The Islands of the Blessed

The bees were flying to and fro, making use of the long summer days. The two surviving hives had grown into four, after careful watching to follow and capture new swarms. “I looked into the water,” Mother said.

Jack tensed. Mother was a wise woman, though she took care to conceal it from Father. One of her arts was to gaze into a bowl of still water until the surface deepened, showing distant places and things that would come to pass. These visions were rarely clear. She might see a stag walking through a forest or a woman standing on a cliff. The meaning would become clear only later.

“I saw you—you and Thorgil—in a little boat,” Mother said. “It was evening and the sun had marked out a path of shining gold on the water. I tried to call to you, but you raised your arm in farewell. You were holding a bard’s staff. That’s all.”

“What does it mean?” said Jack. His staff had been lost when he freed Din Guardi from the grip of Unlife.

“I don’t know, but…” She paused, and Jack was appalled to see tears on her cheeks. “It felt as though you were going on a far longer journey than to Bebba’s Town. It felt as though you were never coming back.”

“Of course I’ll return!” cried Jack. “I fought my way out of Jotunheim and survived the dungeons of the elves, didn’t I? You must stop listening to Pega’s stories.”

Mother smiled ruefully. “I suppose I have been listening to her. She told me about a man dying from a bee sting and someone else falling down a well.”

“Her ex-owners all seemed to have bad luck.”

Mother laughed, and Jack was able to leave her with a lighter heart. But he puzzled over the vision. He and Thorgil in a small boat? That wasn’t surprising. But the sun setting over water to the west wasn’t possible on this coastline. The sea lay to the east.

The Tanners had large bags filled with clothes and cooking utensils, some of which Jack suspected came from his house. As they walked along, Ymma called out to a farmer that they were off to Bebba’s Town.

The farmer cupped his hands. “What’s that? Is the ship here?”

“Not yet!” Jack called, and turned on the girl. “I told you to keep your mouth shut.”

“Why should I?” Ymma retorted. “Anyone would think we were going pillaging, like you did with those nasty Northmen.”

“I didn’t go with them willingly and I never, ever, pillaged. If you knew anything about it, you wouldn’t suggest the possibility.” Jack was struggling to keep his temper.

“I know what pillaging is,” Ythla chimed in. “It means having lots of nice things.”

“It means killing and burning,” said Jack.

Ythla shrugged, and her mother made no attempt to scold her daughter. It suddenly occurred to Jack that the Tanners were about to encounter real experts on pillaging. He felt a small glow of happiness inside.

Most of the Bard’s cargo was already aboard, but important items had to be carried personally. The old man had the mysterious parcel Brother Aiden had given him, as well as a bag of his more important tools. Jack was in charge of Fair Lamenting, the Bard’s harp, and the great bird Seafarer. The Tanners complained bitterly when they realized Jack wasn’t going to help carry their belongings.

“You can leave things behind,” he said. “I’m sure Pega could find a use for them.”

“Not on your life!” said Ymma.

“We’re being driven into the wilderness,” moaned Mrs. Tanner. “How can we abandon anything that might stand between us and destruction?”

“You are heartless,” said Ythla.

For a moment Jack wavered—he was genuinely sorry for Mrs. Tanner—but he knew he couldn’t take on any more burdens. And so they set out, with the Bard going first to show the way. Jack stayed behind long enough to close up the Roman house.

We go north, he explained in Bird to Seafarer as he checked to be sure nothing had been left behind. He’d learned enough of the language for simple conversation. Maybe catch fish.

Fish are good, said Seafarer, fluffing his feathers. Maybe find female.

Jack didn’t know. He’d never seen an albatross before this one, but where a storm blew one such creature, it might blow two.

When he closed the door for the last time, he felt a strange presence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a man dressed in a white tunic, holding two children by the hand. The children laughed and pointed at something in the distance, but when Jack turned, the vision was gone.

He didn’t worry about leaving the house unguarded because the hobgoblins were going to move in. Any villager who decided to explore the apparently empty dwelling would get a horrid surprise. Hobgoblins could make themselves invisible to human eyes, but their long, sticky fingers felt entirely real.