The Islands of the Blessed

stacked around the room. The dust flowed along the floor, piling up in a shining border against a wall. The breeze died.

“Your daughter’s plea was brought before the councils of the nine worlds, and I gave my oath that I would free her spirit.” The Bard then described what had happened in the village. “In her rage and sorrow she slew innocent beings. For this she has lost the right to demand Father Severus’ death.”

The Shoney bellowed like an enraged bull. The ground shook and the vases and goblets rattled. Several fin men rushed into the chamber.

“Anger won’t save your daughter,” the Bard said in the shocking silence that followed. “If you truly care for her, you’ll listen to me.”

Be gone, all of you, the Shoney ordered his men. But don’t go far. I may need you to throw these humans into the giant eel pit.

“Threats won’t help either,” the Bard said calmly. “Really, Shoney, I expected more sense from you. You’re too old to throw tantrums.”

Jack thought the Bard had gone too far this time, because the Shoney raised a jeweled goblet as if he intended to bring it down on someone’s head. But after a moment he lowered his arm.

“Very good,” said the old man, as if he were lecturing an unruly child. “If your daughter starts killing again, her spirit will never find peace. She’ll be trapped like a hogboon in an unending round of destruction. Eventually, like a hogboon, she will vanish utterly from the living stream.”

The Shoney moaned softly.

“The comb and mirror I have brought are for her tomb. I know these are the traditional grave gifts for mermaids and fin wives.”

Shellia. Her name was Shellia. The creature hunched over with his face in his hands.

“Take me to her tomb at nightfall,” the Bard commanded. “Let me lay the grave gifts inside. Then it will be time to summon Shellia and send her to the farther sea.”

For a long while the Shoney sat. She was so beautiful the last time I saw her, he said at last. So young and happy. Her bones were carried by the dolphins to Notland. They had not seen her drown or they could have saved her, but they knew what had happened to her. And who was responsible. I will call Shair Shair to go with us, though it will break her heart.

When night fell, Whush led a troop of fin men carrying flaming torches, and the Shoney and Shair Shair walked behind. In the middle were Thorgil with the mirror and comb, Jack with Fair Lamenting, and the Bard. As they went, though no one had spread word of this expedition, fin men and wives, mermaids and merlads came out of their houses to pay homage. They seemed to know it was a solemn occasion, for they were entirely silent.

The procession came to the dark stream, now only a shadowy gash dividing the realm of the dead from the rest of Notland. Somehow Jack knew the water rushing by was very cold. He didn’t have any desire to touch it. They crossed a bridge to a path that wound through the barrows until they came to the outer edge of Notland.

The fog came down like a wall, with only a small gray circle lit by the torches. And before it Jack saw a tomb unlike any of the others. It wasn’t made of earth, but of stones so cleverly fitted together that it resembled a wave frozen in the instant before it breaks. In the middle was a door. On either side were slabs of rock to seal the opening.

Shellia’s tomb, said the Shoney. His wife moaned and collapsed on the ground. Several fin men ran to help her. The Shoney didn’t move.

The Bard took the mirror and comb from Thorgil. “I remind you, Shoney, of the promise your men made before we entered Notland,” he said. “We must be allowed to leave once Shellia is laid to rest.”

You may go if you are successful, the Shoney said.

Jack didn’t like the implied threat in this reply, but the Bard accepted it. He carried the grave gifts inside, lighting his way with the pale glow from his staff. Jack could see shadows moving as the old man walked around. “The tomb is beautifully done,” he said when he had emerged. “You have carved her history into the walls and filled it with her toys, but the mirror you left her was broken.”

I know. She would not rest until she was given a life for a life.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” said the Bard. “Jack, hand me Fair Lamenting.”

The boy quickly unwrapped it. The old man removed a lump of iron from his carrying bag and fastened it to a string inside.

So that is Fair Lamenting, the Shoney said. It has long called to my kind under the sea. I should hate it, but it is too beautiful. I should desire it for my wealth-hoard, yet greed dies when I gaze upon it. I must be getting sick.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said the Bard. “Fair Lamenting is beyond earthly concerns.”

“Where did the clapper come from?” asked Jack.

“I found it,” Thorgil bragged. “I went to every blacksmith in Bebba’s Town until I found the one Ythla had traded with. He had six or seven similar lumps, but this one still had a pattern of scales on one side.”

Jack felt depressed. It had been such a marvelous work of art.

“You should look after your wife, Shoney,” the Bard advised. “The sight of a draugr can be upsetting.”

Jack waited in fear and anticipation as the old man swung the bell. He remembered the golden chime rolling through the hazel wood and the rapture that swept over him. It was the most sublime sound he had ever heard, yet it was frightening as well—too intense, too alive and overwhelming.

The bell rang.

It was… nice. More than nice, Jack told himself, wanting to believe. The Bard frowned and rang it again.

The Shoney bent down to inspect it. Is this the music that called my daughter from the sea? I expected more.

The Bard impatiently rang it again, and now Jack heard a tinny note, not unlike a rock rolling around in a brass cauldron.

“I’m sure I found the right blacksmith,” protested Thorgil. “It was the only lump with a pattern of scales.”

The old man laid Fair Lamenting on the ground and leaned heavily on his staff as though he were exhausted. “I don’t doubt you, child. It isn’t your fault. It’s simply that the magic of the clapper lay in its art, and now that’s gone. I had hoped there was enough magic left to summon the draugr, but I dared not try until we got here.”

You mean you can’t call back my daughter? demanded the Shoney. I’ve suffered and Shair Shair has suffered for nothing?

“Believe me, I would do anything in my power to save your child. I have vowed to do it. I will do it, but I don’t know how.” The old man tottered to a rock and sat down. “Where do I go first? Return to the village? Do I wait until Shellia emerges of her own accord and starts killing? It will be too late then.”

Jack tipped the bell on its side and removed the clapper. It did have a faint fretwork of scales in one section, but this was battered until it was almost unrecognizable. A memory hovered just out of reach in his mind, something important, but he couldn’t bring it into focus. Each time he tried to capture it, it slipped away like a fish diving into deep water.

Fish. Why that image? But of course the original clapper had looked like a fish, the Salmon of Knowledge that knew the pathways between this world and the next. And then he understood. “Your flute, sir,” Jack said. “The flute of Amergin is the right shape.”

“You’re right,” murmured the Bard. “It was made by the same hand.” The old man quickly found the instrument and attached it to the bell. One chime and everyone knew instantly that this was the real Fair Lamenting. The fin men sank to their knees. Shair Shair collapsed into the Shoney’s arms. Thorgil grabbed Jack as though they were on the deck of a ship in a stormy sea. The chime went on and on, fading slowly and sweetly until it seemed impossible that one note could endure so long. Then it was gone.