Текст книги "The Land of the Silver Apples"

Автор книги: Nancy Farmer

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“I… did it…” she wheezed. “No… thanks to you.”

Now Jack did scoot down to sit by her side. “You need water,” he observed. “Wait here.” He ran to a small rivulet trickling from the mountain nearby and filled his hands. Some of the water leaked out on the way back, but he managed to get a little into Thorgil’s mouth. Back and forth he went, with Pega helping, until the shield maiden sighed and shook her head.

“Enough,” she said.

Jack produced one of the rounds of cheese, and Thorgil almost bit him in her eagerness to get it. “Take little bites,” he advised. “It’s not safe to bolt your food after starving.” But Thorgil paid no attention. When she was finished, she leaned back against the rock and closed her eyes.

“Is she going to faint again?” whispered Pega.

“I imagine she needs time to recover,” said Jack. “I don’t know how long she’s been here.” He noted that Thorgil’s clothes were stained dark green and her boots were the color of tree bark. It was as though she’d been turning into part of the forest. Perhaps she had been.

“One of my owners refused to feed me for three weeks for spoiling one of his shirts,” Pega remarked. She was huddled in a fold of the rock with her arms hugging her knees for warmth. The sun had gone behind the mountain, and the air had turned chill. “All I had was what I could find in the rubbish heap. You can’t believe how good fish heads taste after three weeks.”

Thorgil opened her eyes and looked straight at the girl. “You’re a thrall,” she said.

“What’s a thrall?” asked Pega.

Jack swore under his breath. “Pay no attention. Northmen like picking fights more than bears like honey. Even their gods insult one another.”

“‘Thrall’ means ‘slave’,” Thorgil said in perfectly clear Saxon.

“I am not! Jack freed me!”

“I was a slave once,” Jack said. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

“You should be,” Thorgil said with a wolfish smile.

You were too,thought Jack, but he bit back the words before they slipped out. Taunting Thorgil was a sport that had to be conducted very carefully. “Perhaps we should look for a place to sleep,” he said. “Anyone want a bed of moss?”

“No!”Thorgil cried, which showed Jack how terrified she’d been. It wasn’t like her to admit fear.

“I don’t understand. We’ve spent two nights in the forest, and nothing happened to us until this morning,” said Pega. “It’s like the trees suddenly woke up.”

“Or we ran into the wrong trees,” said Jack. “I suppose some are good and some are bad, like people. Anyhow, we need shelter before it gets completely dark. I saw a cleft in the rocks earlier.”

Chapter Twenty-two
THORGIL’S SAGA

The cleft turned out to be a tiny valley hidden in the side of the mountain. On one side of a stream was a shelf of rock wide enough to sleep on. At the upper end was an ancient apple tree so coated in lichen, it appeared almost silver. It was covered in white flowers that added to its ghostly appearance. For a wonder, it bore masses of pale yellow fruit as well. Or at least Jack thought they were yellow. The night was coming on so rapidly, it was difficult to tell.

“Do you think it’s safe to eat them?” whispered Pega.

Jack climbed up to the tree. The air around it was filled with a wild sweetness unlike the flowers of the lime trees the night before. Those lulled you into sleep while these made you feel like something exciting was about to happen. “I think this is one of the good trees,” he said.

Pega gathered some of the apples littering the ground. “Thank you kindly,” she said, bowing to the tree.

Thorgil snorted. Jack guessed she thought it demeaning to say thank youto a tree. Once again, they could build no fire, but the air in the tiny valley was still and not too cold. They feasted on apples and the remaining round of cheese, with water from the stream. Pega sang a song about a fox and a hen who kept foiling the fox’s plans to eat her. It had many verses, and both Jack and Thorgil joined in for the chorus. “My mother used to sing this when I was very small,” said Thorgil.

“Mine too,” said Jack, strangely moved. Thorgil almost never mentioned her mother, who had been sacrificed in the Northman lands.

“Mine too, probably, if I could remember her,” added Pega.

