower lands called Brother Brian the Devout and Handy with Numbers. Brother Brian had the gift of navigation and was an expert star-reader. His job was to guide King Dudo and his Viking warriors to the northern lands.
“After roiling upon the waves for many weeks, their supplies diminishing, and cramp and fatigue setting in, the Vikings were anxious for the sight of land. Surprised they had not found land yet, some began to doubt Brother Brian’s ability. A whispering campaign started at the backs of the longships: “Brother Brian has gotten us lost!”
“Now, while it is true that Brother Brian was tasked with getting the Vikings safely to and from the lands of the north, only King Dudo knew that Brian had another task—another secret task.
“It had long been suspected that in the middle of the northern-most seas, between the homelands of the Danes and the far-off lands, below the turn in the world but beyond the craggy cliffs of Land of the Scots, lay an island. This island was often the subject of the songs and tales of the kingdom’s official storytellers, the court skalders. The stories described it as an enchanted island, cloaked in secrecy. The island was called Yondersaay.
“Viking legend tells that after death, the most worthy Viking warriors would meet in Valhalla, the Hall of the Dead, for a final battle. Anything a Viking had buried in his earthly life would be his once more. His true armor, weaponry, or wealth stayed buried in the earth while its ghostly copy awaited him in the afterlife. So it was, every Viking, before he died, buried his prized weapons and his most coveted jewels in preparation for this final battle.
“Now, the stories go, this lost island in the middle of the sea happened to be the place where all the Viking warriors of old went to bury their treasures. The riches buried on the island were said to include the most intricate and exquisite objects ever invented, mined, or styled. Some of the weaponry dated back to the first-ever pieces of forged iron, and other pieces displayed the most modern sophistication. Since these riches were sung about the world over by the skalders and other storytellers, the stories eventually made it all the way to the southern lands of Brother Brian’s home.
“Yondersaay was widely believed to be the burial place not just of the treasures of generations of Vikings but also of the Gifts of Odin.”
“Tell us about the Gifts of Odin again, Granny,” Dani said.
“The Gifts of Odin are weapons, jewels, and treasures that were given to the Viking god Odin, the father of all Vikings, throughout his many lifetimes. Some of the gifts were specifically crafted for Odin, and some were imbued with enchantments and powers. Not all the gifts were of this world; some were presents from other gods. Of course, you’ve heard of a few—the Black Heart of the Dragon’s Eye, for instance, and the Violaceous Amethyst. Then there’s the Tome of Tiuz and the Fjorgyn Thunderbolt. And there are other, more obscure ones, like the Sword of Lapis Lazuli and its mate, the Asiatic Shield, and the Cup of Memory, to name the most famous of the least famous.
“Rumors of this magnificent cache of treasure traveled far and wide. To ensure the island would not be sacked and plundered, Odin cast an enchantment upon it. The island disappeared from sight and became unreachable. Or, to be more specific, almost unreachable,” Granny continued as she unfastened her seat belt and pulled down her tray table. The Millers were all together in the middle of the plane in a row of four seats. Granny had taken
off her hat and coat upon entering the plane, and Ruairi could see she was wearing her stretchy trousers.
“Granny,” Mum said, “you’re not supposed to pull down your tray table until they serve the food. It’s not safe in the event of an emergency landing.”
Just at that precise moment, Ruairi saw a very smiley, very tanned flight attendant turn out of the galley pushing a trolley piled high with trays of food.
“You were saying, Mum?” Granny grinned at Mum.
“Never mind,” Mum mumbled.
The flight attendant pushed her trolley down the aisle, handing out trays of food. “Chicken or beef?” she said to Granny with a big smile when she got to their row.
“Yes, please.” Granny smiled back at her. The flight attendant held the chicken tray in one hand and the beef tray in the other. She seemed confused.
“You can just put them both down here, thank you.” The flight attendant looked at Granny. Granny did not break eye contact. The flight attendant hesitated for just a second, then put both trays in front of Granny.
