Nancy - The Islands of the Blessed

Jack looked back to see the land disappearing in the distance. “Will I ever return?” he said, suddenly close to tears.

“Of course. I have done so many times,” said the Bard. “Once you learn the paths in the hazel wood, you can go to quite a lot of places, not all of them nice.”

“But what of Mother and Father, Hazel and Pega? I can’t just abandon them!”

“You can watch over them. That is part of the high calling of a bard, but there is always a price to pay for such power and responsibility. It is to serve all life, not just a little corner of it. Don’t grieve, lad. If it puts your mind at rest, the Blewits have moved into the old Roman house and Hazel won’t have to leave the village. They decided it was better to be mud-struck than risk losing her. Pega has found the love she always deserved with your family. I think you’ll find that most of the time people get along just fine on their own.”

The sun passed zenith and turned toward the west. The Bard brought out hard-boiled eggs, bread, and a bag of cider.

They talked of many things, and the time passed quickly. Little by little Jack’s sorrow lifted.

In late afternoon they saw the islands shining in the distance. A breeze brought them the scent of apples and land birds began to circle the coracle. As they approached, the sea became clear, as though they were sailing through the sky. They passed one island, then another and another. One had a green hill on which horses grazed.

“Look! Oh, look!” shouted Thorgil. A woman and a dog were standing on the shore. The woman raised her hand in greeting. “It’s Mother,” cried Thorgil, bursting into tears. “She looks so young. And that’s Maeve, who saved me from the wolves. Oh, can’t I stop? Can’t I stay here?”

“Another time.” The Bard waved back at Allyson and Maeve. “You can visit after you’ve studied awhile at the School of Bards. Don’t worry. They’ll understand.”

“ Thorgil’s going to the School of Bards?” said Jack, outraged. She hadn’t learned nearly as much magic and poetry as he had.

“Jealousy is not encouraged here,” the old man said severely. “She may not be the same kind of student as you, but she’s just as qualified.”

“So there,” said Thorgil, sticking out her tongue. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “I feel torn up inside, miserable and happy at once. I don’t like it.”

“It’s one of the things that happens when you serve the life force,” the Bard said. “Ah! We’ve arrived at the school for apprentice bards.” They had come to a large island with mountains and valleys and forests, but at the top of a small hill close to shore was a gray building every bit as grim as St. Filian’s Monastery.

“Apprentice bards?” said Jack, somewhat upset. “I thought I’d got beyond that.”

“You’ve come a long way, lad, no mistake. I’m very proud of you. But the study is difficult and you don’t accomplish it in a few years. As you improve your skills, you will move deeper into the island.”

Jack suddenly became aware of the cloak and staff he carried. “Is St. Columba going to be angry with me for taking his belongings?”

“Not in the least. He moved on long ago,” said the Bard. “The Islands of the Blessed are what Brother Aiden calls the doorstep of Heaven. It is for those of us who are not finished with the affairs of the world. St. Columba’s cloak and staff were meant for you, but don’t look too pleased about it. You’ll have to work three times harder than anyone else to understand them.” The old man unfolded a cloth in the bottom of the coracle and took out Fair Lamenting. It had not been left in the tomb after all. In place of its clapper was the silver flute of Amergin. The Bard rang it.

The chime rolled through the evening air as golden and sublime as Jack had remembered, but this time it brought only joy, for it had come to its true home. A door in the gray building opened.

“They’re expecting you,” said the Bard, beaching the coracle and waiting for Jack and Thorgil to step onto the sand. “I’ll look in on you later.” He pushed off, sailing away tranquilly without a backward glance.

“Oh, bedbugs,” said Jack, looking up at the forbidding school. A group of men and women in white robes had come outside. They looked even grimmer than the building.

“I’m not even sure what a school is,” said Thorgil.

“Neither am I,” admitted Jack. The late sunlight had turned the hill a deep green, and a cat came out of the building, meowing for attention. One of the bards leaned over and picked it up. That was encouraging.

“It’s probably no worse than the dungeons of Elfland,” Thorgil said doubtfully.

“Or getting pulled into a knucker hole.”

“Or being eaten by a hogboon,” said Thorgil.

“Come on, Jill. We can get through this.” Jack took her hand, and together they walked up the hill.