Текст книги "The Sea of Trolls"

Автор книги: Nancy Farmer

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Chapter Twenty-eight
GLORY

“What is it?” whispered Thorgil.

“I don’t know,” Olaf whispered back. His head reached the roof of the hollow, and he held his sword ready to stab whatever it was through the gaps. The timbers groaned and shifted slightly.

“Shouldn’t we go outside?” said Jack.

“Maybe our chances are better here. We can hold it off in the passageway.”

They saw a huge, hairy foot plunge through a gap. Olaf chopped at it. The creature screamed and black claws tore out strips of wood as it regained its footing. Jack’s face was sprayed with blood.

Bold Heart sailed past another opening. The monster growled and swayed back and forth. Branches and pine needles rained down. Thorgil gazed up at the logs with a wild and joyful expression on her face.

“We have no chance at all if the roof comes down,” urged Jack.

The creature roared as Bold Heart made another pass. “I think that bird is attackingit,” Olaf said in wonder.

“He’s giving us a chance to escape,” said Jack. Both Olaf and Thorgil turned to him.

“Escape is for cowardly thralls,” Thorgil sneered.

“And getting killed is for idiots,” said Jack. “That thing is too big for all of us put together.”

“I have never, ever, fled from battle,” rumbled the giant. “I am a berserker from a great line of berserkers. I would not shame my sons.”

“Your sons won’t know anything if we all die!” cried Jack.

“ Youwill tell them. I give you permission to flee. You will return and write a poem saying how I met my fate gladly.”

“You can write one for me, too,” Thorgil shrilled. Her voice tended to get squeaky when she was excited.

“What about the quest? What about finding Mimir’s Well? What about saving Lucy?” Jack despaired of making any dent in Olaf’s stupidity. All the while the creature bounded back and forth over the deadfall, probably chasing Bold Heart, who was still shrieking and attacking. The logs groaned and debris showered down.

Olaf took out the flask with the wolf’s head on its side. “Oh no!” cried Jack. “You can’t go mad now! You’ve got to escape and save Lucy!” But the giant ignored him. He drank most of the liquid and handed the rest to Thorgil. The strong smell of wolf-brew made Jack’s nerves tighten with alarm. He felt like running—but whether from or toward danger he couldn’t tell. Olaf started to breathe heavily. Thorgil began to pant. The pupils of her eyes opened wide. They both whined.

“I think that foot belonged to a troll-bear,” Olaf said, his voice almost a growl as the bog myrtle took effect. “Besides dragons, there’s no more dangerous beast. I doubt we shall survive this battle.”

“Ours will be a magnificent death to be sung about until the end of time,” said Thorgil.

“Fame never dies,” said the giant.

“Fame never dies,” she agreed. She sounded drugged.

“Why does everyone want to die?” cried Jack. “What’s wrong with living?”

Olaf and Thorgil panted like dogs, tongues protruding from their mouths. Suddenly, they howled and rushed into the passage, banging against the sides as they followed its twists and turns. Branches scraped Thorgil’s arms and face. They tore holes in her tunic. She never paused. Olaf roared. Saliva streamed from his mouth, flying off in long tendrils.

Jack ran after them, but more carefully. By the time he got outside, the two were already climbing the deadfall, bounding from log to log. Olaf’s foot came down hard and collapsed a small section.

“Come back!” Jack yelled. He might as well have tried to stop a landslide. The two warriors screamed their challenges—Olaf booming like thunder, Thorgil shrieking like a scalded cat. And now Jack saw their opponent rear up from the far side of the deadfall.

It was a bear all right, but huger than Jack had dreamed possible. It was more than twice the size of the dancing bear that came to the village fair. And it was a fantastic pale gold color. The creature rose up on its hind legs and swayed from side to side, snuffing the air. Its long, black claws were at the ready. If ever a berserker bear existed, this was it!

It absolutely dwarfed Bold Heart, who continued to circle. One of the beast’s feet was soaked in blood, and one of its eyes was destroyed, apparently by the crow. Jack’s hopes rose.

Then three things happened almost at once. The troll-bear caught Bold Heart’s wing during one of its lunges. It threw the bird clear over the deadfall to land in mud. Thorgil, in her rush up the logs, came down wrong and fell with her leg trapped in a hole. She screamed. The sword fell from her hand. She tried to pull herself out and failed. Jack started up to rescue her.

