The Islands of the Blessed

Jack found the sheep extremely interesting. They clustered together in a docile herd, and their wool was so thick, he could sink his hands in it up to the wrists. Egil said they had come from the same land as the olives and were called “merinis”.

On the last night Jack’s parents threw a farewell party. Brother Aiden, the Bard, and the Tanners were invited. Mother baked honey cakes, Pega made an eel stew, and Father roasted a large salmon in the coals. Unknown to him, the salmon had been provided by the Nemesis, who had dangled his wiggly toes in the sea while Mr. Blewit waited nearby with a club. Also unknown to Father was the hobgoblins’ parallel party in the fields.

The hobgoblins feasted on mushrooms and salmon, and toasted each other with Brother Aiden’s excellent heather ale. After dinner they began skirling. They puffed up like giant frogs and let the air out slowly, closing first one nostril, then the other to vary the pitch. The result was such a horrid wailing that villagers in houses all around clutched their crosses and prayed for deliverance. Some of them implored Thor and Odin for mercy, in case Jesus was busy.

“You may need these in your negotiations,” Brother Aiden said, handing a parcel to the Bard.

The Bard felt the package and nodded. “I hope it will not come to that.”

Come to what? thought Jack. All day mysterious signals had been passing between the two men. They could not discuss the draugr openly, nor could they admit that Skakki’s ship was in port. That would have caused so much curiosity and so many expeditions up and down the coast that the secret of the Northmen would have been out. As far as the villagers knew, the trip was going to take place next month.

Everyone at the party knew of the departure, of course, and Pega got teary-eyed when she gave Jack a basket of her special scones. The dough to make them had been pounded repeatedly with a mallet to preserve the finished product for weeks or even months. “I know you’ll come back before then.” Pega sniffled. “You must come back.”

“I’m not going to die,” Jack said.

“You never know what’s around the corner,” the girl said, wiping her eyes. “One of my owners went to the henhouse to gather eggs and was trampled by a bull. I was beaten because I was supposed to collect the eggs.”

“If you had gone, you would have been trampled,” pointed out Hazel, who was in her usual place by Pega’s side. Her behavior had improved enormously since the Tanners had retreated to their hovel.

“I didn’t count,” Pega said.

Jack hated it when she spoke of her owners. It reminded everyone that she’d been a slave. “Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he insisted.

“That’s what people always say.”

“You count with me,” said Hazel, snuggling against Pega. The older girl stroked her hair, and it seemed to Jack that his sister was much fonder of Pega than she was of her own mother. Not that Mother didn’t try. But there was always a slight hesitation before she hugged Hazel. Father didn’t hug her at all.

It will all come right somehow, Jack thought.

“Would you like to see us off?” the Bard asked Brother Aiden.

“Oh, no—I couldn’t,” said the little monk, turning pale. “The very sight of—”

“Careful,” warned the Bard as the Tanner girls left off stuffing themselves and came over to listen.

“Why doesn’t everybody come with us to say good-bye?” demanded Ymma. “We deserve a nice send-off.”

“I don’t know why you’re all so hush-hush about it,” Ythla said. “People keep asking when we’re going, and I have to keep telling lies.”

“Don’t nag the Bard,” Mrs. Tanner scolded. “Honestly, sir, I don’t know what’s become of them since their father died.”

“I know what might become of them if the wrong ears are listening,” said Jack, and he was gratified to see all three Tanners flinch.

He spent the last night at home. He tried to keep the peace by attending Father’s prayer session, something he hadn’t done for a long time. It wasn’t that he disliked prayers. He enjoyed listening to Brother Aiden even though he couldn’t understand Latin. It merely seemed that praying was a form of Christian magic, and some people were better at it than others. Father dwelled too much on grievances and sins. If Jack had been God, he would have preferred more appreciation for the things that did go right.

When Jack rose before dawn, Pega was already waiting for him, pale and woebegone. Breakfast was a mostly silent affair, with Father exhorting him to avoid temptation and Pega quietly weeping. Hazel picked up her mood and started to cry too. Mother stared down at her hands. Jack couldn’t wait to get out of the house.

“It’s only a short trip,” he protested as Mother accompanied him as far as the beehives. “I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss about it.”

“You’re going off with Northmen,” Mother said. “Even if, as Thorgil swears, they’ve taken an oath to help us, Northmen attract danger as oak trees draw lightning.”