The Islands of the Blessed

Kindaskiturs: sheep droppings, translated Jack. And then he saw it: the long graceful outline, the sail reefed against the mast, the shaggy shapes leaning on the oars. The prow was oddly shortened, and he remembered that the great dragon head, carved by Olaf One-Brow, had to be removed when they came to shore. Otherwise, it would anger the land spirits.

“Drop anchor!” roared a new voice Jack recognized as Skakki’s.

“We’re here! We’re here!” screamed Thorgil, jumping up and down.

Jack heard splashing and thrashing as oars were unshipped and heavy shapes dropped into the water. Jack found that his heart was thudding. It was hard not to feel fear at the arrival of Northmen. The first shape waded to shore, taller than any man had a right to be, and swung Thorgil around in a bear hug.

“Little sister!” cried Skakki. “You’re as welcome as sun after storm! Scrawny as ever, I see.”

“I am not!” protested Thorgil, laughing.

“It’s that feeble Saxon food. I’ll put you on the outside of a couple of roast oxen to fatten you up. Who’s this runt?”

Jack looked up, appalled. Skakki had grown more than a foot since he’d last seen him, and the man’s shoulders and chest had broadened out. He was a true son of Olaf One-Brow now, except for the eyes. Where Olaf had peered out at the world with cheerful brutishness, Skakki had his mother’s depth of mind.

“I am Dragon Tongue’s assistant,” Jack said, drawing himself up as tall as possible.

“Ah! The skald,” Skakki said, using the Northman word for bard.

“He’s really only an apprentice,” said Thorgil.

Jack let it pass. He was more interested in the other shapes that appeared from the fog: Sven the Vengeful, Eric the Rash, Eric Pretty-Face, and other men he didn’t know that well, but who were as villainous-looking as the rest. Eric Pretty-Face had horrific scars and ears that were almost chewed off. “IT’S JACK!” he roared, and the boy remembered that the man was nearly deaf and always shouted. “GOOD TO SEE YOU, SKALD. DO YOU HAVE A CHARM AGAINST HANGNAILS? I’VE GOT ONE THAT’S DRIVING ME CRAZY.”

How can you be bothered by a hangnail after being chewed on by trolls? thought Jack, but he said he would ask the Bard for help. The Northmen welcomed him with playful punches and insults, and the boy was moved in spite of himself. He knew they were murderous thugs. They had destroyed the Holy Isle and driven Brother Aiden mad. They’d sold slaves and burned down villages. They’d almost sacrificed Lucy to the goddess Freya. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to hate them.

“Where’s Rune?” Jack asked.

“These days he needs help getting to shore,” Skakki said. “Hey, Schlaup!” A sound somewhat like the grunt of a wild boar came from the ship. “Bring Rune.”

Something large dropped into the sea. A shape loomed in the dove gray fog. If Jack had thought Skakki was enormous, he was nothing compared to what was approaching. Fully seven feet in height, the creature was made taller by bristly hair sprouting from his head. His brow jutted forward in a way Jack had seen before, and two fangs lifted his upper lip into a permanent snarl.

He’s a troll, he thought, amazed because Jotuns and Northmen were bitter enemies. As Schlaup came forward, Jack saw that he was actually smaller than a troll. He seemed, in an odd way, more refined. He had a troll’s clawlike fingernails, flat teeth, and eyes the color of rotten walnuts, but these features were softened by something vaguely familiar.

“Good Schlaup. Put Rune down,” said Skakki. And then Jack noticed the emaciated Northman the creature carried in his arms. Time had not been good to the old skald, and constant exposure to icy winds couldn’t have been healthy either. But Jack knew Rune would have it no other way. He would not die in bed like a cowardly thrall. When his time came, if the gods were kind, he would hold a sword in his hand and fall in battle.

“Oh, Rune,” said Jack, feeling an ache in the back of his throat. “I’m so glad to see you.”

“I wouldn’t have missed this voyage for the world,” said the skald, standing carefully. “We found Thorgil alive, and now Dragon Tongue will take ship with us. By Thor, I’m looking forward to seeing the old rascal!”

Sven the Vengeful and Eric the Rash had chopped open logs to get at the dry wood inside, and soon a merry fire was blazing on the beach. “You warm up,” said Schlaup, urging Rune toward the fire. Jack was startled, for he hadn’t expected the creature to speak. Trolls had trouble forming words and usually communicated with one another by thought. Those who did make the effort had harsh, unmusical voices. Schlaup’s voice was completely human.

They sat around the fire, exchanging news and making plans on how to load the ship. Thorgil and Jack would move the trade goods halfway and crew members would meet them. No one wanted the Northmen—especially Schlaup—spotted near the village. Jack kept glancing at him.