The Land of the Silver Apples

real water against your skin. Not this. “Go!” Brude said, with an edge of panic.

Suddenly, one of the leading Picts stepped to the side and vanished like a fly popping into a frog’s mouth. He went down without a splash, and his comrades broke into a run. They fought past the children, shoving and hissing, and scrambled up the farther bank, where they immediately started fighting among themselves.

Jack and Thorgil were abandoned in the middle of the lake. “Where’s Pega?” cried Jack.

“She fell over!” Thorgil said. “When those pigs went by, they knocked her down!” Jack looked around, hoping to see movement in the water. There was nothing.

“Commmme!” roared Brude from the farther bank.

“No!” Jack shouted back. She had to be somewhere. How long could she hold her breath? “Pega! Move your arms! Stand up! Try to jump!” But the lake stayed perfectly still. They felt around the bottom with their feet, and it was Thorgil who found her, lying just under the surface. Unconscious, but alive.

They inched along, carrying the girl between them. The water came up to Jack’s chest, and he wondered if he could swim in this—whatever it was. He didn’t like the idea of it touching his face. The Picts watched sullenly. They could help, Jack thought, but they won’t, the swine. They didn’t even try to rescue their comrade.

Finally, they clambered out into a shimmering sea of grass and laid Pega down. Jack bent over, hands on knees, panting. He felt as though he’d run a mile. Thorgil stretched out on her back, equally overcome.

“We have to get the water out of her,” gasped Jack, staggering over to roll Pega onto her stomach. But when he pressed on her ribs, nothing happened. He rolled her back. She was pale as chalk.

“She’s breathing,” said Thorgil, kneeling beside them.

Jack fished out the candle Pega carried in her string bag and held it to her nose. She shuddered and moaned. “I was dreaming,” she whispered.

“You’re awake now.” Jack was trembling with relief. She had looked so dead!

“Terrible dream,” the girl said.

“Don’t think about it. Look at the meadow instead.”

Thorgil helped Jack raise the girl. They both supported her, for Pega was so overcome, she had no strength left. Gradually, she roused and sat up by herself. They gazed at the perfect blue sky, the meadow, the birds that caroled as they flew.

It was a beautiful place, quiet and somehow secret. The grass bent before a breeze, rippling like a live sea. Beyond the hateful river, Jack could still see the forest. The trees were utterly flawless. Together they formed a mass of greenery more lovely than anything in Middle Earth.

The Picts herded Jack and his companions onward. It wasn’t an unpleasant journey. Grassland gave way to orchard, and everyone gathered fruit from the trees. As before, nothing was quite like Middle Earth, but the fruit was so delicious that Jack didn’t care. The apples were silvery, like tiny moons hanging among the dark leaves. The smell alone was enough to make you happy, and when you ate them, you didn’t need anything else.

On the other side of the orchard they saw a palace in the distance. “Elfhame,” growled Brude, gesturing with his stick. Jack had seen the hall of the Mountain Queen in Jotunheim. It had been magnificent, carved out of ice and haunted by mists, but Elfhame was more fair.

Graceful towers were joined by magnificent arches. The walls were covered with climbing roses, and irises and violets formed purple shadows under the trees. Or at least they resembled irises and violets. A path led off to a fountain around which were men and women frozen in the middle of a dance. Jack stopped in his tracks. “Have they been turned to stone?” he said in a low voice.

“Olaf One-Brow used to carve animals from wood,” Thorgil said, touching one of the statues with her finger. “I think this is similar, but—” She paused, frowning.

Jack understood her confusion. Olaf’s animals covered the ceiling and pillars of his home, where they watched its inhabitants like friendly spirits. They weren’t perfect. You’d never mistake them for the real thing, and yet somehow the giant’s soul had flowed into his art. You could imagine his bellowing laugh behind the squirrels, ravens, and wolves that decorated his hall. These statues, beautiful beyond belief, were dead.

Jack gasped.

“What is it?” cried Thorgil, her hand going to her knife.

“That tree,” he whispered. Pega turned to see what had startled him. It seemed a normal tree until you got close enough to see the fruit was actually honey cakes.

“Good!” grunted Brude, shoving them out of the way. He and his followers gathered around and stuffed their mouths. Thorgil also waded into the fray, jostling, fighting for position, and gorging herself with equal abandon. Jack was uncomfortably aware of similarities between Northmen and Picts.

The tree was soon picked clean. But when the warriors stepped away, their faces all sticky with sweetness, more fruit swelled up on the branches. So of course they had to go back for seconds. Eventually, the Picts and Thorgil slumped to the ground, bloated but apparently happy.

Pega delicately plucked a honey cake with her fingers. “Would you like one, Jack?”

He stared at the tree with dislike. “How can you have honey in a place with no bees?”

“Who cares?” said Thorgil, sprawled on the ground.

“I do. Bees are the servants of the life force, and if they’re not here, this tree doesn’t exist. I don’t know what you’ve been eating, but don’t be surprised if it makes you sick.”

“You really don’t know how to have a good time.” The shield maiden belched richly.

“There’s another thing,” Jack said. “Father used to tell Lucy a tale about a honey cake that fell on the ground and put down roots. It grew into a tree. Well, here’s the tree! Father made up that story, but this is a place where impossible things happen. The flowers are too big, the fruit too sweet. I say it’s glamour, and it’s all a lie.”

Pega put down her cake without tasting it. Her face looked strained and tired. “When I fell into that—that river, I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream. All the fields and flowers were gone. It was dark… dark…” The girl covered her face with her hands.

“It was a bad dream. Don’t think about it.” Jack was concerned by her obvious distress.

“It was real! It’s hard to remember, everything’s so pretty here. You don’t want to remember.” Pega hurled the honey cake into a bush. “Elfland had vanished, and all that was left was a cave full of bones and filth. I think that’s what this place really is, only the glamour hides it from you. There was no hope. No warmth. No love.” She burst into tears.

Something in Pega’s words woke a memory in Jack’s mind. He and Thorgil had been waiting for the Norns in the hall of the Mountain Queen. Voices gathered in the distance, coming nearer and whispering of a world of loss so terrible, you would run mad to think of it. All that was bright and brave and beautiful would go down to defeat. You could not stop it. You could only watch it die. And Jack remembered his answer to such despair: I serve the life force. The Norns’ way is only one leaf on the Great Tree. I do not believe in death.

Chapter Thirty-two LUCY

Jack was about to tell Pega about the Norns when a horn sounded from within the palace. Voices called, a host of them. The front gate opened, and out came the prettiest, merriest people Jack had ever seen. They were dressed in all the colors of the rainbow.

Some danced like the figures in the fountains, and some played harps or flutes. Others tossed rose petals into the wind and sang with voices so fair, Jack thought his heart would break. Beauty and longing overwhelmed him until he scarcely knew whether it was joy or pain he felt.

Jack was transfixed. He could not have moved if a shower of silver arrows were raining down on him. Everyone else seemed as stunned as he.

The company drew near, and Jack recognized the huntsman called Gowrie. By his side Lady Ethne carried garlands of flowers. “Welcome!” she cried, presenting the garlands to Jack, Thorgil, and Pega. Brude craned his neck hopefully, but she passed him by. “Welcome to Elfhame! Come heal your earthly cares. All joy lies within, where Partholis rules with Partholon, her consort. Come, weary travelers, to join our revels!”