Nancy - The Islands of the Blessed

“Gaaahhhh,” sighed Schlaup.

“That means he’s located Mrs. Tanner,” Skakki said. He handed the giant a flaming torch to light the way. “Go with good fortune, my brother, and may Heimdall’s eyes aid you, young skald,” he said, invoking the Northman god who guarded Asgard. “Find Tanners!”

Schlaup was off like a hound after a fox. He bounded through darkened streets and across the small gardens many of the townspeople maintained. His feet flattened cabbages, lettuces, and broad beans. Around and through the warren of houses he went, with Jack clinging on desperately and the flames of the torch streaming back.

They passed beyond the edge of town and entered an area of widely spaced hovels. It smelled vile, and Jack realized they had reached the dwellings of those who worked at trades normal folk wouldn’t tolerate nearby. The reek of tanneries, the eye-watering tang of chicken manure, the choking fume of smelters were almost unbearable even at this time of night.

Schlaup stopped abruptly and emitted a sigh of pure happiness. He plucked Jack off his neck, shoving the torch into the boy’s hands. “She’s in there,” he whispered, pointing at a structure surrounded by steaming pits.

Jack shaded his eyes, trying to see what kind of place they’d come to. It seemed to be a wasteland, far from other buildings. The hovel in front of them was slowly collapsing on one side, like a giant beast frozen in the act of lying down. The pits, to go by the stench, were filled with hides soaking in urine. A tannery, then. It wasn’t surprising. Mrs. Tanner’s husband had followed that craft until he staggered out drunk one night and drowned in one of his own pits.

This dwelling wasn’t even as tall as a man. Jack guessed you’d have to crawl through the door to get to bed, though he couldn’t glorify that entrance with the word door. It was merely a hole with a leather curtain in front of it.

Schlaup didn’t bother with the curtain. He peeled back the roof and felt around inside. “Troll-flower,” he warbled, lifting a shrieking Mrs. Tanner in his hands. More screams erupted from the darkness.

“All of you, be quiet!” ordered Jack. He didn’t want the neighbors aroused. “Your lives depend on silence. I’ll call up demons if you don’t behave.”

The screams stopped, and Jack heard muttering and rustling from inside. “It’s that wizard,” a voice whispered. All at once the leather curtain fell back and Ymma and Ythla scuttled out.

“Fetch Tanners,” Jack commanded.

Schlaup scooped them up easily and held all three in a hearty embrace. “Nice,” he cooed.

A man attempted an escape, and Jack held him at bay with the torch. “If you move one inch, I’ll tell my friend to bite off your head,” the boy said. The man fell to his knees.

“I didn’t know it was stolen,” he blubbered. “My sister showed up and demanded I take her in. She’s that pushy, her and her brats. What was I to do? It’s not my fault.”

“You didn’t know what was stolen?” Jack demanded.

“Shut your mouth!” said Mrs. Tanner.

“You shut yours, you hag!” the man retorted. “That bell, sir. Beautiful it was, all red-gold and shining. I should have known it wasn’t a gift as she said. I thought about selling it to the monastery, but Father Severus is merciless. If he knew the bell was hot goods, we’d be flogged within an inch of our lives.”

“I thought you didn’t know it was stolen,” Jack said.

“Oh, I didn’t! I was only trying to avoid the appearance of evil.” The man rocked back and forth as though praying.

“Where is it?” Jack said.

“In there.” The man gestured at the hovel. “I’ll fetch it—”

“ I’ll fetch it.”

The man crawled inside and Jack followed him, holding the torch away from anything flammable. “In there, sir. Under that heap of sheepskins.”

Almost gagging from the smell, Jack removed the skins one by one. They hadn’t been cured yet, and the odor of rotten meat filled the air. The boy carefully pulled up the last pelt and there, shining in the leaping torchlight, was Fair Lamenting. It bore no stain, though the skins had been coated with blood. It was as pure as when it had been first smelted.

Jack looked for something to wrap the bell in, but nothing was clean, so he used his robe. As he felt within, to still the clapper, his hand met only air. “Where’s the clapper?” he said.

“Well, sir.” The man started to back away. “This morning I gave the bell a couple of shakes, just to check its quality you see, and Ymma screamed that it was magic. It would call up a monster—”

“You did what?” Jack shouted. Schlaup was attracted by the noise and leaned over the ruined roof to see what was happening.

“Don’t let him eat me, sir! I just dinged it a couple of times, and it made the prettiest sound. I felt like an innocent lad again with my whole life ahead of me. But Ymma, she grabbed the bell and yanked its clapper out. Used my pliers. I can get another one, sir. There’s metalworkers all over this town—”

“Where’s the original?” Jack felt sick. There was no way to make a replacement. No mortal had the skill to craft the beautiful Salmon of Knowledge or open the way between this world and the others.

“Ymma thought it was silver. She took it to a blacksmith, but he said it was only iron.”

“Then what happened?” Jack was beside himself with fury. If it had been the old days when he still possessed his bard’s staff, he was sure he could have called up an earthquake.

Ymma was hanging over the roof, clutched tightly in Schlaup’s arms. Her sister and mother were wedged beside her. “You’d better tell him,” Mrs. Tanner said.

“Oh, be gone with you,” the girl said rudely. “You’re only trying to shift the blame.”

“You pounded it,” her mother snarled.

“You told me to,” Ymma retorted. “She said people would recognize the fish and we should beat it flat. So I did. The blacksmith traded me onions for it.”

Jack felt dizzy with dismay. This was the worst thing that could possibly have happened. That marvelous work of art had been turned into an ugly lump of iron. Could it still call up the voice of Fair Lamenting? And could he tell it apart from all the other lumps of iron the blacksmith probably had?

Suddenly, he realized this wasn’t his only problem.

The bell had been rung.

A couple of dings, Mrs. Tanner’s brother had said. It had been enough to make that scoundrel feel innocent. Had it been enough to call the draugr? Was she already on her way?

Jack heard a crow call somewhere in the distance. He looked up to see that the rim of the eastern sky had turned blue. “It’s almost dawn,” the boy said with a groan. “Schlaup, can you carry all of us? We’ll leave the man behind.”

“Sure,” said the giant.

Jack crawled outside and threw the torch away. He felt desperately tired and discouraged. “Put me on your shoulders, my friend, and don’t drop any of the Tanners.”

The giant easily balanced his captives while hoisting Jack up. The boy cradled the bell against his stomach and put his arms around Schlaup’s forehead.

“What do you think you’re doing!” cried Mrs. Tanner. “You can’t send us back to those pillaging Northmen!” Jack ignored her.

“I always said he was a nasty wizard,” Ymma said.

“It’s not Christian to take revenge,” Ythla added, weeping.

A breeze stirred, wafting away the noisome smell of the tannery. More birds called—sparrows, larks, wrens. “You’ll have to hurry, Schlaup,” Jack said wearily. “Find ship!”

The giant bounded away with the Tanners wailing and the wind whipping through Jack’s hair. They passed a farmer checking his hens, and the man ran away, leaving the cage door open. Schlaup narrowly missed stepping on a drunk sleeping in an alley. Other than that, they encountered no one.