The Land of the Silver Apples

feeble and distant. He wasn’t even sure how he’d done it before.

The soldiers had dug a great fire pit and were constructing a spit for roasting. A mountain of logs was burning down to coals. The Bugaboo and the Nemesis, appropriately, were locked up in the pantry.

Jack tried to estimate how much time they had. Clouds hid the sun and the light was so murky, it was impossible to guess what time it was. On the good side, a constant drizzle threatened to put out the fire.

Pega slumped against a wall with tears rolling down her face. Father Severus was praying, and Ethne was lamenting loudly and creatively. Only Thorgil was alert. She observed the preparations for the feast, the position of the soldiers, the crows sitting ominously on the battlements. Watching her, Jack felt a glimmer of hope. Surrender wasn’t a concept she understood. She had continued to fight when she was being carried off in the claws of a dragon.

Jack remembered Olaf One-Brow’s advice: Never give up, even if you’re falling off a cliff. You never know what might happen on the way down. He smiled at the memory of the giant Northman.

“You look cheerful. Have you thought of a plan?” said Thorgil.

“I was remembering Olaf.”

The shield maiden frowned as she tried to flex her paralyzed hand. “Once, when Olaf’s right arm was broken in battle, he had to fight with his left hand. When the enemy knocked his sword away, Olaf kicked him in the stomach. Then he headbutted the troll over a cliff. Olaf had much battle lore.”

“For one thing, he taught us that it’s good to have a very hard head.”

“He was proud of his,” Thorgil agreed. “He was also a master of strategy.”

What strategy? Jack thought. As far as he knew, the Northman’s only tactic was to run down a hill screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Olaf used to say, ‘Even the smallest thing can be used as a weapon. You can bury a castle in an avalanche if you know which pebble to remove.’”

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Meaning?”

“Yarthkins. They offered you a boon for blessing their land. You should ask them for it.”

“What can they do? They’re forbidden to enter the fortress.”

“You never know what might happen,” said Thorgil. “I’ve seen their like before, in heavy fog and at a distance, but I know they’re powerful. Olaf was always highly respectful of them. We call them landv?ttir.”

Then, because the shield maiden moved with lightning speed from any plan to action, she immediately turned to Father Severus. “You must remain here with Ethne,” she said. “The rest of us will rescue the hobgoblins.” Next, she tapped Pega on the shoulder and said, “Be ready.” Lastly, she grabbed Ethne and shook her hard. “Stop whining. You know how to create glamour, don’t you?”

Ethne hiccupped, and she stared at Thorgil in shock. “Well, do you?” demanded the shield maiden, giving her another shake. The elf lady nodded. “Good. Get over there and perform. I want those guards’ wits so clouded, they won’t be able to find their backsides with both hands.”

Ethne turned to Father Severus for help. The monk smiled slightly. “You’ve lamented enough, child, and I’m sure Heaven has been impressed. Much will be forgiven if you rescue those noble hobgoblins.” The elf lady’s face became radiant, all tears forgotten. Father Severus raised his hand in blessing to Thorgil: “May God go with you.”

“And Thor and any other god I can get,” said Thorgil.

Then, awkwardly, she added, “Thanks,” before shoving Ethne into the courtyard.

The elf lady began to dance. She moved like gossamer in a breeze, like sunlight skimming a lake. Her feet barely touched the earth. With each step, she became less human and more elf. First one, then another soldier turned to look at her, and the ground around her began to change.

Flowers grew where no flower had been before. Vines rose into the air. They curled up the fortress walls, covering the gray stone with leaves so green, it was as though a light shone behind them. Strange birds with scarlet wings sat on the branches and sang such music as was never heard in Middle Earth.

“Don’t look,” said Thorgil, twisting Jack’s ear so viciously that he yelped. The pain drove the vision away, and the gray stones returned. He saw Pega huddled against a wall.

“Come on,” he said, grasping her by the hand.

“What’s happening?” she said.

“Don’t look at it. We’re going to rescue the hobgoblins.”

Any uncertainty Pega might have had vanished. She stumbled after Jack and he after Thorgil until they got to the dungeon door. Guards were standing in front of it, completely hypnotized. Thorgil pushed them out of the way. The three children dragged the heavy door open, and when they were inside, Thorgil had them close it again.

Chapter Forty-six UNLIFE

They ran down the long stairs and along the halls, passing dungeons that might contain prisoners. Jack remembered King Yffi’s words: Some of our prisoners have disappeared from the dungeons. We find their chains empty, though unlocked. Whatever lurked down here, it was too late to worry about it now, Jack thought as he passed the grim metal doors.

But he realized another problem as soon as the trail began to go down and the light to fail. “Torches!” he cried. “We haven’t got torches!”

“Can you draw fire with your staff?” Pega asked.

“It won’t work without something to burn.” Jack looked around frantically, but the halls were empty.

“I think I can find the way,” said Thorgil. Jack and Pega stared at her.

“It’s pitch-black down there and the trail twists around. Even the Bugaboo got confused,” said Jack.

“Rune taught me how to remember my way in the dark. It’s a little like what he does in the sea.”

Jack remembered, long ago when he’d been a prisoner of the Northmen, how Olaf One-Brow had lowered Rune into the sea. The Northmen’s method of finding land was to go in one direction until they bumped into something, but they had fantastic memories. A beach, once seen, was never forgotten. Water, once tasted, was never confused with water a mile away.

And Rune was the best. He saw the sea as a good farmer saw his fields. He knew the shape of it, its various colors and moods. He observed how the birds lifted their wings as they felt the currents of the sky. He sniffed the air for smoke and fresh-cut peat, for pine and juniper. He tasted the sea itself, to detect the presence of invisible, freshwater streams or of cold welling up from the depths—the result being that the old man always knew exactly where he was.

“You can do what Rune does?” Jack said.

“I have not the years of experience, but he praised my skill.”

Jack looked at the trail going into the dark. It couldn’t hurt to call on other powers, in case they never came out the other end. “May the life force hold us in the hollow of its hand. May we return with the sun and be born anew into the world,” he said, repeating the Bard’s words.

“I shall not return. My hope is Valhalla,” Thorgil said.

“And my hope is Heaven,” said Pega. Then they all joined hands, Thorgil in front, Pega next, and last of all, Jack.

“Like the Bugaboo, I need silence,” the shield maiden said. “I must remember our path.”

They went down into the blackness and, worse, the cold. Chill came up from the ground and down from the ceiling. The walls were so bone-numbing, they seemed to burn rather than freeze when you blundered into them. And everyone did that repeatedly. The going was much slower and harder with Thorgil leading.

Sometimes she had to stop and sense the air around her. Jack didn’t know what she was looking for. Everything seemed exactly the same, but after a moment Thorgil would choose a direction and pull them on.

Jack began to grow sleepy. He stumbled. “Don’t lie down,” Thorgil said. “That’s how the frost giants trap their enemies.”