The Sea of Trolls

Chapter Thirty DEATH FROM THE SKY

For such a large creature, the dragon was able to float along with scarcely a sound, or at least nothing Jack could hear over the wind and his own labored breathing. She came up behind them like a leaf coasting on a breeze. Her claws swooped them up before he could even scream.

She did not kill them at once. That would have been too kind. She merely picked them up from the ground and sped off with her talons locked around them like a cage. For a moment Jack couldn’t understand what had happened. He was surrounded by black bars—bars that were hot. He saw the ground disappear. He felt the wind whistle past his ears.

He heard a terrible, deafening, heart-stopping shriek and recognized it at once. It was the same challenge that had been hurled at Olaf’s funeral pyre. “It’s the—it’s the—” Jack couldn’t get the words out. The dizzying ride and his own fear made him sick.

“It’s the dragon,” Thorgil finished for him. He saw her trying to chip away at the talons with her knife. She was woozy and weak but still attempting to fight.

“It’s hot,” Jack said. And it was, uncomfortably so. The talons radiated heat, and he had to shift to keep from getting burned. By now they were high above the ground. The dragon flew along, level with the cliffs. Each wing-beat blew a blast of heat past Jack’s face, and the dragon’s bones creaked mournfully, like a ship under full sail. It’s a knorr, Jack thought foolishly, echoing Olaf’s words from weeks ago: They call it that because the timbers creak the whole time—knorr, knorr, knorr. It takes getting used to.

The dragon rose and hovered in the air. She opened her talons, and Jack and Thorgil tumbled out into a ring of stone. Around them beady eyes watched intently. Jack realized, with a sick rush of terror, that they had been brought—as a cat might bring mice for her kittens—to teach the dragonlets how to hunt.

“Strike between the chest plates below their necks,” Thorgil said in a low voice. “That’s what Olaf told me.”

Jack could hardly believe his ears. She was up and ready for battle. He was anything but ready. He found himself hypnotized by the dragonlets. They hissed and swayed back and forth, craning their necks. Their eyes were lit with evil intent. How could Thorgil think of fighting now? It was all over. They were doomed.

Four of the monsters—each twice Jack’s size—were working up the courage to follow their mother’s bidding. The dragon crouched at the side of the nest, making a bubbling noise like a pot of boiling water. Her great, golden eyes were half closed.

Bold Heart stuck his head out of the bag and cawed sharply. The dragon reared back as though stung. Bold Heart climbed out and hopped to the ground. He cawed again and mumbled something in crow talk. The dragon burbled.

“Are they talking?” Jack whispered.

“I don’t know. Keep your eyes on the green one. He’s bolder than the rest.” All Thorgil’s attention was given to the dragonlets. She was correct: The green one was curling a long, snakelike tongue over his scaly lips as he gazed at the tidbits his mother had brought home. Saliva—or something like it—fell to the ground with a hiss. The other three creatures eyed their brother nervously. They were smaller and golden, like their mother. Jack guessed they were females.

Bold Heart had worked himself into a perfect frenzy of cawing and warbling. He seemed to be trying to convince the dragon of something. She hissed and lashed her tail. Then, abruptly, she rose and soared off down the valley. Bold Heart turned his attention to the dragonlets.

They, too, seemed to understand him, but they were too young to pay attention for long. One of the golden females scratched her potbelly with long fingernails. She seemed to be dozing off. “Thorgil, lie down,” Jack whispered.

“I’m not a coward,” she said.

“This is strategy. I think they don’t know about hunting. If we lie still and don’t move, they’ll ignore us.”

“Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter does not retreat.”

The green dragonlet arched his neck to study her. His snaky tongue flicked out. Jack despaired of getting through to the shield maiden. If she kept moving, she’d get them both killed. “Lie still and get him to lower his guard. Then you can stab him,” said Jack.

This must have made sense, because Thorgil immediately obeyed. The dragonlet considered her for a long moment before being distracted by a passing hawk.

Bold Heart hopped in front of the creature. Jack waited breathlessly for a fatal strike, but the crow seemed to be discussing something with the young dragon. The bird cawed and hopped, flicking his head at the smaller siblings. Jack couldn’t understand what was being said, but the meaning was clear: Hey, look! Mother’s away from home. It’s a perfect time to get rid of rivals.

