The Sea of Trolls

Chapter Thirty-seven THE QUEEN’S GIFTS

“Skkkrrrnnk—wha? What was that?” said Queen Glamdis as she came awake.

“Great Queen, we have returned,” said Jack.

“I’ve told you not to use that ‘Great Queen’ stuff on me,” Glamdis said crossly. “Call me Mother.”

“Yes, Mother,” said both Jack and Thorgil.

“Well? Was it successful? Did you find Mimir’s Well?”

“Yes, Great—er, Mother,” said Jack.

“Good. I never know what the Norns are going to do. Sometimes they send people into a dark wood to wander.”

“Why do you entertain the Norns?” Thorgil asked. “It can’t be interesting, watching them play chess.”

“You’d be surprised,” the Mountain Queen said. “I learn all sorts of things about what’s going to happen. Most of it’s sad, of course. People die. Whole islands disappear under the sea. I feel it gives me a certain control over the future. I saw Olaf’s death long before it happened.”

“You did?” Thorgil’s eyes were wide.

“Such as he could never live to old age.” The Mountain Queen sighed. “He was too grand and too impossibly pigheaded. Well! I see I can’t offer you any food here. Why don’t we go to the harem, and I’ll ask the louts to fix us some snacks.”

They walked down the long room, Queen Glamdis leading and Jack and Thorgil following behind. The golden chess pieces were strewn across the playing board. “Why do you serve the Norns food when they don’t seem to eat?” Jack asked, eyeing the bowls full of dust.

“They like to wither things,” Glamdis replied. “Turning bread to mold and fruit to slime is as good as a feast to them. I gave up trying to understand Norns years ago.”

The meal in the harem was one of the best memories Jack took away from Jotunheim. Bolthorn presided over the festivities, and Golden Bristles and Bold Heart joined in. Two louts sang a wandering, tuneless kind of song while others danced the Jotunheim Reel. It was loud and cheerful, with much stamping. Fonn directed a play about the retreat from Utgard across the breaking ice.

They ate surprisingly good pastries, meat pies, and flummery—the best kind, with nutmeg and cream. Thorgil went into raptures over each new dish. “I had no idea things could taste so good!” she exclaimed. “This is all so delicious!”

“Is she all right?” whispered Queen Glamdis to Jack.

“Just crazy in a new way,” Jack whispered back.

They left early in the morning, as dawn reddened the hall of the Mountain Queen. Glamdis and her family accompanied them down the long tunnels to the bottom of the mountain. For a people who had haunted Jack’s nightmares so long, he was surprisingly sad to leave them. “I can’t believe one of you bit off Tree Foot’s leg,” he said as they came out to the cold, windswept courtyard at the beginning of the U-shaped valley.

“Believe it,” said Fonn. “Humans and trolls have been at war for a long time. We have a truce for the moment, to honor Olaf One-Brow, but we battle for the same lands. When winter ruled the earth, so did we. Now summer comes on and we are weakened. But we will never give up.”

“And neither will we,” Thorgil cried. She was dressed in wolverine fur with smart little boots and a new sword at her belt. “To refuse battle would do neither of us honor.”

“We will meet at Ragnarok,” said Fonn gravely.

“At Ragnarok!” shrilled Thorgil.

Bold Heart, who was perched on Jack’s shoulder, cawed and shook his head.

“I give you these parting gifts,” said the Mountain Queen, signaling to a young lout. He brought out cloaks of a material Jack couldn’t identify. They shimmered like the light off a glacier, and they smelled sharp and sweet at the same time. “They’re made of silk we harvest from the spiders that live in our forests,” the queen said.

How do you get silk from a spider? thought Jack, who only understood how to shear sheep.

“You may have noticed the curtains in our halls. They’re of the same substance, strong enough to withstand the heaviest storm and light enough to wear comfortably. This silk has the property of taking on the colors around it. These cloaks will hide you from the dragon.” Glamdis held up the garments. They were long and roomy. The hoods would easily conceal a face. Jack saw their color shift from ice white to the dark blue of the Mountain Queen’s dress.

“Thank you, Great Queen—I mean, Mother,” said Jack, bowing. “This is indeed generous.”

“I’m deeply honored,” said Thorgil, bowing as well.

“Don’t go near the rocks on either side of the valley. Walk next to the river. Travel by dark. Hide by day. When you reach the forest, go north around the field of flowers. The elk have made trails. You should come out on the fjord and meet your friends.”

