Nancy Farmer - The Sea of Trolls

Finally, Frith caught her at it and ordered her penned in Freya’s cart. There things became slightly better. At least the priest of Freya fed her regularly. But long days went by without anything happening at all, and so Lucy slipped away.

“Where did you go?” Jack asked, holding her in the darkness.

“To the real queen. She was good to me because she loved me. She gave me a beautiful room. There was a tree covered with honey cakes, and a little dog, too. It had a green collar with silver bells. I could hear it running through the castle.” On and on Lucy went, spinning out the tale Father had told her over and over ever since she was born.

Jack didn’t try to argue with her. In Heide’s land the winters were long and dark. People’s spirits wandered so that they did not go mad, but when spring came, their spirits returned. As had Lucy’s.

I can’t believe I never noticed all these colors,” Thorgil enthused, watching the waves slide by. “Those clouds! They’re like fresh milk. And the wind smells so good!”

“Didn’t she say that yesterday?” Skakki muttered. He was taking his duties as captain very seriously, checking the sail, inspecting the oars, and turning the sun stone back and forth to study how it worked.

Sven the Vengeful watched the horizon for signs of land. “Yes, she did,” he said, squinting at the line between earth and sky.

“And she’ll say it tomorrow,” Rune added. “Get used to it.”

“Look at the brightness over the water,” said Jack, holding his sister up. “That’s where the Islands of the Blessed lie.”

“Where Bold Heart came from,” Lucy said.

“What? You’re right!” cried Sven. “That brightness does mean land.” The warriors shipped the oars and made for it. Presently, Jack saw a barren, windswept shore loom up out of the gray-green water, but the gentle light moved on beyond it as though something else lay shining beyond the margin of the sea.

“There’s your Islands of the Blessed,” said Sven, laughing and pointing at the crude turf houses among the rocks.

“He’s wrong,” whispered Lucy.

“Yes, he is,” Jack whispered back.

Wild-eyed cattle stood in the surf and munched seaweed. The inhabitants of the village came out with axes and hoes, but when they recognized Sven, they laid them down. Skakki had brought trade goods—furs, sea ivory, and amber—but he didn’t waste much time on this forsaken island. It was simply a place to get freshwater and stretch your legs.

But to Jack it was the farthest reach of his native soil. He was Here and not There. He treasured every pebble and stunted blade of grass. As they sailed on, his excitement grew until he was almost as giddy as Thorgil. Both of them exclaimed over each new island until Skakki begged them to stop.

Now the land was continuous, broken only by streams and inlets. The air smelled of heather, and a few crows came out to inspect the ship. Bold Heart talked to them for a long time. “He’s not saying anything important,” Thorgil said. “Just ‘How are you?’ and ‘Nice weather we’re having.’”

“He’s taking a very long time for something that simple,” Jack said, as he had before. “Aren’t you leaving something out?”

“You’ll never know,” Thorgil said happily.

They came to the wide bay and the town where Jack had almost been traded to Picts. He looked with dislike at the fine wharf and prosperous houses. These were people who dealt in slaves. They asked no questions about how the Northmen obtained their captives. They merely bought them as you might buy apples.

Here, too, Skakki spent little time. He and Sven went into town to see merchants while the rest of the warriors made camp. They would sail at dawn. “Why aren’t we waiting for market day?” Jack asked Rune as they sat around a fire roasting gobbets of meat on sticks.

“The goods we carry can be traded privately and quickly,” the old warrior said. “We have no time to waste. I can feel the storms brewing in my bones.”

“We’ll make up for it next time,” one of the men volunteered.

Jack stared at him. “What does that mean? ‘Next time’?”

“Oh, um…” The Northman seemed to have trouble thinking of an answer.

“It means they’ll come raiding,” Rune said.

Jack was flabbergasted. The thought had simply not crossed his mind. “No!” he cried.

“They’re warriors,” Rune said.

“They don’t have to be! They can farm.”

“We have barely enough decent land to feed ourselves in a good year. Most of our years are bad. We live by trade and plunder.”

“You’re worse than trolls!” Jack shouted. There was a murmur of anger among the assembled Northmen, but Jack didn’t care. He’d been lulled into thinking of these people as friends. They were still foul, evil destroyers!

“Listen well, young skald,” said Rune, and he looked dangerous in spite of his age and many scars. “When you visited Jotunheim, you were protected by the Mountain Queen. You may have a rosy picture of Jotuns, but let me assure you that they’re capable of slaughtering whole villages down to the youngest child. They’re enemies, though they have honor.”

“Yes, well, you don’t have to imitate them,” said Jack.

“Need drives us. Nothing you or I say is going to change that. Skakki has taken an oath not to harm your village, but no such oath stands between him and others of your kind.”

Jack couldn’t believe his ears. Kind, likeable Rune, who’d saved him from Olaf’s wrath and given him his best poem, had turned into a monster. Jack felt betrayed.

“For a long time you felt safe on your little island,” Rune went on. “The ocean protected you. Your lives were as warm and friendly as a summer afternoon. But your land was too beautiful, and so, like all bright things, it attracted destruction.”

“Like Hrothgar’s hall,” Jack murmured.

“Frothi destroyed Hrothgar’s joy, and her sister Frith brought desolation to you. Now that such attention has been drawn here, it will not turn away. Tales of the Holy Isle’s wealth have echoed throughout our lands,” said Rune. “Even now Magnus the Mauler and Einar the Ear-Hoarder are building ships and planning war.”

“It’s so unfair,” whispered Jack. He looked across the beach to where evening shadows were gathering. In the blue dark between the houses he thought he saw a Pict.

“Life and death are in constant battle. There’s no way in this world for happiness to exist alone,” said the old warrior.

“But what are we to do?”

“Wake up,” Rune said simply.

When night came, Jack stayed on the ship with Lucy. He didn’t want her to meet any Picts, and he didn’t want to talk to the Northmen. Skakki and Sven returned, clanking with many new weapons. They’d had a successful day. Late into the night Jack heard them singing and playing their silly games. Thorgil got into a belching contest with Eric Pretty-Face and won.

They sailed past the lonely towers of the Picts. There was never anyone around them, and Jack never saw friendly trails of smoke to show anyone was warming himself or cooking a meal. The few villages appeared deserted as well. Bold Heart went off with a flock of crows.

“He’s leaving us!” Lucy cried in alarm.

It wouldn’t surprise me, Jack thought. Everyone here is evil and faithless. But Bold Heart returned at evening. After that he took many trips to the mainland, to Thorgil’s annoyance.

“He has such interesting things to say,” she complained. “Not like the other birds.”

“Too bad,” Jack said, turning his back on her.

“Those are really nice trees on the shore,” she said. “What are they called?”