The Islands of the Blessed

Was Father Severus a saint, as the survivors insisted, or a monster? Jack’s opinion was weighted on the side of monster, but the same scales held Olaf One-Brow, who was certainly no one’s idea of a good neighbor. Yet he towered above ordinary men with his openheartedness. Olaf would never have rejected a lonely mermaid on a beach.

Jack didn’t take part in the killing of the rats. He felt their death screams in the air and the cries of their young left to starve. Instead, he called life into the apple trees, so that they would survive the winter to come. He blessed the monastery fields with the ancient call to earth that his mother had used.

And he thought he saw bodies as brown as freshly turned soil nestled together. The silky strands of autumn grass above them bent before the wind.

Thou art a good lad, Jack, to bless the fields, whispered the yarthkins. We will not forget thee.

“Brother Aiden will have to come here,” Thorgil said one chilly morning.

Jack looked up from the oatcakes he was toasting on a griddle. “Why?” he asked. It surprised him how much Thorgil cared about the monastery, for someone who had helped destroy the Holy Isle.

“The monks and nuns need a leader. They’re like children on their own. Father Severus gave them tasks for every hour of the day, and without him, they don’t know what to do.”

Jack nodded. He remembered how Father Severus had organized things in the dungeons of Elfland. You must always have an hourglass, he had said. It tells you when to go about your chores, when to meditate, and when to pray. Without direction, men fall into sloth. And from there they degenerate into other sins. But perhaps such unrelenting control wasn’t good for people either.

“Brother Aiden won’t like it,” Jack said. “He had a rotten time when he tried to run St. Filian’s before.”

“All the troublemakers are dead,” Thorgil said bluntly. “In my opinion, Sister Wulfhilda would make the best leader, but they won’t accept her. She’s a female.”

“You’re female.”

“I’m an ex-berserker,” Thorgil said with a wolfish smile.

“I told them I’d tell my brothers, one of whom is a half-troll, where the monastery was if they didn’t obey. At any rate, I’m sick of telling Christians when to pray and when to go to the privy. I want to start for the village before the winter storms.”

Jack looked out at the lake. It was pale under the autumn sky and some mornings there was a crust of ice around the edges. He wouldn’t mind leaving either, although he dreaded seeing the Roman house empty. “Brother Aiden won’t be able to come before spring. Can the monastery survive until then?”

“With Sister Wulfhilda’s help. You’ll have to bring him back without me, though. I won’t return.”

Jack knew she didn’t want to see Ethne with the rune of protection. She couldn’t actually see it, of course, but a brightness around the elf lady told her it was there. “Fair enough,” he said.

They found Father Severus’ hourglass and showed Sister Wulfhilda how to use it. She would tell Brother Sylvus what to do each day—humbly, of course. The nun knew very well how to make others think they were making the decisions. And Brother Sylvus would pass the orders on to everyone else. The monastery was stocked with food meant for a hundred. They had ample firewood.

“I’m leaving this with you, Wulfie,” Thorgil said, handing over the small chest of jewels from Notland. Jack was astounded. Nothing separated Northmen from their wealth-hoards except death. Even Beowulf, as he lay dying, had asked to feast his eyes on the gold he had wrested from the dragon.

“Are you sure?” he murmured.

“It was bought with Dragon Tongue’s life,” she said simply. Jack saw that a profound change had come over the shield maiden.

Sister Wulfhilda admired the dark wood inlaid with ivory. “I’ve never seen anything this fine, not even in the treasure room of the monastery. Is it a saint’s relic?”

Thorgil laughed. “I’ll never understand why Christians keep bones in boxes. No, Wulfie. It’s not a relic. You’ll have fun looking at the contents, but for Freya’s sake, don’t let Brother Sylvus or anyone else see it. Keep it hidden until Brother Aiden arrives. He’ll know what to do.”

They left very early the next morning while the ground was covered with frost. Only Sister Wulfhilda saw them off, for they wanted to slip away without long good-byes. “If I don’t return by spring,” Jack said, “send a message to Brother Aiden. Send it in my name. You and he can decide whether to introduce Ethne to King Brutus. The Bard thought she’d make a good queen, but I’m not sure he’d make a decent husband.”