Nancy - The Islands of the Blessed Страница 43

“Aye, it was a hero’s death,” said Rune, his eyes dreamy.

“Excuse me,” said Jack. “Aren’t there any tales about heroes who go home after slaying the monster and live happily ever after?”

“Of course there are, lad,” the Bard said heartily and unconvincingly. “We may yet find ourselves drinking cider in the old Roman house. But first we must solve the problem of the draugr. I accept your offer, fin man. We will sail to the Shoney’s palace and lay before him our gifts. There we will tell him the reason for our visit.”

The fin man vanished along with his boat, and Jack felt the creature moving away. By now all the dead Pictish beasts had been hauled off. The sea was clean, as though no savage conflict had taken place in it, and only the gray mountain in the distance still remained. 

Chapter Thirty-three

THE CITY UNDER THE SEA

Jack had learned to like sailing, but the coracle was another matter. It rocked perilously when Eric Pretty-Face lowered him into it. There was barely room for three people plus the meager supplies they would take with them. And when Jack looked up at the sleek, handsome karfi, he regretted with all his heart that he had left it.

“How will we find you again?” Skakki called.

“You won’t,” the Bard replied. “We’ll make our own way to the mainland.”

“What? I’m not going to abandon you!”

“You’ll have to. Notland comes and goes as it will. You won’t be able to see it.” The Bard stood tall in the coracle, his ash wood staff in his hand. He didn’t seem the slightest bit worried about sailing home in a craft that was barely adequate for a lake.

“You planned this all along,” Skakki shouted, for now the distance between them was increasing. “You tricked my sister into a quest she can’t possibly survive.”

“I chose this adventure!” Thorgil yelled back.

“Then you’re an idiot! You’re all idiots!”

Now they were picking up speed, though Jack couldn’t see what was propelling them along. He was too busy holding on to the side. The last thing he heard was Eric Pretty-Face bellowing, “WE’LL BE BACK!” when the ship suddenly disappeared and all that was out there was empty sea.

“What happened to them? Where are they?” Jack cried.

“We must save them!” exclaimed Thorgil, grabbing an oar and attempting to turn the coracle. The current, or whatever they were caught in, was too strong.

“They’re all right,” the Bard said, sitting down amid the sacks of cargo. “We’ve merely crossed the border of Notland. I would guess they’ve seen us disappear, too, and are searching. They won’t find anything.”

“You’ve been here before, haven’t you?” Jack said. There was nothing left to do but sit down and make the best of the situation. The mountain range was drawing nearer.

“I’ve wheedled a child or two out of the Shoney’s clutches,” the old man admitted. “Sea hags sometimes steal toddlers who wander too close to the water.”

“So you’re… enemies?” guessed Thorgil.

“More like well-matched opponents. I tell him what to do, and he eventually does it. But never underestimate the Shoney. He’s intelligent, devious, and dangerous. Oh, and if he offers you ocean meat tonight, don’t accept it. Pictish beast has the most disagreeable flavor imaginable.”

The mountains rose up before them, peak after peak of the same uniform gray. Jack looked for the surf that should have been breaking at their base and found nothing. “Shouldn’t we slow down?” he said nervously. The rocks were very near.

“It’s only a fog bank,” the Bard said.

“Look out!” screamed Thorgil, throwing herself to the bottom of the coracle. Jack raised his arms as the gray mass rushed at them—and then they were through. They floated over a fair, green land covered with fields and houses. Above them arched a bowl of cloud. The land below was bathed in a gentle light, like the glow that brightens a mist just before the sun breaks through. The air was as warm as summer.

“As I said, a fog bank,” said the Bard.

“It looked so solid.” Thorgil picked herself up and leaned over the side. “Is this one of those illusions that go poof and you find yourself in some horrible dungeon?”

“The fin folk aren’t like elves,” the old man said. “They can’t create something out of thin air, but they can hide themselves with borrowed colors. They bend light around their realm and blend into a background as fish do at the bottom of a stream. The trolls of Jotunheim also do this.”

“I remember,” said Jack. “When we walked away from the Mountain Queen’s palace, it was as though the palace had folded itself away. All I could see were icy mountains.”

Below, the fin folk went about the chores of villagers. They herded cattle, tended crops, and even built fires, though Jack could have sworn there was water beneath him. The coracle floated along as though it were on a lake, and the fin folk swam rather than walked over their fields. Yet their small, white cattle walked along the bottom like normal beasts.

The houses were adorned with towers and fanciful arches that seemed to have no purpose but were pleasant to look at. They were pink and orange, purple and gleaming white, the colors of the seashells one found on a beach. In the distance was an impressive castle. Processions of fin men bearing the horrid carcasses of Pictish beasts were making their way along the road to this castle. Mermaids swam behind them, their long hair streaming like living gold. These were followed by creatures so hideous, Jack wondered for a moment whether they were stalking the mermaids like a pack of wolves. Then he realized they were sea hags.