The troll-bear dropped to all fours and hurled itself at Olaf. The two met with a jarring crash. Olaf slashed and stabbed. The bear clawed and bit. But from the very beginning the man had no chance. Even half blinded with a wounded foot, the beast was twice his size. It grappled with its arms around his body and tore at his back and shoulders.

They rolled over and over on the top of the deadfall. Then, with a tremendous crack, the mountain of logs caved in. The center crashed down into the hollow. Logs farther out rolled free and bounced down the sides. One barely missed Jack’s head. He ducked and kept scrambling. The whole pattern of the deadfall was rearranging, with gaps opening and closing as the whole structure shifted. The hole confining Thorgil’s leg gaped and slammed shut as a huge tree trunk rolled into place.

But not before Jack had pulled her free. He hadn’t known he had such strength. He hauled her up, skittered down the still-shifting deadfall, and dashed across the valley floor without thinking. He dumped her down and fell to his knees, gasping from the effort.

Her face was white with pain, but she didn’t utter a sound. She stared up, shocked. Jack was shocked too. It had happened so quickly. He’d lost Bold Heart, Olaf, and perhaps Thorgil as well. He didn’t know how badly she was hurt.

After a long while he recovered enough to examine her leg. Her foot was twisted. He could see no other injury. “Can you hear me?” he asked Thorgil.

She nodded.

“I’m going to leave you for a few minutes. I’ve got to look for Olaf. Is that all right?”

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes.

Jack ran back to the deadfall. The tunnel to the hollow had collapsed. He climbed up, freezing when the structure threatened to move. He got to the top and looked down.

The center was a welter of splintered wood. To one side sprawled the troll-bear, its head crushed by a log. To the other was Olaf. He was bleeding in a dozen places. His legs were broken, and he had terrible gashes in his arms and chest. But he was alive. He raised his hand in greeting.

Jack climbed down. This part of the deadfall at least seemed stable. The hollow was filled in, and the logs had nowhere else to fall. “Can you hear me?” he asked.

“I hear,” said Olaf. The wheezing in his voice told Jack there might be more injuries than he could see. “Thorgil?” wheezed the giant.

“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.

 
Listen, ring-bearers, while I speak
Of the glories of battle, of Olaf, most brave.
Generous is he, that striker of terror.
Lucky are they who sit in Olaf’s hall,
Gifted with glory, treasure, and fame.
The wolf-headed men call him leader.
Odin’s skull-pickers name him friend.
 

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.

It was hard for the boy to keep his mind clear. His body was freezing. The wind pulled at the cloak and tried to tear his hood back. His ears were numb. Concentrate. Concentrate,he thought.

What an awful fix they were in. They’d probably die before the Jotuns had a chance to bite off their legs. This world belonged to the frost giants, and they’d snuff out any fire before it got going. Jack felt overpoweringly sleepy. It would be so nice to give himself up to drowsiness. Lie down, boy,the frost giants whispered. It’s a fine old bed, ice is.

“I’m freezing,” said Jack aloud.

It’s only freezing if you think it is,the Bard said.

“That’s all right for you,” Jack said resentfully. “You’re sitting under an apple tree on the Islands of the Blessed. Winter never comes there. Here it never leaves.”

Are you sure?said the Bard.

“It’s supposed to be summer,” Jack agreed. “It’s only cold because of the nasty trolls and their nasty ice mountain. They aren’t happy unless everything’s half dead. But they’re wrong. It issummer. The sun’s just waiting to rise on the other side of those mountains.” He searched for it, felt its midday heat. Light was always there if you knew how to look for it.

Jack felt more confident. Magic seemed a lot closer to the surface here. Just look how easy it had been to see Yggdrassil. And he felt the whisper, whisper, whisperof the lives around him. Olaf had said it was the thoughts of the Jotuns, but Jack knew better. It was them all right, but also the hawks, the trees, the fish—everything that lived in Jotunheim. What Jack heard was the breath of life itself moving throughout this strange land.

Jack reached down for the buried sunlight of summers past. He traveled through cold and darkness until he found it burning furiously at the heart of the frost giants’ world. It was at war with the ice. At his call it roared forth, eating its way out. It boiled up, sweeping all in its path—

Thorgil screamed a warning. Jack opened his eyes. Here, there, everywhere puffs of light appeared in the deadfall as the moss kindled. Flames spread rapidly, hissing and crackling in the dry pine needles. The twigs caught, the branches flared, and then the tree trunks exploded in a sheet of flame that rose and twisted up into a massive pillar.

