The Islands of the Blessed (34 page)

The Bard unwrapped the mysterious parcel Brother Aiden had given him weeks before. Jack was amazed to see the polished bronze mirror belonging to the chief. It was the most valuable item in the village and something the chief wouldn't have given up willingly. “How did you get it?” the boy asked.

“Aiden borrowed it,” said the Bard, “though I fear it will not be returned. It's a small price to pay for the safety of the village. Aiden and I made a plan in case things didn't turn out well in Bebba's Town, and as you know, they didn't.” Next, the old man unwrapped a beautifully made comb. A row of teeth was set into a bone handle carved with designs stained purple, green, and vermilion. Jack recognized Brother Aiden's famous inks.

“That's deer antler. Aiden carved it himself,” the Bard said.

Jack had an eerie feeling he'd seen a comb like that recently, and then he remembered. When he was trapped by the
haar
outside Edwin's Town, the stone on which he lay had been etched with designs. He'd seen a crescent crossed by
a broken arrow, symbols of sacrifice to the old gods. There'd been male and female Pictish beasts, and next to them had been a comb and mirror. At the time Jack had wondered why anyone would carve such odd things.

“Aiden knows quite a bit about mermaids,” said the Bard. “He's a Pict—don't wrinkle up your nose, lad. Picts are no worse than the rest of us. They merely have an unfortunate history. Do you know the story of how they lost their women?”

“The hobgoblins told me,” Jack said. “When the Picts first came to this land, they angered the old gods by cutting down forests. The Forest Lord took a terrible revenge against them. He asked his brother, the Man in the Moon, to drive their women mad, and the women threw themselves off cliffs or drowned themselves.”

“The Picts never quite recovered from that tragedy,” said the Bard. “Later they found wives among the Irish, but first they married fin wives.”

“Mermaids?” said Jack, surprised. Perhaps that was why they preferred mist and shadows.

“Exactly. Fin blood runs through the veins of most Picts. Now we must gain permission to enter Notland, and for that we need a gift for their king. He's called the Shoney. Aiden says there are two things he absolutely won't be able to resist: mirrors and combs. Fin folk love gazing into mirrors, which they call ‘endless water.' They believe they are portals into another world.”

“What about the comb?” said Thorgil, turning the lovely
artifact over in her hand. She ran it through her hair. “This certainly beats fingers,” she declared.

“Mermaids have long, beautiful hair of which they are justly proud,” the Bard said. “Unfortunately, they are plagued by barnacles that find their heads an ideal place to grow. If a mermaid doesn't comb her hair regularly, she becomes so encrusted with barnacles, she can't swim.”

By now sunlight had flooded the sea, and in the distance they saw what appeared to be a gray mountain range. Long, slim boats were moving away from this in their direction. Each one bore a tall figure plying a pole.

“How can they pole?” Skakki said. “The seabed is beyond their reach.” Yet the figures continued to push themselves along as easily as if the boats were on a shallow pond. Several surrounded a dead Pictish beast, and then the poles were shown to have hooks at the end. The beings snagged the beast and began towing it back with them at the same measured pace.

They were manlike and yet otherworldly. Taller and thinner than any human, their skin gleamed with silver scales. Their arms and legs were skinny like the legs of herons, and their faces were shadowed by broad-brimmed hats. They wore gray robes that drifted about them like shreds of mist. The fin men went about the business of gathering dead beasts with not a glance at the ship. They made no sound at all, not even a splash.

“SHOULD I CALL THEM?” said Eric Pretty-Face.

Everyone jumped, yet not even Eric's bellow caused a disruption in the methodical harvesting.

“I have a better plan,” the Bard said. He lifted the bronze mirror and directed a beam of sunlight straight into the middle of a group of boats. The reaction was instantaneous. The boats swung sideways, vanishing as fish do when they turn to avoid sunlight shining on their scales. Jack couldn't make them out at all, but he knew, somehow, that they were coming nearer. The Northmen reached for their weapons.

