Текст книги "The Sea of Trolls"

Автор книги: Nancy Farmer

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

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.

This trail was at the bottom of another deep ravine. It twisted and turned with occasional forks as it went down. Golden Bristles selected their path. When darkness fell, they were still in the ravine with only rocks to lie on.

It was a cold, miserable night. Jack and Thorgil slept sitting up with the troll-boar’s massive body for a backrest. The pig was infested with troll-lice. They crept through his hair and through Jack’s and Thorgil’s hair as well, though they didn’t bite. They didn’t seem to like human blood. Jack still woke every time he felt their stealthy claws.

Not that he slept much between times. The wind found its way into the ravine, and toward dawn an icy frost came down. Jack sheltered Bold Heart under his tunic, which helped them both a little.

Only Golden Bristles spent a comfortable night under his layers of fat. He snored atrociously, slobbering and whining through his long snout, and his trotters jerked when he dreamed.

“How much more of this is there?” Jack moaned as they slipped and clattered over the stones after dawn. He could hardly keep his footing, even with the staff he’d cut from the ash tree.

“I’ll ask,” Thorgil said. She was noticeably cheerful now that they were all suffering. She put the question to Bold Heart, who put it to Golden Bristles. The boar replied at length. The crow translated, taking a long time about it. Then Thorgil answered: “Not long.”

“That was a lot of talk to end up with ‘not long’,” Jack said.

“Yes, it was,” Thorgil said happily.

“You’re hiding something.”

“You’ll never know.”

Brjóstabarn,thought Jack. They stopped to eat, though little was left. A cloak full of fruit and nuts didn’t last long when you had to share it with a troll-boar. Thorgil and Jack took turns riding on the pig’s back. He was so wide, they could barely hold on with their legs, and he snarled when they tried to grasp his ears.

On and on they went until Jack despaired of ever getting anywhere. Then, just as he thought he’d collapse with weariness, they came out onto a dazzling sheet of ice. The sunlight was blinding after the shadowy ravine. The ice itself was as clear and blue as a river, and he could see the bodies of animals and humans and far stranger things suspended in its depths. It made him queasy to look down.

Even worse was the shiny surface. Thorgil tried to hurry, and her feet slid out from under her. She scooted along, coming to rest at the edge of a crevasse. After that she was more careful. Jack held on to Golden Bristles’ fur in spite of the pig’s complaints. The boar seemed to have no trouble, but of course he was made for such things. His massive trotters dug in like knives, and he left a trail of deep scratches behind him.

“Look!” cried Thorgil as they came around a bend. Ahead rose the ice mountain, higher than Jack had dreamed possible and more complicated and magnificent than it had appeared from a distance. It resembled an enormous castle with turrets and airy walkways and courtyards. It was like something from one of Father’s stories, and Jack wished Lucy could have seen it.

“How are we ever going to cross that?” he murmured. For reaching out from the shelf where they stood to the home of the Mountain Queen was a soaring bridge. It arced above unimaginable depths, going up and up and then down and down in a shining bow of ice—brilliant, breathtaking, and slippery.

Bold Heart croaked urgently. “He says Golden Bristles will have to carry us,” Thorgil translated.

“Can he ask whether the boar will let us hold on to his ears?” Jack said, looking into the chasm under the bridge. He couldn’t even see the bottom. A cold mist shifted and flowed around the base of the mountain. Bold Heart put the question to Golden Bristles, who growled.

“I take it that means no,” said Jack.

“He says his ears are sensitive. He’ll let us hold on to his hair, if we don’t pull too hard,” Thorgil translated. She looked doubtfully at the chasm. “I wonder if people who fall off bridges go to Valhalla.”

“I’m sure they do,” said Jack. “It’s dumb enough to qualify.”

At the last minute he had a clever idea. He tore Thorgil’s cloak into strips and made a long cord. He looped one end around Golden Bristles’ neck for a collar and looped the other end around his and Thorgil’s waists. They sat, legs spread wide on the giant hog’s back, with their hands clutching his hair. Jack had tucked the staff under the pig’s massive chin. It made no sense to take it, but it reminded him of the Bard, and Heaven knew he needed the Bard’s help now. Bold Heart was nestled inside Jack’s tunic.

“Let’s go,” the boy said with a sigh, thinking, I hope I’m allowed to visit the Islands of the Blessed when we fall off.

Jack sat in front and Thorgil was behind as the troll-boar began to climb the bridge. His trotters bit into the ice. Jack could see fragments break off and disappear into the gorge. His stomach lurched, and he forced himself to look straight ahead.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratchwent Golden Bristles’ trotters on the bridge. The ice shivered under his weight. An eagle—a Jotunheim eagle, so it was enormous—coasted by. It turned when it saw the humans and flew close enough for Jack to look into its yellow eyes. “Go away!” Thorgil shrilled, brandishing her knife. The bridge shuddered.

