The Islands of the Blessed

Chapter Eight THE DRAUGR

The late morning sunlight flooded into the open door of the Roman house and woke Seafarer in his alcove. The bird hopped to the floor, stretching his wings experimentally and making little grunts of pain. “You can’t expect to get better in a day, my friend,” said the Bard. He opened a bag of dried fish and threw some on the floor. Seafarer, with one beady eye fixed on Brother Aiden, edged forward and snatched up the treat.

The monk’s mouth fell open in amazement. “This is true magic to tame such a creature.”

“He’s not tame. Watch your eyes,” warned the Bard. The monk recoiled as the albatross made a vicious stab at him.

“Take our friend for a walk, Jack, before he does harm. Aiden and I will prepare breakfast.” The boy sighed inwardly, but he knew better than to complain. The Bard could not be hurried and would ask Brother Aiden to finish the story in his own good time.

Jack and the bird walked along the cliff above the sea with Seafarer ahead, eagerly craning his neck at the bright blue sky. They sat down to rest after a while. The albatross screamed a challenge and a dozen seagulls tumbled off the cliff.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Jack said companionably. “There’s nothing like a good threat to start the day.” Seafarer burbled back. The boy could smell oatcakes toasting in the distance. “I’d like to see a mermaid,” he confided, “though I don’t know about marrying one. Seems like you’d drown if you moved in with her. How do you think she breathes underwater?”

Seafarer made a sound between a purr and a croak. Jack was almost certain it was an answer to his question. Suddenly, the bird gave a whoop and soared off the cliff. He almost succeeded in flying, but his bad wing collapsed and he dropped. Jack slid down the rocks as fast as he could. At the bottom he saw the bird staggering drunkenly over the sand, shrieking and clacking his beak.

“You idiot!” cried Jack. “You’ll ruin all our work!” And then he saw Thorgil running toward them. She was cawing in Bird and scattering her carrying bags on the beach. Presently, she met up with Seafarer and the two danced around each other in a frenzy of joy.

“Oh, Jack! You’ll never guess what happened!” she yelled.

“Skakki is here! My brother! He dropped anchor at the inlet where we left you and Lucy. He’s promised to take us to Bebba’s Town.”

“You say there’s a Northman ship anchored near our village?” said Brother Aiden, his eyes wide with horror.

“Skakki has taken an oath not to pillage us,” Thorgil said carelessly. “He might pick up a few slaves elsewhere, but I don’t see the harm in it.”

“No harm?” cried the monk. “Can you not hear the cries of children being torn from their parents’ arms? Is your heart made of stone?”

“We don’t usually steal children,” said the shield maiden. “They’re not durable, and anyhow, the market for brats is poor.”

“Stop needling him,” warned the Bard. Thorgil grinned evilly and fished an oatcake from the ashes. She held out a tidbit to Seafarer, who took it carefully. He had become wary of hot things.

“Has the whole crew returned?” said Jack. All at once a great longing swept over him to see the Northmen again.

“Most of them,” the shield maiden said after cramming her mouth with oatcake. “There’s Skakki and of course Rune, Sven the Vengeful, Eric Pretty-Face, and Eric the Rash. Schlaup is new. Eric Broad-Shoulders was eaten by trolls.”

“Oh, my,” said Brother Aiden.

“My foster father, Olaf One-Brow, tried a slice of troll once. He said it was nasty.”

“Thorgil!” thundered the Bard. “Don’t make me turn you into a frog.”

She laughed and helped herself to another oatcake. Jack was delighted to see her so happy. She had apparently forgiven their quarrel in the hazel wood, for she’d greeted him with warmth. She had, as he’d suspected, fled to the beach. Once she began walking north, it seemed reasonable to continue. The waves calmed her mind and the smell of the sea raised her spirits. After a while she cut cross-country to the old Roman road and found her way to the inlet.

“Skakki never believed I was dead,” Thorgil said. “Early this year he returned to the beach where he’d left me and saw my runes carved into a tree. When he couldn’t find me, he guessed I’d gone to the only place where I might find welcome. He’s much bigger. I thought he’d had his full growth, but he’s practically a giant now. Like Olaf.” A shadow crossed the shield maiden’s face.

“So he’s willing to take us to Bebba’s Town,” said Jack, to keep her from brooding.

“Once he’s finished with business farther south. You don’t want to know what that is, Brother Aiden—all right! I’ll shut up!” Thorgil ducked as the Bard raised his staff.

They made a second breakfast with fresh bread from the village and a roast goose Thorgil had brought from her shipmates’ dinner. Brother Aiden retold the tale of Fair Lamenting for her benefit. “I did hear a woman weeping as I walked on the beach,” mused the shield maiden. “I couldn’t find her. Skakki thought he saw a draugr when they dropped anchor.”

“Draugr?” inquired Jack.

“You know. An undead spirit. We ringed the camp with silver coins to keep it away.”

“That’s exactly what I feared,” said the Bard. “Tell the rest of Severus’ story, Aiden. We need to make plans.”

“For seven days Father Severus tried everything he could think of to get rid of the mermaid. He chanted exorcisms, waved crosses, and cursed her, but she was relentless. Each afternoon she pursued him. She was amazingly strong. She could lift boulders and throw them as easily as you toss a pebble. She wasn’t trying to kill him, of course, but to frighten him into giving up.

“The mermaid could also command the waves. On the next-to-last afternoon she called up a wave so powerful, it reached the rocks where Father Severus was hiding. It almost pulled him into the sea. Then he knew how she planned to capture him on the last day. That night he struggled to climb the mountain at the center of the island. He could almost do it, but there was a sheer cliff partway up that was impossible to pass.