Jack was so alarmed, he ran for the shelter of the rocks. He and Thorgil clung to each other, enmity forgotten, as the pillar rose higher. It put out flaming branches like a tree, spangling the night with whirling sparks. The heat was so intense, they had to hide behind the boulders. Bold Heart clawed his way out of the bag, and Jack swept him to safety.

“I should be with Olaf!” Thorgil cried suddenly. She began to crawl toward the flames. Jack hauled her back by her good ankle.

“You idiot! He wanted you to live!”

“I don’t care! I want to go to Valhalla!”

“Then why don’t I just knock you on the head with a rock?” he yelled, beside himself with fury.

“No! No!” she screamed, her voice full of real panic now. “If a warrior dies by the hand of a thrall, he doesn’t go to Valhalla. He goes straight to Hel. It’s a shameful death.”

“Then stay here,” Jack snarled. “Live, damn you, or I willknock you on the head with a rock!”

“You wouldn’t be so cruel!” she wailed.

“Try me!”

A shrill cry made them stop in the middle of their fight. It came again, growing louder. Jack looked up and saw the dragon sweeping toward them. She flew over the pillar of fire with a harsh scream, swerved, and came back again. The light reflected on her belly and the undersides of her wings. Back and forth she went, like a sheet of living gold, screaming her challenge at the fire.

For challenge it was, Jack realized. “She thinks another dragon has invaded her valley,” he murmured.

“No. She’s honoring Olaf,” said Thorgil. Her face was shiny with tears, and Jack didn’t contradict her. Perhaps the dragon washonoring Olaf. They were both creatures larger and grander than normal beings. Perhaps even now Olaf was watching this tribute from the gate of Valhalla and thinking he had a finer funeral than had ever been seen in Middle Earth.

Chapter Twenty-nine
THE FROZEN PLAIN

Dawn reddened the ice mountain, and a cold wind rose and swirled the ashes of Olaf’s funeral pyre into a gray cloud. They turned white when they reached the sunlit upper air and streamed away to the south. A few charred logs marked out the edge of the deadfall, but all the rest had vanished. The river flowed through the middle as though nothing had ever been there.

Jack went through their meager stores. They had a bag of dried fish, a skin for water, the flask of poppy juice. For weapons Thorgil and Jack had their knives—Thorgil’s sword had disappeared in the deadfall—and she had a battle-axe.

“You should leave me behind,” said Thorgil.

“Why? Your ankle will heal,” Jack said.

“Not soon enough. I’ll wait here for the dragon and make my stand.”

“Nobody’s waiting for the dragon. You’re coming with me or I’ll knock you on the head.” Now that Jack had discovered how terrified Thorgil was of dying by the hand of a thrall, he knew he had a weapon against her. He’d never have killed her, but she didn’t know that. She judged him by her own behavior.

“That only means we’ll bothbe eaten somewhere else,” she said with a melancholy smile.

Jack took Thorgil’s axe and hiked into the forest to look for a stick she could use for a crutch. He found an ash tree—unusual in such cold woods—and chopped off two branches. One had a fork at one end for Thorgil to lean on. The other was a staff for himself. He hadn’t planned to make one, but the gnarled wood reminded Jack of the blackened staff the Bard had used. It gave him a strange feeling to hold it, as though he were following a trail the old man had made long ago.

On the way back Jack gathered a patch of early cloudberries for Thorgil. “ Youeat them,” she said with a sigh, pushing them away. “They’re wasted on me, for I shall soon die.”

Jack was tired of arguing with her. He shared the cloudberries with Bold Heart, and they all had a long drink of water. He pulled Thorgil to her feet. She immediately slumped to the ground. He pulled her up again. “Come on! You have to try!” he cried as she collapsed.

“It’s pointless. I’ll fight the dragon here.”

Jack hauled Thorgil up, none too gently, and tried to plant the crutch under her arm. She hurled it away.

“You will… use…this crutch,” Jack said between gritted teeth. “You will… walk…with me, or I will… knock you on the head with a rock and send you straight to Hel!”He retrieved the crutch, and Thorgil, her mouth twisted with rage and pain, obeyed him. She refused any help and Jack didn’t care. He had enough trouble carrying Bold Heart and the supplies.

