The Islands of the Blessed

Chapter Twenty-nine THE DEAD WALL

They did find something sharp—several things, in fact. Bones, white with age, were scattered about as though they had been tossed there by a careless hand. Among them lay a throwing axe, a sword with a pommel inlaid with jewels, and a dagger. They used the dagger to cut the ropes, and if the bones were ancient, the dagger was as keen as if it had been forged yesterday.

Jack freed his hands, and after that things became easier. “Don’t cut yourself,” warned Thorgil as he sliced through the rope tethering them to the standing stone. “Some old weapons are smeared with poison.”

Once they were free, they scrambled off the barrow and climbed to the top of a nearby hill. “I didn’t see those bones and weapons earlier,” Jack said.

“Neither did I.” Thorgil leaned against him.

The thought occurred to Jack that those things had been wrapped up inside the hogboon, and he wiped his hands on the damp grass. “The sword is beautifully made. Do you want it?”

“Do you?” she asked.

Jack liked her leaning against him, and not just for the extra warmth. They had decided against traveling in the dark, for neither of them was sure of the way. “The Bard told me of swords that should only be drawn when you want to kill someone,” he said. “There’s a kind of charm on them. If you pick one up, you have to kill the next person you meet, even if it’s a friend.”

“Olaf told me that story too,” she said. They sat quietly until Jack saw a faint light in the distance. It wavered back and forth, sometimes disappearing altogether, but coming steadily nearer.

“Thoooorgilll! Jaaaack!” called a voice.

“It’s Skakki,” cried Thorgil. “We’re heeere!” She jumped up and down, but of course no one could see her at that distance.

They shouted back and forth until Jack could see Big Half at the head of the group, with the Bard holding out his staff to provide light. Big Half’s face was mottled, as though he’d lost a game of Bonk Ball. Behind him came Skakki and Sven the Vengeful. Thorgil hoisted up her skirts and ran down the hill to fall into Skakki’s arms. “You have no idea what happened here!” she said. “The hogboon came out and tried to take the rune of protection. And the rune ate him all up! It was glorious!”

“Whoa! Little sister, start at the beginning. When Big Half came galumphing into the village, he said you were going to be sacrificed. We came as quickly as we could. Big Half was afraid to go out again, but he agreed to guide us with a little encouragement.”

“I helped,” said Sven the Vengeful, smacking a big fist into the palm of his hand.

“We must be grateful to him,” the Bard chided. “He didn’t have to tell us anything. My stars, lad, it’s good to see you! I should have known better than to drink that tea Little Half served us. I must be getting careless in my old age. I see you managed the fire at the hall.”

Jack and Thorgil told him everything that had happened, and the old man said that when Adder-Tooth and his men had almost reached the hall, Big Half bolted and ran for the village. “It was very brave of him. He was absolutely terrified the hogboon would get him.”

“I couldn’t let anything happen to the pretty princess. Besides”—Big Half’s voice quivered—“Little Half called me a stupid ox.”

“There, there,” said the Bard. “You were very clever to run away. Now we must hurry back to the village. Others are waiting, and we have unfinished business with Adder-Tooth.”

“What about those weapons on the barrow?” Jack said, pointing.

“Leave them for the sun to find,” the old man said with an expression of disgust. “Ill fortune clings to weapons found in darkness.”

It was now nearing dawn. The voices of lapwings and larks arose, and a hen harrier hawk gave its whistling cry. As the light strengthened, the moon sank into ever-deepening shadow over the western sea.

A mob of villagers and warriors had gathered just before the cluster of turf houses. “Adder-Tooth betrayed us,” a man shouted.

“He’s been doing human sacrifices,” a woman cried. “My cousin disappeared, and we all thought he’d drowned.”

“He went down the hogboon’s throat,” another woman moaned. “Who knows how many others did?”

“We will no longer serve such a master,” a warrior swore. “We were aware that he used sei�er, which no honorable man resorts to, but we knew nothing of the sacrifices.”

“You’ve stirred things up a bit,” the Bard said to Big Half.

Jack saw that the villagers were armed with scythes, hoes, and axes. The warriors had swords and spears. It seemed a decent enough army. They had dragged the third-rate skald with them, and the poor man was almost fainting with terror.

“Warriors always do that,” the Bard said privately to Jack. “They don’t want to miss out on a chance to become deathless poetry, though what that poor creature writes won’t last a week.”

