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

Jack was pleased to see her old spirit back. It meant she was returning to normal. For a broken bone, her ankle was healing with amazing speed. In a day or two she’d be able to walk, and he intended to wait until she could move easily. He felt no urgency.

The lush valley with its warm air grew more attractive with each passing day. Jack fell into a schedule of strolling out each morning for food. He bathed in the stream at midday and explored in the afternoons. Between times he talked to Thorgil (who had turned increasingly sullen as she recovered) and Bold Heart, who seemed not quite happy with the situation either.

The air hummed with joy. At moments Jack felt a feverish desire to roll in moss or to cram raspberries into his mouth and let the juice drip down his chin. At moments he did just that. Sometimes he laughed and laughed for no reason until he couldn’t catch his breath. This place has to be pure life force,he thought.

Jack sat up abruptly.

He remembered the Bard talking about his training with his best friend in Ireland. Day after day we sat, struggling to open our minds to the power of the life force. And just as quickly retreating when it got too close. But my friend liked the feeling of power. He refused to stop while it was still safe. One day something wentsnap. He gave a mighty howl and ran off as fast as he could go until he got to the Valley of Lunatics.

I could hear the lunatics cackling before I could see them,the Bard had gone on. It was a terrible sound, so like laughter and yet so completely joyless. All the failed bards in Ireland had found their way to this one place, where the life force was stronger than anywhere else. And there they stayed.

“Maybe it isn’t a good idea to laugh until I can’t breathe,” murmured Jack. His eyes had been closed as he let the power of this place flow through him. Now he opened them on a most unwelcome sight.

Before him stood the first dangerous creature he’d seen in this enchanted valley: a great, hulking troll-boar with his mouth hanging open. Jack could see razor-sharp tusks.

The boy was stupefied. All he could think to do was chant Mother’s charm for calming angry bees. He sang it again and again, feeling it echo in the life force. That power was too close, too strong. It was like a wave of flame sweeping toward him.

Jack felt himself knocked onto his back into a strawberry patch. His mind cleared and the flames vanished. The boar was whuffling him all over, placing little kisses on his arms, chest, and face.

“Golden Bristles?” the boy cried. He hugged the monster’s head and scratched him behind his leathery ears. “You found your way home. Goooood piggy!” Jack pulled himself up and petted the brute all over his bristly back. “I’m so happy. Isn’t this a lovely place?” Golden Bristles oinked in agreement.

Jack led him back to the camp Thorgil had made. The instant she saw him, she stood up and aimed a rock at the boar’s head. “No, no, no! He’s a friend,” Jack cried. “See?” He climbed onto the pig’s back, half expecting the creature to toss him off. But Golden Bristles was perfectly happy to be ridden like a donkey.

The pig grunted, and Bold Heart warbled back. “He says you freed him,” Thorgil said with a scowl like a thundercloud.

“I did. Wait a minute. How do you know what he said?”

“None of your business. Olaf almost got killed capturing him!”

“So what? He was only going to drown him. Unlike pea-brained berserkers, I don’t like suffering.”

“You stupid thrall! Now Lucy will take his place,” cried Thorgil.

“That’s not my doing!” Jack shouted, jumping down from Golden Bristles’ back.

“It is so, you Saxon fool!”

“ Brjostabarn! You’rethe one who gave her to Frith!” yelled Jack. They stood toe-to-toe, panting with rage. Jack’s mind was clearer than it had been for days. Fury swept away the dreamlike enchantment of the valley. He suddenly remembered Lucy. By Heaven, she was why he was here, and he’d forgotten! He couldn’t even remember how much time had passed.

“That’s right,” Thorgil said, correctly reading his face. “While you’ve been drooling into the raspberries, time has passed.”

“Oh, Lucy,” he whispered. Then another thought struck him. “You didknow what Golden Bristles said. You’ve been practicing sei?erall along. You lied to me!”

Thorgil bowed her head. “I never lie. This accursed power came upon me suddenly. I’m so ashamed,” she murmured.

“You? Ashamed? I’d sooner expect that of Freya’s cats.”

The shield maiden squared her shoulders. She was not one to turn away from pain. “I can’t understand the troll-boar, but I do know what Bold Heart says. And all those wretched little birds!” She shook her fist at the trees. “It’s like being in a hall full of drunk warriors. Yak, yak, yak all the time. They say things like ‘Get out of my tree’ or ‘Did you ever see such beautiful chicks?’ Or they say, ‘Excuse me, I’ve got to poop.’ And they never shut up from the minute they wake until they fall asleep! The owls keep it up all night.”

“That’s how you found this place,” Jack said. “The owls.”

“Yes! That was the first time I realized I could understand birds. They were upset about the dragon and what she’d do when she found her children dead. One of the owls told the others how to find this valley. Apparently, the dragon’s forbidden to come here.”

“You’re like Sigurd. You got dragon’s blood in your mouth.”

“I wish I never had! It’s turned me into a horrible witch!”

“It’s a wonderful skill, Thorgil,” Jack said.

“I hate it!”She was determined to despise her good fortune. Jack would have loved to understand birds, but the dragon’s blood would probably have killed him. It had almost killed Thorgil.

“I guess we’d better leave,” he said. “The sooner we get to the Mountain Queen, the better.”

“About time,” grumbled Thorgil.

Packing was no problem. They had almost nothing. Jack gathered a supply of nuts and fruit for the journey. He used Thorgil’s cloak to carry it. She would be cold when they left, but so would he and they needed the food. On the way back he saw the owls lying in the meadow. They were so weak, they couldn’t fly.

They had fled the dragon only to encounter an even greater peril here. The peacefulness of the valley had lured them, as it had Jack. They hadn’t realized they wouldn’t be able to hunt. Owls could not survive on fruits and berries alone.

Jack put down the food and carried each owl out of the meadow and up into the barren rocks of the nearby hills. He left them on a trail leading up to the cliffs. They were out of sight of the valley and seemed more alert when he left them.

“What took you so long?” Thorgil complained when he returned.

“Owls,” Jack said shortly, and didn’t explain.

He carried the food over one shoulder and grasped his staff for a weapon. Thorgil took the one remaining knife on the grounds that she was better at using it. Bold Heart perched on Golden Bristles’ back, for the boar had already been on his way to the Mountain Queen’s cave when they met. He was good friends with her, he said, and always dropped in when he was in the neighborhood.

Jack learned this in a roundabout way. Golden Bristles spoke to Bold Heart, who translated from Pig to Crow so Thorgil could understand. Then she passed on the information. Or some of it. She kept most things to herself, either because Golden Bristles asked her to or because she wanted to irritate Jack.

Chapter Thirty-two

THE ICE BOW

At the end of the valley, where the stream plunged underground, Golden Bristles found an opening hidden by vines. It was invisible until you were actually in it, and when you got to the other side, all you saw was a crack in the hillside. The air turned cold at once.