The Islands of the Blessed (26 page)

Close up, Jack could see many more houses clustered together like giant molehills. They formed a barrier to the rest of the island, and he thought they could provide a good place for an ambush.

“Bjorn's hall is that way,” Skakki said.

“Wait a moment,” cautioned the Bard. “He may be a dear friend, but you haven't been here for six years. We look like a band of berserkers—excuse me, most of you
are
berserkers. It wouldn't be the first time someone raided an island.”

Sven the Vengeful, Eric the Rash, and Eric Pretty-Face looked uncomfortable. Jack knew they were thinking of the Holy Isle.

“I suggest that the crew be left here to guard the ship,” the old man said. “Skakki, Jack, Thorgil, and I will make contact with Bjorn. He won't be alarmed by a small group, and it will give him time to recognize Skakki. You're twice the size you were last time,” he told the young sea captain. “They won't be afraid of an old man leaning on a staff, although they should be, and Jack doesn't look at all alarming.”

I beg your pardon
, Jack thought.
Are we forgetting I overthrew Frith Half-Troll and broke the spell of Unlife on Din Guardi?
But he realized that his victories came about through magic, not brute force, which was what the islanders would be looking for.

“As for Thorgil, who would suspect a young lady dressed in the finest Din Guardi has to offer?”

“What?”
cried Thorgil.

“Brutus sent along the dress you wore to the monastery,”
the Bard said. “I can't think of a better disguise for a dangerous warrior.”

The shield maiden blushed. “You think I'm dangerous? Truly?”

“Like a coiled dragon.”

And so Thorgil hid behind the ship to change clothes while the others waited. They set out with the Bard going first. Jack had been correct. The village was like a maze with paths going everywhere and each dwelling exactly like the others. Once inside, it was impossible to see landmarks, and they soon found themselves back on the beach. Thorgil called to Seafarer for help.

The great albatross floated lazily overhead.
Many two-legged beasts
, he called out.
Hide like crabs.

“I thought so,” muttered the Bard. But the hidden villagers didn't attack, and with Seafarer as beacon, the group easily found its way through.

Beyond lay a sweep of uninhabited land covered with grass, heather, and a few marshes. It was beautiful in a desolate way and a relief after the closely packed houses. The wind blew unhindered across this open space, bringing with it the smell of the sea, and a well-trodden path told them the direction of Bjorn's hall. “It's made of stone.” Skakki raised his voice to be heard over the wind. “He built it with the remains of old ruins he found lying around. Very impressive.”

“And very foolish,” said the Bard so that only Jack could hear. “Some old ruins have an evil past. He'll be lucky to wind up with only a ghost or two.”

Seafarer flew above, diving occasionally to terrify gulls.
After he scattered them, he would loudly proclaim his superiority and insult the gulls' ancestry. Seafarer, Jack decided, was ideally suited to living with Northmen.

“Horses!” Thorgil cried suddenly. A herd of small but powerfully built beasts had suddenly appeared—or perhaps they had been there all along. They were earth-colored, the brown of turf and gray of chalk. Their skins were mottled like rocks flecked with lichen. Standing still, they could have faded into a hillside, but they weren't still now. A stallion screamed and pawed the ground as the mares gathered into a tight knot with the foals at the center.

“By Thor, they've gone completely wild,” exclaimed Skakki. “I'm sure they're part of Bjorn Skull-Splitter's herd, because there were no horses on the island before he got here.”

“Be careful!” called Jack, for Thorgil was advancing on the stallion. Jack started forward, but the Bard put his hand on the boy's arm.

“They won't harm her,” he said.

Jack wasn't sure. The stallion snorted and stamped. He backed up slightly as if unsure how to deal with this human who didn't understand her danger.

The shield maiden halted. She held out her hands, palms up, and chanted:

Man byp on myrgpe his magan leof:

sceal peah anra gehwylc odrum swican …

Horse is a joy to princes in the presence of warriors
,

a steed in the pride of its hoofs …

Jack was astounded. It was a charm his mother had used to calm one of John the Fletcher's horses after a thunderstorm. Thorgil continued to speak softly and earnestly to the stallion. Jack couldn't hear everything because of the wind, but he could see the horse calm down and the knot of mares relax their protective circle around the foals. Finally, the stallion came up to the shield maiden, and she breathed into his nostrils. He lowered his head.

