“It never occurred to Father Severus to look farther,” said Thorgil. They stood together in the room, caught in the wonder of it. After the total darkness of the tunnel, this place seemed bright. The walls were decorated with wonderful scenes. Swans floated sedately on painted lakes, deer gathered in a meadow, dogs leaped and barked for the pure joy of it.
“St. Columba must have made these,” Thorgil said. “What was he doing here?”
“Brother Aiden said he was giving up his magic to become a Christian,” said Jack. “It looks like it took him a while to make up his mind.”
Thorgil sank gratefully onto the sandy floor. “I’m tired,” she admitted. “There must be another way out or St. Columba couldn’t have lived here, but I’m too tired to look. It wouldn’t hurt to take a nap.”
Jack looked around instinctively. In his experience falling asleep in a strange place was always dangerous. They could find themselves in a hogboon’s barrow, for example. But if there was any place in the green world that felt safer than this cave, he couldn’t imagine it. He sighed deeply. Even sorrow was forbidden here, or was unimportant.
He shook the sand off the white cloth and found that it was a well-made woolen cloak. He spread it over himself and Thorgil, for the damp wind coming through the hole was very cold. They fell asleep, burrowed into the soft sand.
“Smell that!” cried Thorgil, sitting bolt upright.
Jack was still comfortably half asleep. He hadn’t rested this well since leaving the village and was unwilling to move, until the odor wafted into his nostrils too. He sat up abruptly. “That can’t be what I think it is.” His mouth filled with saliva and his stomach knotted.
“Wild boar,” Thorgil said reverently. “Beautiful, succulent, greasy wild boar roasted over a fire.”
“But how…?” Jack knew from Brother Aiden’s description that Grim’s Island was too desolate for such large animals.
“Who cares? I know what it is and I want some.” Thorgil stood up and swayed on her feet. “By Thor, I’m weak with hunger!”
“Is the smell coming from outside?”
“No. From there.” The shield maiden pointed at the dark tunnel. “Do you suppose St. Columba is still hanging about?”
“The Bard said he sailed for the Islands of the Blessed long ago,” said Jack. Strangely, he wasn’t sad thinking of the Bard now. He felt slightly guilty about it, but almost instantly that regret vanished as well. It was impossible to be depressed here. Jack went out into the tunnel and sniffed. The odor was coming from somewhere above them. “Whoever it is, I hope he’s generous.”
“We should take the cloak,” Thorgil said. She rummaged around and found a carrying bag with straps that fit over her shoulders. “This is perfect! I can put my wealth-hoard in here.”
“I don’t know,” Jack said doubtfully. “St. Columba meant to abandon these things. Look what happened when Father Severus carried off Fair Lamenting.”
“That’s because Father Severus didn’t understand magic,” the shield maiden said reasonably. “You do. You’re a bard.”
“Not really,” said Jack.
“Well, you’re the closest thing we’ve got. Now put on that cloak and pick up that staff. It will make a decent weapon if we run into trouble. I’d take the cauldron except it’s too heavy—now what’s wrong?”
Jack had turned very pale. “You can’t take a bard’s staff.”
“Don’t be silly. St. Columba isn’t going to want it back.”
“You don’t understand. Such things have to be earned.” Jack had never, ever dared to ask the Bard to borrow his. It was one of those things you didn’t do. A lifetime of experience went into crafting the magic. Life itself gave power to a staff—all the minutes and hours and days of a person, all the memories, hopes, triumphs, friendships, sorrows, and mistakes. They went into the wood to be called up at need.
Jack had only begun to build this lore when he used his staff to free Din Guardi. It had crumbled into dust.
“You used to have a staff. How did you earn that one?” said Thorgil.
It was when they were in Jotunheim, he told her, crossing the frozen waste to the Mountain Queen’s palace. Thorgil’s ankle had been broken and Jack went in search of wood to make her a crutch. He found an ash tree, a most unusual plant in such a cold place, with two branches exactly suited for his needs. One had a fork at one end for Thorgil to lean on. The other reminded him of the gnarled, blackened wood the Bard used. He decided to make himself a walking stick from it. It was only later he realized that the ash had been an offshoot of the great tree Yggdrassil.
“You see?” Thorgil said triumphantly. “The gods meant you to have that staff, and now you are meant to have this one.”
Jack wanted to believe it, but he was afraid. “I’m not worthy,” he said.
“Probably not, but you have to start somewhere,” Thorgil argued. “It’s like learning to be a warrior. You get knocked around a lot at the beginning.”
Jack’s hand hovered over the staff. He could feel a thrum of power in the air. “If it burns me to ashes, you’ll be sorry.”
“If you don’t do something soon, I’m going to die of hunger, and you’ll be sorry.”
Jack grasped the staff, and it was as though a sheet of light wrapped him from head to toe. He saw the entire island in a flash: the seas battering the shore, the stormy clouds, the dark mountain and forest on top. He saw men fighting one another with swords. Then the vision was gone. He slumped, still holding the staff.
“Well? Are you burned to ashes yet?” the shield maiden demanded.
“I’m not sure. I think the problem will be to avoid burning up other things,” said Jack. He felt dizzy. “I hope I’m strong enough to control this.”
“You’ll be fine. You’re Dragon Tongue’s successor.”
“Don’t say that!” A flame licked out of the end of the staff and left a black mark on the ceiling. “Oh, Freya! Don’t make me angry,” Jack begged. “I need time to get used to so much power. I meant to say that I’ll never be Dragon Tongue’s successor. I’m only his apprentice.”
Thorgil shouldered the pack carrying her wealth-hoard and went outside. “I’d say if we don’t get to the end of this tunnel fast, there won’t be anything left of that boar except bristles.”
Chapter Thirty-nine
ODIN
Jack slung the cloak over his shoulders, and to his surprise it fit perfectly. It had seemed larger when he’d used it as a blanket for himself and Thorgil. The staff, too, was exactly the right height. The dizziness passed and Jack was able to walk steadily. The tunnel turned pitch-black only a few paces from the side cave. He called up a spell in a language he did not consciously know. He could not have repeated the words, but the meaning stayed with him:
Keep foot from fall, Hold head from harm. Drive dark from day.
A gentle light radiated from the staff to reveal the gray walls of the tunnel. A path of white sand went up before them.
“Now, that’s a trick worth learning,” said Thorgil, who had been about to walk into a wall.
“It’s not a trick, and I don’t know how I did it,” Jack said. “We’d better hurry, because I don’t know how long this spell will last.”
The smell of roast pork grew stronger the higher they went, and soon it was mixed with the odors of many other good things. “I wonder what they’re celebrating,” said Thorgil. “They’re certainly making a lot of noise.”
“That’s not a celebration.” Jack stopped her from going farther.
“By Thor, you’re right! I can hear swords.”
“I should have told you earlier—when I touched the staff, I had a vision of men fighting on this mountaintop. I thought it was only my imagination. How could a troop of men climb up here and still have the energy to fight?”