Slowly, they crept along the valley floor. Jack led the way with the crow on his shoulder. Bold Heart couldn’t fly and might never do so again. He seemed lively enough, though, and muttered to himself as he dug his claws into Jack’s tunic.

The boy looked up to see a puff of smoke from a cliff. He knew the dragon was up there, brooding, perhaps on a nest full of dragonlets. She’d be hungry long before they got to the ice mountain.

At night they camped in the open. Jack made a small fire of lichen and moss, but it burned quickly and soon left them as cold as ever. They huddled together under their two cloaks with Bold Heart between. Sleep was fitful. Thorgil woke up weeping. Jack dreamed of dragons. When he couldn’t sleep, he thought of trolls and how to catch their attention with the gold chess piece before he got his leg bitten off.

When day came, they crept on. There were no trees now and no bushes. The patches of snow were larger and the ground was treacherous with ice, which slowed them even more. Jack noticed that as Thorgil weakened, she became a lot easier to live with. She stopped calling him a thrall, and she thanked him once when he handed her the water bag. Perhaps she didn’t have the energy to be evil.

She isn’t half bad in this condition,Jack thought. She listened to his tales and asked questions about his life. She was particularly interested in Jack’s parents. It amazed her that Father devoted himself to making Lucy happy. “It’s why she’s weak,” Thorgil decided. “He should have beaten her and made her sleep outside without a blanket to toughen her.”

“Is that what your father did?” Jack asked, appalled that anyone could be that cruel to a small child. But then, Thorgrim had ordered his newborn daughter thrown out for wolves to devour.

“Of course,” Thorgil said proudly. “It made me what I am today.”

You’ve gotthat right,thought Jack.

“Maeve kept me warm, though,” the girl said. “She always found me when I had to sleep outside.”

“Maeve?”

“She was an Irish wolfhound. She belonged to King Ivar.”

“Ah,” said Jack, understanding. This was the dog who had saved Thorgil when she was an infant. “Did you know Maeve was named for a famous warrior queen?”

“No! Really?”

“Dragon Tongue told me about her. She ruled Ireland long ago. He said she still lives on the Islands of the Blessed with all the great heroes.”

“I’ve never heard of the Islands of the Blessed.”

“They’re in the Utter West, where the sun goes down. The sea around them is as clear as sky and winter never comes.”

“Do they allow dogs on the islands?” Thorgil said softly.

“I’m sure they do.” Jack had a big lump in his throat and couldn’t trust himself to speak. They crept on through the barren valley with the ice mountain seeming as far away as it had been when they started. Jack thought of the Bard sitting under an apple tree with the great hound Maeve at his side.

In the morning Thorgil refused to stand. Her ankle was swollen, and her eyes had deep shadows under them. She hadn’t eaten in days. “I will die here,” she announced.

“You’re worn out from pain,” Jack said. “Olaf told me to save the poppy juice for you. He said you’d need it before this trip was done.”

“I want to suffer. Odin loves warriors who can endure pain.”

“You Northmen are crazy,” Jack said.

“We’re brave,” Thorgil corrected. “My uncle, when he was dying of an arrow wound, tore the arrow from his chest with a pair of tongs. He laughed as the blood gushed out and said, ‘See how well nourished this heart is!’ Then he died standing up like a true berserker!”

“It would have made more sense to let a wise woman treat him,” Jack said.

“I wouldn’t expect a Saxon thrall to understand.”

“ You’rehalf Saxon. Or have you forgotten?”

“My mother was of no account. I am all berserker,” Thorgil said.

Jack was about to remind her that she’d been born a thrall when he remembered his promise to Olaf. “You know… I think I’ll call you Jill.”

“What?”

“It’s what your mother named you. Thorgil is a boy’s name, and it doesn’t suit you,” he said.

She sat up. She looked a lot more alert, which was Jack’s intent. You couldn’t reason with Thorgil, but you could count on rage to get her moving.

“Jill’s a fine old Saxon name,” Jack said.

“I hate it!”

“Oh, but it suits you. Such a pretty name for a pretty girl. Jill! Jill! Jill!” By now Jack was dancing around and Thorgil was hauling herself up in a perfect fury. She panted with the effort, but it didn’t stop her. She hobbled after Jack with murder in her eyes. Bold Heart squawked and scrambled out of her path.