“There's something I haven't seen for many a long year,” said the Bard.

Thorgil swung herself onto the stallion's back. Jack braced himself for a battle between the two, but the horse accepted her weight as though he'd known her all his life. “Now I look like a proper lady going on a visit,” she announced.

“Pull your skirts down. You'll make a better impression,” said Skakki.

They went on, leaving the herd of mares behind, and when Jack looked back, he could see nothing but heather and mottled rocks. He tried to touch the stallion, and the beast snapped viciously at him. “He's not tame,” Thorgil warned.

“Where did you learn that charm?” Jack asked.

A shadow of pain crossed the shield maiden's face, and she paused before speaking. “My mother taught it to me. She said she was taken captive while clearing weeds from an outline of a horse carved into a hill. It was a holy place, she said, but I never bothered to ask her about it. My father carried her off … not Olaf—the one before.” Thorgil fell silent. Jack knew it was difficult for her to remember her real
father, the terrible Thorgrim, who had killed her brother in a berserker rage. When Thorgrim fell in battle, he demanded that Allyson, Thorgil's mother, be sacrificed on his funeral pyre.

“You carry the blood of the horse lords,” the Bard said. “I suspected it after seeing how readily the steeds of Din Guardi obeyed you. Your mother must have been a descendant of King Hengist, who was said to take the form of a horse when he went into battle. Tell me, why did you blow into the stallion's nostrils?”

“Why … it seemed the right thing to do,” said Thorgil.

“Exactly! Horses recognize one another by scent, and you knew it without being told.”

“So I could be royal,” said the shield maiden.

“Or part horse,” Jack added. She danced the stallion sideways, making him jump out of the way.

They continued at a slow pace, enjoying the fresh air. It was wonderful to be on solid ground after so many days at sea. Voles ran for cover when Seafarer soared overhead, and blue butterflies drifted ahead of their feet. Loons took wing from pools of water, uttering weird cries as the group approached.

The land went up for a long while and then sloped down to a promontory high above the sea. A high wall stretched from side to side of the promontory, cutting it off from the rest of the island. There was only a single gate.

“Bjorn never needed a wall before,” said Skakki. “I wonder what sort of trouble he's gotten into.”

“He
is
called Skull-Splitter,” Jack reminded him.

They left the Bard and Thorgil behind and went forward to gauge what kind of reception they would have. Skakki sounded his horn. After a while a large man with numerous scars on his arms and head opened the gate. “You're the lot down by the beach,” he said. “My master says you can't bring the troll in here.”

“That troll is my brother,” Skakki said. “But I've left him with the ship. Kindly announce to Bjorn that the son of his best friend, Olaf One-Brow, is here.”

The man looked startled. “You're Olaf's son? You were no bigger than a bog rat the last time I saw you.”

Skakki narrowed his eyes. “And you haven't gotten any handsomer, Big Half.”

“Aye, everyone says that.” Big Half scratched his bristly cheek. “Come out here, Little Half. See what the tide washed up.”

Another man squeezed past and stood, hands on hips, observing them. Jack was enchanted. He was no taller than the boy's shoulder, but his head was unusually large. To support it, his body was thickset and strong. “You're a dwarf!” Jack cried.

“I've kneecapped men for saying less than that,” said Little Half.

“I didn't mean to be rude,” Jack apologized. “I've always heard stories about dwarves living in hills and making gold rings. They gave the Mountain Queen a throne of gold and diamonds.”

Little Half spat not far from Jack's feet. “If I could get my
hands on gold and diamonds, do you think I'd be living in this pesthole? I'm just an ordinary man concentrated into a small area.”

“He's my brother,” explained Big Half. “Mother always said I was so big, there wasn't enough left over to make him.”

