The Sea of Trolls

passed and begged to be allowed to visit and take a close look at the sea serpent. Eric Pretty-Face threw his chest out proudly. But he’ll never equal Olaf One-Brow, Jack thought with a pain over his heart. None of them will.

The sound of the sea died away as they went inland. The water became placid, and here and there on the shore Jack saw deer and rabbits—normal-size deer and ordinary rabbits. Far away to the north lay high mountains covered in snow. Jotunheim, thought Jack. It looked unreal. Perhaps it was unreal.

Presently, they saw the farms high in the hills and the steep meadows dotted with sheep. They saw the dock, which was filling up with people, and beyond, on a shoulder of dark blue stone as bleak and lifeless as metal, Ivar’s palace. Heide, Dotti, and Lotti scanned the ship anxiously.

Oh, heavens. How can I tell them? thought Jack. In the end, no one had to tell them. If Olaf wasn’t visible, he wasn’t there. You couldn’t hide him. Dotti and Lotti screamed and tore their clothes. Heide wept silently, after the manner of her people. Skakki led them all back to Olaf’s house.

“I told him,” said Heide, standing before the long fire in the middle of the hall, “‘Iff you take the boy and his sister to the court, it will be your doom.’ I sssaw him lying in a dark forest with his life blood soaking into the earth. Poor Ox-brain.”

“It wasn’t quite like that,” said Jack.

“The visions are neverrrr exact. The meaning wasss clear.”

Dotti, Lotti, and the children sat solemnly around the sides of the fire trough, with Olaf’s friends and companions. Skakki occupied Olaf’s great chair. It was too large for him and always would be. Skakki, at age sixteen, was now head of the household.

“He died as he wished, in battle,” said Rune in his new, strong voice.

“And had a funeral worthy of a king!” cried Thorgil. Then she sang:

Half a forest was felled to hold him.
At his feet lay the troll-bear, direful and deadly,
Yet no match for Odin’s beloved.
The Valkyries called to him from the hills,
The gates of Valhalla swung wide,
And even the Mountain Queen wept at his passing.

A hush fell over the hall. For a moment no one moved. Then Rune said, “That was poetry.”

“Women can’t make poetry,” said Sven the Vengeful.

Everyone turned to Thorgil, expecting her to fall into one of her rages. She only sat down, looking stunned. Bold Heart sailed from the rafters to her shoulder and warbled into her ear. “I don’t know how I did it either,” Thorgil said, “but thanks for the compliment.”

“She’s talking to birds,” whispered one of the smaller children. “Does that mean she’s a witch?” Dotti shushed him.

“It means she’s a wise woman,” Jack said.

“But she’s making poetry. Surely that’s unnatural,” insisted Sven. Again everyone turned to Thorgil, waiting for her to have a tantrum. Nothing happened.

“Thorgilll,” said Heide, drawing out the name, “do you feel all right?”

“There’s nothing wrong with her!” Jack cried. “Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter can do whatever she likes. He accepted her. Why can’t you? She fought the troll-bear by his side. She killed a young dragon. She tasted its blood by accident, just as Sigurd did. That’s why she understands birds now. She drank from Mimir’s Well. That’s why she can make poetry now. Why can’t you accept that?”

The long fire crackled and danced in a wind that came in under the eaves. The animals Olaf had carved on the rafters seemed to stir. “You shame us,” murmured Skakki.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” stammered Jack. “It’s just that—”

“No, you’re right,” said the boy, standing, and now he did resemble Olaf. “I name you sister, Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter. I welcome you to the family.”

“And I name you daughter,” said Heide. “And so do Dotti and Lotti.” She glared at the two junior wives.

It was too much for Thorgil. She was used to being the outcast. So much friendliness overwhelmed her, and she burst into tears and fled the hall.

“Where will she go?” said Jack. No one else seemed disturbed by the shield maiden’s departure.

“Up the hill to find the king’s dogs,” Rune said calmly. “Slasher, Wolf Bane, Hel Hag, and Shreddie will be delighted. They haven’t seen her yet.”

“Nowww,” said Heide in her smoky voice, “tell me about the Mountain Queen weeping over Olaf.”

It seemed Heide wasn’t completely ignorant of Olaf’s activities. She had noted her husband’s trips, loaded with presents, and had concluded he had an extra wife. “But a troll?” she exclaimed. “Had the man no taste at all?”

“The queen is rather nice—oof!” gasped Jack as Rune elbowed him in the stomach. “But ugly. Very ugly,” he finished. At Heide’s insistence, Jack described Glamdis.

“Orange hair sprouting from her head? Nine feet tall? Fangs? Wasss Ox-brain insane?” seethed the wise woman. Dotti and Lotti looked considerably cheered up by Heide’s annoyance.

Then Jack explained how the troll-maidens practiced marriage by capture and how the Mountain Queen had a harem of sixteen louts. He told the fascinated assembly about the miserable human who had fathered Frothi and Frith. “He painted pictures of his human family on the walls,” Jack said. “At least Olaf escaped that fate. He was able to go and come as he pleased.”

“Yesss, well, Ox-brain wass impossible for anyone to control,” said Heide, somewhat mollified.

“He couldn’t help being captured,” Lotti pointed out.

“No, no, of course not.” Heide shook her head. “And he wasss so big and beautiful.” All three of the wives sighed.

As for Olaf’s friends and companions, they were delighted with the story. “HE MADE A TROLL-QUEEN FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM! WHAT A FEAT!” said Tree Foot, completely wowed.

“What a man!” said Egil Long-Spear.

Chapter Forty FREYA’S FEN

“If you’re going to be a skald, you must look the part,” said Rune, stepping back to observe Jack’s white robe. It was Rune’s own, shortened to fit the boy. A message had been sent to King Ivar the week before, but no welcome had been issued until today. Tonight was the full moon, and tomorrow was the day set forth for Freya’s sacrifice.

Jack was deeply worried by the delay, but he could do nothing about it. No one, apparently, entered Frith’s presence without permission. You’d think she’d be anxious to get her hair back, he thought. But she probably enjoys making me suffer.

“This doesn’t feel right,” he said, belting the robe to keep it on. It was still too large. He knew real bards were old, fierce, and scary. Jack didn’t feel scary. Scared was more like it.

“Shh. You have to start somewhere. Frith is going to be difficult, and you’ll need to impress her. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

“No,” Jack said miserably.

“It will come to you,” Rune said.