“Oh, Jill! Sweet Jill! Give us a kiss, Jill! How nice you’ll look with ribbons and flowers in your hair!”

“My name isn’t Jill!”Thorgil raised the crutch to hit Jack and fell over with a jarring thud. Her eyes rolled up in her head. She passed out on the icy stones.

Oh, heavens, what have I done?thought Jack. He knelt at once by the fallen shield maiden and tried to see whether she was still breathing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Thorgil,” he cried. “Please, please, please wake up. I won’t do that again.”

Thorgil sank her teeth into his hand. Jack yelled and pulled back. He was bleeding! “You pile of sheep droppings! You kindaskitur!” he shouted.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” She grinned.

Jack trembled with rage, wanting and yet not wanting to hit her. “Yes, it hurts,” he said.

“So we’re even.”

“We’ll neverbe even,” Jack said, “but we can call a truce. I know”—he held up his hand as Thorgil tried to interrupt—“berserkers never sign truces. But we’re on a quest, and Olaf said we should work together.”

At the mention of Olaf, Thorgil’s face became solemn. She looked at him for a long moment, and her eyes became suspiciously damp. “You’re right,” she said at last. “I’ve behaved dishonorably. You have my oath I will not try to hurt you again.”

Thorgil’s apology was so unexpected, Jack stared at her. Was she joking? Was this another trick? “I hope you aren’t an oath-breaker,” he muttered, expecting her to fly at him again.

“Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter is not an oath-breaker,” she replied gravely. She didn’t even try to hit him.

Jack forced the wound on his hand to bleed and washed it in the icy river. He kept watching Thorgil and wondering at her sudden change of mood. “You know, it’s the duty of all members of this quest to keep up his or her strength.”

“That’s true,” she admitted.

“You should eat. And if you took some of the poppy juice—as Olaf commanded—you’d be able to keep walking.”

“I will eat one dried fish and take one drop of poppy juice,” she said. “When the dragon comes, I’ll at least have the strength to stand and fight.”

Jack glanced up at the cliffs. He didn’t see any smoke, but he knew their time had run out. If the dragon didn’t find herself another elk, she had a dandy snack sitting just below her nest.

Jack got Thorgil to eat two dried fish and take two drops of poppy juice. He retied her splint, frowning at the puffiness of the flesh over her ankle. “Why is pain so important to you?” he asked.

“I told you. Odin loves those who can endure it.” Thorgil clenched her teeth as Jack eased the splint into a firmer position. “Pain gives you knowledge.”

“Joy gives you knowledge too.”

“Only about foolish, trivial things. When Odin wanted the lore that would make him leader of the gods, he had to pay for it with suffering. He was stabbed with a spear and hanged for nine days and nights on the tree Yggdrassil.”

“That’s just plain stupid,” Jack said.

“ Yourgod was nailed to a cross. It’s the same thing.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Anyhow,” Thorgil went on, “Odin needed even more knowledge to gain power over the nine worlds, so he had to drink from Mimir’s Well.”

“Mimir’s Well? That’s where we’re going.”

“If we survive and if we can find it.”

“Aren’t you the cheerful one,” said Jack.

“I’m only being realistic. Odin wasn’t allowed to drink until he sacrificed something of great importance. He tore out one of his eyes and threw it into the well,” Thorgil said. “They say it’s still there.”

“Tore out an eye?” Jack felt sick. He couldn’t imagine doing such a thing, but the Northmen probably thought it was normal, like trimming your toenails.

What are you doing today, Odin old boy?

Oh, I thought I’d rip out an eye after lunch.

Jolly good.

“Wait a minute,” Jack said. “Can’t you, you know, just dip a cup into Mimir’s Well?”

“You have to sacrifice something of overwhelming importance before you’re allowed to drink,” Thorgil explained patiently. “It could be your right hand or your tongue. You can agree to die horribly later or see your firstborn devoured by a wolf.”

Jack bowed his head, appalled. Rune hadn’t mentioned this feature. It wasn’t Jack’s idea of a quest at all. You expected to walk a long way and to endure cold and hunger. You might have to fight trolls (to be exact, he’d expected Olaf to take care of the trolls). Nobody said you had to tear out an eye.