“Oh, and the vegetarian option too, please.” Granny manoeuvered the chicken tray halfway on top of the beef tray to make room for the vegetarian. She turned back to Dani and Ruairi and continued with her story before the flight attendant had a chance to object.
“Dudo’s favorite skalder’s tale tells of a great king who would one day breach the island’s enchanted fortifications. A lone warrior with neither weaponry nor army with no council to advise him and no magic to aid him would conquer the jewel-filled island and become its king and master. It is not known how he was to achieve it, what power or ruse he would employ, what deal he would strike, or indeed, whom he would fight. The only thing known for sure was that one lone someone, one great warrior, would do the business, make it to the island, and scoop the loot.
“King Dudo was an intelligent man. He didn’t believe there was such a thing as an enchanted island in the middle of the sea stuffed full of gold and jewels. All the same, he did think there was a teeny possibility there was an island off the beaten track that had remained undiscovered for a ton of years, which just might, be a nice place to go and have a look around. Who knew, there might be some pleasant-looking trinkets buried there.
“It was with this in mind that King Dudo the Mightily Impressive enlisted the renowned star-gazing monk, Brother Brian the Devout and Handy with Numbers.
“Brother Brian spent a long time researching the island for King Dudo. He scrupulously documented all known Viking tales and songs about the island. He cross-referenced them with stories from other places, drawing up charts, plotting graphs, and double-checking his maps of the skies with the leading astronomers. When he felt he knew the exact location of the enchanted island, he dispatched a messenger pigeon to King Dudo and went to the upper lands to lead King Dudo the Mightily Impressive to the treasure.
“King Dudo had asked Brother Brian to keep all this hush-hush. He didn’t want his men to think he believed in fairy stories. They were just going to go out of their way a little to look for the island, maybe pretend they were lost for a day or two. If they didn’t find it, no harm done; they’d be back on course and in the northern lands before they knew it. Although Brother Brian was a monk who wore a habit that looked a lot like a dress, he was no less concerned about his reputation among the Viking men. He was super psyched to be on first-name terms with the most powerful man in the land, so he gave King Dudo a wink and assured him that yes, of course, this would be their little secret.”
The Little Secret
Granny had to shout now because of the noise of the wind on the gangplank of the ferry she, Dani, Ruairi, and Mum were boarding. Granny was eating the steaming hot pie Mum had gotten for her in a sailor bar in the port. They huddled close together and shuffled up the gangplank in their winter clothes.
“About three weeks into the voyage,” Granny bellowed, “a few days after the warriors started wondering why they hadn’t found land yet, dusk fell on a clear, calm ocean. The night was full of light from the crystalline moon, and Brother Brian turned a little in his position in the prow of the lead longship and made a long slow nod of the head toward King Dudo, closing his eyes as his head reached its lowest position. It was a very cool move. Brother Brian had been practicing it in his head for weeks. He waited for King Dudo to take his seat beside him.
“‘We are close,” Brian said to Dudo and looked to the stars, then back down at the books and scrolls and charts laid all about him and back up to the stars again. “‘All my information, all my years of training, and all my expertise tell me we are very close.’
“The boat glided quietly through the water. Most of the Vikings were sleeping. Not so much as a seabird disturbed the stillness of the night. The monk and the king looked hopefully all around; it felt to them that they could see for miles. If the island was there, they would see it.
“They looked and looked. An hour passed, two hours passed, then three. But no land came into view. All of a sudden, King Dudo swung his head around to the left. ‘Shh!’ he hissed. Brother Brian swivelled his gaze around and looked hard, but he couldn’t see anything. ‘It sounded like—’ King Dudo said, stopping short.
“‘Like what, my lord?’ Brian asked.
“‘Oh, nothing, it’s ridiculous … but for a minute there, I thought I heard children laughing.’
Brother Brian gasped, clutched his chest, and went pale.
