The Sea of Trolls

supposed to confirm the death of Dragon Tongue. But I got lazy and didn’t finish the job.”

“Don’t blame yourself, Olaf,” Sven said. “Who could turn his back on such fine plunder? By Odin’s eyebrows, we had fun!”

“Yes, but I should have searched for the body,” mourned the giant.

“I saw the Nightmare,” Lucy said suddenly. Jack put his hand over her mouth. He didn’t want her to reveal that the Bard was still alive. “Don’t shush me!” she cried, clawing at his hand. “It was screaming in the sky. Ice fell all around. I wanted to go home, but Father said no. I cried and cried!” Lucy was sobbing now, beyond speech.

“A Nightmare is no joke,” said Olaf with far more gentleness than Jack thought he possessed. “Its weapon is the mind-fetter that causes the sword to fall from the strongest warrior’s hand. If it— she—found out Dragon Tongue, his chances of survival were small indeed.”

“She did find him,” said Jack. Please keep Lucy crying, he prayed. Please don’t let her spoil my story. “I was there. I saw him fall.” Jack bowed his head, hoping to give the impression that the attack had been fatal. In a way, the Bard was dead. Without his brain, he was nothing.

“Well. That’s all right, then,” said Olaf, cheering up.

“But this thrall is his apprentice. What do we tell the queen about him?” said Sven.

“Nothing,” replied Olaf. “We’ve done our job. We’ve got a shipload of booty. Why upset the applecart?”

“I think it’s cowardly to hide the truth,” said Thorgil.

“It would not be wise,” Olaf said carefully, “to put the queen into a snit. This young skald could be useful to us, and by the way, little brjostabarn, it is also not wise to suggest I might be a coward.” There was no mistaking the menace in the giant’s voice.

Thorgil turned red, but she held her tongue. She gazed long and hard at Jack, looking, he thought, as though she wouldn’t mind putting the queen into a snit if it would make him suffer.

“Believe me, angering the queen would spoil your chances of joining her court,” Olaf said.

Thorgil frowned. “You always get the better of me,” she said.

She went back to watching the rudder, and Olaf and Sven returned to their posts toward the bow of the ship. Jack ferried Lucy between the baskets and bags to his former perch.

The fog clung to the sea. It was impossible to see in any direction. They were swallowed up by the gray wetness as thoroughly as if they had been sealed in a cave. The air grew darker—sunset was coming on, though it was impossible to tell east from west. The warriors sat idle at their oars. They spoke little, as though something was troubling them.

“Who’s Dragon Tongue?” said Lucy.

“Someone you don’t know,” Jack said. He showed the little girl the crow huddled between the grain bags. Lucy wanted to play with it, but Jack distracted her with a shred of dried fish. She obediently sucked on it, but then she spat it onto the deck by the sleeping bird.

“I want Mother’s food,” she said.

“You must try to eat, dearest. It’s only for a little while, until we get to land again.”

“We’ll never get to land,” moaned Lucy. “We’ll always be here in the fog with these stinky monsters. For ever and ever and ever.” She pressed her thin face against Jack’s chest.

“That’s not the way a real princess talks,” said Jack. “She’d know this was only an adventure and that magic would come to her when she needed it.” Good heavens. I sound like Father, thought Jack.

“It had better come soon,” said Lucy.

“It already has. This crow flew to us from the Islands of the Blessed. He’s been sent to watch over you.”

“Will he grant me three wishes?” said Lucy, pulling a cloak from a bundle of clothes the Northmen had looted from a village. Jack helped settle it around her shoulders.

“When it’s the right time,” Jack said. “He’s very tired now. He’s flown a long way.”

“I’d like a warm room with a fire and a soft bed. I’d like Mother and—and—F-Father.” She began to cry again.

“Remember, wishes don’t always get granted right away.”

The smell of fish must have penetrated the crow’s dreams, for he snapped his beak and flexed his claws with his eyes tightly shut.

“Look at his foot,” whispered Lucy.

Jack felt the hair stir on the back of his neck. The light was going, but he distinctly saw that the bird was missing a claw on his left foot. As though a fox had nipped it off. He knew this creature. It was the crow who had stayed behind when the Bard lost his wits. It was the one who had tricked him out of food and listened intently to Jack’s worries.

People said the Bard got his messages from birds, though he’d never shown Jack how. “I wish I could understand you,” said Jack, reaching out to smooth the creature’s bedraggled feathers. “I wish I knew why you followed me to the middle of the sea. But I’m glad you did.” And the crow, as though he could hear in his sleep, fluffed his feathers and settled down more snugly between the grain bags.

Chapter Fifteen BOLD HEART

Jack slept soundly. By now he was used to curling up in whatever corner he could find, and the movement of the sea was so gentle, he barely noticed it at all. He woke up when the first light crept over the ship.

But it was not a clear light. Fog pressed in all around, coating everything with its dank presence. Water dripped off the ropes. It sank into Jack’s clothes and glued down his hair. When he looked over the side, sea and sky melted together into a blue-gray mass so thick, he could see only a few feet in any direction. The ship might have been floating in the middle of a cloud for all he could tell.

He could hear the warriors come awake—stretching, groaning, belching, and (the air was very still) pissing over the side. They didn’t talk, which was unusual. On other days they woke with casual insults and rough jokes.

Lucy stirred under her cloak. Jack didn’t disturb her. The longer she was asleep, the longer she could escape into dreams. The crow hopped onto the railing. He crouched there, clacking his beak irritably. Jack was certain it was a “he”, though he couldn’t say why.

“You don’t want to fly out there,” Jack said. The bird gave a low grumble so like human speech that the boy laughed. The months of watching wild creatures for the Bard gave him a fair sense of the crow’s mood. “It does look as nasty as troll spit. Yesterday I couldn’t wait for the wind to die down. Now I can’t wait for it to start up again.”

“Calling the wind is your job,” rumbled Olaf’s voice from behind him. Jack gripped the railing to keep from cowering. For such a large man, the warrior was amazingly soft-footed.

“I thought you wanted calm.” Jack braced for a blow. Olaf did not like arguments.

“I did. Now I want sunlight.”

“Fog never sticks around long,” Jack said cautiously. He didn’t know how to call the wind, and he wanted to buy time. “I’m sure it’ll go away by afternoon.”

The blow didn’t fall, but Olaf’s giant hand gripping his shoulder was almost as bad. “Listen well, little skald. We’re stuck out here not knowing north from south. If we row in the wrong direction, we’ll find ourselves on an endless sea. After a while the freshwater will run out, and the only liquid we will have to drink is your blood.” Olaf spoke in a low, calm voice that was more terrifying than a shout.

“Oh. Since you put it that way,” said Jack. The heavy hand went away, jack sat down on a grain bag, his heart pounding. The crow threw back his head and made a gargling sound.

“If you think you can do things better, you have my permission to try,” Jack said.

The crow bobbed his body up and down as if to say, Not me, sonny. It’s your job.