No wonder mermaids wanted to marry humans, he thought, if they were in danger of turning into such repellant creatures. The sea hags were as shapeless as seals. They stumped along on spindly legs that looked hardly strong enough to support their blobby bodies. Their arms and shoulders, by contrast, were as powerful as a blacksmith’s. They were in varying stages of going bald. This might not have mattered if their heads had been shapely, but they weren’t. They were simply blobs at the end of too-thick necks. With the loss of beauty came a lack of personal hygiene, and more than one of the sea hags had a severe barnacle problem.

The fin folk seemed to be enjoying themselves, though. They danced ecstatically as they carried the flabby Pictish beasts, and an honor guard of merchildren swam beneath the tails so they wouldn’t drag on the ground.

“Look! Human children,” said Thorgil. Jack saw that she was correct. Four sturdy little boys were scattered among the troops supporting the tails.

“Mothers should never let their toddlers wander on the beach,” the Bard said sadly.

“What will happen to them?” said Jack. He remembered that elves discarded toddlers in dark forests when they were no longer cute.

“They’ll grow up to marry mermaids. The sea hags will spoil them rotten because they want them as husbands for their daughters.”

This was something Jack hadn’t considered, and it put the sea hags in a better light.

All this time the coracle had been keeping pace with the celebrating crowds below. Now, as the revelers entered the front gate of the castle, the coracle floated over the wall to a large courtyard where fire pits had already been constructed. The little craft began to sink.

Jack braced himself for water to come flooding in, but nothing happened. The air only seemed to get thicker and richer. It made him feel extraordinarily good, as though he could run a mile and not get tired. He raised his arm and felt the air pushing back. “It feels like swimming,” he said.

Thorgil propelled herself upward with a kick. “It is like swimming,” she cried, delighted. “How wonderful! You can swim and breathe at the same time.” She set out with a strong stroke and came to a stop halfway up a tower crusted with coral. “Try it, Jack!” He followed her to the tower and did a couple of somersaults in the air to show off. They clung to the coral, smiling at each other.

“If you’re quite finished larking about, come down,” the Bard said crossly. “We have work to do.” He was already on the ground, sea bottom, or whatever it was. The fin folk, as they had done before, paid no attention to the newcomers. They set about cleaning the innards out of Pictish beasts.

But as Jack floated down he heard their voices in his head. Who invited them? Is that Dragon Tongue? Oh, bother, it is! Hide the humans. The voices became more distinct the closer he got to the ground, until there was such a babble that he could hardly make sense of it. But he heard, I wonder if we can keep the new boy and girl. And: The boy is adorable. I want him.

“You carry Fair Lamenting,” the Bard instructed Jack. The ruined bell was wrapped in cloth, and Jack wondered what the old man planned to do with it. Thorgil was given the mirror and comb, also wrapped. The Bard had his own parcel, the contents of which he didn’t reveal. “You must be on your best behavior. The fin folk have said we can speak to their king, but nothing is certain until it happens. And please don’t call anyone a ‘sea hag’. The correct term is ‘fin wife’.”

No one had greeted them yet, but the Bard said this was normal. “It’s considered bad manners to force your attention on people,” he explained. “We’ll hang around for a while until they’re used to us.” He led the way to a platform where a gang of fin men were flensing a Pictish beast. They expertly stripped off the skin, exposing vast strips of blubber. “They’ll lay the skin out for fish to nibble clean. The blubber will be used in cooking,” said the old man.

An indescribably foul odor filled the air. Jack swallowed hard; he didn’t want to disgrace himself by throwing up. Thorgil also looked as though she was struggling. “You might as well get used to it,” the Bard said. “Beast blubber deadens the sense of smell, and if you can endure it for a few minutes, you’ll be all right.” He breathed deeply as though savoring a rare perfume. Jack didn’t say anything. He was working hard to keep his breakfast down.

“Good hunting, eh?” the old man said.

Good hunting, replied one of the fin men. Several minutes passed. Gradually, Jack’s nausea subsided and he was able to pay attention to the activity before him. Long strips of yellow blubber were peeled off and put into giant pots. Here it was rendered into a bubbling, oily liquid. The beast’s green flesh was carved and put on skewers over a fire pit. A large, leathery bag—the stomach?—was emptied of its contents, a mess of kelp and half-digested fish. Jack clamped his teeth shut again.

The bones were interesting. Jack had been expecting something like the skeleton of a fish, but this was entirely different. A series of flat paddles flared out from a central column, somewhat like branches of a pine tree. They were large enough to lie down on in the middle but grew smaller and smaller toward the tail. A fin man was cutting and stacking the paddles. “What do you do with those?” Jack asked, and then scolded himself for being pushy.