The longer Bold Heart cawed, the more agitated the green dragonlet became and the more nervous were the golden ones. Suddenly, with shocking speed, the green dragonlet hurled himself across the nest, barely missing Jack and Thorgil with his talons. He seized his sisters by the neck—bang, bang, bang, one after the other—and threw them off the cliff!

Jack heard them wail all the way down. They were only chicks. They couldn’t fly. The green dragonlet threw back his head with an ear-piercing shriek of victory… and Thorgil raised herself up and stabbed him between the chest plates below his neck. The victory scream stopped in midshriek. The dragonlet thrashed and beat at the knife, but the blow was mortal. He collapsed onto the shield maiden.

Jack immediately grabbed his stubby wings and pulled him off—fortunately, the creature was far lighter than he looked—but, to his horror, he saw Thorgil clawing at her face. Some of the dragonlet’s blood had splattered onto her and was raising blisters. He washed her frantically with the bag of drinking water and wiped her with his cloak. It seemed to help. She had blisters on one cheek and on her lips, but her eyes, thank goodness, had been spared.

Thorgil looked stunned. Her eyes were wild, and she seemed hardly aware of things around her. But after a moment she rallied and, clinging to Jack, hobbled out of the nest. He took her behind a boulder and ran back to retrieve what supplies he could find.

Her crutch had snapped in two in the dragon’s talons on the trip up. His staff was still intact, and he still had the gold chess piece, sun stone, and poppy juice in a pouch around his neck. The food was ruined. The water bag was empty. His cloak had gaping holes from where he’d dropped it in the dragonlet’s blood. So did the bag he’d used to carry Bold Heart. Jack decided to abandon them. He wanted to pull Thorgil’s knife free, but it was covered in gore and he was afraid to touch it.

Bold Heart, meanwhile, had hopped onto one of the stones encircling the nest. “You were wonderful!” Jack cried. “I had no idea you could talk Dragon.” The crow burbled, and Jack flinched and looked behind him. “All right, all right. You really can talk Dragon.”

Bold Heart strutted up and down as if to say, I am the greatest! I am the greatest! I’m the toughest crow in Middle Earth, and in Jotunheim, too!

“Yes, you are,” agreed Jack, “but you’d better hop aboard. We’ve got to find a hiding place before the dragon returns.” He lifted the crow to his shoulder and hurried back to Thorgil.

They squeezed between boulders, working their way back from the cliffs. Jack searched anxiously for a cave or a hole—anything that could conceal them from the dragon. He found nothing but a confusing jumble of rocks. Thorgil was tiring rapidly. It was amazing that she’d had the energy to kill the dragonlet. Now her strength flagged, and she leaned more and more on Jack.

Jack, too, was exhausted. Thorgil was hanging on to one shoulder and Bold Heart clutched the other. The wind on the high cliff was fierce, freezing, and continuous. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to walk.

Odin must really love me, Jack thought. I’m suffering enough for six Northmen. They staggered into a narrow ravine and concealed themselves as best they could in the shadows. The shadows, of course, were especially icy.

“We have to rest,” Jack whispered. “I have to rest. You were magnificent, Thorgil. I never dreamed anyone could be that brave.”

She said nothing.

“It’s all right to enjoy praise,” he said. “Olaf loved it. I can tell you, if we survive, I’ll make you the best poem a warrior ever had—you and Olaf, of course.”

Thorgil made a choking sound. Jack bent down, squinting in the shadows. Her lips were badly blistered, and he had a horrid thought. “Thorgil, open your mouth.” She did, and he saw, to his dismay, that her tongue was blistered too. She didn’t talk because she couldn’t.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Jack whispered, holding her. It was a sign of her utter weakness that she didn’t push him away. “I don’t have water, but I’ll look for ice.” He searched along the rocks until he found a pocket of snow. He brought it to her. She ate it, little by little, and it seemed to reduce the swelling of her tongue. At least she wasn’t choking anymore.

Jack leaned back and gazed at the strip of sky over their hiding place. He had no idea what to do. Out of habit, as he did whenever he was upset, Jack clutched the rune of protection around his neck. It was barely warm. Even it had little encouragement to add to their desperate situation.