They snuggled together for warmth and slept soundly in spite of the hardness of their bed. Jack woke in the middle of the night to see the full moon flooding down into the narrow valley. The apple tree shone with an unearthly brightness, and then it did, indeed, appear to be made of silver. That’s odd,thought Jack, settling back beside Pega and Thorgil. I could have sworn the moon was full two nights ago.

Thorgil’s shout awakened Jack and Pega. They scrambled to their feet and saw the shield maiden, knife drawn, staring at the apple tree. “Something was here,” she said. “I saw it just as my eyes opened, but it disappeared.”

Jack joined her in looking around. “What did it look like?”

“Hard to say. It moved so quickly. It was speckled green and brown, shorter than a man, and it had a face.”

“Face?”

Thorgil smiled, as she tended to do when she had something unpleasant to say. “It was like a toad or a newt—wide, flat nostrils and a lipless mouth. I forgot to mention it was standing over Pega.”

“Bedbugs!” cried Pega.

“It was stroking your hair.”

“Stop trying to frighten her,” Jack said. He climbed up to the apple tree and searched. There was nothing. Behind the tree the rock was seamed with many possible footholds. Whatever it was could easily have escaped.

“I swear by Odin I saw a creature,” said Thorgil. Jack didn’t doubt her. She was no liar, even if she took a malicious pleasure in frightening people. In a way he was glad she’d seen something. A giant toad was better than some of the things he’d been imagining.

“It’s left us more of those pots,” he said, kneeling by what appeared to be large mushrooms sprouting from the base of the tree.

Pega and Thorgil climbed up beside him. As before, the pots contained warm bread, butter, honey, and cheese. “This is a wonder,” said Thorgil, letting the mouthwatering smell of bread waft over her face. “What magic brought these here?”

“I suppose our visitor left them,” said Pega.

“I’ve heard that some creatures charm mud to look like food,” remarked the shield maiden. “It turns back into mud in your stomach.”

“Don’t you ever have anything good to say?” Jack snapped.

Thorgil grinned.

They carried the food down to the shelf of rock by the stream and made a pleasant meal, with apples for dessert. “Now I want to know how you got here and how you got trapped in the moss,” Jack told Thorgil. “I didn’t ask you yesterday because you looked… tired.” He’d been about to say frightened,but he knew that would only make her angry.

“We were on a quest,” the shield maiden began.

“We?” queried Jack.

“Skakki, Sven the Vengeful, Eric the Rash—the usual crowd.”

“And a boy I didn’t recognize.”

Thorgil straightened up in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“I’m a skald,” Jack said airily. “It’s my business to know such things.”

“Then you can figure out the rest of it,” snarled Thorgil.

“Please. I don’t know beans,” interrupted Pega. “I’d like to know what such a famous warrior is doing on our shores.”

Jack mentally congratulated the girl for hitting on the one compliment likely to make Thorgil cooperate.

“We were doing our usual harvesting of cowardly Saxon villages,” the shield maiden continued. She paused to let the insult sink in. Jack heroically kept silent. “But we had a tip about a secret passage into Elfland. Rune overheard it at the slave market– youremember the place, Jack.”

“Go on,” he said tensely.

“Skakki was bargaining with the Picts, and they didn’t have enough weapons to trade for what we’d got. They offered to leave the shortfall on a deserted beach. Well, that kind of promise is worth about as much as a handful of dirt. But before Skakki said no, Rune pulled him aside. He’d been listening to the Picts argue. They didn’t want to reveal the location of the beach because a cave on it led to Elfland.When Skakki heard that, he decided to take the chance.”

“Why would you want to go to Elfland?” Pega asked.

“For the plunder, of course! They have silver and jewels, fine horses, too. We put ashore, and believe it or not, the weapons were there. We searched the beach, and Eric Pretty-Face found the cave—”

“Eric Pretty-Face?” said Pega.

“It’s a Northman joke,” Jack explained. “He has awful battle scars. His leg was practically chewed off by a troll.” Pega’s eyes opened very wide.

“But Rune had heard some lore about Elfland. Seems it isn’t safe for adults, but children can get in and out,” said the shield maiden.

