The Islands of the Blessed

The boy quickly unwrapped it. The old man removed a lump of iron from his carrying bag and fastened it to a string inside.

So that is Fair Lamenting, the Shoney said. It has long called to my kind under the sea. I should hate it, but it is too beautiful. I should desire it for my wealth-hoard, yet greed dies when I gaze upon it. I must be getting sick.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said the Bard. “Fair Lamenting is beyond earthly concerns.”

“Where did the clapper come from?” asked Jack.

“I found it,” Thorgil bragged. “I went to every blacksmith in Bebba’s Town until I found the one Ythla had traded with. He had six or seven similar lumps, but this one still had a pattern of scales on one side.”

Jack felt depressed. It had been such a marvelous work of art.

“You should look after your wife, Shoney,” the Bard advised. “The sight of a draugr can be upsetting.”

Jack waited in fear and anticipation as the old man swung the bell. He remembered the golden chime rolling through the hazel wood and the rapture that swept over him. It was the most sublime sound he had ever heard, yet it was frightening as well—too intense, too alive and overwhelming.

The bell rang.

It was… nice. More than nice, Jack told himself, wanting to believe. The Bard frowned and rang it again.

The Shoney bent down to inspect it. Is this the music that called my daughter from the sea? I expected more.

The Bard impatiently rang it again, and now Jack heard a tinny note, not unlike a rock rolling around in a brass cauldron.

“I’m sure I found the right blacksmith,” protested Thorgil. “It was the only lump with a pattern of scales.”

The old man laid Fair Lamenting on the ground and leaned heavily on his staff as though he were exhausted. “I don’t doubt you, child. It isn’t your fault. It’s simply that the magic of the clapper lay in its art, and now that’s gone. I had hoped there was enough magic left to summon the draugr, but I dared not try until we got here.”

You mean you can’t call back my daughter? demanded the Shoney. I’ve suffered and Shair Shair has suffered for nothing?

“Believe me, I would do anything in my power to save your child. I have vowed to do it. I will do it, but I don’t know how.” The old man tottered to a rock and sat down. “Where do I go first? Return to the village? Do I wait until Shellia emerges of her own accord and starts killing? It will be too late then.”

Jack tipped the bell on its side and removed the clapper. It did have a faint fretwork of scales in one section, but this was battered until it was almost unrecognizable. A memory hovered just out of reach in his mind, something important, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. Each time he tried to capture it, it slipped away like a fish diving into deep water.

Fish. Why that image? But of course the original clapper had looked like a fish, the Salmon of Knowledge that knew the pathways between this world and the next. And then he understood. “Your flute, sir,” Jack said. “The flute of Amergin is the right shape.”

“You’re right,” murmured the Bard. “It was made by the same hand.” The old man quickly found the instrument and attached it to the bell. One chime and everyone knew instantly that this was the real Fair Lamenting. The fin men sank to their knees. Shair Shair collapsed into the Shoney’s arms. Thorgil grabbed Jack as though they were on the deck of a ship in a stormy sea. The chime went on and on, fading slowly and sweetly until it seemed impossible that one note could endure so long. Then it was gone. 

Chapter Thirty-six A LIFE FOR A LIFE

I did not understand my daughter’s longing before, said the Shoney. I want something and do not know what it is. The gold, the jewels, the wealth I have accumulated are as nothing, and my life has been wasted in useless pleasures. It is a cruel thing, this bell, yet fair beyond reckoning.