The Islands of the Blessed

Thorgil unpacked a bag of dried fish and berries. “It’s awfully quiet here,” she remarked.

Jack raised his head to listen. She was right. They weren’t far from the dock, and normally there would be a hubbub of noises at this time of the morning. “Perhaps it’s a holiday.”

“Or perhaps a dragon landed and ate everyone up.” Thorgil sucked on the fish. It was too tough to chew.

“There aren’t any dragons here.”

“Until now.” The shield maiden smiled with a trace of her old malice. Jack thought she must be feeling better.

They ate and listened to the drip of fog and the whisper of the sea advancing and retreating. The beach was sheltered from large waves by outlying islands. Finally, the fog began to lift and a wan sun appeared in the east. It didn’t bring much warmth.

“It’s a long walk and we should begin,” said Jack, lifting his carrying bag and taking up his staff. They made their way to the dock. From there they took a path to the main road leading to Din Guardi. Even now, they saw no one and the harbor was entirely empty. A light mist fumed from the ground. The silence and muted light made everything seem remote, as though they, Jack and Thorgil, were walking through another world.

“This had better not be glamour,” said Thorgil, kicking at a stone.

“I don’t know what it is,” Jack said uneasily. “It’s too quiet.” But at that moment a company of Saxon men suddenly loomed before them. They didn’t look as dangerous or as well trained as the Northmen, but they were armed with the crude weapons available to villagers.

“Halt! No one goes farther!” shouted their captain. “Where’ve you come from?”

“The harbor,” said Jack.

“Then go back to your ship. No one enters Bebba’s Town.”

“Why not? Has there been an invasion?”

The captain laughed bitterly. “Aye, you could say that. Flying venom has struck this town.”

“Flying venom!” echoed Jack. “How bad is it?”

“It burns you with fever. Or it enters the lungs and you drown. No matter what it does, in the end you die. So far it has been contained in the monastery, but Father Severus has ordered us to keep all folk indoors and all travelers away.”

“What about King Brutus?” Thorgil asked.

The captain spat. “Don’t worry about him. He feasts every night with his courtiers. We can smell the food and hear fine music, but none enter or leave. It is said the Lady of the Lake keeps him company.”

Jack’s mind was whirling with possibilities. This had to be the disease the draugr breathed into the face of Mrs. Tanner’s brother. “We must see King Brutus at once,” he said.

“Not likely! His gates are locked.”

“What about Father Severus?” Jack said.

“The monastery is the last place you want to be,” the captain said. He crossed himself and his men followed suit. “When the disease spread from their infirmary to the monks, Father Severus ordered the monastery doors sealed. They will not be opened until spring.”

“But the monks will die!” cried Jack. Ethne will die, he thought.

“Aye, and find welcome in Heaven. Go back to your ship, young travelers, and thank God for such saints as Father Severus. There hasn’t been a case of flying venom since he sealed their doors.”

“We’ll take our chances,” said Jack, with more courage than he felt. He stood as tall as possible, with the white robe of St. Columba about his shoulders and the staff at his side.

“You will not,” the captain replied. “We’ve been given orders to slay those who disobey.” His men fanned out across the road. They grasped their knives, clubs, and axes.

Orders from Father Severus, no doubt, the boy thought. He wondered how many hapless travelers had been killed with those crude weapons.

“Return or die!”

Jack began to speak. He didn’t know where the words came from, or even what language they were. But the meaning hovered briefly in his mind:

I arise today through the strength of Heaven,

Light of sun, brilliance of moon,

Splendor of fire, speed of lightning,

Swiftness of wind, depth of sea,

Stability of earth, firmness of rock.

I summon today all these powers

Between me and this evil.

A light filled the air around him. He placed the robe of St. Columba around Thorgil, and the light covered her as well.

“Where are they? What happened to them?” shouted the captain of the Saxons. The men scattered along the road, probing bushes with their clubs.

“It’s wizardry!” one of them cried. “Satan is after us!” At that, all the men panicked and fled, with the captain following and bawling orders at them.

They aren’t like Northmen, Jack thought with grim humor. Northmen would take on Satan without thinking twice. And that was because they didn’t think in the first place.

“What just happened?” whispered Thorgil.