The Islands of the Blessed

Somewhere to the south, Skakki and his shipmates were conducting business, as the shield maiden put it. Pillaging, probably. Burning down villages. Jack didn’t know how he could face them again, knowing the evil they had done. He went back inside.

The Bard was tying lids onto filled bottles of potions. “Nasty stuff, wormwood,” the old man said. “Personally, I don’t think it adds much, but people trust a medicine that tastes foul.”

“Why was Ragnar Wet-Beard still there?” asked Jack. “I thought warriors went to Valhalla.”

“Only those who fall in battle.” The Bard transferred the wormwood bottles to a basket for transport to Skakki’s ship. Jack thought that if you didn’t have a stomachache before you tasted the elixir, you’d have one soon after. “Poor old Ragnar missed his chance. He hung around for a few months, moaning and rapping on doors. He couldn’t hop far with his toes tied together. Finally, he pushed off to Freya’s Heaven—or, considering that he drowned, he might have gone to Ran and Aegir’s hall at the bottom of the sea.”

“He doesn’t sound that bad,” the boy said. Practically all the herbs he’d collected were used up. Ten baskets were lined up against the wall, but there were another ten still empty. That meant another trip to the hazel wood, something Jack had hoped to avoid.

“Ragnar? He was gentle as a kitten, except when he ran berserk. Our draugr is another problem altogether. For one thing, she’s a sea hag and they’re always dangerous. For another, she has a genuine grievance.”

“We didn’t do anything to her,” said Jack.

“Fair Lamenting drew her from the grave. Now she won’t rest until she’s taken revenge, and we’re the easiest to find.” The Bard sat down and motioned Jack to do the same. He was silent for a few moments, stroking his beard and gazing at the Roman birds painted on the wall. “We can’t buy grain in Bebba’s Town until they bring in the fall harvest. Skakki’s away, anyhow. I’d planned to draw the draugr after us when we left, but the village needs protection now.”

Jack didn’t like the way this conversation was going. He’d assumed the Bard could cast her out with a spell. What was this about drawing her away?

“There are laws in this world that I cannot bend,” the old man explained, reading Jack’s expression. “Because the sea hag has a genuine grievance, I cannot use magic. She has earned the right to seek justice. That’s why you and I are going to the hazel wood tonight to bargain with her.”

“You and I?” Jack almost shouted, he was so surprised.

“Odin’s eyebrows! You didn’t think being a bard was all singing and picking wildflowers?” The Bard’s eyes flashed with indignation and Jack felt ashamed. But going into the hazel wood at night? If he heard that howl again, he’d be out of there faster than a scalded cat. “You faced a dragon and Frith Half-Troll,” the old man reminded him. “You broke the spell that held Din Guardi in the grip of Unlife. Don’t sell yourself short, lad. By tomorrow you’ll be snapping your fingers at sea hags.”

If I’m still alive, Jack thought resentfully. Then Thorgil returned with Seafarer and there was much croaking and self-congratulation. Seafarer had frightened a young pig from its hiding place and Thorgil had brought it down for dinner.

“Hold it tightly,” the Bard warned as they made their way across the dark fields. “We don’t want to meet the draugr here. In the hazel wood I can draw strength from various sources.”

Jack clutched the well-wrapped bell closer. It was an awkward shape to carry. What absolute lunacy, he thought. If it were up to him, he’d sink Fair Lamenting in the deepest part of the ocean, but the Bard said it was too late for that.

A lapwing whirred up from beneath Jack’s feet and he leaped back. The bell made a faint clink, like a seashell falling on rock.

“Be careful!” The Bard whirled and put his hand on the bundle. “The slightest sound echoes through the nine worlds.”

They hurried on. The ground was boggy and streams appeared where Jack didn’t expect them. Water seeped into his boots. He also felt an itch in the middle of his back, which he was desperate to scratch.

The moon was slightly more than half full. It shone over the distant oak forest, picking out gaps in the trees, in particular the road torn by Odin and his huntsmen. No gaps were visible in the hazel wood, though Jack knew a few small meadows existed. He wished that they could have had Thorgil with them. She wouldn’t jump every time a bird flew up. Also, and Jack hated to admit this to himself, he was far less likely to bolt if she were there.

But the Bard had said this task had to be handled carefully. They couldn’t afford one of Thorgil’s rash decisions.

The hazel wood loomed before them. They halted, still in moonlight, before its shadow. “Shouldn’t we have brought a torch?” began Jack.