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

“The gods knew they had to have a magic cord made of the secret things of the world—the roots of a mountain, the footfall of a cat, the breath of a fish,” said Rune. “Only the dwarves had the knowledge to make such things. When they were finished, they presented Odin with a cord that looked like a silk ribbon, but it was stronger than death.

“‘Here, wolfie, wolfie, wolfie,’ called Thor, trying to lure Fenris. ‘This one’s going to be even more fun.’ But the wolf was no fool. He knew what the gods were up to, though he had complete confidence in his strength.

“‘I’ll wear that thing if someone puts his hand in my mouth,’ he growled. Odin’s son Tyr, bravest of the brave, stepped forth and put his hand between the wolf’s slavering jaws. The others bound Fenris with the ribbon.” Rune paused, and the Northmen turned to Jack.

Here we go again,thought Jack. Whenever the Northmen paused in a story, it meant something horrible was about to happen. They loved making Jack ask for the ending because he was so satisfyingly disgusted. Sven the Vengeful was practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

“Oh, very well.” Jack sighed. “What happened?”

“Fenris struggled and howled and fought, but he could not break that fetter, and so he was trapped on the island,” said Rune.

“But first he bit off Tyr’s hand!” Sven cried.

“ Iwas supposed to finish the story,” Rune said.

“And he chewed it up and swallowed it!” Sven was too carried away to stop.

“Crunch! Mangle! Chew!” yelled Thorgil.

I’ll never understand Northmen,Jack thought.

“What did it taste like?” asked Lucy, not at all bothered by the tale’s gory ending, and a lively discussion of what Tyr’s hand tasted like followed. Then Jack told them the story of the Jotuns’ escape from Utgard and how the whales carried them the last few miles when the ice disappeared.

In between tales, they feasted on roast goose and drank the cider Skakki had saved for this occasion. The stars moved toward morning, and Lucy went to sleep. Finally, when the first trace of dawn showed over the sea, Thorgil said, “I have written a poem.”

“Girls can’t write poetry,” said Sven, but no one paid attention to him.

“Let’s hear it. Your eulogy for Olaf was fine indeed,” said Rune. “I’d say the song-mead was not wasted on you.”

“It’s about Mimir’s Well,” she replied, and Jack was surprised. They’d agreed not to discuss it. She stood and bowed.

Thorgil waited.

“That’s it?” Skakki said, puzzled.

“My mother named me Jill,” Thorgil explained. “And Jack and I climbed a hill, and we fell down.”

“DOESN’T SEEM LIKE MUCH OF A STORY,” Eric Pretty-Face said.

“Well, it really happened, and a poem doesn’t haveto tell a story,” Thorgil cried.

“Yes, it does,” said Sven.

“It’s nice. Really it is,” said Rune as Thorgil looked ready to lose control. “It’s not the kind of thing that lasts, but it’s sweet.”

“It is not sweet!”shrieked Thorgil. “And it’s going to last! People will be saying my poem long after your moldy old verses disappear!”She ran off down the beach and hid herself behind some rocks.

The Northmen, as usual, paid no attention to her flight. They began to pack up. Jack followed her. The light was growing swiftly, and the boat would soon leave. He found her behind a rock, sobbing as though her heart would break.

“Jill,” he said softly, kneeling by her.

“Have you come to make fun of me?” she said.

“Oh, no! I thought it was a wonderful poem, and I think it will endure.”

“Its fame will never die?” She looked up at him through her tears.

“That’s right. Sven doesn’t know anything about verse, and Eric Pretty-Face hears only half of what’s said. Rune, well, he’s set in his ways.”

“You think it’s good?”

“I’m a skald trained by Dragon Tongue,” Jack said sternly. “Of course I think it’s good.”

“Oh, thank you!” Thorgil flung her arms around him. They held each other for a long moment in the pearly light. The birds of the forest had awakened and were greeting the new day. Thorgil sat back and unclasped the necklace of silver leaves she’d retrieved from Frith. “I want to give this to Lucy.”

“Are you sure?” Jack said. “I thought you really liked it.”

“I’m allowed to be as generous as anyone else,” she snapped. “Are you calling me a miser?”

“No, no,” Jack said.

“Well then. I dolike it. That’s why it’s a great sacrifice to give it up. Besides, I have Thor’s hammer and—this.” She closed her hand over the invisible rune.

Jack looked longingly at her hand. “Someday you’ll have to pass that on.”

“Someday everythinghas to be passed on. But I will do it gladly and without regret,” the shield maiden said proudly.

They returned to the others. Lucy was sitting up, half dazed, with Bold Heart on her lap. The ship was already in the water, and all the Northmen were aboard except for Rune. “Here,” he said, handing Jack the glass bottle with the poppy on the side.

Jack held it up. At the bottom were a few drops of liquid. “Song-mead!” he cried.

“When I went to store the bottle, I saw that it wasn’t quite empty,” said Rune. “I don’t know how much good so little can do, but I think you’ll find it useful.”

“Thank you,” the boy said. Now that the actual moment of parting had come, his anger at the old warrior had vanished.

“Thank you.You saved us from Frith and gave me back my voice. You’re a brave lad. If you were a little more vicious, you’d make a fine warrior.”

“I don’t think so,” said Jack.

Then it really was time to go. Thorgil and Rune climbed into the ship, and Skakki gave orders for them to row. “Good-bye, Jack. Good-bye, Lucy. Bold Heart, you can come with me if you like,” called Thorgil. But the crow ruffled his feathers and stayed put.

The long, beautifully made craft slipped through the water with scarcely a splash and made its way to the open sea. It disappeared into the mist as though it had never been.

“Come on, Lucy,” Jack said, lifting his little sister to her feet. “We have a long walk ahead, and Mother and Father are waiting.”

Chapter Forty-three

WELCOME HOME

Mist drifted through the trees and water dripped off the leaves. Jack followed a path he knew led to the Roman road. He had his blackened staff from Jotunheim in one hand and Bold Heart on his shoulder. With his other hand, he led Lucy. “Can’t I lie down?” she complained. “I’m sooo tired.”

“We’ll rest when we get to the road. And youshould stop getting a free ride,” Jack told Bold Heart. The crow only gripped harder.

The boy trudged on. Sorrow fought with joy in his mind. He was going home, but he had lost Thorgil and Rune forever. For the past months all he’d thought about was returning here. Now he felt let down. There’d be no more sailing, no more adventures. But he missed his family dreadfully. If only they didn’t live in a tiny village where the most exciting thing was a ewe having twins. How could he go back to hauling water, stacking firewood, and chasing black-faced sheep?

“I want to sit down now,” said Lucy.

Jack could see the Roman road looming through the bracken. He led her to its moss-covered stones, and they both rested for a while. Jack shooed Bold Heart away. The crow landed nearby with loud caws of complaint. “If you don’t like it, go back to Thorgil,” the boy said. He rubbed his shoulder where the bird’s claws had dug in.

He took out food the Northmen had given him: roast goose and dry bread they had traded for farther north. Lucy nibbled the bread, and Bold Heart pecked at a shred of meat. Water dripped all around. They were getting soaked.