“Don’t move!” Jack cried.

The wind, which had calmed during the trip across the ice sheet, picked up again. It whistled past Jack’s ears and blew down the neck of his tunic. Bold Heart moaned. Jack’s hands were turning blue.

The eagle streaked by a second time and struck Jack on the shoulder with its talons. He felt the blow but no pain. He was too numb with cold. “I’ll kill you!” roared Thorgil from behind him. She lunged at the eagle and almost fell off. The bridge shuddered again. Jack was too sick with shock to yell at her. He didn’t hurt, but his body knew something grievous had happened. He began to tremble uncontrollably.

“Hang on!” screamed Thorgil. “If it comes by again, I’ll get it.”

Jack wanted to tell her to stop moving. If she unbalanced the boar, they’d all fall into the chasm.

Scritch, scratch, scritch, scratchwent Golden Bristles’ trotters on the ice. They’d reached the top of the arc. The hog grunted and started down. The eagle streaked by a third time, and Thorgil leaned out and stabbed it. Shrieking, it tumbled away, but her lunge sent her over the side. Jack tried to hang on. His hands were too numb, and he followed her down.

The only thing that saved them was the cord tied around their waists. Both Jack and Thorgil hung over the abyss from Golden Bristles’ neck. The wind twirled them round and round, and the cord tightened around Jack’s waist and drove the breath out of him. Hurry, hurry, hurry,he begged the pig silently.

But Golden Bristles moved slowly and carefully. He was not made for climbing down things, especially with a rope around his neck. He wheezed.

The staff had slipped partly out of the pig’s collar during Jack and Thorgil’s fall. Only the last few inches were still jammed under Golden Bristle’s throat, but it was enough to cut off the animal’s breath. Jack reached up and grasped the end of the wood. It pulled free, but he almost dropped it. Warmth. I need warmth,he thought. He saw spots in front of his eyes. The staff began to slide from his numb fingers.

It’s only cold if you think it is,said the Bard from somewhere.

It’s supposed to be warm. Itis warm,Jack thought as he reached for the life force burning at the heart of the frost giants’ world. Heat radiated from his hands and flowed out the end of the staff. A jet of flame shot up and struck the ice bridge. Water dripped off. Golden Bristles’ trotters lost their purchase, and he began to slide.

Groooooink!roared the giant troll-boar as he slid down the bridge, going faster and faster until he shot off the end and rolled over and over in the snow beyond. Jack and Thorgil were yanked after him into a deep drift. Thorgil was up at once, digging Jack’s face out of the snow. She untied the cord and pulled Bold Heart out so he could breathe too. Her eyes were wild with joy.

“What—a– wonderful—adventure!” she gasped. The cord had almost strangled her, too, but she was too elated to care. “I fought a giant eagle! I hung over the edge like Odin on Yggdrassil! I’m—so– happy!”

Groooooink! Golden Bristles said resentfully. Jack, whose senses were reeling, looked back to see a hole melted right in the middle of the bridge. Only two little bars of ice remained at each side. His staff had melted into the snowdrift—he could see the blackened end poking up.

“I didn’t know you could do such magic,” Thorgil cried. She danced around in a kind of mad glee.

“Neither did I,” Jack said. Now that they were safe, he could feel the deep wound the eagle had left in his shoulder. A shadow fell over him. A foul, sulfurous smell belched from somewhere.

“Maybe you’d better do more magic,” Thorgil said, feeling for her knife. But it was gone. It had plummeted into the abyss with the eagle.

Jack looked up to see a creature from his very deepest and worst nightmares. It was eight feet tall with a shock of bristly orange hair sprouting from its head and shoulders. Eyes the color of rotten walnuts brooded under a browridge that resembled a fungus growing out of tree bark. It had long, greenish fingernails crusted with dirt, and its teeth—for the creature’s mouth was hanging open—were like jumbled blocks of wood. Two fangs the size of a billy goat’s horns lifted the sides of the creature’s upper lip in a permanent snarl. It belched, and the sulfurous smell drifted over Jack again.

He couldn’t help it. He fainted. He had just met his first troll.

Chapter Thirty-three
FONN AND FORATH

He was lying on an incredibly soft bed. The room he was in was so beautiful, Jack thought he must have died and gone to Heaven. The walls were painted like the ones in the Bard’s Roman house, except that these pictures were new. Jack saw trees covered in flowers, a house with a man and woman sitting outside, and children playing with a dog.

The floor was made of different kinds of wood, inlaid to make a pattern of autumn leaves. A metal bowl filled with glowing coals stood on an ornately worked metal stand. Jack felt its warmth on his face, which was the only part of him sticking out of the covers.

