“No!” Rune wheezed when Jack said The king sailed over the sea to battleinstead of The giver of gold rings drove Njord’s swan upon the whale-road to a meeting of mail-coats and sword-tips.“No! No! No!” Rune doubled over in a coughing fit, and Jack felt ashamed of teasing the old man.

“No,” said Rune when he had recovered. “You’re not merely singing here. You’re working magic.”

“Magic?” Jack immediately woke up.

“Surely Dragon Tongue told you. Each song draws its power from Yggdrassil, the great Tree that rises through the nine worlds.”

“I never heard of Yggdrassil.”

“Dragon Tongue would have called it the life force. It gives you the power to create. Now you’ve worn me out and wasted my time.” Rune stopped speaking and gave his attention to breathing. It was a terrible sound, harsh and painful. Each time, the old warrior paused as if to gather strength for the next breath.

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Jack.

Rune waved him away.

Jack returned to the campsite with a hundred questions buzzing in his mind. The Northmen weren’t all consumed with slaughter and pillage. They believed in this thing called Yggdrassil, which was another name for the life force. Did the Tree really exist? And if it did, what a wonderful thing to see! Who could he ask about it?

Jack watched Sven the Vengeful and Eric Pretty-Face demonstrate the best way to crack a skull. Thorgil was so inspired, she lined up a row of deer heads and smashed them with a club. There was no point asking themabout the life force. Sighing, he found Lucy playing with little wooden figures whittled by Olaf for her entertainment.

There was a cow, a horse, a man, and a woman. Lucy had made a fence out of sticks and had drawn the outline of a house in the sand. Bold Heart watched her intently. He picked up the cow and dropped it. Lucy squealed, and the crow bobbed up and down in apparent glee. He picked up the horse.

“Make him stop!” said Lucy, smacking at the bird. He jumped easily out of her reach. Jack grabbed the horse from Bold Heart’s beak and planted it back in front of the little girl.

Bold Heart preened his feathers, looking completely uninterested. A second later he scooped up the man and flew to a nearby rock.

Lucy screamed. Sven the Vengeful dropped his axe on Eric Pretty-Face’s foot, starting a vigorous argument.

“Stop that! Can’t you see you’re upsetting her?” Jack cried. Why am I talking to a stupid bird?he thought. But Bold Heart understood! He flew back and laid the toy in front of Lucy.

“About time,” she grumbled.

Sven the Vengeful and Eric Pretty-Face stopped quarreling and grabbed the charms they wore about their necks. “Sei?er,”muttered Sven. They walked away, casting nervous glances over their shoulders.

“Say-thur,” repeated Jack. “What’s that?”

“It means ‘witchcraft’,” said Thorgil, looking up from her skull-smashing game. “We don’t like witches. Sometimes”—she smiled—“we throw them into bogs to drown.”

Bold Heart made a pass just over her head. Thorgil yelled and ducked. “See? That’s what I mean! You’re a witch and that bird is your familiar! It’s not natural for crows to stay up after dark. It’s not natural to talk to them. Bothof you should be drowned in a bog.” Bold Heart made another pass—claws out this time—and Thorgil ran off with her hands protecting her scalp.

Jack stood frozen, watching her grab Olaf’s arm. She started arguing, but unfortunately for her, she’d interrupted the giant in the middle of something important. Olaf sent her sprawling to the ground. “Hold your noise with that witch nonsense!” he shouted. The shield maiden, spitting curses, picked herself up and staggered off.

Jack sat down to think. Thorgil wouldn’t give up that easily. She’d wait for an opportunity and attack again. He had to think of a way to protect himself.

He saw nothing wrong with talking to animals. Mother did it all the time, singing to calm the bees or to gentle a frightened ewe. She’d taught him her small magic, and Jack had never thought twice about it. Did that make him a witch? And what about Bold Heart? He did fly around after dark like an owl.

Right now Bold Heart was sitting in front of Lucy. He made little chuckling noises. “I know I should have chickens on a farm,” she replied. “Olaf didn’t make any.”

More chuckling.

“I coulduse these seashells for them. That’s a good idea.”

Jack’s head began to ache. Now Lucy was talking to the crow, and the warriors would think shewas a witch. “Bedtime,” he ordered, sweeping up the toys. Lucy complained loudly. Jack dragged her to a heap of furs and tucked her in. “I’ll tell you a story,” he said.

“It better be a good one,” she said.

Bold Heart flew to a nearby tree and perched on a branch over Cloud Mane’s head. The horse shifted his feet nervously. Bold Heart made purring noises, and Cloud Mane closed his eyes again. It was weird how the bird had adopted them. He flew off every day and Jack expected him to disappear, but he always came back.

I wish the Bard were here,Jack thought sadly. I hope he’s happy on the Islands of the Blessed. I wish I really was a witch. I’d turn every one of the Northmen into toads—except Rune. And I’d turn Thorgil into a slimy earthworm and feed her to Olaf.

The air turned cold and more clouds filled the sky as they went north. Fog showed up earlier and stayed longer. The shoreline became steeper. Olaf urged his men to row swiftly. “We’re almost home!” he bellowed. “We carry great wealth! We’re covered with honor! We’re the Queen’s Berserkers!” The men burst into the song that ended with Fame never dies.

“The Queen’s Berserkers?” said Jack. “I thought you served the king.”

“Yes, well, he hasn’t quite been himself since he got married,” admitted Olaf.

“That’s why we call him Ivar the Boneless,” said Sven.

“Only not to his face,” said the giant. “I can hardly wait to hear the song you’ve written about me. You can perform it at the welcome-home party.” Olaf looked radiant at the prospect of showing off his personal bard before the king and queen.

Jack tried to appear enthusiastic. He had a wonderful poem, courtesy of Rune, but it had so many complicated words, Jack was sure he was going to mess up. Which would be a very grave mistake, Rune told him, with the emphasis on grave.

Soon the mist closed in, and while it wasn’t thick, it was damp and depressing. Jack understood why the Northmen couldn’t dry their own salt. Now and then the mist parted to show a forbidding scene. Waves clashed against cliffs. Rifts in the shoreline led to gloomy and barren valleys. It looked like a place dragons would love.

“Those are fjords,” said Olaf, who was all smiles now that he was about to be feted and praised.

“Does anything live back there?” said Jack, peering into an especially grim inlet.

“Nothing good,” said the giant, laughing. “Of course, welive at the end of a fjord. But we aren’t good either.”

You can say that again,thought Jack.

“I fought my first Jotun in one of those,” Olaf said. “I was only a beardless youth, and the troll still had his baby fangs. Ah, where does the time go?”

“You won, I suppose.”

“Of course. Warriors who don’t defeat their trolls get eaten. I’ll tell you about it sometime so you can write a poem.” Olaf continued reminiscing about his youth. He knew every rock and tree along the coast. His memory was fantastic, and soon Jack was sorry he’d asked questions.

They came to a place where the land broke off. The sea became rougher, and a wind rose and blew the mist away. The view thus revealed was anything but cheerful. Great swells rolled from the north under a strange milky sky. The water was pale green, and the wind carried upon it the smell of ice. The ship tipped dangerously as they turned and followed the coastline to the east.