The Islands of the Blessed

“I wouldn’t desert you,” the boy said, touched. He stroked the bird’s feathers and was rewarded with a soft whistle that meant contentment. “I wish I knew more Bird. It comes naturally to Thorgil, but I have to work at it. Never mind. I once learned to communicate with giant spiders, and nothing could be harder than that.” He kept up the one-sided conversation, not knowing whether Seafarer understood a single word. But the Bard said animals responded more to music than speech. Seafarer certainly seemed interested in Jack’s voice.

“Keep that behemoth away from me,” the Nemesis said as they entered.

“Now, now, you could easily spare him a toe,” the Bugaboo said. “It isn’t as though it wouldn’t grow back.”

Jack put Seafarer in the alcove and sat next to the fire with the others. The Bard had already recounted the story of the draugr, leaving out the grimmer parts because Hazel was listening.

“We’ve come across a draugr or two in our travels,” said the Nemesis. “Jenny Greenteeth, for example. There’s someone you don’t want to find at the foot of your bed. Do you remember that night we camped in the Hall of Wraiths?”

“Oh, my!” The Bugaboo’s eyes bulged at the memory. “A deer would have had trouble keeping up with us after she appeared—but we mustn’t get bogged down in old tales. My dear Dragon Tongue, do you think it’s safe to lure the sea hag away? You have to keep several hops ahead of something like that.”

“Of course it isn’t safe,” the Bard said, stirring the embers of the fire with his staff. Jack had often noticed that it never burned, no matter how long the old man poked around with it. “I can’t leave her here. She’ll become a permanent resident, like Jenny in the Hall of Wraiths. Jenny’s grievance happened so long ago that she can’t remember what it was. If you don’t fix wrongs in time, they never go away.”

“Well, you can’t have a draugr trailing after you forever.”

“No,” said the Bard thoughtfully, stirring the flames. “Everything depends on what fate has in store for Severus. He isn’t a bad man, you know, just an incredibly pig-headed, narrow-minded idiot. He feels guilty.”

“Fat lot of good that does,” said the Nemesis.

“He won’t escape punishment, but it will probably take the form of some penance. I doubt whether the draugr will be satisfied with anything less than his death.”

“What happens if she isn’t satisfied?” demanded the Nemesis.

The Bard’s eyes looked into the distance, seeing beyond the wall to someplace Jack could only guess at. “Then… I suppose… I must find another solution.”

All this while Seafarer had been talking to himself. Jack had noticed that the albatross liked to join conversations. They must have reminded him of the sounds a flock made when birds nested together. Seafarer clicked, whistled, snapped his beak, and moaned, for all the world like someone offering an opinion. Hazel had been growing steadily more restless. She was irresistibly drawn to the dangerous bird and more than once had to be kept from pulling his feathers.

Now she wriggled off Blewit’s lap and made a beeline for the alcove. Blewit caught her just in time. “Let’s go down to the beach, dearest, and see if your old da can snag a fish,” he whispered. She nodded happily and waggled her stubby toes in imitation of his long ones. Jack was relieved when they left.

“Excuse me for interrupting, sir,” he said, anxious to take advantage of Blewit’s absence. “I need to ask whether Hazel is here permanently.”

“No!” cried the Nemesis before the Bard could respond.

“He’s right. It would kill the Blewits to give her up,” the Bugaboo said. “And anyone can see that tearing Hazel away from them would cause her untold harm.”

Jack bowed his head. He didn’t know what to say.

“I know we’re responsible for the problem,” said the hobgoblin king. “I’ll do everything in my power to solve it. We’ll visit every summer and give Hazel a chance to know her human family.”

“Why not stay all the time?” Jack said.

The Bugaboo and the Nemesis exchanged glances. They seemed reluctant to answer.

“Because the villagers would mistake them for demons,” the Bard said. “It’s foolishness, of course—no one is more kindhearted than hobgoblins—but old habits die hard. We can’t even admit that Hazel was raised by them. She’ll have a hard enough time fitting in.”

“There’s also—you know,” the Bugaboo said hesitantly.

“What?” said Jack.

“Getting mudstruck.” The hobgoblin king whispered as though it were a shameful secret.

Jack looked to the Bard for explanation.

“Hobgoblins are irresistibly drawn to humans, or as they put it, mud people,” the old man said. “From the first minute they saw us, hobgoblins fell in love. You’ve seen how they copy our houses and clothes. The trouble is, if they stay around us too long, they can’t bring themselves to return home. It’s a kind of addiction, like the craving for strong drink among Northmen.”