The Sea of Trolls - Farmer Nancy - Страница 29

The most interesting find had been a cache of dirty white loaves under the roof of a storehouse. At first Jack thought they were a strange kind of bread, but the warriors’ excitement showed they were something quite different.

“Salt!” cried Olaf, dancing around with one in each huge hand.

“Salt! Salt! Salt!” screamed the others. They tossed them back and forth, pausing to take licks.

“Salt!” shrilled Thorgil as she balanced one on her head.

“What’s so special about that?” whispered Lucy. She was pressed up against Jack. He put his arm around her.

“They’re just crazy,” he said.

The Northmen nibbled at the salt cakes until their mustaches were powdered white. So much would have made a normal man sick, and Jack hoped to see them vomit, but they didn’t. After a while the salt madness left them and they reverently packed the loaves away.

The rotten food from the ship was dumped. A cloud of seagulls descended on it, along with crows. Bold Heart competed with the best of them. It was strange how Jack could pick him out from the mob of jostling black birds, but Bold Heart was faster, smarter, and, well, bolderthan the others. “I suppose he’ll leave now,” said Jack.

“No, he won’t,” declared Lucy. “He’s been sent to us from the Islands of the Blessed.”

Jack didn’t say the bird had landed on the ship out of exhaustion, but he thought it.

All day the warriors partied. They devoured roast cow and drank sweet red wine from a place called Iberia. They bellowed songs about the gods, who seemed to be as fond of debauchery as their worshippers. One long poem was about a party much like the one Jack and Lucy were observing. Aegir, the sea god, had brewed a cauldron of beer. Not only did everyone get drunk, they got into an insult competition with Loki, the god of dirty tricks. Loki called Odin a liar, and Odin called him a pervert. Then Loki said Freya, the goddess of love, farted when she got scared and that Njord, the god of ships, had been captured by trolls who used his mouth as a chamber pot. Each new verse was greeted with howls of laughter. The Northmen pounded one another on the back for joy.

“What kind of people need a god of dirty tricks?” said Jack, watching from the ship as night fell.

“That kind,” yawned Lucy. For the first time in weeks she had eaten a full meal, and her head kept drooping. Bold Heart had fed well too, and he was perched on the rail with his eyes closed. “Should we escape now?” said Lucy.

“Where would we go?” Jack said bitterly.

“I don’t know. Ooh.” Lucy yawned again. “Maybe to that village they raided.”

“The villagers ran away.” Jack had not told his sister what really happened to Gizur Thumb-Crusher’s people.

“They’d help us if we could find them.”

“We’ll never find them. Just go to sleep, dearest.” And Lucy obediently curled up on a heap of furs.

Night was falling, but the revelry showed no sign of ending. The poetry was so disgusting now, Jack was glad his little sister was asleep. The crudest of all was Thorgil, who pretended to be Freya by yelling, “Oh! Oh! I’m so scared!” and farting.

“Olaf will want his song soon,” came a whispery voice behind Jack. He whirled and saw Rune standing by the mast. The light was so dim and the man so skinny, he almost seemed part of the mast. Bold Heart opened his eyes and clacked his beak.

“Why aren’t you out there with the rest?” said Jack.

“The bone-ache,” said Rune simply. “And I no longer enjoy the pleasures of pillaging.” He stopped to breathe hoarsely. It was obviously an effort to speak. “Maybe it was Dragon Tongue’s fault. He was always one for enjoying life. I guess he corrupted me.”

Jack turned back to the revels on the beach. Olaf One-Brow was pretending to be a lovesick troll-maiden. Bold Heart sidled along the railing until he was next to Jack. He pulled at the boy’s sleeve and bobbed in the direction of Rune.

“That’s quite a pet you have,” whispered the aged warrior. “Dragon Tongue used to talk to crows.”

“He taught me the art,” Jack said. No point wasting a chance to look important.

“He was a good man,” Rune said suddenly. “He was completely unlike us but a true warrior.”

Jack said nothing. His eyes filled with tears.

“I know you can’t write a song for Olaf,” said the old Northman. Jack turned and looked at him—or as much as he could see of the man’s figure in the dim light. “Dragon Tongue could never praise people he hated. He was too honest.”

“What will Olaf do to me?” Jack didn’t argue with Rune’s conclusion. He felt sick every time he thought of the bloodbath in Gizur’s village.

“Feed you to the fish,” Rune replied. “Also, you don’t know our language well enough. You’re good, but you make mistakes.”

“Are you telling me to run away?” Jack didn’t know why he trusted the old warrior, but he instinctively did. There was something deep about him, something almost as compelling as the Bard.

“You’d never survive. To the south lies Magnus the Mauler’s country. To the north is Einar the Ear-Hoarder. Einar has a collection of dried ears he wants to enlarge.”

“I see,” said Jack.

“I will give you songs,” said Rune. “I was a skald once. I wasn’t as great as Dragon Tongue, but I was still good. Day after day the poems bubble up in me, and I have no voice to give them. You will be my voice.”

The shouts of the feasting warriors seemed far away. The world shrank until it contained only three people: Jack, his little sister, and this amazing new ally. “I guess Olaf won’t mind,” Jack said.

“Don’t tell him!” This outburst caused a fit of coughing that went on for a long time. Jack shifted from one foot to the other, not knowing what to do. Finally, Rune recovered and drew several shuddering breaths. “Olaf wants his own personal skald. He wants you all to himself, as he wants that horse of Gizur’s. It adds to his fame. If he thinks you can’t perform, he’ll kill you.”

The steed the old warrior was speaking of was tethered next to the silver hoard. It was a beautiful creature, white like the salt cakes, with a strange black stripe along its backbone. It gazed at the reeling Northmen with dark, intelligent eyes.

“Then… I thank you.” Jack was grateful, but at the same time he hated the idea of being property.

“Let’s begin,” whispered Rune.

The lesson lasted for hours. Bold Heart went back to sleep, and Jack wished he could join him. He’d had no rest the night before, and the whole day had been spent working. Eventually, the fire on the beach sank down to coals. The Northmen went to bed. It gave Jack a chill to see them lay out cloths and lie down in orderly rows. It meant that they could appear thoroughly stupefied and still behave like warriors.

Finally, Rune pronounced himself satisfied with Jack’s progress. The boy fell onto a heap of clothes and was asleep almost before he landed.

They sailed north along the coastline. After they passed Einar the Ear-Hoarder’s lands, they camped on shore. From here on, they would meet no one who would dare attack.

Olaf and his crew were in no hurry. They felt they had earned a vacation. The noble horse, which Olaf named Cloud Mane, was balanced in the middle of the ship. He was led ashore each day to feed on fresh grass.

The warriors hunted in the dark forests that lined the shore, bringing back deer and wild boar. They netted trout in the streams. Eric the Rash ground up one of the salt loaves for seasoning. Jack noticed again how eager the Northmen were for salt. They craved it more than wine, and that was saying a good deal.

“We don’t have it at home,” Rune explained.

“We dry our salt from seawater,” said Jack. “Why can’t you?”

“Not enough sunlight,” said the old warrior, turning away. He refused to waste his breath on such idle talk and saved his voice for poetry. Every night he drilled the boy out of Olaf’s sight. Jack was amazed at how complicated the verses were. Nothing was called by its true name, and the more variations you could work in, the better. A ship was called prow-beast, ocean’s steed,and Njord’s swanin the same verse. Instead of saying battle,you said a meeting of mail-coats and sword-tips.It was very confusing and, to Jack’s mind, pointless.