The Sea of Trolls - Farmer Nancy (читать книги онлайн без TXT) 📗

Jack leaned over the edge of the egg sack. He could see—barely—the long strands of the web. If you thought about it right, you could imagine they were harp strings. He lay on his stomach and studied them. He’d have to pluck the strands between the globs of goo, which also were hard to see. The whole web was hard to see. That, of course, was how it worked.

Jack found two dark green lines stretching over a cluster of fir trees. He thought he could just make out a safe area. He reached out.

Sproinnnng!The spider reared up on all eight legs. It was like she was on tiptoe. Jack froze. He certainly had her attention.

“I’ll come down and defend you!” called Thorgil.

“Stay where you are! I know what I’m doing,” cried Jack. I hope,he thought. At least the spider didn’t react to his voice. She really was deaf. I’ll have to do this fast,he thought. No stopping, no matter what she does. My only chance of success is to play the lullaby back to her. It has to be perfect. No stopping.

Jack then began the most important music recital of his life. He emptied his mind of everything but the rhythm. He plucked and picked, he chanted and caroled, he yowled and yodeled and twanged. He needed the sound to keep his fingers true.

The spider crept so close, she was almost on top of him. She cast a dire shadow that almost made him faint, but he didn’t stop. He could see her fangs glint and her mouthparts working. He didn’t stop. Jack felt her quiver—the motion came to him through the web. He felt an answering quiver from the eggs below. All the little spiderlings were dancing in their shells.

The spider suddenly keeled over. Her body flattened sideways in an untidy tangle of legs. She was still alive, he knew, because he could see the tips of her claws move. She was dreaming!

Jack climbed the tree as fast as he could go. “Where’s Bold Heart?” he cried. “Where’s the help he promised? I don’t know how long she’s going to be out. Merciful heavens, I don’t everwant to do that again.” He burst into sobs.

“Over there,” said Thorgil, pointing.

Jack saw four enormous white birds and one small black one gliding above the forest. He was shaking so much, he thought he’d fall out of the tree. His teeth were chattering.

“It’s all right. You did it,” said Thorgil, putting her arm around him. “The owls said they wouldn’t come until the spider was asleep. I have to say that was the worst music I ever heard.”

“H-How do you know? Y-You aren’t a s-spider,” said Jack.

“Thank Freya for that!” swore Thorgil.

The owls came in a cluster. Hooo-uh, hooo-uh, hooo-uh, wuh-wuh-wuh,they cried. They barked and cackled and shrieked and hissed.

“They say we have to leave at once. They’ll take you first,” said Thorgil.

Jack didn’t understand what she meant until the owls clamped on to his arms and legs and flew off. I can’t take much more of this,he thought as the forest sped by below. After a short time the owls deposited him in a meadow and took off. They returned with Thorgil.

“By Thor! That’s a wonderful way to travel!” she exclaimed. “If only we could train birds to carry us! We could attack our enemies from the air.”

Hooo-uh wuh-wuh-wuh,said one of the owls.

“He’s thanking you for saving their lives. I didn’t know about that,” said Thorgil.

“It happened in the little valley after we escaped the dragon. They were starving to death, and I took them outside so they could hunt again,” Jack said. “You’re very welcome.” He bowed to the birds. Bold Heart sat on a nearby bush and warbled.

“Bold Heart says they’ve told him a safe way to the fjord,” said Thorgil.

Hooo-uh! Hooo-uh! Krujff-guh-guh-guh!screamed the owls.

“What was that?” asked Jack.

“They’re giving their opinion of spiders. I don’t think I’ll translate it,” said Thorgil.

Jack and Thorgil waved good-bye to the snowy owls, and then, with Bold Heart leading the way, they found an elk trail at the edge of the meadow. On the way they gathered blueberries, each one as big as a plum, and cracked giant hazelnuts for lunch. In late afternoon they reached the fjord.

Jack built a fire—a normal one using quartz and steel because he couldn’t trust the ash wood staff to make anything small. Soon they saw the ship approaching over the water. Something large was hanging on the prow. It was a scaly green head with a crest of spikes and long whiskers. Eric Pretty-Face roared greetings, and the other Northmen all cheered.

Imagine,thought Jack. I’m actually glad to see Northmen.

The longboat came in close, and the warriors jumped out to make it steady.

“WELCOME BACK!” bellowed Eric Pretty-Face. “WAS IT A SUCCESS? DID YOU KICK THE TROLLS’ BUTTS? LOOK AT THE SEA SERPENT I CAUGHT.”

And Rune said, “Where’s Olaf?”

Chapter Thirty-nine

FAREWELL TO JOTUNHEIM

“It was fated,” said Rune that night as they lay at anchor in the fjord. They had started too late to reach the open sea. “I always knew Odin would call Olaf in the prime of his life. Warriors like him are too great for Middle Earth.”

“We saw his funeral pyre,” Sven the Vengeful said. “We didn’t know what it was then.”

“It went straight up to Valhalla. I thought it was a pair of dragons fighting,” said Eric the Rash.

“There was a dragon.” Jack was mortally tired, but he felt he owed Olaf’s friends at least part of the story tonight. “She flew back and forth over the flames, shrieking.”

“I think I heard that,” said Sven.

“She was honoring Olaf,” Thorgil said heavily. She had been crying off and on all evening. Now that there was no danger to occupy her, she could give herself up to grief.

“Wasn’t that wonderful?” said Sven with an envious sigh. “And you say there was a troll-bear at his feet.”

“Yes,” said Jack.

“A FIRST-RATE FUNERAL,” Eric Pretty-Face declared.

“I’ve warned you about talking after dark, Eric my friend,” said Rune. “We won’t be safe until we leave Jotunheim, so silence is important.”

“OH. ALL RIGHT.”

The Northmen sat quietly under the stars. Even the stars seemed larger in Jotunheim. The water was as still as a sheet of black ice. One by one the warriors lay down to sleep, except for Rune, who was on watch and never slept much anyway. Bold Heart kept him company but soon nodded off like the others. Jack, for all his exhaustion, found it hard to relax. So much had happened. So much had changed. He had never dreamed, in his little village on the English coast, that he would ever meet such things as dragons and trolls. They were something that lived far away. Well, here he was: far away.

Jack resettled the grain bag he was using as a pillow. The deck was hard, and the bilge was as fragrant as ever. Whisper, whisper, whisperwent the trees, birds, and animals of Jotunheim in his mind. Jack covered his ears, knowing it would do no good.

He didn’t know how he was going to cure Frith yet. But Mimir’s Well had taught him not to try to force the order of things. Leaves uncurled and flowers opened when it was their time. Knowledge would be given to him when the moment came.

Toward dawn he awoke and saw Rune sitting by the sea serpent’s head at the prow. A silvery light shone on the water. Jack got up and picked his way through the sleeping bodies.

“That’s going to stink in a couple of days,” said Rune, running his fingers over the scales. “I wouldn’t dream of asking Eric Pretty-Face to leave it behind, though. He was so proud of killing it. It followed us around from the day we left you, working up its nerve to attack. It’s only half grown, you see.”

“I see,” said Jack, noting that the head alone weighed twice what Eric Pretty-Face did.

“It came at us yesterday, tried to wrap itself around the boat and sink us. Bad mistake.”