“‘It’s nothing,’ King Dudo continued. ‘The ocean is playing tricks on my mind.’ Dudo’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a big sigh. ‘This is ridiculous! What am I thinking? A magical island in the middle of the ocean … Enough. Time to let it go. Let’s get back on track and deliver my men to land.’
“The monk did as King Dudo said and altered the course of the fleet of longships, turning them back a little so they pointed toward a known headland.”
“Granny,” Ruairi interrupted. “Why did Brother Brian go pale? Did he see something? Did he see Yondersaay?”
“Good guess, Ruairi,” Granny said. “But no. King Dudo didn’t notice Brother Brian’s near fainting when he told him he’d heard laughing children. Nor did he notice Brother Brian immediately turning and marking the precise location of the laughing children in his charts. Brother Brian the Devout and Handy with Numbers would never, ever be coming this way again.
“You see, Brother Brian was a deeply superstitious man. In the lower lands where he grew up, a lot of the horror stories told around the campfire were about voices. If you heard a voice and couldn’t see the body it came from, chances were you were being haunted by a ghost. The most terrifying ghost stories Brother Brian had ever heard started with the sinister laughter of a bodyless child.
“When Brother Brian made it back to his monastery in the lower lands, he wrote a travel guide based on his voyages with the Danes. Brother Brian’s Northern-Most Sea Excursions: Hospitable Hostelries and Bloodiest Battlegrounds, became the best-selling book about the area and was reprinted edition after edition. At the back of the manuscript was an extensive glossary with maps and directions, and all studiously avoided this particular patch of haunted ocean. So every traveler who traveled the northern-most seas and who used Brother Brian’s Excursions as their guide—and the publishing house will brag that that is absolutely everyone who traveled the northern-most seas—followed Brother Brian’s routes. And all Brother Brian’s routes avoided this spot.”
“I think we have that book at home somewhere,” Dani said.
“Of course you do,” Granny said. “You’re Yondersaanians, so you’re bound to have one.”
“Half-Yondersaanian,” Ruairi said, glancing at Mum. With the same blondish-reddish hair as Dani’s, Mum was often taken for a Yondersaanian, but in fact she wasn’t Yondersaanian, she was Irish.
“Never mind,” Granny said, “You can’t have everything.”
“I can hear you,” Mum said, not looking up from the extra-thick, super-comprehen
sive, safety guide she had requested from the flight attendant.
“Where were we? Oh, yes,” Granny went on as the plane landed and bumped along the runway. “Now, Brother Brian, convinced he had made a terrible mistake in his calculations, spent the rest of the voyage going over his charts and calculations. At the end of a month of calculations and recalculations, Brian was utterly confused. Certain he had made a mistake but unable to find it, he vowed to beg King Dudo’s forgiveness, if King Dudo were ever to be found alive, of course. ‘I’m terribly sorry, my liege,’ he had decided he would say, if it turned out King Dudo hadn’t died a gruesome and bloody death like everyone believed. ‘I beg your mercy and forgiveness. It is to my shame and embarrassment that I admit to a heedlessness and recklessness in my long division and multiplication. I think I must have forgotten to carry the one.’”
“Granny, I’m going to have to stop you there,” Dani said matter-of-factly as she handed her passport over to be stamped at customs.
“Oh, yes?” Granny asked, squeezing through the space between the control booths. Ruairi, putting all his strength into it, shoved her heartily until she popped out the other side. She put her newly stamped passport into her handbag and led the way into the arrivals hall.
“Wasn’t King Dudo in the boat with Brother Brian just a minute ago?” Dani asked patiently while Ruairi came close to hear. “Why does Brother Brian think King Dudo died a gruesome death?”
“A gruesome and bloody death,” Ruairi said in hushed tones, putting his passport back in his inside pocket with all his boarding passes.
“I haven’t gotten to that part yet,” Granny said. “If you’d listened carefully, you’d have heard me say Brother Brian took a month of sweating over his calculations to find out what mistake he’d made with his sums.”
“Yes, I remember that bit,” Dani was stumped.
The Extremely Epic Viking Tale of Yondersaay Page 2