The Sea of Trolls

“I’m sure they do,” said Jack. “It’s dumb enough to qualify.”

At the last minute he had a clever idea. He tore Thorgil’s cloak into strips and made a long cord. He looped one end around Golden Bristles’ neck for a collar and looped the other end around his and Thorgil’s waists. They sat, legs spread wide on the giant hog’s back, with their hands clutching his hair. Jack had tucked the staff under the pig’s massive chin. It made no sense to take it, but it reminded him of the Bard, and Heaven knew he needed the Bard’s help now. Bold Heart was nestled inside Jack’s tunic.

“Let’s go,” the boy said with a sigh, thinking, I hope I’m allowed to visit the Islands of the Blessed when we fall off.

Jack sat in front and Thorgil was behind as the troll-boar began to climb the bridge. His trotters bit into the ice. Jack could see fragments break off and disappear into the gorge. His stomach lurched, and he forced himself to look straight ahead.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch went Golden Bristles’ trotters on the bridge. The ice shivered under his weight. An eagle—a Jotunheim eagle, so it was enormous—coasted by. It turned when it saw the humans and flew close enough for Jack to look into its yellow eyes. “Go away!” Thorgil shrilled, brandishing her knife. The bridge shuddered.

“Don’t move!” Jack cried.

The wind, which had calmed during the trip across the ice sheet, picked up again. It whistled past Jack’s ears and blew down the neck of his tunic. Bold Heart moaned. Jack’s hands were turning blue.

The eagle streaked by a second time and struck Jack on the shoulder with its talons. He felt the blow but no pain. He was too numb with cold. “I’ll kill you!” roared Thorgil from behind him. She lunged at the eagle and almost fell off. The bridge shuddered again. Jack was too sick with shock to yell at her. He didn’t hurt, but his body knew something grievous had happened. He began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Hang on!” screamed Thorgil. “If it comes by again, I’ll get it.”

Jack wanted to tell her to stop moving. If she unbalanced the boar, they’d all fall into the chasm.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratch went Golden Bristles’ trotters on the ice. They’d reached the top of the arc. The hog grunted and started down. The eagle streaked by a third time, and Thorgil leaned out and stabbed it. Shrieking, it tumbled away, but her lunge sent her over the side. Jack tried to hang on. His hands were too numb, and he followed her down.

The only thing that saved them was the cord tied around their waists. Both Jack and Thorgil hung over the abyss from Golden Bristles’ neck. The wind twirled them round and round, and the cord tightened around Jack’s waist and drove the breath out of him. Hurry, hurry, hurry, he begged the pig silently.

But Golden Bristles moved slowly and carefully. He was not made for climbing down things, especially with a rope around his neck. He wheezed.

The staff had slipped partly out of the pig’s collar during Jack and Thorgil’s fall. Only the last few inches were still jammed under Golden Bristle’s throat, but it was enough to cut off the animal’s breath. Jack reached up and grasped the end of the wood. It pulled free, but he almost dropped it. Warmth. I need warmth, he thought. He saw spots in front of his eyes. The staff began to slide from his numb fingers.

It’s only cold if you think it is, said the Bard from somewhere.

It’s supposed to be warm. It is warm, Jack thought as he reached for the life force burning at the heart of the frost giants’ world. Heat radiated from his hands and flowed out the end of the staff. A jet of flame shot up and struck the ice bridge. Water dripped off. Golden Bristles’ trotters lost their purchase, and he began to slide.

Groooooink! roared the giant troll-boar as he slid down the bridge, going faster and faster until he shot off the end and rolled over and over in the snow beyond. Jack and Thorgil were yanked after him into a deep drift. Thorgil was up at once, digging Jack’s face out of the snow. She untied the cord and pulled Bold Heart out so he could breathe too. Her eyes were wild with joy.

“What—a—wonderful—adventure!” she gasped. The cord had almost strangled her, too, but she was too elated to care. “I fought a giant eagle! I hung over the edge like Odin on Yggdrassil! I’m—so —happy!”

Groooooink! Golden Bristles said resentfully. Jack, whose senses were reeling, looked back to see a hole melted right in the middle of the bridge. Only two little bars of ice remained at each side. His staff had melted into the snowdrift—he could see the blackened end poking up.

“I didn’t know you could do such magic,” Thorgil cried. She danced around in a kind of mad glee.

“Neither did I,” Jack said. Now that they were safe, he could feel the deep wound the eagle had left in his shoulder. A shadow fell over him. A foul, sulfurous smell belched from somewhere.

“Maybe you’d better do more magic,” Thorgil said, feeling for her knife. But it was gone. It had plummeted into the abyss with the eagle.

Jack looked up to see a creature from his very deepest and worst nightmares. It was eight feet tall with a shock of bristly orange hair sprouting from its head and shoulders. Eyes the color of rotten walnuts brooded under a browridge that resembled a fungus growing out of tree bark. It had long, greenish fingernails crusted with dirt, and its teeth—for the creature’s mouth was hanging open—were like jumbled blocks of wood. Two fangs the size of a billy goat’s horns lifted the sides of the creature’s upper lip in a permanent snarl. It belched, and the sulfurous smell drifted over Jack again.

He couldn’t help it. He fainted. He had just met his first troll.

Chapter Thirty-three FONN AND FORATH

He was lying on an incredibly soft bed. The room he was in was so beautiful, Jack thought he must have died and gone to Heaven. The walls were painted like the ones in the Bard’s Roman house, except that these pictures were new. Jack saw trees covered in flowers, a house with a man and woman sitting outside, and children playing with a dog.

The floor was made of different kinds of wood, inlaid to make a pattern of autumn leaves. A metal bowl filled with glowing coals stood on an ornately worked metal stand. Jack felt its warmth on his face, which was the only part of him sticking out of the covers.

The coverlet, too, was a marvel of color and design, and it was padded with feathers. Jack sank down under it, as snug as an acorn in its cup.

Bits of memory began to come back. Carefully, he felt his shoulder. It was swathed in a bandage and didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. He’s waking up, someone said. No, not said. Something else. The words just appeared in Jack’s mind.

He’s kind of cute for a two-legged deer.

You give him breakfast and I’ll tell Mother. Jack heard heavy feet and a door open and shut.

I’m not in Heaven after all, he thought miserably. I’ve been taken prisoner by Jotuns. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed they’ll think I’ve gone back to sleep.

“It won’t work,” said a harsh voice. “We can tell when humans are lying.”

Jack opened his eyes and just as quickly closed them.

“I know. Trolls take getting used to. Personally, I think humans look like boiled frogs, but I’ve learned to overlook it.”

Jack opened his eyes again. The troll—female he guessed from the bulges under her blouse—was even larger than the male he’d encountered at the ice bridge. She, too, had orange hair sprouting from her head. Her shoulders were covered, so he couldn’t tell whether she had hair there, too. Her ears stuck out like jug handles, and she wore heavy gold earrings that dragged the lobes down until they dangled below her chin. Her upper lip rounded over two dainty fangs—dainty in comparison with the male troll.

For all that, she was much better groomed. Her nails were clean and polished. Her teeth, though alarmingly large, were orderly. Her expression was cheerful. If she’d been standing farther away, Jack thought she wouldn’t be