The Islands of the Blessed Read Online Free PDF

lead a Wild Hunt here?”
    â€œSomething laid waste to these oaks.”
    The new road was littered with branches, and water pooled in the center where the ground had been plowed deeper. “If it was a Hunt,” Jack said carefully, “what was it hunting?”
    â€œNot Gog and Magog, poor lads. They were merely unlucky to be in its path,” said the Bard. “The Wild Hunt drives misfortune before it. Plague, famine, and war follow behind. I believe we’re in for an interesting time.”
    The sky was bright blue, as though nothing had ever disturbed it, and the air was warm with summer. Jack saw Brother Aiden picking his way through the branches like a small brown sparrow hopping from perch to perch. The monk held aloft a wooden cross and was chanting in Latin. Jack couldn’t understand him, but it was clear that the words were filled with Christian magic.
    â€œAiden, my friend,” called the Bard, “you’ll be up to your ears in mud if you don’t watch out.”
    The little monk looked up and almost slid off a branch. “I must sanctify this place,” he said, bracing his feet. “Evil has been done here.”
    â€œAye, and evil has been done to the farms as well. We must trade for grain before winter comes.” The Bard strode onto the road—for an old man his step was amazingly sure— and helped Brother Aiden to firmer ground.
    â€œI can mix ink. People always want to buy that,” offered the monk. Brother Aiden was renowned for his magnificent colors, which were used to illuminate holy manuscripts.
    â€œExcellent! I’ll get Pega to help you. Jack and Thorgil can gather herbs for my elixirs. John the Fletcher has a stock of deerskins, and I’m sure I can pry a few coins out of the chief’s wealth-hoard. My stars! That new road is so straight, you could almost believe it was made by Romans.”
    Jack looked through the opening to a distant meadow and the hills beyond. A lone bird fluttered from one side to the other of this opening. Its cries reached him from the shadows of a yew. “It sounds … so sad,” he murmured.
    The Bard cast a sharp look at him. “Indeed. It is mourning the loss of its young. Have you been taking lessons in Bird from Thorgil?”
    Jack grimaced ruefully. “No, sir. The last thing Thorgil wants is to admit she understands it.”
    â€œInsufferable child. She’s made a career of pigheadedness. Stay and help Aiden, lad. I’ll expect you for dinner.” The oldman collected the harp and the basket of mushrooms and strode away, leaving Jack uncertain of what he was supposed to do next.
    â€œI’d like it very much if you would sing for me,” Brother Aiden said shyly. “My heart is heavy over the loss of those poor men.” The little monk’s eyes were filled with tears, and Jack knew he was remembering his own escape from the Forest Lord or Satan or whoever led the pack of hunters.
    And so Jack sang of the earth when it was gentle and not wild, of the harp in the trees when wind played among the leaves. He sang of fair meadows where deer brought their young, knowing them to be safe, and of the cry of larks tumbling in High Heaven.
    Gradually, Brother Aiden’s face cleared and he looked hopeful again. “Thank you,” he said. “Your voice is wonderfully healing, almost as fine as Pega’s.” He began once again to bless the raw wound in the forest.
    Jack gazed down the passage, thinking,
This is the path Odin took with his warriors, if Thorgil saw truly. They passed her by, ignoring one who wanted to join them and taking Gog and Magog, who didn’t. Why does everyone always compare me with Pega?
    Feeling slightly nettled, he bade good-bye to Brother Aiden and went home to see whether he could help with repairs.

Chapter Four

SEAFARER
    The last rays of sunlight caught on the wings of swallows as Jack returned to the Bard’s house.