The Islands of the Blessed

“How will we find you again?” Skakki called.

“You won’t,” the Bard replied. “We’ll make our own way to the mainland.”

“What? I’m not going to abandon you!”

“You’ll have to. Notland comes and goes as it will. You won’t be able to see it.” The Bard stood tall in the coracle, his ash wood staff in his hand. He didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about sailing home in a craft that was barely adequate for a lake.

“You planned this all along,” Skakki shouted, for now the distance between them was increasing. “You tricked my sister into a quest she can’t possibly survive.”

“I chose this adventure!” Thorgil yelled back.

“Then you’re an idiot! You’re all idiots!”

Now they were picking up speed, though Jack couldn’t see what was propelling them along. He was too busy holding on to the side. The last thing he heard was Eric Pretty-Face bellowing, “WE’LL BE BACK!” when the ship suddenly disappeared and all that was out there was empty sea.

“What happened to them? Where are they?” Jack cried.

“We must save them!” exclaimed Thorgil, grabbing an oar and attempting to turn the coracle. The current, or whatever they were caught in, was too strong.

“They’re all right,” the Bard said, sitting down amid the sacks of cargo. “We’ve merely crossed the border of Notland. I would guess they’ve seen us disappear, too, and are searching. They won’t find anything.”

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Jack said. There was nothing left to do but sit down and make the best of the situation. The mountain range was drawing nearer.

“I’ve wheedled a child or two out of the Shoney’s clutches,” the old man admitted. “Sea hags sometimes steal toddlers who wander too close to the water.”

“So you’re… enemies?” guessed Thorgil.

“More like well-matched opponents. I tell him what to do, and he eventually does it. But never underestimate the Shoney. He’s intelligent, devious, and dangerous. Oh, and if he offers you ocean meat tonight, don’t accept it. Pictish beast has the most disagreeable flavor imaginable.”

The mountains rose up before them, peak after peak of the same uniform gray. Jack looked for the surf that should have been breaking at their base and found nothing. “Shouldn’t we slow down?” he said nervously. The rocks were very near.

“It’s only a fog bank,” the Bard said.

“Look out!” screamed Thorgil, throwing herself to the bottom of the coracle. Jack raised his arms as the gray mass rushed at them—and then they were through. They floated over a fair, green land covered with fields and houses. Above them arched a bowl of cloud. The land below was bathed in a gentle light, like the glow that brightens a mist just before the sun breaks through. The air was as warm as summer.

“As I said, a fog bank,” said the Bard.

“It looked so solid.” Thorgil picked herself up and leaned over the side. “Is this one of those illusions that go poof and you find yourself in some horrible dungeon?”

“The fin folk aren’t like elves,” the old man said. “They can’t create something out of thin air, but they can hide themselves with borrowed colors. They bend light around their realm and blend into a background as fish do at the bottom of a stream. The trolls of Jotunheim also do this.”

“I remember,” said Jack. “When we walked away from the Mountain Queen’s palace, it was as though the palace had folded itself away. All I could see were icy mountains.”

Below, the fin folk went about the chores of villagers. They herded cattle, tended crops, and even built fires, though Jack could have sworn there was water beneath him. The coracle floated along as though it were on a lake, and the fin folk swam rather than walked over their fields. Yet their small, white cattle walked along the bottom like normal beasts.

The houses were adorned with towers and fanciful arches that seemed to have no purpose but were pleasant to look at. They were pink and orange, purple and gleaming white, the colors of the seashells one found on a beach. In the distance was an impressive castle. Processions of fin men bearing the horrid carcasses of Pictish beasts were making their way along the road to this castle. Mermaids swam behind them, their long hair streaming like living gold. These were followed by creatures so hideous, Jack wondered for a moment whether they were stalking the mermaids like a pack of wolves. Then he realized they were sea hags.

No wonder mermaids wanted to marry humans, he thought, if they were in danger of turning into such repellant creatures. The sea hags were as shapeless as seals. They stumped along on spindly legs that looked hardly strong enough to support their blobby bodies. Their arms and shoulders, by contrast, were as powerful as a blacksmith’s. They were in varying stages of going bald. This might not have mattered if their heads had been shapely, but they weren’t. They were simply blobs at the end of too-thick necks. With the loss of beauty came a lack of personal hygiene, and more than one of the sea hags had a severe barnacle problem.