The Islands of the Blessed

“How can they pole?” Skakki said. “The seabed is beyond their reach.” Yet the figures continued to push themselves along as easily as if the boats were on a shallow pond. Several surrounded a dead Pictish beast, and then the poles were shown to have hooks at the end. The beings snagged the beast and began towing it back with them at the same measured pace.

They were manlike and yet otherworldly. Taller and thinner than any human, their skin gleamed with silver scales. Their arms and legs were skinny like the legs of herons, and their faces were shadowed by broad-brimmed hats. They wore gray robes that drifted about them like shreds of mist. The fin men went about the business of gathering dead beasts with not a glance at the ship. They made no sound at all, not even a splash.

“SHOULD I CALL THEM?” said Eric Pretty-Face. Everyone jumped, yet not even Eric’s bellow caused a disruption in the methodical harvesting.

“I have a better plan,” the Bard said. He lifted the bronze mirror and directed a beam of sunlight straight into the middle of a group of boats. The reaction was instantaneous. The boats swung sideways, vanishing as fish do when they turn to avoid sunlight shining on their scales. Jack couldn’t make them out at all, but he knew, somehow, that they were coming nearer. The Northmen reached for their weapons.

“Draw no sword. Fire no arrow,” said the Bard. “They come to barter.”

When it seemed impossible that boats could still be out there, one suddenly appeared directly beneath the prow. The tall figure within pointed at the mirror.

“This is a gift for the Shoney,” said the Bard. “I request safe passage into Notland for myself and two companions.”

The ship may not enter, said a voice that was there and yet not there. Jack felt it in his mind and remembered that trolls also communicated silently.

“The ship does not ask to enter. I shall travel in a coracle,” said the Bard. He held up the comb, and several other boats with eerie owners appeared. And now Jack had a good look at their faces. They were long and thin, with round, fishy eyes. Their mouths were shaped like an upside-down V, giving them a humorless, disapproving expression.

A beautiful comb, fit for the long hair of our daughters, said the first fin man. It is colored with the fine dyes of the Picts. A master hand has made it.

“With this gift, I request passage out of Notland as well. Answer now or we shall turn away.”

Such things lie in the hands of our king.

“Then we must go.” The Bard began wrapping up the mirror again.

A sigh ruffled the air. Wait. A conference seemed to take place among the shadowy figures on the water. Jack couldn’t make out the words. You may enter, said the first fin man after a moment.

“And my request? Do you swear to let us leave Notland as well?”

We swear.

“You can’t do this,” Skakki said as the Bard signaled for the coracle to be launched. “They changed their minds far too quickly. Everyone knows the fin folk are treacherous.”

“That’s true, but it’s the best we’re likely to get,” said the Bard.

“You can’t go blindly to your death!”

“The lives of many depend on the success of this adventure,” said the Bard. “Remember Beowulf and his final battle with the dragon. He knew he would die. He was old. His arm no longer had the strength it’d had when he killed Grendel, yet he went forth to battle for his people.”

“Fame never dies,” murmured Thorgil.

“When he was dying, having slain the dragon,” Skakki remembered, “he asked his companion to bring out the jewels from the dragon-hoard so that he might feast his eyes on them.”

“Aye, it was a hero’s death,” said Rune, his eyes dreamy.

“Excuse me,” said Jack. “Aren’t there any tales about heroes who go home after slaying the monster and live happily ever after?”

“Of course there are, lad,” the Bard said heartily and unconvincingly. “We may yet find ourselves drinking cider in the old Roman house. But first we must solve the problem of the draugr. I accept your offer, fin man. We will sail to the Shoney’s palace and lay before him our gifts. There we will tell him the reason for our visit.”

The fin man vanished along with his boat, and Jack felt the creature moving away. By now all the dead Pictish beasts had been hauled off. The sea was clean, as though no savage conflict had taken place in it, and only the gray mountain in the distance still remained. 

Chapter Thirty-three THE CITY UNDER THE SEA

Jack had learned to like sailing, but the coracle was another matter. It rocked perilously when Eric Pretty-Face lowered him into it. There was barely room for three people plus the meager supplies they would take with them. And when Jack looked up at the sleek, handsome karfi, he regretted with all his heart that he had left it.