The Islands of the Blessed

They kissed good-bye and rode off on a path that Sister Wulfhilda said would skirt the town and join up with the road to the village. The horses blew mist from their nostrils, and the morning star blazed in the eastern sky. “Why did you say that?” said Thorgil. “I mean, about not returning by spring.”

“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. The air was cold, but St. Columba’s robe was proof against any weather. The staff was slung on his back, and the horse’s saddlebags contained provisions for the long journey.

They rode west for a while and then south. The town was barely visible, even in the pearly light of dawn, and they met no one until they came to a stream. A creature sped out of the bushes and sat down on the road ahead of them.

Well met, Pangur Ban, said Jack.

You sneaky wizard. You tried to go off without saying good-bye, accused the cat.

I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.

“What language are you speaking?” said Thorgil. “And why is Pangur Ban yowling?”

She doesn’t understand the Blessed Speech, said the cat. You should use Saxon.

“All right, I will,” Jack said, surprised that he’d been using anything else.

“Will what?” the shield maiden said crossly. “It’s cold as a troll’s backside out here. If we’re going to be entertaining cats, we should build a fire.”

They dismounted and gathered firewood. Jack set it alight with the staff without any trouble, although the wood was damp. “Nothing like a fire on a cold morning,” he said, warming his hands.

“Sister Wulfhilda packed venison pies,” said Thorgil. “I can heat one up if you’re hungry.”

“Do you want one, Pangur?” Jack gave a friendly scratch behind the cat’s ears. The creature was stretched out to get maximum warmth on his stomach.

Save them for the trip, he advised. It might be longer than you think.

“He says we should wait,” Jack translated. By now the sun had risen over the eastern sea, but it was still veiled in mist. It shone like a pale gold moon.

“You can understand him. That’s new,” said Thorgil.

“Yes, it is,” Jack said uneasily.

“Ask him what he ate all that time Ethne was starving herself.”

So Jack asked, and Pangur Ban said he’d been eating rats. He preferred lamb chops and roast goose, of course, but one made do with what one could get. He’d slain any rats that tried to get into Ethne’s cell and taken them outside to devour because she was so tenderhearted. She’s turned into a decent human, he said. Dragon Tongue would be pleased.

“You do know what happened to him?” the boy said sadly.

I know everything, replied the cat. They spoke of this and that, and Jack invited him to come along, but Pangur Ban preferred to stay in the monastery. They spoil me rotten, he said, purring loudly. Besides, I want to keep an eye on Ethne. Now you should go, for the way is difficult.

They put out the fire and called the horses, and Thorgil gave a last stroke to Pangur Ban’s fur. He sniffed her hand and made an excited chattering sound. Forgive me. She smells like Bird and I always lose control.

“What’s he saying?” Thorgil said suspiciously.

“Nothing you need to know. Farewell, old friend,” Jack said to the cat. “May the life force hold you in the hollow of its hand.”

And you as well. Pangur Ban stretched luxuriously and then trotted off. After a moment he turned aside and vanished into the bushes. 

Chapter Forty-six THORGIL SILVER-HAND

Up until then the weather had been cold but dry. Now storm clouds blew in from the northeast, and by afternoon the first raindrops began to fall. “Balder’s backside,” grumbled Thorgil, wrapping herself in a heavy, woolen cloak treated with oil. The rain increased until they could hardly see the way forward. The road became awash with streams pouring out of the forests on either side. The ponies’ hooves slipped in hidden holes, and finally Jack said they would have to camp.

They had only gotten as far as a small beech wood, a half-day’s journey from town. In the teeming rain they saw a well with a copper cup attached to a chain. “We won’t be needing that for water,” said Thorgil. “All we have to do is look up and open our mouths.”

The beech trees were completely leafless and offered no shelter from the storm. Jack and Thorgil had to huddle next to the well, where an ancient wall, half tumbled down, gave some protection. The ponies stood together with their backs to the wind.

“Maybe we should return to the monastery tomorrow,” said Jack.