“Garm's fangs! Do you see that?” cried the dwarf, pointing excitedly. “It's Bjorn's best horse come home again—and who's that riding him?” Thorgil was approaching slowly, keeping pace with the Bard. Jack hadn't paid much attention to the shield maiden's looks, but now he saw her through Little Half's eyes.

She wore a sky blue tunic over a green dress and soft leather boots. Her legs were visible because she rode astride, but they were cased in purple leggings that had certainly caught the dwarf's attention. Around her neck was an amethyst necklace, most certainly a gift from King Brutus. Thorgil had chosen not to wear a veil, and so her fine, wheat-colored hair flowed in the breeze and her cheeks were rosy with sunlight.

“Oh, the pretty creature,” murmured Little Half, clasping his hands. Thorgil allowed Big Half to help her down, and Jack noticed that the man's face had broken out with sweat. Thorgil thanked him sweetly. She whispered something into the stallion's ear, and he turned and galloped back to the heath.

“That was Bjorn's best horse,” Big Half protested.

“He'll return when I call him,” Thorgil said. “This is Dragon Tongue, whose fame is renowned throughout the nine worlds.” She nodded grandly to the Bard, who looked
faintly surprised by her behavior. Jack certainly was. They were trying to allay the fears of the islanders, not remind them of the Bard's well-known powers.

“I've heard of Dragon Tongue,” Little Half said uneasily. “They say that he can drive men mad by blowing on a wisp of straw. They say he melted a hole in the Mountain Queen's fortress.”

Jack was intrigued. This was a tale he'd been trying to pry out of the old man without success.

“That was in my youth,” the Bard said, sighing. “Alas, age falls upon us all.” He leaned on his staff as though it were the only thing holding him up. “It would be good to rest somewhere,” he said pointedly, looking at the gate.

“You can't spend the night here,” Little Half said rudely.

“But, brother, only the other day the king said he wanted visitors—”

“Shut your face,” snarled the dwarf. Jack was amazed by his hostility, and Skakki looked surprised too. Hospitality demanded that a Northman offer lodging, especially to an old friend.

Big Half looked unhappy, but he went back inside and dragged out a stool. “Rest yourself on that, Dragon Tongue. I'll fetch you something to eat, and something for you, too, pretty lady.”

“Allow me to introduce Thorgil, my heart-sister,” said Skakki, indicating that she had been adopted. The brothers bowed and Thorgil accepted their homage as though it were the most natural thing.

“I am heart-daughter to Olaf One-Brow, but my mother was of the line of King Hengist,” she said proudly. Now Jack understood what she was up to. She'd always felt shamed because her mother had been a thrall. Thorgil herself had been a thrall most of her life, and the bitterness of it had eaten into her soul. She wasn't going to pass up a chance to act like royalty.

“A princess!” cried Big Half. “Oh, my, my, my! To think that we'd be so lucky. Wait till I tell the king.”

“I told you! No visitors tonight,” objected Little Half.

“But a princess—” The brothers went off to confer, and Jack caught fragments of the conversation:
enemies, dangerous, hogboon
, and now and then,
princess.
Finally, they came back and Little Half said they would ask the king for permission.

“I didn't know Bjorn was a king,” Jack said when the brothers had gone.

Skakki shrugged. “If he wants to call a group of turf houses a kingdom, I don't see the harm in it.”

The Bard had settled himself on the stool and was examining the wall closely. “There are markings here, Jack. Do you recognize them?”

The stones were extremely weathered and covered with lichen, but the boy could make out the faint outlines of animals. One of them was a serpentlike creature standing on its tail. “Is that a
carnyx?”
he asked.

“It's what the
carnyx
was copied from. It's a male Pictish beast. The females have legs of a sort; the males have none.
I'd guess this wall was made from an old Pictish tower. Speaking of claiming kingship, Thorgil, do you think it wise to pose as a princess?”

“That was
their
conclusion,” she said. “I only said I was of the line of Hengist. Besides, dressing up and mincing around is a surprisingly effective battle strategy.”

The Bard laughed. “I know that strategy. It's called ‘flirting.'”

“Flirting?” said Thorgil, puzzled by the word. But before the Bard could explain, Big Half and Little Half returned.