They came to the deadfall. Jack looked behind him to see the vast cliff where he and Olaf had observed the dragon. The forest massed at the top, and no doubt through the years, hundreds of trees had fallen from its edge and wound up here. They made a small mountain of logs, branches, dry moss, and twigs. He could hear water rushing ahead.
“This is the last shelter before we reach the mountain,” Olaf said. “We should rest a while, and you, Thorgil, should bathe and sponge off your clothes.”
“It’s freezing!” she cried.
“If you’d washed in the forest, you wouldn’t have found it so bad,” the giant said. “Last night’s disturbance was a warning. Something up there is hungry, and thanks to you, it won’t find it hard to track us.”
You could have smelled Thorgil all the way to the Mountain Queen’s front door, Jack thought. The grouse blood and guts had ripened gloriously overnight. He didn’t know how Thorgil stood it, but in her perverse way she probably thought it made her seem tough. He looked forward to hearing her yelps when she got into the river.
Olaf led them into the tangle of trees, though Bold Heart refused to enter. They went down a twisting passage to a cave-like hollow. The black river swept through the middle under a roof of trunks and branches. Jack looked up uneasily. He could see patches of sky, and it seemed little would be needed to bring the logs crashing down. But Olaf said the hollow had been there many years. Its floor was deep in pine needles, and Jack saw places where animals had lain. A faint barnyard smell hung over the place.
The air was slightly warmer. But not too warm, Jack thought happily as he and Olaf turned their backs so Thorgil could take a bath. Jack heard her gasp and then curse richly as she splashed. He heard her wiping off her clothes with damp clumps of moss.
“You can turn around now,” she called. She still didn’t smell good, but she was passable.
“Do you know what’s following us?” Jack asked.
“Maybe nothing,” said Olaf. “With any luck, it’s too afraid of the dragon to come out.”
“Dragon!” cried Thorgil.
“Keep your voice down. Jack and I saw one yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You weren’t in a talkative mood,” Olaf said. “Anyhow, the dragon’s digesting an elk right now. She won’t be hunting for at least a week, but whatever it was in the forest doesn’t know that.”
“Whatever what was?” insisted Jack.
“If I knew, I’d tell you,” Olaf said crossly. “We’ll rest here awhile and then push on. It’ll take three days to reach the hall of the Mountain Queen. It looks near, but the last part’s steep and slippery.”
Olaf cleared away pine needles and drew a picture in the dirt of the route they would follow. It was straightforward enough: Follow the river to its source at the foot of the mountain. If they hadn’t encountered trolls by then, they would climb until they did. “Jotuns patrol their territory regularly,” said Olaf. “You can tell they’re near—I don’t know how to describe it exactly—by a tickling in your mind. Kind of like whispering.”
“Whispering?” Jack said. “I’ve been hearing that ever since we arrived.”
“That’s interesting. I haven’t,” said the giant. “Maybe you pick things up more easily because you’re a skald.”
“Or maybe because he’s a witch,” said Thorgil.
“I’ve been meaning to ask this,” Jack said. “What’s to keep the trolls from attacking the minute we do run into them?”
“First of all, because we’re not trying to hide, they’ll be curious. They’ll ask our business before trying to beat our brains out. That gives us time to produce the chess piece.” Olaf beamed as he laid out this strategy.
“Are you sure that’s how they’ll react?” Jack said.
“Pretty sure.”
“I’ve written a poem,” Thorgil announced suddenly.
They turned to look at her. She stood and bowed as though they were in a fine hall rather than a drafty burrow.
Listen, everyone, while I tell you
About Olaf, who can fight, sing, sail,
Carve wood, and play Wolves and Sheep
(Though he doesn’t usually win).
(I’m better.)
Still, Olaf’s good at most things,
And we all think he’s great.
“Maybe we’d better get going,” said Olaf. “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before nightfall.”
“Don’t you like my poem?” Thorgil said.
Olaf sighed. “Give it a rest, Thorgil. You’ll never be seven feet tall no matter how much you stretch, and you’ll never fly no matter how fast you flap your arms. Some things aren’t meant to be. Girls can’t write poetry.”
“I can! I can do anything better than Jack!” she yelled.
“Keep your voice down. You’re a better warrior, but you’ll never outdo him as a skald.”
“I hate you!” she screamed.
A sudden cry from Bold Heart made them all freeze. The crow flew shrieking round and round the top of the deadfall—Jack could see him through gaps. The quality of his cries made them all draw their weapons. The roof overhead quivered as something heavy climbed on top.
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 attacking it,” 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.
“ You will 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 b
e 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. “Sh
e 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 they eat? 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 ever had 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?”