By now the sun had risen. The creatures of the day had emerged in the wilderness beyond the village, completely unaware of the war brewing in their midst. A haze of midges hovered over a marsh. Bumblebees crept into the sunlight and waited for its warmth to permit them to fly. Caterpillars crawled along leaves. Flowers opened their petals. It was a world unnoticed by the angry humans, but Jack was keenly aware of its presence.

“Adder-Tooth will expect us to join him,” said the warrior who had spoken before. “Instead, we’ll kill him and those filthy pirates who came with him.”

“Hear! Hear!” roared the villagers, brandishing their farm tools.

“We march! Are you with us?” the warrior asked Skakki.

“Of course,” said the young sea captain, “but I think strategy is called for. Adder-Tooth’s wall is too strong for you.”

“Piss on the wall! We’ll tear it down!” The villagers were really getting into it.

“Listen to me,” Skakki urged. “Those stones are haunted, and you shouldn’t touch them. Adder-Tooth himself will open the gate if you pretend you’ve come to rebuild.”

“That’s the coward’s way! The thrall’s way! The worm’s way!” sang the warriors. “We take the path of honor!” They had worked themselves into such a frenzy that they refused to listen to anything Skakki had to say and set off at once.

“That’s the idiot’s way,” grumbled the Bard.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Big Half said.

“No, you wouldn’t. You have far too much sense.” The old man patted him on the back, and the man blushed at the praise. “Those fools will guarantee that Adder-Tooth keeps his gate closed. They’ll bluster and threaten outside, and Adder-Tooth will bluster and threaten from within. Afterward, when everyone’s worn himself out, I’ll solve the problem of the wall.”

They had a leisurely breakfast. Eric the Rash got a peat fire going, and Eric Pretty-Face toasted fish on skewers. The other crew members gnawed on rusks and onions, washed down with ale. Because Schlaup was so terrifying, he had been confined to the ship and wasn’t there. Rune kept him company so he wouldn’t feel lonely.

“Schlaup doesn’t know Adder-Tooth tried to kill Jack and Thorgil,” the Bard warned everyone, “so keep the story to yourselves. When Schlaup gets really, really upset, he shape-shifts, and that’s the last thing we need now. You can call them, Eric Pretty-Face.”

Everyone automatically covered their ears. “HEY, RUNE AND SCHLAUP! WE’VE GOT GRUB! COME AND GET IT!” bellowed the Northman. This was followed by a loud splash, and soon they saw Schlaup swimming with Rune sitting on his back. He came ashore and shook himself like a huge dog.

“Thank Freya I’ve got my feet on solid ground again,” said Rune, hobbling over to the fire. “I was frozen into position sitting on that ship.” Schlaup enthusiastically greeted everyone.

“WHAT WASN’T I SUPPOSED TO TELL HIM? I CAN’T REMEMBER,” said Eric Pretty-Face.

“Just don’t say anything,” the Bard said.

The encounter with the hogboon had taken its toll on Jack. His head kept nodding, and finally the Bard told him and Thorgil to take a nap. It was late afternoon before he awoke.

“Where is everybody?” he asked, sitting up and brushing sand out of his hair. Only the Bard and Schlaup were sitting by the fire.

“I thought it best to let you sleep,” said the Bard. “The others have gone ahead. Don’t worry. With Schlaup’s help, we’ll catch up with them.”

“What’s been happening?” Jack said, with a glance at Schlaup.

“Seafarer has been drifting back and forth with messages,” said the old man. “As I predicted, there’s been a fine show of temper on both sides, and nothing has been accomplished. When it gets dark, we can start working on the wall.”

“When it gets dark? But—”

“Night is the very best time to find unquiet spirits,” the Bard said heartily. “Well, Schlaup my lad, do you think you can carry both of us?”

The giant grinned. He perched Jack on his neck, cradled the Bard in his arms, and set off, falling into the long stride trolls were famous for and could keep up for hours. Jack had heard of trolls following giant Jotunheim elk until the animals fell down with exhaustion. Schlaup had no trouble finding his way through the village, either, for he was tall enough to see over the roofs. When he came to a wall blocking his way, he simply kicked a hole in it.

They traveled at a great rate and soon saw the villagers and warriors gathered outside the wall. By now long shadows were stretching across the heather. Thorgil ran out to greet them, dressed in men’s clothes again, followed by the stallion she had tamed.

“Schlaup! I’m so glad to see you! You’ll never guess what happened—”

“Not a word!” the Bard said sharply.

The giant crouched down to let his passengers alight. “Nice horsey,” he said.