The coverlet, too, was a marvel of color and design, and it was padded with feathers. Jack sank down under it, as snug as an acorn in its cup.

Bits of memory began to come back. Carefully, he felt his shoulder. It was swathed in a bandage and didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected. He’s waking up,someone said. No, not said.Something else. The words just appeared in Jack’s mind.

He’s kind of cute for a two-legged deer.

You give him breakfast and I’ll tell Mother.Jack heard heavy feet and a door open and shut.

I’m not in Heaven after all,he thought miserably. I’ve been taken prisoner by Jotuns. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed they’ll think I’ve gone back to sleep.

“It won’t work,” said a harsh voice. “We can tell when humans are lying.”

Jack opened his eyes and just as quickly closed them.

“I know. Trolls take getting used to. Personally, I think humans look like boiled frogs, but I’ve learned to overlook it.”

Jack opened his eyes again. The troll—female he guessed from the bulges under her blouse—was even larger than the male he’d encountered at the ice bridge. She, too, had orange hair sprouting from her head. Her shoulders were covered, so he couldn’t tell whether she had hair there, too. Her ears stuck out like jug handles, and she wore heavy gold earrings that dragged the lobes down until they dangled below her chin. Her upper lip rounded over two dainty fangs—dainty in comparison with the male troll.

For all that, she was much better groomed. Her nails were clean and polished. Her teeth, though alarmingly large, were orderly. Her expression was cheerful. If she’d been standing farther away, Jack thought she wouldn’t be completely horrible.

The Jotun barked, a sound that made Jack burrow deeper into the bed. “Not completely horrible! I like that! Well, you’re not completely horrible either, though your manners need work.”

“I’m sorry,” Jack said.

“It’s all right. My name’s Fonn. My sister Forath and I have been watching over you.”

“Thank you,” Jack said, not sure exactly what “watching over you” meant. Perhaps they were only making sure he didn’t run away before they ate him.

Fonn barked again. It seemed to be a kind of laugh. “We don’t eat two-legged deer anymore—unless we bag one in a fair fight. Especially, we don’t eat humans who arrive with the queen’s missing chess piece.”

“I’m glad I still had it. I was afraid I’d dropped it when I fell off the bridge.”

“Frith gave it to you, eh?”

Jack nodded.

“She’ll want something in return. Frith never does anything unless it’s for a selfish reason. Mother’s been upset that she couldn’t host a chess game for the Norns. She had a new piece made, but of course it didn’t have magic and they rejected it.”

A dozen questions popped into Jack’s head at once. What kind of magic? Where were the Norns? How did Fonn know Frith? And who was “Mother”?

“Slow down,” said Fonn with her barking laugh. “You aren’t ready for so much activity. I can tell you it was touch and go for a while with that wound on your shoulder. I thought you’d never use your arm again, but Mother sang the poison out.”

“Who’s Mother?” Jack asked.

“The Mountain Queen. Forath and I are her daughters. As is Frith, unfortunately.”

“You don’t look like Frith.”

“Thank you. She had a different father. Poor man. He languished in this room for years, ever wanting to return to Middle Earth and his family. That’s them on the wall.”

The paintings of the man and woman and the children playing with the dog took on new meaning. “Why didn’t the queen let him go home?”

“His family was dead. They died in an avalanche and Mother rescued him, but he never believed her. I’ve always thought his unhappiness may have affected Frith. But, of course”—Fonn sighed, a sound like a small gale—“her real problem is that she belongs nowhere. Humans can marry other humans no matter where they come from. But troll/human or elf/human marriages almost never work, and their children are always torn between two worlds.”

Forath burst into the room, and Jack, in spite of himself, dived under the covers. Twonine-foot Jotuns with bristly orange hair and fangs were a lot to take.

“Come out, you coward,” said Thorgil. Jack reappeared. He was never so glad to see another human. She was dressed in new clothes and sported a new knife at her belt and another strapped to her leg.

“You’ve done all right,” he observed.

“Why wouldn’t I? This is the most exciting place I’ve ever been. I lovetrolls!”

Jack sat up. Dizziness made him lie down again. “Bold Heart! I forgot about him. Is he all right?”

“He’s in the main hall with Golden Bristles. Did you know the queen healed his wing? She sang it back into shape. He’s flying all over the place. I’m a special guest because I’m Olaf’s daughter. Queen Glamdis was in love with him and wanted him in her harem, but she’d given her word he could go.”

“That was lucky for Heide, Dotti, and Lotti,” said Jack. He could imagine Olaf trapped in this room.

“They’d have survived,” Thorgil said carelessly. “The louts—those are male trolls—are champion fighters. They’ve been teaching me dirty tricks.”

