The Islands of the Blessed

I asked him where Severus was, but he wouldn’t answer. He cowered before me. I breathed into his face and went back into the earth.

“Would that… kill him?” faltered Jack, thinking it was no great loss if it had.

“Worse,” the Bard groaned. “Draugr breath contains flying venom. She has infected him with a fatal illness, but it doesn’t end there. Whoever comes in contact with him will get sick too.”

“I hunted for Mrs. Tanner’s brother when I was looking for the bell’s clapper,” said Thorgil. “His house had caught fire in the night and had burned to ashes. No one had seen him since. I think it likely he died before he could spread the disease.”

“Dear Freya, I hope that’s true,” said the Bard.

The sky above showed the faintest glimmer of light. It was no longer dead black, but a deep gray. On land such a change would have meant birdsong and a breeze. Here nothing heralded the coming of dawn. The air was as still and stagnant as before.

“You must enter the tomb before the sun rises, Shellia,” the Bard said gently. “Do not be afraid. Remember the bright seas of your youth and the sound of waves and the birds calling your name. You will find that joy again, but only if you let go of this world.”

We love you, daughter, said the Shoney and Shair Shair. They held out their arms but did not dare touch the darkness their child had become.

No! I won’t go. Why should I? cried the draugr. Deep was my love. Bitter was my fate. I will return to the village and spread such death that it will be talked of for a millennium.

“I command you by root, by stone, by sea to enter that tomb!” roared the Bard, raising his staff. The draugr laughed and began to drift away.

You can’t stop me! she jeered.

The old man snatched up Fair Lamenting and rang it with such force that Shellia was dragged back against her will. “Ha! Got your attention that time. I will stop you,” said the Bard. He rang the bell again, softly. Jack thought it was like the first voice he had ever heard—his mother? His grandmother? The midwife who had taken him into her arms on the night of his birth? Whoever it was, the voice was infinitely gentle and compelling. He couldn’t think of turning away from such love.

I am still owed life for life, the draugr said with a sigh.

“You shall have it.” The Bard walked toward the tomb, carrying Fair Lamenting, and the draugr followed. She was almost visible, no longer a dark stain against the night, but a young woman.

“You can’t go in there!” Jack cried as he realized what was happening.

The old man turned and smiled. “Remember the story of Beowulf, lad. He knew he would die when he fought the dragon. Yet the lives of his people depended on it and he embraced his fate gladly. One old man is a small price to pay to keep plague from our land.”

“A death worthy of Valhalla,” murmured Thorgil.

“Don’t you start with your Northman stupidity,” Jack shouted at her. “The draugr doesn’t deserve mercy, sir. She’s a selfish brat. You said so yourself. I won’t let you go in there.”

The Bard rang Fair Lamenting again. The same gentle, compelling voice held Jack back.

“I won’t let you,” the boy said weakly.

“I’m proud of you, lad. Never forget that, but you cannot go against fate,” the old man said. “Remember your promise, Shoney. These two are allowed to leave Notland.”

I remember, said the Shoney.

“Thorgil, I lay upon you this oath: Save my daughter. I don’t need to ask Jack because he’ll do it anyway.”

“I give my oath,” said the shield maiden, deathly pale.

“Now I must go before dawn breaks in the outer world. Come, Shellia. We have much to do.” The old man rang the bell one last time and disappeared into the depths of the tomb. The young mermaid followed him obediently.

At once the Shoney commanded fin men to restrain Jack and Thorgil and to seal the mouth of the tomb.

“You can’t do this!” shouted Jack, struggling against the fin men. “The Bard doesn’t deserve to die! The councils of the nine worlds will hold you responsible!”

They will not hold me responsible. Dragon Tongue went willingly, said the Shoney.

“Shair Shair, you know this is wrong,” the boy pleaded.

Great was her love. Bitter was her fate. She could not rest until life was given for life, said the sea hag, and Jack saw again the mindless face of the creature feeding at the banquet. She wasn’t remotely human. She had no more regard for the Bard’s fate than she had for a fish she was planning to eat.