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

“Wud- duh!” shrieked the Bard.

Caw, caw, caw!screamed Bold Heart. The two collided and fell to the floor as though struck by lightning.

“No!” cried Jack. He rushed to the old man and lifted him up. The Bard’s eyes were staring, and he wasn’t breathing! “Mother! What should I do?”

She knelt on the other side and felt the old man’s pulse. “His heart has stopped!”

“No, no, no,” moaned Jack. He’d been so close.

“Pour that song-mead or whatever it is down his throat!” said Mother. She pulled open the Bard’s jaws, and Jack upended the bottle. A spoonful of bright liquid fell into the old man’s mouth. Jack shook the bottle, and one more drop formed.

“That’s all there is,” he whispered.

Suddenly, as though he were waking from a deep sleep, the Bard quivered and opened his eyes. “Jack, my lad,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“You’re back! You’re back!” Behind him Jack heard a fluttering. Bold Heart was struggling to rise. “Frith’s power is broken, sir. You’re safe.”

“I know,” said the Bard. “My stars, I’m a mess! Hasn’t anyone given me a bath?”

“We tried,” said Mother, laughing and crying at the same time.

Bold Heart staggered through the straw. His wings hung down as though he’d forgotten how to use them. “What’s wrong?” Jack said, alarmed. He reached for the bird, and it slashed at him viciously.

Bold Heart shrieked, backing against the wall.

“Has he gone mad?” Jack said.

“No, he’s only a poor, frightened bird,” said the Bard, rising with Mother’s help. “These past few months have not been kind to him.”

“But—but he was my friend.”

“ Iwas your friend, Jack,” the Bard said. “Don’t you remember the story of Beowulf? How I threw myself into the body of a pike? When Frith hunted me down, the only way I could escape was into the body of a crow. I traded places with him. It was touch and go getting back, though. If you hadn’t roused me with that song-mead, both of us would have died.”

“ Youfought the troll-bear? Youtalked the dragon out of eating me? Youbrought back Lucy’s spirit?”

“I have some skills, even in the body of a bird,” the Bard said with understandable pride. “Brains, you know. But don’t discount your own contributions. You’ve shown remarkable ability. Remarkable.”

Jack glowed under the praise.

“All this time I’ve been trying to reason with a bird,” said Mother.

“You can’t reason with a bird. It isn’t bright enough,” said the Bard. The old man stretched his fingers and toes as though getting used to them again.

“Bold Heart,” murmured Jack. In spite of what the Bard said, he missed the cheeky crow. Surely something of its character had remained when the man had taken over its body.

“He’ll have to learn to fly again,” said the Bard. “I’ll keep him with me until it’s safe for him to be on his own.”

“And I’ll heat water for a bath,” said Mother.

“Another thing you can’t do with birds,” the Bard said, wrinkling his nose, “is house-train them.”

They were sitting under the rowan tree in the little valley. Bold Heart was in a cage some distance away. The Bard had opened the door, but the crow was too frightened to go out.

“He can fly and he’s healthy enough,” said the old man. “He just lacks confidence.”

Nearby a bubbling spring fed a small pool. Some of Mother’s bees still explored the smooth gray branches of the tree, though the time of rowan flowers was gone. Perhaps they liked to be where the life force was strong.

“How did you find me, sir?” said Jack. “After I was taken.”

“I asked crows on the way. They’re great gossips. Know everything that’s going on. They didn’t know you personally, of course, but something like a Northman ship heading up the coast caught their attention. The storm forced me to take shelter, and I didn’t reach your boat until it turned eastward for the last long stretch of the journey.”

“Yet you followed me over the sea.” Jack was deeply moved.

“It was foolish. If you hadn’t called me down, I would have drowned.”

The wind at the top of the valley had been cool, but something about this place held on to the warmth of summer. Dandelions and clover still dotted the grass, and frogs peeped in the marsh grass around the pond.

“Why didn’t you come back here?” said Jack.

“Too dangerous. Frith could find me as long as I was in this body. And she would have made sure that everyone in the village was killed. Besides, I rather liked being a crow. Sometimes I liked it too much.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“There’s a danger in taking another form. Sometimes you forget who you are.”

“Like when we first got to Olaf’s house?” Jack guessed.

“I was so glad to get to the end of that beastly voyage—what with storms and fog and the burning of Gizur’s village—I took a vacation. Went off with a flock and clean forgot I was human.” The Bard shivered at the memory. “When I realized what I’d done, I was careful never to leave you again.”

A crow soared overhead, circled, and came down to the cage. “Look,” whispered Jack. The crow warbled deep in its throat, going on and on as though trying to reason with someone. Bold Heart stuck his beak out the door. Warble, coo, warble,said the strange bird. Then it flew off. Bold Heart tumbled out of the cage and took off after it, cawing wildly. He disappeared over the rim of the valley, still calling.

“You see all sorts of things other people miss when you serve the life force,” said the Bard.

“Even when you tell them, they don’t believe you.” Jack had described his adventures to the villagers, and they’d listened politely. But when he was finished, they said, Tell us what really happened. We’re used to Giles Crookleg’s lies.No amount of protesting shifted them.

“Don’t be angry,” the Bard said. “Most people live inside a cage of their own expectations. It makes them feel safe. The world’s a frightening place full of glory and wonder and, as we’ve both discovered, danger. Flying isn’t for everyone.”

Jack had worked up the courage to ask the one question he thought might upset the old man. “Sir… was I right to give Thorgil the rune of protection? She’s still a shield maiden and she’s still our enemy.”

The Bard smiled gently, gazing at the empty cage. “No kindness is ever wasted, nor can we ever tell how much good may come of it. The rune was meant to go to Thorgil. The life force demanded it, and she, like it or not, has been enlisted in its service. I’m sure she’ll be peeved when she finds out.”

“Why didn’t you tell her who you were?”

“Oh, I did. The tiresome child refused to believe me. The Mountain Queen saw through my disguise at once. Very little is hidden from her.”

“I’d love to hear the story of how you melted a hole through her wall,” said Jack.

“Not today,” the Bard said firmly. “I’ve hardly got my voice back after all the screaming my body did while I was gone. Let’s just sit here and watch the last of summer.”

And so they did. The bees hummed over the remaining flowers, the spring bubbled, and the rowan tree rustled in a warm breeze. The magic was deep and harder to reach here than it had been in Jotunheim, but it was more humane. There was no other place on earth, Jack decided, that he’d rather be.