“Wonderful,” Jack said, sinking back into the soft mattress. The pain in his shoulder seemed sharper, and his whole body was drained of energy. He felt for the rune. Something was missing. “The thrall collar—” he said.

“Oh, that old thing. As Olaf’s daughter, I inherited you,” Thorgil said. “He said he was going to free you when we returned, so I did it here. Don’t think that gets you out of the quest. You owe me eternal gratitude, and I expect you to die cheerfully if it becomes necessary.”

“Or live cheerfully,” murmured Jack. Forath herded Thorgil out of the room, for which the boy was thankful. Much had happened, and he needed quiet to take it all in. The Jotuns, whom he’d been taught to fear and hate, had turned out to be not so bad. Olaf always said he wouldn’t mind living next to them as long as the ground rules were worked out. It seemed he knew more about them than anyone realized. And Thorgil—evil-tempered Thorgil, who called him a thrall on every possible occasion and had shown him nothing but contempt—had freed him.

It was all extremely puzzling.

One of the hardest things for Jack to get used to was the constant whisper, whisper, whisperof thoughts around him. They were jumbled up because everyone was thinking all the time, but he picked up words if someone was close by.

He let Fonn spoon soup into his mouth. She broke up chunks of soft, white bread and spread them with butter and honey. She placed a bowl of fruit within his reach.

“What’s that?” said Jack, pointing at a cluster of purple berries.

“Grapes,” Fonn said proudly. “I grow them in the greenhouse. Olaf brought us the seedlings from Italia on one of his trips.”

One of his trips?Jack thought. “How long have I been sick?”

“A week. You were in bad shape when you arrived, so Mother thought it best to make you sleep.”

A week! Jack had lost complete track of the days. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the hidden valley, and now he’d wasted another week. How much time was left for him to rescue Lucy?

“Don’t worry,” Fonn said in her harsh, yet oddly gentle, voice. “Worry makes it difficult to recover. Everything is decided by the Norns, and nothing any of us can do will change it.” She drew a thick curtain over a window Jack had noticed but had not looked at closely. He wondered what lay outside. He fell asleep thinking of Olaf trapped in this little room, carving toys for children he would never see again.

Another week passed before Jack was strong enough to walk around. The eagle’s talons had been tainted and had poisoned his blood. Only the queen’s magic had saved him. He grew used to Fonn and Forath, though the latter found it difficult to speak aloud. Jotuns communicated from mind to mind. They had no use for speech, but a few had made the effort to learn it for strategic reasons. Humans sometimes invaded Jotunheim, and trolls—especially teenagers—liked to go on raids to Middle Earth.

The view outside the window was of a seemingly bottomless cliff of ice. It was both beautiful and cruel-looking. No human could possibly escape that way. There might have been land far below. Jack could see nothing through the swirling ice crystals.

The Jotuns loved cold. They complained of heat when the temperature rose above freezing. They had managed to keep a pocket of eternal winter in their own world, but Fonn said summer made inroads every year. Once, she said, the earth had been a sheet of ice. The sea had been frozen as well. You could walk all the way from Utgard to Jotunheim.

“Utgard?” Jack asked.

“The Land Beyond the Sea. Our ancient home.”

“Olaf mentioned something about that,” Jack said. “He said it was destroyed by a volcano.”

“Yes,” Fonn said sadly. “My great-great-great-grandmother walked from there over the breaking ice. It was that which sundered us from the heart of our world. We can never return, and with each age, the forces of summer move deeper into our realm. Someday it will be entirely gone.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Jack said. “Isn’t anything left of Utgard?”

“Forath speaks to whales. That’s her special skill. They say a small island remains. At the center is the volcano, and all around lie empty windswept fields of ice. It sounds lovely.” Fonn sighed.

“Can’t you build a boat and go back?”

“We’re not made for ships. We’re too heavy, and all of us have a terror of deep water. A few of us, like Forath, go on whale-back, but only near the coast.”

Bold Heart visited every day, and Thorgil burst in from time to time with horrid stories about how to kill things. The Jotuns weren’t cruel about slaying their enemies, but they were very efficient. They appeared to have taken a shine to the enthusiastic little berserker. Once, Golden Bristles came in, and Fonn translated for him. He thanked Jack for freeing him from Freya’s cart, and Jack remembered, with a sick rush of guilt, that Lucy would soon be trapped in it.

How much time had passed since he’d arrived in Jotunheim? He wasn’t sure. From the position of the moon he guessed three weeks, but that meant he’d spent no time at allin the little valley near the dragon’s lair. How could that be? All Jack really understood was that time was passing, slowly perhaps, but still moving. And that the day of Lucy’s sacrifice was drawing ever closer.