“He went down to the water, sunk in despair and lamenting the day he’d left the Holy Isle. And then it came to him. What if she lived on the island with him?

“He couldn’t marry her, of course. Not because he was a priest—some priests did take wives, though it was frowned on in Rome. He couldn’t because she was a beast, plain and simple. Oh, she might look human, but underneath she had no more spirituality than an ox.”

“‘An ox’,” he mused thoughtfully.

“She was enormously strong. He’d had ample evidence of that. She was talented—just look at the hut she’d constructed. She could fish and gather driftwood. She could farm.

“On the last afternoon Father Severus built a great fire next to the water. He tolled Fair Lamenting, and the mermaid rose from the waves. She came to shore swiftly and dropped her scales on the beach. ‘Nice day for a swim,’ Father Severus commented.

“‘You do not flee,’ said the mermaid.

“‘What’s the point? You’d only catch me.’

“‘I would prefer that you come willingly,’ she conceded. ‘It’s a poor marriage that begins with force.’ She held out her arms to embrace him.

“‘I have one thing to attend to first,’ Father Severus replied, smiling. He darted past her, snatched up the scales, and threw them into the heart of the fire.

“The mermaid screamed. She raised a wave to put out the flames, but it was already too late. Her fish tail had burned to ashes. ‘You have severed me eternally from the sea,’ she cried. ‘Oh, cruel, cruel man! How could you have treated me so after all my care? I can never swim the long miles back to my home.’

“‘Then I suppose you’ll have to live here,’ said Father Severus.

“He trained her to dig seedbeds and to carry water from a stream flowing out of the mountain. She built a wall to keep the north wind from blowing soil away. She lured salmon to her hand by singing. Father Severus had to teach her to cook, however, for her kind prefer to devour food raw. At night she slept naked on the beach. After several months her hands became rough and her hair grew matted and filthy. Father Severus didn’t mind. You don’t ask for beauty in an ox.”

“By Thor, that’s a fine tale,” interrupted Thorgil. “He tricked the mermaid and turned her into a thrall.”

“You’re supposed to feel pity for her,” Brother Aiden said.

“Why? She threw rocks at him.”

“Thorgil has a point,” said the Bard. “Severus’ crime was not in forcing her to work for him, which she richly deserved, but in thinking she had no soul. He treated her like a chair or a cup, to be discarded when it was broken. Go on, Aiden.”

“Father Severus was contented with life,” continued the monk. “He could pray and meditate whenever he liked. The mermaid no longer bothered him with talk. In fact, she became entirely silent. The garden prospered and he could store food for the winter. When he had a craving for meat, he sent her fishing. There was always enough driftwood for his fire.

“The mermaid, however, had a hatred of fire. She curled up in the little cave, winter and summer, without a scrap of cloth for warmth. Father Severus supposed she was like a seal and didn’t feel the cold, and so he put it from his mind. He didn’t notice the gradual change that came over her.

“One day he sighted a ship in the distance, making its way to Grim’s Island. It was the abbot of the Holy Isle, coming to check on his welfare. ‘Delighted to see you looking well,’ said the abbot, coming ashore. ‘Good Lord! What’s that?’ The mermaid was shuffling to and fro with loads of driftwood.

“‘Just a sea creature I trained to work,’ said Father Severus.

“‘But it’s female! And it’s naked!’

“‘It isn’t human,’ Father Severus said reasonably. ‘Many a monk lives with a cow and nothing is said.’

“‘It has the form of a human,’ said the abbot, squinting to make her out more clearly. ‘By blessed St. Bridget, it’s the ugliest woman I ever saw.’

“Then Father Severus took a closer look at her too. The mermaid had changed so gradually, he hadn’t paid attention. She was much larger, and the nails of her feet and hands had grown into claws. Her skin was rough, her teeth yellow, her hair was beginning to fall out and the clumps remaining were a rat’s nest. Her movements, never graceful on land, were now totally bestial. ‘She looked better when I got her,’ Father Severus admitted.”

“That is the way of fin folk,” the Bard put in. “When the females are immature, they are surpassingly beautiful. If they wed a human, they remain so all their lives. But if they marry one of their own kind or are spurned by a human, they change into the adult form: a sea hag.”

“A sea hag,” said Jack, full of wonder. He could make a magnificent poem out of this tale, as good as Beowulf or Olaf One-Brow rescuing Ivar the Boneless from trolls. Thorgil’s eyes were shining too.

“Unfortunately,” said Brother Aiden, “the abbot thought there had been quite enough meditating and praying on lonely islands. He accused Father Severus of shirking his duties to the monastery and ordered him to return at once. And so they packed up Columba’s robe and Fair Lamenting and departed.

“The mermaid—now sea hag—dived into the water and tried to follow them. The sailors rowed for all they were worth. Gradually, the sea hag fell behind, and the last they saw of her was a mop of dirty hair bobbing up and down in the waves.”

Everyone was silent after that. The Bard put more wood on the fire, and Thorgil, deep in thought, stroked Seafarer’s feathers. Brother Aiden bowed his head. Finally, Jack said, “That’s terrible. They abandoned her to die.”

“I was never sure whether she’d had the strength to return to Grim’s Island,” said the Bard. “Now it seems she drowned and became a draugr.”

“An undead spirit,” said Thorgil.

“And she’s here,” added Brother Aiden.