Bold Heart crouched and moaned. It was unlike any sound he’d made before. Jack looked up and saw a blob of snow at the top of the ravine. Where had that come from? A second later it was joined by another blob, and another and another. Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh, said the first blob.

The other blobs responded with doglike barks, cackles, shrieks, and hisses. Hooo-uh! Hooo-uh! the first blob said emphatically. It was hard to see against the bright strip of sky, but Jack made out a huge, round head with yellow eyes. It was an enormous owl, big enough to carry off a lamb—or attack a pair of desperately weak humans. Bold Heart hid behind Jack.

Hooo-uh wuh-wuh-wuh! yelled the first owl. The others replied with a variety of indignant cries, working themselves into a frenzy. They fluffed their feathers, hunched their shoulders, and spread their wings. Krujff-guh-guh-guh! they shouted. They danced back and forth on fat, feathery legs.

Jack looked down to see Thorgil staring at them with a look of utter terror on her face. Thorgil scared? She’d stood up to dragons!

A terrible, wailing scream echoed over the cliffs. The owls exploded from their perch in a flurry of wings. Jack heard an ominous creaking. The dragon had discovered the destruction of her nest.

“I don’t think she can see us,” Jack whispered to Thorgil. “Stay still. We should wait until she gets tired of hunting.” But the dragon didn’t get tired for a long time. Back and forth she went, searching the cliffs. Her shadow passed overhead several times as the sun slowly worked its way across the sky. The shadow in the ravine became deeper.

When it seemed the dragon was far away, Jack crept out and filled the water skin with snow. He trickled it into Thorgil’s mouth and a little into Bold Heart’s beak. He himself sucked on fragments of ice he found on the rocks. It was all they had and all they would have.

At last the dragon appeared to settle down. They heard occasional outbursts of grief, but the position of the creature didn’t move. “Mm,” said Thorgil, grasping Jack’s hand.

“What is it? Do you want water?”

“Mm!” the girl insisted. She still couldn’t talk. She pulled at Jack and pointed down the ravine.

“That’s not the way to the ice mountain,” he said, “but I suppose it doesn’t matter. We can’t get down the cliff, and we’ll freeze to death here.” With afternoon, the wind had picked up and was whistling through the ravine. Jack lifted Bold Heart, who seemed noticeably weaker. None of them had eaten much for days. The bird’s injured wing drooped and his feet were clumsy. He didn’t have a covering of feathers on his legs like the owls.

Jack’s body ached with tiredness, but he put one arm around Thorgil and used the staff to steady them both. Bold Heart clung to his shoulder. The ravine was full of loose rocks, and their progress was slow. They went down and down as the cliffs towered up and up until it was almost dark at the bottom. They came to a place where the trail—if it was a trail—divided. Jack stopped. He was so exhausted, he couldn’t make up his mind.

Thorgil, however, had no problem. She firmly steered him to the left. They came to more divides. Each time, Thorgil chose a direction, almost as if she knew where they were going. Jack didn’t care. At least someone was making decisions.

To his very great surprise, they came out into a little valley full of trees. A stream chuckled down the middle, and on either side were bushes full of raspberries and blueberries. The ground was covered with tiny mountain strawberries. The air was warm and sweet.

“Oh, Thorgil,” murmured Jack. He sat her down on a bed of clover and hurried to gather fruit. All three of them feasted, though he had to squash the berries and drip the juice into Thorgil’s mouth. Bold Heart gorged himself.

Jack hid two more drops of poppy juice in the berries he fed the shield maiden. He wasn’t sure if this was wise, but it seemed she would never survive if she didn’t rest. Soon she was stretched out on the clover, snoring. Her face was more peaceful than it had been since… well, since forever, Jack thought.

The light turned blue with evening, and a mist rose from the stream. Jack walked along the edge. It was hard to feel that anything could go wrong in this place. Everything was so peaceful. Flowers—ordinary flowers, not troll-blossoms that wanted to kill you—grew on the mossy banks. Mushrooms of all shapes and colors dotted fallen logs.

Jack bent down to fill the water bag. The stream was warm—not hot, just warm enough to feel nice. He bathed his face and hands. Then he stretched out beside Thorgil and Bold Heart. They had only one cloak, but it was enough in the soft, sweet air of the little valley. Jack went to sleep watching the bright chips of stars in the dark sky overhead.