The Islands of the Blessed

The sea captain glanced at the Bard, who nodded. Skakki sat down, but neither he nor the others took food. The king ate heartily and so did his followers, although Jack noticed that Little Half seemed to have no appetite. The boy watched Adder-Tooth carefully, trying to gauge what sort of man he was. Like all Northmen, he would be a bully. He obviously enjoyed killing, but the laws of hospitality forbade him from slaying an enemy who had been given sanctuary under his roof.

For that matter, why had Adder-Tooth invited them in? Jack caught a glimpse of the king tearing apart a joint of mutton. His front teeth had been filed into points.

The wind rose outside and buffeted the straw bales in the windows. The iron door rattled as though someone were trying to pull it open. One of the warriors jumped to his feet.

“Sit down,” the king said irritably. “The hogboon can’t pass the wall.”

For the first time the Bard spoke. “Don’t tell me you’ve been foolish enough to have dealings with a hogboon.”

Adder-Tooth laughed so explosively, bits of food flew over his chest. “I’ve been waiting to see how long it took to get a Dragon Tongue scolding. Ivar the Boneless used to cringe waiting for them.”

“You may laugh if you like,” the old man said, nettled, “but there’s a reason you hide behind that disgraceful wall.”

“I do not hide!” shouted the king, knocking over his ale-horn and causing his neighbors to recoil.

“Now who’s cringing?” the Bard said. Jack held his breath. He expected the hall to break into open warfare, but after a moment Adder-Tooth settled down.

“The one who begged to have a sword in his hand at the end, but was too weak to grasp it, was Bjorn.”

Little Half swung his short legs off the bench, went to the far end of the hall, and turned his back on the assembly. After a moment his brother joined him.

“I had sworn an oath to destroy Bjorn,” Adder-Tooth continued, “but he shut himself into this hall and I couldn’t reach him. What was I to do? My honor was at stake. And so I found a wise woman who was willing to help me.”

“You mean you threatened her,” the Bard said.

“So what if I did? She was a poisonous old hag and not fit to live anyhow. She demanded silver and free passage to another island. I had to find her a cloak dyed blue with woad.

She needed a hood and gloves made of catskin. She had to sit on a cushion filled with feathers so her spirit could fly. Paugh! Sei�er makes me sick!” Adder-Tooth said, naming the magic women used.

“Not sick enough to stay away from it,” remarked the Bard. The king glared at him and drank another horn of ale. It was his sixth or seventh, Jack thought.

“The ceremony was done under the full moon. The hag sat on an old grave and chewed one of those red mushrooms that grow under birch trees.”

“Atterswam,” murmured the Bard.

“Yes, that. She went into a trance. I had expected her to contact spirits and tell me how to break into Bjorn’s stronghold, but something unexpected happened. She began to scream. Her body writhed and she flopped around like a hooked salmon. I didn’t touch her. I don’t meddle with sei�er even when I’m paying for it. Her form began to change, and suddenly she wasn’t there at all. In her place was the hogboon. It had eaten her all up.”

A hush fell over the hall. Wind burrowed through the straw and made the lamps in the alcoves flutter. The followers of the king had stopped eating. Beyond the howl of the wind and the sea crashing below the cliff, Jack heard voices. They were like men caught in a deadly trap—a sinking ship or a fire. They shouted for help, but no aid was coming and they knew it. They raged against their fate.

“Shouldn’t we try to help them?” Jack said, fearful and yet unwilling to ignore them.

“They are not living men,” said the Bard. Nothing he said could have been more dreadful.

Little Half moaned and buried his face in his hands. “I knew we shouldn’t have touched that tower.”

“Shut up! It was either that or the hogboon!” shouted the king. “We need music. Wake up my skald! The swine is probably drunk, but he’ll sing the better for it. More ale! More mead!”

Servants hurried to obey, and soon a bedraggled young man stumbled into the hall carrying a harp. He ran his fingers through his hair. “What kind of song—?” he began.

“I don’t care so long as it’s loud!” roared Adder-Tooth.

It was evidently a request the skald had heard before. Shouting rather than singing, he recited the tale of King Siggeir, who captured a rival’s ten sons and left them, bound and helpless, in a deep, dark forest. Each night a giant she-wolf appeared and devoured one of them. On the tenth night the youngest son, who was named Sigmund, clamped on to the wolf’s tongue with his teeth and ripped it out. After which, Sigmund was rescued by his sister and went on to have many other nasty adventures.