Jack remembered the Bard telling him the same thing. I think you’re young enough to resist the lure of elves,the old man had said. It’s a curious thing, but this is one area where children are stronger than adults. They aren’t taken in by illusions, and elves, above all else, are masters of illusion.

“Heinrich and I were chosen to go.”

“That’s the boy I don’t know,” said Jack.

“He was a nephew of Ivar the Boneless,” said Thorgil. “He’d just turned twelve, and Ivar insisted we take him. You know how one person can simply ruin an outing? Heinrich had been spoiled rotten by his mother. He whined constantly. He wanted to be first on shore for the raids. He hogged the bog myrtle and demanded the first pick of plunder. Andhe insisted we call him Heinrich the Heinous, a title he had not earned. He was no more heinous than any other twelve-year-old, in spite of torturing thralls—”

“That’s enough,” said Jack, who didn’t want to get into torturing thralls with Pega there. She was staring at Thorgil with frank horror. “Tell us about your quest.”

“Heinrich insisted on going first to show off his weapons. Honestly! A sword, a spear, a shield, anda reserve shield when you’re practically going down into a mine. How stupid can you get? Anyhow, on the second day Heinrich wanted to explore a side passage. ‘You know what Rune said,’ I told him. ‘No side passages.’ He called me a coward and went in.” Thorgil swallowed and took a deep breath. Jack had an awful feeling he knew what was in the side passage.

“He—he called out that he was stuck,” said the shield maiden. “I was lagging behind with the supplies, and I heard Heinrich scream. I held up the torch and saw—” Thorgil broke off.

Jack and Pega waited. The shield maiden was clearly having trouble saying exactly what she saw. The sun had finally found its way into the narrow valley and roused a family of otters. They slid past on the stream, bobbed down, and came up with small silver fish in their paws. They were not in the least afraid of the humans on the bank.

“When I was very small,” Thorgil said, gulping, “I found a nest of snakes while digging for wild garlic in the forest. They were slithering all over each other, hissing and baring their fangs. I ran home and was beaten for not fetching the garlic. That’s what I saw in the cave, only this nest was much, much bigger. There were hundreds of serpents, and in the middle was Heinrich. They were wrapped around his arms and legs, and as I watched, one went down his throat. But before I could do anything, the ground started shaking! I’ve never felt anything like it. The rocks tumbled down, and I couldn’t stay on my feet. Then something struck me from behind. When I awoke, the tunnel we’d come through had collapsed and a hole had opened up in the roof.”

“And Heinrich?” said Pega.

“Gone. Buried behind the rocks.” Thorgil looked down at her hands.

“He fell into a knucker hole,” said Jack. “We were almost trapped by one too. It looked like a giant tick.”

“No. A bedbug,” Pega insisted.

“I swear by Odin it was a nest of snakes,” said Thorgil.

“We’re all probably right. I think a knucker looks like your worst nightmare,” Jack said wisely.

Chapter Twenty-three
THE BUGABOO

By this time the sun was flooding into the little valley. All three children were depressed by Thorgil’s tale, and Jack suggested they share the rest of her story later. He had filled his pockets with the excess cheese, which was fortunate, for the mushroom-shaped pots had vanished.

“It gives me the creeps to know that some creature can come and go without us seeing it.” Pega shivered.

“It seems friendly,” Jack said.

“Yes, but it won’t come out into the open. How am I going to sleep with that thing tiptoeing around? And why was it hanging over me?”

“Perhaps you looked the most edible,” suggested Thorgil.

“Stop that,” said Jack. He was reluctant to leave the crevice in the mountains. It seemed so safe after the whispering trees and the shock of finding Thorgil half devoured by moss. But they had no choice.

They continued to follow the strip of meadow between the rocks and the forest. No one said anything. No one made the decision to go on. It was simply the easiest thing to do.

They passed groves of aspen, birch, alder, and ash, broken up by gnarled, lichen-encrusted oaks and lime trees that cast an eerie green shade. Presently, Jack noticed that the sun, instead of being behind them, was on their left. They had come to the end of the valley and were following the mountains around to the other side. Yet still there was no way out, and the rocks were still too steep to climb.

