Nancy Farmer - The Islands of the Blessed

“Halt! No one goes farther!” shouted their captain. “Where’ve you come from?”

“The harbor,” said Jack.

“Then go back to your ship. No one enters Bebba’s Town.”

“Why not? Has there been an invasion?”

The captain laughed bitterly. “Aye, you could say that. Flying venom has struck this town.”

“Flying venom!” echoed Jack. “How bad is it?”

“It burns you with fever. Or it enters the lungs and you drown. No matter what it does, in the end you die. So far it has been contained in the monastery, but Father Severus has ordered us to keep all folk indoors and all travelers away.”

“What about King Brutus?” Thorgil asked.

The captain spat. “Don’t worry about him. He feasts every night with his courtiers. We can smell the food and hear fine music, but none enter or leave. It is said the Lady of the Lake keeps him company.”

Jack’s mind was whirling with possibilities. This had to be the disease the draugr breathed into the face of Mrs. Tanner’s brother. “We must see King Brutus at once,” he said.

“Not likely! His gates are locked.”

“What about Father Severus?” Jack said.

“The monastery is the last place you want to be,” the captain said. He crossed himself and his men followed suit. “When the disease spread from their infirmary to the monks, Father Severus ordered the monastery doors sealed. They will not be opened until spring.”

“But the monks will die!” cried Jack. Ethne will die, he thought.

“Aye, and find welcome in Heaven. Go back to your ship, young travelers, and thank God for such saints as Father Severus. There hasn’t been a case of flying venom since he sealed their doors.”

“We’ll take our chances,” said Jack, with more courage than he felt. He stood as tall as possible, with the white robe of St. Columba about his shoulders and the staff at his side.

“You will not,” the captain replied. “We’ve been given orders to slay those who disobey.” His men fanned out across the road. They grasped their knives, clubs, and axes.

Orders from Father Severus, no doubt, the boy thought. He wondered how many hapless travelers had been killed with those crude weapons.

“Return or die!”

Jack began to speak. He didn’t know where the words came from, or even what language they were. But the meaning hovered briefly in his mind:

I arise today through the strength of Heaven,

Light of sun, brilliance of moon,

Splendor of fire, speed of lightning,

Swiftness of wind, depth of sea,

Stability of earth, firmness of rock.

I summon today all these powers

Between me and this evil.

A light filled the air around him. He placed the robe of St. Columba around Thorgil, and the light covered her as well.

“Where are they? What happened to them?” shouted the captain of the Saxons. The men scattered along the road, probing bushes with their clubs.

“It’s wizardry!” one of them cried. “Satan is after us!” At that, all the men panicked and fled, with the captain following and bawling orders at them.

They aren’t like Northmen, Jack thought with grim humor. Northmen would take on Satan without thinking twice. And that was because they didn’t think in the first place.

“What just happened?” whispered Thorgil.

“Walk with me,” Jack said. They continued along the road, and presently the captain passed them without his men. He was shading his eyes and trying to find any trace of the fugitives. Jack had to credit him with bravery.

The road took them into town, and they saw another group of watchmen patrolling the market square. When anyone appeared, he was stopped and escorted to his destination. People were still being allowed to trade, but their movements were controlled. What incredible authority Father Severus must have, Jack thought, to make the townsfolk so obedient.

They walked past houses with gardens and chicken pens. Farther on, the dwellings were humbler, but the farms were more extensive. All was orderly, if very, very subdued.

The fortress of Din Guardi sat on its stone shelf over the sea, but there was little about it to strike fear into the heart of enemies. No army of berserkers would be dismayed by the pretty pink towers or stonework carved to resemble vines. Still, it was solidly built and the gate was closed. You couldn’t just walk in, as the Bard had before.

Jack felt the light around them drift away. He took a deep breath.

“Now will you tell me what happened?” demanded Thorgil. “You cast a spell in a strange language and turned us invisible. I didn’t know you had that kind of magic.”

“Neither did I,” admitted Jack. “I think that was a lorica, a warding-spell. I saw the Bard do it, but he couldn’t teach it to me. He said that the words came when needed and that you couldn’t remember them afterward.”

“I could,” boasted Thorgil, and then stopped. “By the Aesir, I can’t! What good is a spell you can’t call up at will?”

“I think it’s something you can’t own,” said Jack. “Anyhow, we’re visible now, and we should ask for help from King Brutus. I’m very worried about Ethne.”

Not only was the gate closed, but the windows on the landward side appeared to have been bricked up. A sheer cliff prevented them from looking on the seaward side. “Do you think they’re dead?” said Thorgil.

“Listen,” Jack said. Above the waves they heard singing and laughter. A breeze brought them the smell of roasting meat.

“Nidhogg’s fangs!” swore the shield maiden, naming the dragon that gnawed at the roots of Yggdrassil. “Brutus is feasting while his people suffer! No Northman king would sink so low. Even Ivar at his most foolish looked after his folk in winter.”

“I wonder if Brutus even knows what’s going on out here,” Jack said.

“Can you use your new powers to knock down the gate?”

“Perhaps,” Jack said doubtfully. He stood in front of the massive wooden doors and tried to draw up fire, but nothing happened. Only the sounds of merriment floated out to mock him. “I don’t know how to use St. Columba’s staff,” he admitted. “Sometimes it obeys me, but mostly it does things I don’t expect.”

“We’ll have to go on to the monastery,” Thorgil said.

“I had hoped…” Jack trailed off as he gazed unhappily at the lovely green stonework at the top of the wall. The Lady of the Lake had decorated it with jeweled flowers. How much of the fortress was real and how much was glamour he couldn’t tell. It was still a barrier he couldn’t cross. “I had hoped to find Ethne inside. The Bard wanted King Brutus to rescue her and make her his queen.”

“I don’t think there’s much chance of that.” Thorgil hefted her pack, and they set off in the direction of St. Filian’s. Jack resigned himself to a long walk, but when they passed a field containing a few stray ponies, the shield maiden whistled sharply. Two of the ponies looked up and cantered toward them.

“How did you do that?” Jack said with admiration.

Thorgil shrugged. “It’s like the lorica, I guess. It just happens.”

The shield maiden’s pony accepted her gladly, but Jack’s danced around so much, she had to calm it by whispering into its ear. Even so, it hunched its back and made every effort to make the ride uncomfortable. “Let’s stop for a few minutes,” said Jack when they got to the pine forest overlooking St. Filian’s. “I need to think.” He gratefully slid off his pony and found a comfortable patch of grass.

The walls below were beautifully whitewashed, but Jack thought the gardens and orchards looked neglected. The lake had invaded some of the fields, and a long tongue of water lapped at the monastery door. To one side was the small white convent. “We should go there if we can’t get into St. Filian’s,” Jack said. “Perhaps the nuns weren’t infected.”