Jack was dressed in his marten-fur coat and the cowskin boots that gripped the ice. He carried Olaf’s sun stone for Skakki and the bottle of song-mead from Mimir’s Well for Rune in a bag around his neck. Thorgil wore the little silver hammer she’d been given by Olaf. Both of them had sacks of provisions and various weapons.

Last of all, the queen gestured to Bolthorn, who came out with Jack’s staff wrapped in cloth. “You take it,” Bolthorn said, holding it out as though it were a poisonous snake.

“I thought about casting it into the chasm beneath my window,” said the queen. “Then I thought about keeping it from you. It’s the staff of a fire wizard. I last saw one when Dragon Tongue visited, and I can’t tell you how much trouble he caused. Still, it would be unworthy to steal from a guest. You may take it home with you, but be warned. If you ever return with that in your possession, you’ll find out right away whether we trolls bite off legs.” She grinned, showing her dainty—but businesslike—fangs.

“I promise,” said Jack, bowing again. He hefted the staff. It had turned black, but it wasn’t burned. It had called out flame from the heart of Jotunheim and, in the process, had gone beyond fire to something harder and stronger. Jack felt a faint thrumming in the wood when he put his hand on it.

They said farewell then, thanking the Jotuns again for their generosity. Jack hugged Golden Bristles as best he could, given his short arms and the boar’s huge neck. “Good-bye, piggy,” he said. “I wish you could come along, but you wouldn’t find much welcome in Middle Earth.” The troll-boar whuffled and nuzzled Jack’s hair.

Then Jack, Thorgil, and Bold Heart set off down the U-shaped valley to the distant forest. For a while they could hear Forath singing a farewell whale-song. I wish she wouldn’t do that, Jack thought. It makes me feel so dreadfully sad. They turned after a mile and looked back. The ice mountain seemed unmarked. They couldn’t make out any windows, turrets, walkways, or doors. It was as though the Jotuns had folded themselves inside and all the glaciers and ice crags were deserted.

“This cloak smells weird,” said Thorgil. They were tucked into a deep side channel of the river. They had to lie on a sandbar crusted with ice. The wind scoured the ground just above their heads, but they were hidden from the dragon. Jack had shared out meat pies and cider.

“It’s made of spider silk. Maybe spiders smell weird. I’ve never been close enough to tell,” he said. Bold Heart was huddled against him, pecking meat shreds from Jack’s hand.

“I keep expecting the cloth to be sticky.”

“Just don’t walk through a swarm of flies.”

“This is so boring,” Thorgil fumed. “Why can’t we go out in daylight if the cloaks can hide us?”

“The queen had some reason for telling us to lie low.”

“The dragon can’t see us. There’s nothing else out here. You can see for miles.” Thorgil balled up her cloak and jammed it into the sand.

The dragon had been visible for some time as a puff of smoke by day and a red fire at night. Occasionally, she spread her wings and floated over the valley, looking for prey. So far she hadn’t got anything.

I wonder if she’s laid more eggs, Jack thought. He felt vaguely guilty about killing her brood, but they hadn’t had a choice.

“I’m bored,” said Thorgil. The new Thorgil was almost as annoying as the old one. She no longer fell into mindless rages—though she was perfectly capable of getting angry—but she was filled with a thirst for new experiences. She had missed so much in her former life that every rock and clump of moss enthralled her. She wanted more and more and more entertainment, to make up for lost time. Sitting with her for hours was sheer torture.

“Why can’t we find out whether the dragon can see us?” she complained. “We could always run back here.”

“Because,” Jack said for the tenth time that day, “once the dragon notices us, she isn’t going to give up. She’ll check every nook and cranny.”

“Bold Heart could talk to her. Tell her we taste bad or something.”

“She’s not going to believe him,” Jack said. Bold Heart had revealed—and Thorgil had translated—that he’d told the dragon she had a rival at the other end of the valley. He’d worked her into such a rage, she’d sailed off to do battle. Then he’d incited the green dragonlet to kill his sisters.

“I suppose not,” grumbled Thorgil. She felt for the rune at her neck.

Jack watched her with a sick feeling of loss. “You can’t take it off, you know,” he said. “Once removed it can never be returned.”

“You’ve told me that about a thousand times. I’m never going to take it off. It makes me feel safe.”