“I think this is leading us back,” said Thorgil. “I had hoped to return to the ship, but the tunnel was blocked.” They rested by a little rushing stream, and Jack passed around the cheese he’d taken. Much had happened since he last saw Thorgil, and he told her first of his return to the village and of the Bard’s travels in the body of Bold Heart.

“That was Bold Heart?” cried the shield maiden. “That stupid bird told me he was the Bard, but I assumed he was lying. So many birds do.”

“You can understand birds?” said Pega.

The shield maiden nodded curtly. Jack remembered she didn’t like understanding them. She said they reminded her of a mob of drunk Northmen and never shut up.

“What’s that one saying?” said Pega, pointing at a finch warbling on an elder bush.

Thorgil listened. “He’s saying, ‘I’m itchy. I’m itchy. I’m itchy.’ And that one’s saying, ‘So am I. So am I. So am I.’ The one on the beech tree is singing, ‘Bird lice, bird lice, we’ve all got bird lice!’”

“Knowing does kind of take the fun out of it,” decided Pega.

They traveled on. Jack told Thorgil about Lucy’s madness, the destruction of St. Filian’s Well, and Brutus’ disappearance.

“Youcaused the earthquake?” cried Thorgil when he got to that part.

“I didn’t mean to. I was angry. The Bard says never to do magic when you’re angry.”

“That’s a wonderful skill!” exclaimed Thorgil. “You could cause an avalanche to fall on your enemies. You could wipe out a whole village.”

“Oh, bother,” muttered Jack. He’d forgotten how bloodthirsty she was. But on the whole they spent a pleasant day swapping tales and reminiscing about their adventures in Jotunheim. Jack didn’t notice until late afternoon that Pega had said nothing for a very long time.

He looked for a place to spend the night, but this time he found no friendly side valley. They’d have to camp on the rocks or go under the trees.

“I will not go under the trees,” Thorgil said.

“Frightened?” said Pega waspishly.

“Only thrallsare afraid,” the shield maiden hissed.

“That’s lucky, because there are no thralls here,” retorted Pega. “As for me, I’m going to find a nice, soft little bed of moss. I suppose you’d prefer to cower on the rocks.”

“Pega!” cried Jack. He was surprised. It wasn’t like her to pick fights.

But Thorgil merely grunted. “I choose my battles. I don’t care to wake with a monster leaning over me.”

Pega stamped off to the trees, though not actually under the branches, Jack noticed. Thorgil found a smooth shelf of rock. “This makes no sense,” Jack told her. “We have to stay together.”

“Then let her come here,” the shield maiden said.

“I’m not moving!” called Pega.

Jack looked from one to the other, trying to think of a way to bring them together. He couldn’t understand why this argument had suddenly surfaced. “At least let’s tell stories or something. I’m not sleepy yet.” Grudgingly, the girls met halfway between their chosen camps. It wasn’t a good place, being somewhat marshy, but Jack was grateful for whatever he could get. What could have caused this problem? he wondered. You expected ratty behavior from Thorgil—the time to worry was when she was being nice—but Pega had always been eager to please.

“I know one story I’d like,” Pega declared. “I’d like to know why a famous warriorended up covered in moss.”

“It’s a fair question,” admitted Thorgil. “I’d rather answer it before it gets dark.”

After the earthquake, the shield maiden began, she’d climbed up to the hole in the roof. It was such a relief to be outside, she decided to look for water before returning. “I found a stream and then set about getting food,” she said. “All my supplies, except for this knife, had disappeared in the rock slide. I thought hunting would be difficult, but the animals were amazingly tame. Stupid, in fact. They practically lay down and asked me to kill them.”

“Oh, Thorgil,” said Jack. “That should have told you this place was magic. Don’t you remember the Valley of Yggdrassil? Killing those animals was forbidden.”

“I was hungry,”Thorgil said with some irritation. “In my opinion a fawn that sits down in front of someone who’s hungry is committing suicide.”

“You didn’t—” said Pega.