“Draw no sword. Fire no arrow,” said the Bard. “They come to barter.”

When it seemed impossible that boats could still be out there, one suddenly appeared directly beneath the prow. The tall figure within pointed at the mirror.

“This is a gift for the Shoney,” said the Bard. “I request safe passage into Notland for myself and two companions.”

The ship may not enter
, said a voice that was there and yet not there. Jack felt it in his mind and remembered that trolls also communicated silently.

“The ship does not ask to enter. I shall travel in a coracle,” said the Bard. He held up the comb, and several other boats with eerie owners appeared. And now Jack had a good look at their faces. They were long and thin, with round, fishy eyes. Their mouths were shaped like an upside-down
V
, giving them a humorless, disapproving expression.

A beautiful comb, fit for the long hair of our daughters
, said the first fin man.
It is colored with the fine dyes of the Picts. A master hand has made it.

“With this gift, I request passage out of Notland as well. Answer now or we shall turn away.”

Such things lie in the hands of our king.

“Then we must go.” The Bard began wrapping up the mirror again.

A sigh ruffled the air.
Wait.
A conference seemed to take place among the shadowy figures on the water. Jack couldn't make out the words.
You may enter
, said the first fin man after a moment.

“And my request? Do you swear to let us leave Notland as well?”

We swear.

“You can't do this,” Skakki said as the Bard signaled for the coracle to be launched. “They changed their minds far too quickly. Everyone knows the fin folk are treacherous.”

“That's true, but it's the best we're likely to get,” said the Bard.

“You can't go blindly to your death!”

“The lives of many depend on the success of this adventure,” said the Bard. “Remember Beowulf and his final battle with the dragon. He knew he would die. He was old. His arm no longer had the strength it'd had when he killed Grendel, yet he went forth to battle for his people.”

“Fame never dies,” murmured Thorgil.

“When he was dying, having slain the dragon,” Skakki remembered, “he asked his companion to bring out the jewels from the dragon-hoard so that he might feast his eyes on them.”

“Aye, it was a hero's death,” said Rune, his eyes dreamy.

“Excuse me,” said Jack. “Aren't there any tales about
heroes who go home after slaying the monster and live happily ever after?”

“Of course there are, lad,” the Bard said heartily and unconvincingly. “We may yet find ourselves drinking cider in the old Roman house. But first we must solve the problem of the
draugr.
I accept your offer, fin man. We will sail to the Shoney's palace and lay before him our gifts. There we will tell him the reason for our visit.”

The fin man vanished along with his boat, and Jack felt the creature moving away. By now all the dead Pictish beasts had been hauled off. The sea was clean, as though no savage conflict had taken place in it, and only the gray mountain in the distance still remained.

Jack had learned to like sailing, but the coracle was another matter. It rocked perilously when Eric Pretty-Face lowered him into it. There was barely room for three people plus the meager supplies they would take with them. And when Jack looked up at the sleek, handsome
karfi
, he regretted with all his heart that he had left it.

“How will we find you again?” Skakki called.

“You won't,” the Bard replied. “We'll make our own way to the mainland.”

“What? I'm not going to abandon you!”

“You'll have to. Notland comes and goes as it will. You won't be able to see it.” The Bard stood tall in the coracle, his ash wood
staff in his hand. He didn't seem the slightest bit worried about sailing home in a craft that was barely adequate for a lake.

“You planned this all along,” Skakki shouted, for now the distance between them was increasing. “You tricked my sister into a quest she can't possibly survive.”

“I chose this adventure!” Thorgil yelled back.

“Then you're an idiot! You're all idiots!”

Now they were picking up speed, though Jack couldn't see what was propelling them along. He was too busy holding on to the side. The last thing he heard was Eric Pretty-Face bellowing, “WE'LL BE BACK!” when the ship suddenly disappeared and all that was out there was empty sea.

“What happened to them? Where are they?” Jack cried.

“We must save them!” exclaimed Thorgil, grabbing an oar and attempting to turn the coracle. The current, or whatever they were caught in, was too strong.

