The Islands of the Blessed

And he was. They feasted on oysters, smoked haddock, bannock cakes, and buttered cabbage. For drink they had ale and cider, but all agreed that the water from the spring was better. “That’s an oyster,” Big Half said patiently. “You don’t eat the hard part.”

“Oy-ster,” repeated Little Half.

Afterward they napped under the sky, except for Schlaup, who found his way down to a beach. Unlike true trolls, he wasn’t afraid of water, and Jack saw him in the distance, floating and spouting water like a whale. 

Chapter Thirty-one VOYAGE TO NOTLAND

“Spending the winter here is an excellent idea,” argued Skakki the following morning. “The weather is changing, and Egil and I might not have time to reach the Northland before the fall storms arrive.” The puffy clouds of the day before had changed into high, feathery wisps that spread out across the sky.

“Are you sure you don’t simply like the idea of being a king?” the Bard said. “You already have an excellent hall and fields. You have horses, cattle, and thralls to care for them. You’re a king in everything except the title.”

“I must bend the knee to Ivar the Boneless, an utter fool, and you know why we leave our fields to go pillaging, Dragon Tongue. The lands of the north are barren. This land is fertile and the seas abound with fish. My family will love it here. So will Egil.”

Skakki stood in the doorway of Bjorn’s ruined hall, gazing out to sea. Jack thought he looked every inch a king with his broad chest and noble face. He was certainly better than any ruler Jack had seen. Skakki wasn’t prone to insane rages. He didn’t spend his days lying in bowers, ignorant of what went on in the outside world. Nor did he demand that praise-songs be sung about him day and night. He was a sensible, intelligent young man who would rule well, whatever land he found himself in.

“Speaking of family, won’t they worry when you don’t show up?” said the Bard.

“Olaf sometimes wintered elsewhere. He always left the family well supplied before sailing, and I have done the same. I’ll fetch them in spring.”

The Bard accepted Skakki’s decision and, personally, Jack was delighted. Tomorrow they were supposed to sail north to Notland, or to where the Bard thought Notland lay. Then he, the Bard, and Thorgil would sail on in a coracle that was hardly bigger than a washtub to a place full of sea hags and Pictish beasts. Now Skakki could wait for them as long as necessary on Horse Island.

Jack went outside. Rune was standing on the cliff, shading his eyes as he studied the sky. “What do you see?” the boy said. He didn’t really expect an answer, but the old warrior had as complete a memory of the sky as he had of the sea.

“Rain is coming,” Rune said. “It will last three days.”

“It doesn’t look so bad to me,” said Jack, peering up at the bright, feathery clouds.

“Those are called ‘sky silk’. They are spun in the hall of mists by Odin’s wife. Stand here with your back to the wind,” ordered Rune. “Now tell me what direction those clouds are moving.”

Jack watched carefully. He had often observed storms approaching or retreating. It had never occurred to him that the filmy sky silk had any importance. “They’re going that way.” He thrust out his right arm.

“Very good. When you have the wind at your back and sky silk moves to the right, it means a storm is coming. It isn’t going to be a big one because the air doesn’t smell like metal and the gulls aren’t agitated. I’ll tell Skakki to delay the voyage for three days.”

That pleased Jack even more. He was in no hurry to leave. He wandered around the cliff, trying to imagine all of Skakki’s relatives living here. It was clearly a better place to farm, and they would have Thorgil’s horses to ride. The animals had become much tamer. They allowed Skakki to command them, though of course they were too small to carry the tall sea captain. Olaf had had the same problem.

Egil would find good pastures for his merini sheep. He’d never been an enthusiastic warrior, much preferring to farm and trade. Schlaup could build a separate hall for Mrs. Tanner—but here Jack’s imagination failed. The half-troll was never going to be accepted by the villagers. In the Northland, where people were used to trolls, he would be tolerated. Perhaps Schlaup could find another island.

By afternoon the sky was covered with a flat, gray layer of clouds that gradually lowered until it was almost on the ground. Then the rain began in earnest, and they had to shelter in the largest house in the village. It had originally belonged to Bjorn, then to Adder-Tooth, and now King Skakki was its owner. It was a dark, musty place, hardly more cheerful than a cave, but it had a hearth. With food and song, Skakki and his followers passed a reasonably pleasant time.