“Of course I did,” said the shield maiden. “Then I couldn’t find firewood to cook it. I tried to tear off branches, but the trees here must be made of iron. All I could do was hack off a few twigs. When I returned to the fawn, it was gone. I felt something watching me.”

“Crumbs!” said Pega, hugging herself.

“It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever encountered, not like a human, animal, or troll. It was cold. Like a tree. I could feel its thoughts. It wasn’t angry. It merely wanted to get rid of me in that slow, patient way trees have when they ooze sap over an annoying beetle.”

Jack shivered. He remembered the casual way the Hedge surrounding Din Guardi had put out a branch to scratch his face.

“I had the strongest desire to lie down. I knew—I knew,” said Thorgil, her voice suddenly husky, “that if I stayed, I wouldn’t have the strength to resist. So I started running. To be more exact, I went mad.”

“Berserk?” Jack guessed.

“Going berserk would have been fun. All that hacking, chopping, and pillaging… Ah, well.” Thorgil sighed. “What I felt was panic.”

Jack nodded. He knew she hadn’t been able to go berserk since drinking from Mimir’s Well.

“I simply ran… and ran… and ran. When I stopped for breath, the trees closed in around me, so I went on until my legs collapsed under me. I stabbed the moss and screamed to keep it away, but ithad all the time in the world. At last I could fight no longer and lay down. I could feel roots creeping around me and moss stealing over my arms and legs. Its thoughts were like decaying leaf mold—oh!” Thorgil shuddered violently. Jack put his arms around her.

He braced himself for a blow—Thorgil wasn’t exactly keen on sympathy—but the shield maiden was too overcome to object. After a while she shook him off and gave him a fierce little smile.

By now the valley was in shadow. Stars were beginning to appear in the deep blue sky, and a cold dampness seeped from the meadow. “Which is it to be?” said Jack. “The trees or the rocks?”

Pega hunched over, looking more than ever like a large frog in a small pond. “After that story I don’t want to get close to the trees either,” she said, “but I want my own rock.”

“I don’t know why you’re in such a snit,” said Jack sharply. Thorgil’s story had upset him more than he cared to admit. “You want to be alone? Fine. Get your own personal rock. We’ll stay here.”

He felt guilty about letting her go, but he was tired and didn’t want to spend half the night arguing. Thorgil had found a protected place between two boulders. They curled up side by side and talked about Jotunheim. The shield maiden went to sleep, but Jack stared up at the sky between the boulders and tried to make plans. He heard Pega sobbing quietly.

Oh, bedbugs,he thought, using one of Pega’s favorite swearwords. I’d better go over there.Then he heard another sound. At first it was a murmur, like a distant stream, but it grew. Jack’s heart stood still. The murmur separated into voices that were almost, but not quite, clear. Pega had fallen dead silent.

Jack stood up carefully. A full moon cast an eerie light over the hillside. He saw Pega sitting not far away, and all around her the rocks flickered as though something was running over them. Beautiful lady,the voices sang. Fairest of the fair. Never weep for we are with you. We adore you. We love you.

“Jack?” croaked Pega, so terrified she could hardly speak.

“Thorgil,” Jack whispered. He knew he would need her help. The shield maiden shot straight up with her knife drawn, ready for action.

“It’s that thing I saw this morning, only there’s more of him,” she said.

“We’re coming, Pega,” said Jack, staff poised at the ready.

We mean no harm,the voices whispered. The lady weeps and so we came. Fairest of the fair. We love you.

“They’re touching me,” squeaked Pega.

“You’re frightening her,” said Jack.

You hurt her,the voices said accusingly. You drove her away and she wept.

“I did not. She wanted to be alone.”

Not her. Not her. Her loneliness called to us. Cruel mud man.

“Jack, get them to stop touching me,” wailed Pega.

“You heard her,” said Jack. “Whatever it is you’re doing, stop it at once.”

“Shall I attack?” whispered Thorgil.

“Not yet. Look, you really are frightening her,” called Jack. “Why don’t you come out in the open so we can see you?”

Lovely one, is that your wish?The voices sounded like wind in trees.

