The Land of the Silver Apples

The hobgoblins knew every stick and stone of the Forest of Lorn. “We come here all the time,” explained the Bugaboo. “The mushrooms are enormous! One chanterelle will feed a family of five, and as for the boletes and morels…” Jack stopped listening. When hobgoblins got onto the subject of mushrooms, they went on for a very long time.

They followed a deer trail. Because of the late start and Father Severus’ weakness, they reached the mountain pass only at nightfall. It was freezing, and a thick fog brought darkness swiftly. “As I remember, Jack, you had a charm for getting rid of fog,” Thorgil said.

“Unfortunately, it also causes rain,” he replied. They decided that fog was more comfortable than rain and made as good a camp as possible in a hollow sheltered by rocks. Dampness coated everything. The fire kept dying. Father Severus coughed all night.

Chapter Forty THE MIDGARD SERPENT

In the morning they could scarcely see three spear-lengths ahead. “I’ve got a sore throat,” Ethne announced. “I do believe I’m coming down with my first illness. What fun!”

They didn’t stop to eat, but hurried down the mountain to the warmer air by the sea. “I recognize these trees,” Thorgil exclaimed. “That’s where Skakki and Rune made camp. There’s where Eric Pretty-Face ate a dead seagull he found and threw up. That’s the cave Heinrich the Heinous and I—” The shield maiden broke off.

The cave was filled from top to bottom with rocks. There was scarcely room for a mouse to slip in.

“Oh, Freya. The earthquake,” whispered Thorgil.

The Bugaboo probed it with a stick, and gravel poured down. “You’re lucky you got out alive,” he said.

“Where is everyone?” the shield maiden said. “They must have built a shelter. They wouldn’t abandon shipmates—but where’s the ship?” It was hard to see anything beyond the first few feet of sea.

“This fog might not lift for days,” said Jack, looking up doubtfully and gauging how much rain would pour down if he worked a spell. “Why don’t the rest of you search farther down the beach? I’ll do what I can here.”

Jack settled into a comfortable position and reached out to the life force. He sensed, not far away, a sunlit sky. The fog was shallow, and from above, it looked like a cloud hugging the ground. Farther out was the gray-green sea. There was nothing on its surface except a few gulls.

In the sky itself, swallows dipped and soared. They skimmed the upper surface of the fog, and Jack felt the power of their wings. Wonderful creatures! Beyond them, Jack felt other wings. He searched and saw nothing but water, with here and there the white tip of a wave.

It’s the wind, Jack thought, surprised. The wind, too, had wings, like a flock of invisible birds. The Bard sometimes called up breezes to cool fields wilting in summer heat or to break up a snowstorm that had gone on too long. But he hadn’t taught Jack the skill yet.

I discovered it all on my own, the boy thought proudly. The old man said that once you were steeped in magic, more and more secrets were revealed to you. He also said most of them were dangerous.

Come to me, invoked Jack, intrigued by his new power. Fly to me, spirits of the air. He cast his mind out farther and farther, delighting in the gusts and swirls and billows around him. He was flying too, the lead bird, the one who told the others where to go. He was their king. The great air-birds turned and followed him. They were coming!

Jack laughed and held out his arms. A blast of wind shredded the fog. Jack had never seen mist move so fast! It was gratifying and at the same time frightening. A second later a savage blow struck him, sending him spinning across the beach. Water flew through the air, making him choke.

On and on it came, howling and tearing up trees. Waves crashed over rocks; spray blew against the mountain. Stop! cried Jack, struggling to regain control. He clung to rocks, to keep from being blown away. Go back. Lie down. Stop.

He tried everything he could think of, but the wind kept battering him until at last it lost interest and turned away. That was what it felt like: The wind simply got bored with him. With that, it rose into the sky and wandered off.

Jack picked himself up. He was bruised in a dozen places. He was chilled to the bone, and his clothes were soaked. Trees were scattered like kindling.

“Jack! Jack! Are you all right?” cried Pega, running down the beach ahead of the others.

“I guess so,” he said, brushing twigs and mud off himself.

He found his staff jammed between rocks at the entrance of the cave.

“What was that thing?” asked the Bugaboo. The hobgoblin’s ears stuck straight out, and his skin had turned bright green with alarm.

“I—I’m not sure,” said Jack. The instant before he’d been struck, he’d seen a long white pillar rise out of the sea.

“It was like a giant snake,” said Pega, confirming his observation. “It was weaving back and forth between the water and the sky. I tried to warn you, but it moved too fast.”

“It was the Midgard Serpent,” said Thorgil. Everyone turned to her. “He’s one of the children of Loki,” she explained. “He was so evil and dangerous, Odin had him cast into the sea. He forms a belt around Middle Earth, holding his tail in his mouth, and when he thrashes, the earth quakes.”

“That’s what happened here. An earthquake,” said the Bugaboo, pointing at the rocks filling the cave.

“Rank superstition,” scoffed Father Severus. “Everyone knows earthquakes are caused by Lucifer stamping his foot on the floor of Hell.”

“The Midgard Serpent and Thor are enemies,” Thorgil went on, ignoring the monk. “Thor likes to fish for him. He cuts the head off an ox to bait his hook, tosses it into the sea, and waits for the stupid beast to bite. The same trick works again and again. Thor pulls up the serpent, but he isn’t strong enough to get him all the way out. That’s what we just saw—the tail end of the Midgard Serpent being pulled along.”

“Sheer fantasy,” jeered Father Severus.

“Rune saw it happen in the warm seas to the south, and Rune is not a man who lies,” the shield maiden said with a hint of menace.

“No one would ever think that,” Jack said quickly. He didn’t bring up his own belief, that the waterspout had been caused by the wind. “Now that the sun’s out, we can look for the ship.”

They all shaded their eyes and looked out to sea, but even Pega, whose eyes were sharpest, saw nothing except a vast, gray-green expanse. Any evidence of a camp had been destroyed by the waterspout. Jack worked to free his staff, which had been wedged between boulders too large for him to shift.

“Let me try,” said the Nemesis.

“Don’t break it,” cried Jack as the burly hobgoblin shoved him to one side.

“Keep your tunic on. I know what I’m doing.” The Nemesis rolled a boulder out of the heap.

“Look out!” shouted Jack. He barely had time to yank the staff out of the way before an avalanche of rocks came down. The Nemesis bounced to one side as nimbly as a bullfrog avoiding a crane.

“See? It worked,” crowed the hobgoblin.

“What’s that?” said Pega, pointing at the mountain above the cave. High up Jack saw figures carved into rock. They were too far away to make out clearly.

“I’ll have a look,” said the Bugaboo. He climbed easily, having sticky pads on his fingers and toes. “There’re three sets of pictures,” he announced when he was perched on a high crag. “On one side is a hammer and a branching tree—fairly crude compared with hobgoblin work, but recognizable. On the other are a ship and—I think —a horse, except it has too many legs. In the middle are three triangles bound together.”

Thorgil screamed. Jack almost jumped out of his skin. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” he cried.

“They’ve gone!” she moaned. “They have gone out over the trackless sea, thinking I am dead.” She curled up on the ground as she had after the demon burned her hand.

“You know this?” said Jack, wanting, but not quite daring, to hold her.

“Those are grave-markers,” Thorgil said. “The sign in the middle is the valknut, the