The Islands of the Blessed

“Walk with me,” Jack said. They continued along the road, and presently the captain passed them without his men. He was shading his eyes and trying to find any trace of the fugitives. Jack had to credit him with bravery.

The road took them into town, and they saw another group of watchmen patrolling the market square. When anyone appeared, he was stopped and escorted to his destination. People were still being allowed to trade, but their movements were controlled. What incredible authority Father Severus must have, Jack thought, to make the townsfolk so obedient.

They walked past houses with gardens and chicken pens. Farther on, the dwellings were humbler, but the farms were more extensive. All was orderly, if very, very subdued.

The fortress of Din Guardi sat on its stone shelf over the sea, but there was little about it to strike fear into the heart of enemies. No army of berserkers would be dismayed by the pretty pink towers or stonework carved to resemble vines. Still, it was solidly built and the gate was closed. You couldn’t just walk in, as the Bard had before.

Jack felt the light around them drift away. He took a deep breath.

“Now will you tell me what happened?” demanded Thorgil. “You cast a spell in a strange language and turned us invisible. I didn’t know you had that kind of magic.”

“Neither did I,” admitted Jack. “I think that was a lorica, a warding-spell. I saw the Bard do it, but he couldn’t teach it to me. He said that the words came when needed and that you couldn’t remember them afterward.”

“I could,” boasted Thorgil, and then stopped. “By the Aesir, I can’t! What good is a spell you can’t call up at will?”

“I think it’s something you can’t own,” said Jack. “Anyhow, we’re visible now, and we should ask for help from King Brutus. I’m very worried about Ethne.”

Not only was the gate closed, but the windows on the landward side appeared to have been bricked up. A sheer cliff prevented them from looking on the seaward side. “Do you think they’re dead?” said Thorgil.

“Listen,” Jack said. Above the waves they heard singing and laughter. A breeze brought them the smell of roasting meat.

“Nidhogg’s fangs!” swore the shield maiden, naming the dragon that gnawed at the roots of Yggdrassil. “Brutus is feasting while his people suffer! No Northman king would sink so low. Even Ivar at his most foolish looked after his folk in winter.”

“I wonder if Brutus even knows what’s going on out here,” Jack said.

“Can you use your new powers to knock down the gate?”

“Perhaps,” Jack said doubtfully. He stood in front of the massive wooden doors and tried to draw up fire, but nothing happened. Only the sounds of merriment floated out to mock him. “I don’t know how to use St. Columba’s staff,” he admitted. “Sometimes it obeys me, but mostly it does things I don’t expect.”

“We’ll have to go on to the monastery,” Thorgil said.

“I had hoped…” Jack trailed off as he gazed unhappily at the lovely green stonework at the top of the wall. The Lady of the Lake had decorated it with jeweled flowers. How much of the fortress was real and how much was glamour he couldn’t tell. It was still a barrier he couldn’t cross. “I had hoped to find Ethne inside. The Bard wanted King Brutus to rescue her and make her his queen.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Thorgil hefted her pack, and they set off in the direction of St. Filian’s. Jack resigned himself to a long walk, but when they passed a field containing a few stray ponies, the shield maiden whistled sharply. Two of the ponies looked up and cantered toward them.

“How did you do that?” Jack said with admiration.

Thorgil shrugged. “It’s like the lorica, I guess. It just happens.”

The shield maiden’s pony accepted her gladly, but Jack’s danced around so much, she had to calm it by whispering into its ear. Even so, it hunched its back and made every effort to make the ride uncomfortable. “Let’s stop for a few minutes,” said Jack when they got to the pine forest overlooking St. Filian’s. “I need to think.” He gratefully slid off his pony and found a comfortable patch of grass.

The walls below were beautifully whitewashed, but Jack thought the gardens and orchards looked neglected. The lake had invaded some of the fields, and a long tongue of water lapped at the monastery door. To one side was the small white convent. “We should go there if we can’t get into St. Filian’s,” Jack said. “Perhaps the nuns weren’t infected.”

“Or they might all be dead.” Thorgil, as was her way, faced the possibility directly. “We don’t know how long the disease has been raging.”

Jack felt a dull anger at Father Severus. If he hadn’t been so pigheaded, none of this would have happened. If he’d shown pity for the mermaid, the Bard would still be alive. If he’d had even a tenth of Brother Aiden’s kindness, he would never have allowed Ethne to wall herself up. If, if, if! One thing led to the next, and now all had fallen apart.