“They're all right,” the Bard said, sitting down amid the sacks of cargo. “We've merely crossed the border of Notland. I would guess they've seen us disappear, too, and are searching. They won't find anything.”

“You've been here before, haven't you?” Jack said. There was nothing left to do but sit down and make the best of the situation. The mountain range was drawing nearer.

“I've wheedled a child or two out of the Shoney's clutches,” the old man admitted. “Sea hags sometimes steal toddlers who wander too close to the water.”

“So you're … enemies?” guessed Thorgil.

“More like well-matched opponents. I tell him what to
do, and he eventually does it. But never underestimate the Shoney. He's intelligent, devious, and dangerous. Oh, and if he offers you ocean meat tonight, don't accept it. Pictish beast has the most disagreeable flavor imaginable.”

The mountains rose up before them, peak after peak of the same uniform gray. Jack looked for the surf that should have been breaking at their base and found nothing. “Shouldn't we slow down?” he said nervously. The rocks were very near.

“It's only a fog bank,” the Bard said.

“Look out!” screamed Thorgil, throwing herself to the bottom of the coracle. Jack raised his arms as the gray mass rushed at them—and then they were through. They floated over a fair, green land covered with fields and houses. Above them arched a bowl of cloud. The land below was bathed in a gentle light, like the glow that brightens a mist just before the sun breaks through. The air was as warm as summer.

“As I said, a fog bank,” said the Bard.

“It looked so solid.” Thorgil picked herself up and leaned over the side. “Is this one of those illusions that go
poof
and you find yourself in some horrible dungeon?”

“The fin folk aren't like elves,” the old man said. “They can't create something out of thin air, but they can hide themselves with borrowed colors. They bend light around their realm and blend into a background as fish do at the bottom of a stream. The trolls of Jotunheim also do this.”

“I remember,” said Jack. “When we walked away from the Mountain Queen's palace, it was as though the palace had folded itself away. All I could see were icy mountains.”

Below, the fin folk went about the chores of villagers. They herded cattle, tended crops, and even built fires, though Jack could have sworn there was water beneath him. The coracle floated along as though it were on a lake, and the fin folk swam rather than walked over their fields. Yet their small, white cattle walked along the bottom like normal beasts.

The houses were adorned with towers and fanciful arches that seemed to have no purpose but were pleasant to look at. They were pink and orange, purple and gleaming white, the colors of the seashells one found on a beach. In the distance was an impressive castle. Processions of fin men bearing the horrid carcasses of Pictish beasts were making their way along the road to this castle. Mermaids swam behind them, their long hair streaming like living gold. These were followed by creatures so hideous, Jack wondered for a moment whether they were stalking the mermaids like a pack of wolves. Then he realized they were sea hags.

No wonder mermaids wanted to marry humans, he thought, if they were in danger of turning into such repellant creatures. The sea hags were as shapeless as seals. They stumped along on spindly legs that looked hardly strong enough to support their blobby bodies. Their arms and shoulders, by contrast, were as powerful as a blacksmith's. They were in varying stages of going bald. This might not have mattered if their heads had been shapely, but they weren't. They were simply blobs at the end of too-thick necks. With the loss of beauty came a lack of personal hygiene, and more than one of the sea hags had a severe barnacle problem.

The fin folk seemed to be enjoying themselves, though. They danced ecstatically as they carried the flabby Pictish beasts, and an honor guard of merchildren swam beneath the tails so they wouldn't drag on the ground.

“Look! Human children,” said Thorgil. Jack saw that she was correct. Four sturdy little boys were scattered among the troops supporting the tails.

“Mothers should never let their toddlers wander on the beach,” the Bard said sadly.

“What will happen to them?” said Jack. He remembered that elves discarded toddlers in dark forests when they were no longer cute.

“They'll grow up to marry mermaids. The sea hags will spoil them rotten because they want them as husbands for their daughters.”

This was something Jack hadn't considered, and it put the sea hags in a better light.