I know, thought Jack sadly. He smoothed the feathers on Bold Heart’s head. The crow nibbled his fingers. The wind whistled and howled, and from a great distance they heard the dragon scream. She did this regularly, whether from rage or merely for exercise Jack didn’t know. It was when she was silent that they had to worry.

“I’m bored. Tell me a story,” said Thorgil.

Jack had gone through his entire collection in the days they’d spent crossing the valley. He’d told her all of Father’s gory martyrdom tales and all of the Bard’s sagas and even all of Lucy’s bedtime stories. He’d described every inch of the farm and every rock on the beach back home. He was almost reduced to introducing her to the black-faced sheep. He stood up and looked over the edge of the embankment.

The forest wasn’t that far away. The dragon had sounded as though she was flying away from them, perhaps back to her nest. He shaded his eyes. He thought he saw a puff of smoke from the distant cliff.

“We might make it,” he said.

“What! Really?” cried Thorgil, popping up to look around the valley.

“That’s where Olaf’s funeral pyre was, and there’s the trail into the forest,” Jack said. “It should take only a couple of hours. I don’t know. Maybe we should wait for dusk.”

But Thorgil had already shouldered her bags and wrapped herself up in the cloak. She was out before he could stop her.

“Stop! Don’t you ever think anything through?” Jack hurried after her while struggling with his own carrying bags and cloak. Bold Heart sailed overhead.

Jack had to admit it was a lot nicer traveling by day. They kept bumping into things in the dark or falling on patches of ice. The sunlight was exhilarating, and even the wind wasn’t bad in their warm clothes. The Jotuns had certainly been generous. Jack wondered for the first time why they had clothes that fit human children. No, he thought. They couldn’t have. But he didn’t really know. There was a war between Jotunheim and Middle Earth. Children might not be safer here than they’d been in Gizur’s village.

“Isn’t this fine?” Thorgil chirruped. Jack could hardly see her under the silk cloak. She looked as clear as a soap bubble. He supposed he was equally hidden, except for his hand gripping the ash wood staff. Jack was of two minds about the staff. He could keep it at the ready. Or he could sling it on his back and depend on stealth. He slung it onto his back under the cloak. He wasn’t sure he could raise fire in a hurry, and anyhow, what difference did fire make to a dragon?

Jack looked back occasionally to see whether the dragon had moved. A thin column of smoke put his fears to rest.

“Those boulders are such interesting colors,” Thorgil said. “I used to think they were all gray, but they aren’t. Some are like oyster shells and others are like fog and still others are speckled like a robin’s egg. And the shadows! You’d think they were the same, but some are dark and others are bright and—oh, look at that one!—it’s purple.”

Save me from Thorgil’s enthusiasm, Jack silently prayed. He thought he’d never miss her rages and sulks. At least when she was sulking she was quiet.

The forest drew ever nearer. The dragon seemed content to roost. Things might actually work out, Jack thought. They were still walking along the river, and to their right, at the edge of the valley where it went up into the surrounding hills, was a huge cream-colored boulder. Around it was a cluster of cream-colored rocks.

“Isn’t that sweet?” Thorgil warbled. “It’s like a mother rock with her babies.”

Wonderful, thought Jack. Now we’re going to stop and pet the baby rocks. A long scream echoed over the valley. “Run, Thorgil! The dragon’s up!” yelled Jack. She reacted instantly. She might sound featherbrained, but the shield maiden of old was still underneath.

“Hide in the rocks,” Thorgil cried. “We’re not going to make the trees.”

“Wait!” Jack shouted, trying to keep up with her. “The queen told us to stay away from them.”

“No time!” She reached the rocks first and crouched down. The cloak instantly took on a cream color. Thorgil was even the right size, though a little lumpier than the others. Jack threw himself down beside her. They both fought to regain their breath as the dragon—to go by her cries—zigzagged back and forth over the valley.

“She can’t see us. I told you she couldn’t see us,” whispered Thorgil.

“I hope she leaves soon. This is uncomfortable,” said Jack.

“Lean against the rocks…. I say!”

“What?”

“This one’s soft,” said Thorgil.

Jack felt the surface by his side. It was soft. The dragon’s cries retreated up the valley toward the ice mountain. He opened the cloak slightly to look. The rocks were all the same size, which was odd in itself, and the odor they gave off was so intense, it made him queasy. “This place smells like—”

The giant boulder suddenly stood up on eight giant legs and began frantically gathering the little rocks into a silk bag.