“Yes! Keep your hands to yourselves,” said Pega. Then, like water that suddenly becomes still so you can see into its depths, the creatures appeared. There were hundreds of them! They formed a dense ring around Pega but, fortunately, not too close to her. Jack couldn’t think what to do. How on earth was he going to make all those creatures go away?

They were like small men, dressed in clothes that blended with the rocks. Their skin was covered in blotches, and they had large, sleepy-looking eyes. Their noses were two slits above a wide, lipless mouth, and their hair—what there was of it—was plastered over damp-looking foreheads. They had long fingers that were flattened unpleasantly at the ends.

“Kobolds,” whispered Thorgil beside him.

“You’ve seen them before?” he said in a low voice.

“They infested Olaf’s ship on his trip up the Rhine. He had to get a wise woman to drive them out.”

“Are they dangerous?”

“No,” said Thorgil. “They only play pranks and steal things.”

“Steal things!” cried a voice behind them. Both Jack and Thorgil jumped. One of the creatures was standing far too close for comfort. “Steal things! I like that! After all the nice things we’ve done for you—bringing you food and keeping the Forest Lord busy at the other end of the valley.”

“Olaf also said they were touchy,” added Thorgil.

“I’m sorry,” said Jack, bowing politely. “We didn’t mean to insult you. We’re extremely grateful for your help.”

“Hmf!” said the creature.

“Could you ask your companions to let our friend go? She’s really upset.”

“We aren’t doing anything to her. You’rethe ones who made her feel unwelcome.”

“Yes, well, we’re sorry about that, too. Couldn’t you let us go to her?” asked Jack.

“Nobody’s stopping you,” sneered the creature.

Jack and Thorgil approached the ring. It opened to let them through and closed behind them. Jack was aware of hundreds of froggy eyes watching him. He felt their hands flutter against him, like being buffeted by clouds of moths.

“I can see why Pega was upset,” said Thorgil, jabbing at an invisible stomach with her elbow.

“Oh, Jack! Jack!” Pega cried, flinging her arms around him when at last he reached her. “Why are they all here? Why are they watching me? What arethey?”

“Thorgil says they’re kobolds.”

“Not quite correct.” A larger and more lavishly speckled creature suddenly popped up beside Pega, and she screamed. “‘Kobolds’ is what we’re called in Germany. Here we’re known as hobgoblins. Some also refer to us as brownies, fenoderees, or, my personal favorite, bugaboos.”

“You’re a bugaboo?” Pega said faintly.

“Dear lady, I am theBugaboo, the ruler of this place.”

“And I’m his Nemesis,” said the creature who had been talking to Jack and Thorgil earlier.

“Hurrah for the Bugaboo and his Nemesis!” cried all the other creatures, dancing around so ecstatically that they popped in and out of sight.

“What’s a nemesis?” growled Thorgil. She was not taking the incessant interest of the hobgoblins well. She kept slapping little hands that were trying to feel her clothes, her hair, her skin. This didn’t do the slightest good. The creatures merely giggled and came straight back.

“Every king has to have a nemesis,” said the Nemesis, puffing out his chest, “to tell him when he’s wrong or being stupid or lazy. Otherwise, he gets too full of himself. Don’t you have them?”

“I don’t think our kings like to be criticized,” said Jack.

“Well, of coursethey don’t! Criticism is supposed to hurt. Otherwise, it’s no good.”

“Our kings,” Jack said, “kill people who make them angry.”

A shocked silence fell over the gathering. “Did he say ‘kill people’?” murmured one of the creatures.

“We don’t approve of it, but it happens,” said Jack.

“Perfectly disgusting,” said the Nemesis, running his long fingers through his hair. “I must say, I’m not surprised. Mud men are savages at the best of times.”

“Now, now. We mustn’t be rude to our guests,” protested the Bugaboo. “We’re perfectly delighted to have visitors. So little happens in the valley, especially since that awful rock slide. You must come back to our halls for a party. We have one every night.”

“There you go, sucking up as usual,” grumbled the Nemesis. But he joined the others in herding Jack, Thorgil, and Pega along the rocks in the brilliant moonlight.