“She’s talking to birds,” whispered one of the smaller children. “Does that mean she’s a witch?” Dotti shushed him.
“It means she’s a wise woman,” Jack said.
“But she’s making poetry. Surely that’s unnatural,” insisted Sven. Again everyone turned to Thorgil, waiting for her to have a tantrum. Nothing happened.
“Thorgilll,” said Heide, drawing out the name, “do you feel all right?”
“There’s nothing wrong with her!” Jack cried. “Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter can do whatever she likes. He accepted her. Why can’t you? She fought the troll-bear by his side. She killed a young dragon. She tasted its blood by accident, just as Sigurd did. That’s why she understands birds now. She drank from Mimir’s Well. That’s why she can make poetry now. Why can’t you accept that?”
The long fire crackled and danced in a wind that came in under the eaves. The animals Olaf had carved on the rafters seemed to stir. “You shame us,” murmured Skakki.
“I—I didn’t mean to,” stammered Jack. “It’s just that—”
“No, you’re right,” said the boy, standing, and now he did resemble Olaf. “I name you sister, Thorgil Olaf’s Daughter. I welcome you to the family.”
“And I name you daughter,” said Heide. “And so do Dotti and Lotti.” She glared at the two junior wives.
It was too much for Thorgil. She was used to being the outcast. So much friendliness overwhelmed her, and she burst into tears and fled the hall.
“Where will she go?” said Jack. No one else seemed disturbed by the shield maiden’s departure.
“Up the hill to find the king’s dogs,” Rune said calmly. “Slasher, Wolf Bane, Hel Hag, and Shreddie will be delighted. They haven’t seen her yet.”
“Nowww,” said Heide in her smoky voice, “tell me about the Mountain Queen weeping over Olaf.”
It seemed Heide wasn’t completely ignorant of Olaf’s activities. She had noted her husband’s trips, loaded with presents, and had concluded he had an extra wife. “But a troll?” she exclaimed. “Had the man no taste at all?”
“The queen is rather nice—oof!” gasped Jack as Rune elbowed him in the stomach. “But ugly. Very ugly,” he finished. At Heide’s insistence, Jack described Glamdis.
“Orange hair sprouting from her head? Nine feet tall? Fangs? Wasss Ox-brain insane?” seethed the wise woman. Dotti and Lotti looked considerably cheered up by Heide’s annoyance.
Then Jack explained how the troll-maidens practiced marriage by capture and how the Mountain Queen had a harem of sixteen louts. He told the fascinated assembly about the miserable human who had fathered Frothi and Frith. “He painted pictures of his human family on the walls,” Jack said. “At least Olaf escaped that fate. He was able to go and come as he pleased.”
“Yesss, well, Ox-brain wass impossible for anyone to control,” said Heide, somewhat mollified.
“He couldn’t help being captured,” Lotti pointed out.
“No, no, of course not.” Heide shook her head. “And he wasss so big and beautiful.” All three of the wives sighed.
As for Olaf’s friends and companions, they were delighted with the story. “HE MADE A TROLL-QUEEN FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM! WHAT A FEAT!” said Tree Foot, completely wowed.
“What a man!” said Egil Long-Spear.
Chapter Forty
FREYA’S FEN
“If you’re going to be a skald, you must look the part,” said Rune, stepping back to observe Jack’s white robe. It was Rune’s own, shortened to fit the boy. A message had been sent to King Ivar the week before, but no welcome had been issued until today. Tonight was the full moon, and tomorrow was the day set forth for Freya’s sacrifice.
Jack was deeply worried by the delay, but he could do nothing about it. No one, apparently, entered Frith’s presence without permission. You’d think she’d be anxious to get her hair back,he thought. But she probably enjoys making me suffer.
“This doesn’t feel right,” he said, belting the robe to keep it on. It was still too large. He knew real bards were old, fierce, and scary. Jack didn’t feel scary. Scaredwas more like it.
“Shh. You have to start somewhere. Frith is going to be difficult, and you’ll need to impress her. Do you know what you’re going to do?”
“No,” Jack said miserably.
“It will come to you,” Rune said.
Thorgil sat by the door, tapping her foot with impatience. She was dressed in her wolverine coat from Jotunheim. Her boots had been brushed and her sword polished. She was even clean, having been dragged to the sauna that afternoon.
“I’m going with you,” said Heide.
“Is that a good idea?” said Rune.
“Perhaps not, but it will be interesting,” said the woman. “I make Frith nervousss, which may be worth a great deal.” Heide was dressed in a dark blue robe embroidered with birds and fish. Her hair was braided in two loops on either side of her head. They looked like the horns of some fantastic animal. She wore a necklace of silver charms—eyes, legs, and other body parts. She made Jack nervous too.
“Come on,” said Thorgil. Bold Heart had chosen to ride on her shoulder. Jack felt slightly jealous, but he had bigger worries than a faithless bird. He grasped his staff and followed Rune out the door.
Night wasn’t far off. The evening chorus of birds had begun, and long shafts of golden light crossed their path. The harvest moon had already risen. It was almost as large as a Jotunheim moon, Jack thought, as he glimpsed it between the trees. An owl hooted— wuh-huh-huh—but it was a small, brown bird, not something that could carry you off.
Skakki led the way as head of the house. Thorgil and Heide followed, chatting like the best of friends. Thorgil had calmed down since leaving Jotunheim, but she still exclaimed over marvels she had surely seen many times. Heide listened patiently. Now and then the wise woman explained how a flower could be used or what had made that form in the grass.
Jack was having trouble walking because he wasn’t used to robes. “Wait,” said Rune when they passed an oak tree.
The old warrior cut off a long, thin branch. This he twisted into a kind of crown and set it on Jack’s head. “Dragon Tongue used to wear oak leaves when he was about to work magic. I don’t know why.”
I don’t either,thought Jack. Work magic? Half of what he did was an accident. The other half went out of control. I’m not a bard. I’m a twelve-year-old farm brat. The most important job I ever had at home was mucking out the barn.
“You’re quite remarkable,” said Rune quietly, as though he could see into Jack’s mind. They’d fallen behind the others. Jack could hear Thorgil warbling about a speckled toadstool and Heide’s low voice explaining how poisonous it was. “First you impressed Dragon Tongue, then Olaf—and Olaf wasn’t the most perceptive of men,” Rune said. “You went on a quest through Jotunheim and came out the other end alive. You survived a troll-bear and a dragon. You made friends with the Mountain Queen. You drank from Mimir’s Well, and you outwitted a giant spider. Many warriors would give their sword arm for such a record.”
“Please,” said Jack, blushing. “I’m nothing special. I’m just a farm brat dressed up in fancy clothes.”
“Listen to me and listen welclass="underline" One of the first things you learn when you become a skald is that you must not lie.”
“But I’m not lying.” Jack was startled by Rune’s sudden anger.
“Your power depends on knowing what you are, both bad and good. Now, everything I’ve said about you is true. Deny it and—well, you might as well spitinto Mimir’s Well.” The old warrior strode ahead and joined the others.
Jack followed, bewildered by what had just happened. He wasa farm brat. But he was also everything Rune had said. To deny his achievements did seem to be a form of lying. I guess… I guess I’m kind of heroic.Jack walked along, deep in thought.