“Isn’t he?” exulted Thorgil. “I’m going to name him Skull-Splitter in memory of—”

“Thorgil!” roared the Bard. “Send that beast back to his herd and stop causing trouble!”

She laughed, totally unrepentant. “They want to leave before dark,” she said, pointing at the villagers and warriors. “Skakki has been arguing with them.”

There was a shouting match going on, and Skakki appeared to be on the losing side. The villagers had already picked up their makeshift weapons and were starting back down the trail. The warriors soon followed, with the skald hurrying to keep up with them. “No deathless poetry today, I see,” said the Bard.

Skakki threw up his hands in exasperation. “I can’t talk sense into them. You’d better go along to protect them, Eric.” Eric the Rash gratefully trotted after the fleeing villagers. The Northmen all knew he was afraid of the dark and would be useless anyhow once the sun went down.

“It’s not much of an army,” observed Jack. The remaining warriors, minus Eric the Rash, numbered twelve. Or eleven, because Rune was too crippled to fight, though he would certainly try. Ten, when you subtracted Thorgil, because she was small. Nine, because Jack wasn’t really a warrior, and eight, because Big Half was quaking with fear. But there was also Schlaup, who might count for four or five warriors on his own.

“It will do,” said the Bard. He sent Seafarer on one last mission to look over the wall.

Two-legged beasts hiding, the albatross reported. Air feels nasty.

The wall is awakening, the old man said. You must go and sleep now, my friend. Seafarer soared out to sea, aiming for a distant rock covered with seagulls. “Now our work begins. Jack and I will tackle the wall. The rest of you stay back where it’s safer.”

Are you joking? Jack thought. Us? Alone? He could already feel the rage radiating from the stones. It made him sick, this hopeless anger and despair. He felt dizzy.

“It’s all in a day’s work for a bard, or perhaps I should say a ‘night’s work’,” the Bard said cheerfully. “And yes, it’s nasty, but far less terrible than what these poor spirits endured. Put your hands on the wall.”

Jack, after a moment’s hesitation, obeyed. The rage flared up. He collapsed against the stones.

“Good. You’ve made contact,” said the old man. “Now tell them about the hogboon’s destruction. I’d do it, except they wouldn’t believe me. You were there.”

Jack didn’t know how to begin. All around him he felt unending pain, loss so extreme that it surpassed his ability to comprehend. He heard voices, terrible voices that called to loved ones who couldn’t hear them. They were all at the bottom of a pit, bound and helpless. Earth fell on their faces. The light of the sky vanished. They couldn’t breathe.

“Steady, lad. You’re seeing their memories.” Jack felt the Bard’s hand on his shoulder.

“Nechtan,” he said weakly. Instantly, the attention of the spirits was drawn to him. “Nechtan has been destroyed. I saw it.” He told them of the barrow and of the hogboon. He described the moon standing directly overhead and of what happened when the hogboon grasped the rune of protection. “It was life,” he said. “Nechtan could not bear the presence of life. He has utterly disappeared.”

Dimly, Jack heard a voice say, Is this true?

“Yes, I was there,” he replied. He felt the presences crowd around him, reaching into his mind.

It is true, the voice said. He does not lie.

“Now your long vigil is over,” said the Bard from somewhere close by. “You must go into the west, there to be restored and in time to return with the sun.”

But it seemed that the spirits could not let go of their sorrow. They continued to rage and cry out against their fate. Jack lay against the wall and felt himself pulled down into their desolation.

“Men of the sea, do you remember the feel of a deck beneath your feet,” said the Bard, “when waves stood high and the ship flew before them like a bird returning to her nest?”

Voices sighed. We remember.

“Never were there more seacrafty men or mariners surer of strength under sky than you. You returned to your halls, bright with hearth fire and filled with friends, your wives waiting onshore for first sight of sail.”

We remember.

Gradually, the Bard awakened their memories, and gradually, the anger dimmed, to be replaced by a great longing for all that had gone before. “It is time to take ship again,” the old man said, “to fare forth to the islands where winter never comes and the sea is as clear as sky. You are young again, worthiest of warriors, and your wives and children stand beneath the apple trees.”

Jack heard distant shouting and the sound of wind crackling in a sail and a thump as an anchor was hauled up. The voices, now joyful, faded until there was only the hiss of wind over stone. Jack found himself lying in an uncomfortable heap at the bottom of the wall. The air was cold with the first bite of fall, and the night was empty of fear.