The Sea of Trolls

Jack knew she wouldn’t. The reckless frenzy that had driven Thorgil was gone. She was capable of great courage and daring, but she wouldn’t throw her life away.

In the early afternoon the spider returned to her vigil in the middle of the web. The wind dropped, and Jack felt safe enough to pass out the last of the meat pies and cider. “Our last meal,” Thorgil said sarcastically.

“Look,” said Jack, pointing. In the distance they saw a tiny speck. It grew larger until they could see it was a single crow flying back and forth. Jack stood up and waved.

Bold Heart sped straight to the top of the tree. He balanced there, cooing and warbling. “I’m glad to see you, too,” said Jack. “As you can tell, we’re in a mess. You mustn’t get close to the web.”

“Tell Jack to kill that spider,” ordered Thorgil. Bold Heart cawed back. “He says—idiot bird—he says you don’t have to kill her. You can send her to sleep. I think it should be a permanent sleep, but who listens to me?”

“All right,” said Jack, wondering how this could be done. “What then? Do we climb down?” Bold Heart clacked and burbled and cawed, going on at great length.

“He says, ‘Wait here. Help is on the way,’” said Thorgil.

“That was a lot of conversation for such a short translation. I’m sure he said more.”

“You’ll never know,” Thorgil said smugly.

Bold Heart sped off, and Jack climbed down to the egg sack. The spider loomed at the middle of her web. One eagle probably wouldn’t satisfy her for long. She might be ready for dessert. He drew the staff from the sling on his back, just in case, and cleared his throat. He began singing. The words came out awkwardly. He couldn’t seem to get the right music. How did you serenade a deaf spider?

After awhile Jack stopped. It was a waste of time. The spider ignored him, and he’d run out of poetry. Far away a large bird blundered into one of the other webs and was pounced on. Birds must be what these things live on, Jack thought. Bugs wouldn’t even whet their appetites.

How did you serenade a deaf spider?

The same way a spider sings lullabies to her young. Of course. Jack had studied the harp with the Bard, but he hadn’t made much headway. His voice was his best talent. Voice wouldn’t do him any good here, though. He put the staff away. He needed both hands for what he was about to do.

Spiders are nearly blind and deaf, but their sense of touch makes up for it. They can feel every quiver on their webs, thought Jack. Wonderful. He’d have to come up with something that felt like music and not dinner. He remembered the rhythm the mother spider had plucked when she was soothing her eggs. It was a thing Jack noticed automatically, being musical. I think I can repeat it, he thought. If I’m wrong, I’ll find out soon enough. And I thought the Northmen were a tough audience.

Jack leaned over the edge of the egg sack. He could see—barely—the long strands of the web. If you thought about it right, you could imagine they were harp strings. He lay on his stomach and studied them. He’d have to pluck the strands between the globs of goo, which also were hard to see. The whole web was hard to see. That, of course, was how it worked.

Jack found two dark green lines stretching over a cluster of fir trees. He thought he could just make out a safe area. He reached out.

Sproinnnng! The spider reared up on all eight legs. It was like she was on tiptoe. Jack froze. He certainly had her attention.

“I’ll come down and defend you!” called Thorgil.

“Stay where you are! I know what I’m doing,” cried Jack. I hope, he thought. At least the spider didn’t react to his voice. She really was deaf. I’ll have to do this fast, he thought. No stopping, no matter what she does. My only chance of success is to play the lullaby back to her. It has to be perfect. No stopping.

Jack then began the most important music recital of his life. He emptied his mind of everything but the rhythm. He plucked and picked, he chanted and caroled, he yowled and yodeled and twanged. He needed the sound to keep his fingers true.

The spider crept so close, she was almost on top of him. She cast a dire shadow that almost made him faint, but he didn’t stop. He could see her fangs glint and her mouthparts working. He didn’t stop. Jack felt her quiver—the motion came to him through the web. He felt an answering quiver from the eggs below. All the little spiderlings were dancing in their shells.

The spider suddenly keeled over. Her body flattened sideways in an untidy tangle of legs. She was still alive, he knew, because he could see the tips of her claws move. She was dreaming!

Jack climbed the tree as fast as he could go. “Where’s Bold Heart?” he cried. “Where’s the help he promised? I don’t know how long she’s going to be out. Merciful heavens, I don’t ever want to do that again.” He burst into sobs.

“Over there,” said Thorgil, pointing.

Jack saw four enormous white birds and one small black one gliding above the forest. He was shaking so much, he thought he’d fall out of the tree. His teeth were chattering.

“It’s all right. You did it,” said Thorgil, putting her arm around him. “The owls said they wouldn’t come until the spider was asleep. I have to say that was the worst music I ever heard.”

“H-How do you know? Y-You aren’t a s-spider,” said Jack.

“Thank Freya for that!” swore Thorgil.

The owls came in a cluster. Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh, they cried. They barked and cackled and shrieked and hissed.

“They say we have to leave at once. They’ll take you first,” said Thorgil.

Jack didn’t understand what she meant until the owls clamped on to his arms and legs and flew off. I can’t take much more of this, he thought as the forest sped by below. After a short time the owls deposited him in a meadow and took off. They returned with Thorgil.

“By Thor! That’s a wonderful way to travel!” she exclaimed. “If only we could train birds to carry us! We could attack our enemies from the air.”

Hooo-uh wuh-wuh-wuh, said one of the owls.

“He’s thanking you for saving their lives. I didn’t know about that,” said Thorgil.

“It happened in the little valley after we escaped the dragon. They were starving to death, and I took them outside so they could hunt again,” Jack said. “You’re very welcome.” He bowed to the birds. Bold Heart sat on a nearby bush and warbled.

“Bold Heart says they’ve told him a safe way to the fjord,” said Thorgil.

Hooo-uh! Hooo-uh! Krujff-guh-guh-guh! screamed the owls.

“What was that?” asked Jack.

“They’re giving their opinion of spiders. I don’t think I’ll translate it,” said Thorgil.

Jack and Thorgil waved good-bye to the snowy owls, and then, with Bold Heart leading the way, they found an elk trail at the edge of the meadow. On the way they gathered blueberries, each one as big as a plum, and cracked giant hazelnuts for lunch. In late afternoon they reached the fjord.

Jack built a fire—a normal one using quartz and steel because he couldn’t trust the ash wood staff to make anything small. Soon they saw the ship approaching over the water. Something large was hanging on the prow. It was a scaly green head with a crest of spikes and long whiskers. Eric Pretty-Face roared greetings, and the other Northmen all cheered.

Imagine, thought Jack. I’m actually glad to see Northmen.

The longboat came in close, and the warriors jumped out to make it steady.

“WELCOME BACK!” bellowed Eric Pretty-Face. “WAS IT A SUCCESS? DID YOU KICK THE TROLLS’ BUTTS? LOOK AT THE SEA SERPENT I CAUGHT.”

And Rune said, “Where’s Olaf?”

Chapter Thirty-nine