The Sea of Trolls - Farmer Nancy (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений .txt) 📗

“She has a broken ankle. That’s all, as far as I can tell.”

“The bear?”

“It’s dead.”

“Good,” said Olaf.

“I have the pain medicine Rune gave me,” Jack said. “I’ll leave it with you and go back to the ship.”

“Waste of time,” said the giant.

“No, it isn’t. Rune’s a healer. Eric Pretty-Face and Eric the Rash can carry you.”

“I’m dying,” whispered Olaf, and Jack knew it was true. There were simply too many wounds. By the time he found the ship—assuming he survived the poisonous meadow—it would be too late.

“At least let me give you poppy juice.”

“I’ll take a little,” said Olaf. “It will help me wait… until Thorgil can come.” Jack, weeping, handed him the flask. The man swallowed a few drops and waved the boy away.

Jack hurried back to Thorgil, but on the way he saw Bold Heart lying in the mud. The bird was flapping his good wing and trying to rise. “Bold Heart!” Jack cried. He gently lifted the crow and saw that although the right wing was damaged, no serious injury had occurred. The mud had broken the bird’s fall.

“I won’t leave you behind,” Jack promised. He went on to find Thorgil also attempting to rise, but her injury was worse. “I know how Father’s leg was treated by the monks,” he told her. “I can tie your ankle straight with sticks. It will hurt, but the bone will grow straight. The trouble with Father’s leg was that they left it till too late.”

He kept talking, more to calm himself than anything, as he gathered sticks and tore strips of cloth from his cloak. “I’ll do a quick job now and a better one later. Olaf wants to see you. We’ve got to hurry.”

At the mention of Olaf, Thorgil showed interest for the first time. “He’s dying,” the boy said, choking on the words, “but he killed the bear.”

Jack’s hands shook as he bound her ankle tightly and hauled her to her feet. She gasped and clung to him, hopping along on her good foot. With each hop, she caught her breath. Jack found the trip especially grueling because he had Bold Heart slung in a bag around his neck as well. They slowly worked their way back. Then it became easier because she could use her arms to crawl up the deadfall. Jack wondered at her silence. If it were him, he’d be groaning by now. The broken ankle had to hurt like fire.

They got to the crater in the middle and went down. Olaf smiled weakly. “Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter,” he said.

“W-What did you say?” said Thorgil.

“I’ve named you my daughter,” he said. The pain medicine seemed to make it easier for him to speak. “I told Skakki and Heide this before I left.”

“B-But I d-don’t want to live w-without you,” she wept.

“Is that any way to show gratitude? I am being called by Odin. I can see the Valkyries standing on the hills.”

“I’ll die with you! I’ll be sacrificed as Mother was!”

“No!” roared Olaf, and subsided into coughing. He spat blood over his beard. “No,” he said more softly. “I didn’t save you from Thorgrim for this. You have survived the battle honorably. You must go on. Your quest is not over.”

“B-But I want to d-die.”

“Well, you can’t. Nobody dies of a broken ankle.”

Thorgil burst into sobs. She tore at her face with her fingernails until Jack pulled her hands away.

“You must take the Mountain Queen’s chess piece, Jack,” said Olaf. “It’s in my travel pouch. The sun stone is for Skakki. Thor’s hammer is for you, Thorgil, daughter of my heart.” Jack found all three. The latter was a silver talisman many of the Northmen carried.

For a while Olaf was silent, breathing with difficulty. Jack offered him pain medicine, and he refused. “She will need it more.” The giant nodded at Thorgil.

As the day wore on the sun circled the horizon. It would sink into darkness for only four short hours. Olaf talked with Thorgil, growing ever weaker. Jack watched miserably. Now that the emergency had passed, he was able to assess their situation. Most of their supplies lay in the collapsed hollow below. He hadn’t a hope of reaching them. They had to travel three days to the Mountain Queen’s hall—though with Thorgil’s injury, it might take a week or more.

In a week the dragon would have digested her elk.

Meanwhile, what would theyeat? The valley farther on was bare of plants. They’d have to fast. Once they got to the ice mountain—if they weren’t slaughtered by trolls first—they had to ask for the Mountain Queen’s help in finding Mimir’s Well. Did she even know where it was?

Afterward, they would have to retrace their steps, including the meadow full of poisonous flowers, and return in time for the harvest festival to prevent Frith from sacrificing Lucy.

It was too much. Jack bowed his head in complete dejection.

He distracted himself with rebinding Thorgil’s ankle. She turned whiter still as he eased her foot into place, but she uttered no sound. He unpacked what few supplies Olaf had to offer. He felt bad about taking things from a man still living. The giant assured him this was only sensible.

“I only wish I could have had a hero’s funeral.” Olaf sighed.

Jack straightened up. “You can, sir,” he cried. “You have your sword and your bow and arrows. Thorgil and I can’t use them. We can’t even lift them. And you have the troll-bear at your feet. Not even Thorgrim had such a sacrifice. Even better, I learned to raise fire from the Bard. When it’s—when it’s time, I’ll burn this entire deadfall. No one has everhad such a funeral pyre. They’ll see it all the way to Valhalla. And when I return, I’ll make you a poem no one will ever forget!”

The giant’s eyes shone with joy. “My fame will never die,” he whispered.

“It never will,” Jack assured him. “Would you like me to repeat the song I performed in King Ivar’s hall?”

“Oh, yes,” murmured Olaf, who was fading even as the sun lowered toward the horizon. So Jack stood and repeated Rune’s poem, and it was even more glorious than it had been before.

When Jack mentioned Odin’s skull-pickers, Bold Heart stuck his head out of the bag and warbled. As Jack chanted he saw the sky turn a deeper blue. A wind came up and sang with the voices of women over the broken timbers of the deadfall.

When it was over, he looked down and saw that Olaf’s soul had fled. Jack took Thorgil’s hand and helped her up the side of the crater and down to the valley floor. The light was fading, and they had to move while he could still see.

Jack helped Thorgil hobble to a space between two boulders, and he settled Bold Heart, still in his bag, into a small crevice. It wasn’t much shelter from the icy wind, but it would have to do. “I’m going back to raise fire,” he told them.

I hope,he added as he settled himself on the ground. He knew how to light kindling. He did it on the sly when no one was watching, just to feel he hadn’t lost the skill. This would be much harder. The logs were thick and many were damp, but the moss was dry. He’d have to concentrate on that.

Jack shivered in the wind and drew his cloak tight around him. The sky was deep blue with a thousand stars winking and twinkling overhead. He looked across at the distant cliffs and saw a fire burning at the top. Where had thatcome from? Were Jotuns making camp? Were they watching the valley? Then Jack remembered the dragon.

I wish I could get her to light this fire,he thought. No, I don’t. She’d take Thorgil and me off to feed her dragonlets. Nothing in this place is any good. Well,he thought, here goes.Jack concentrated on the hot sun pouring into the earth like summer rain. It was stored deep down, waiting for him to call it forth.