The Islands of the Blessed by Nancy Farmer

albatross screamed a challenge and a dozen seagulls tumbled off the cliff.
    â€œFeels good, doesn’t it?” Jack said companionably. “There’s nothing like a good threat to start the day.” Seafarer burbled back. The boy could smell oatcakes toasting in the distance. “I’d like to see a mermaid,” he confided, “though I don’t know about marrying one. Seems like you’d drown if you moved in with her. How do you think she breathes underwater?”
    Seafarer made a sound between a purr and a croak. Jack was almost certain it was an answer to his question. Suddenly, the bird gave a whoop and soared off the cliff. He almost succeeded in flying, but his bad wing collapsed and he dropped. Jack slid down the rocks as fast as he could. At the bottom he saw the bird staggering drunkenly over the sand, shrieking and clacking his beak.
    â€œYou idiot!” cried Jack. “You’ll ruin all our work!” And then he saw Thorgil running toward them. She was cawing in Bird and scattering her carrying bags on the beach. Presently, she met up with Seafarer and the two danced around each other in a frenzy of joy.
    â€œOh, Jack! You’ll never guess what happened!” she yelled.“Skakki is here! My brother! He dropped anchor at the inlet where we left you and Lucy. He’s promised to take us to Bebba’s Town.”
    â€œYou say there’s a
Northman ship
anchored near our village?” said Brother Aiden, his eyes wide with horror.
    â€œSkakki has taken an oath not to pillage us,” Thorgil said carelessly. “He might pick up a few slaves elsewhere, but I don’t see the harm in it.”
    â€œNo harm?”
cried the monk. “Can you not hear the cries of children being torn from their parents’ arms? Is your heart made of stone?”
    â€œWe don’t usually steal children,” said the shield maiden. “They’re not durable, and anyhow, the market for brats is poor.”
    â€œStop needling him,” warned the Bard. Thorgil grinned evilly and fished an oatcake from the ashes. She held out a tidbit to Seafarer, who took it carefully. He had become wary of hot things.
    â€œHas the whole crew returned?” said Jack. All at once a great longing swept over him to see the Northmen again.
    â€œMost of them,” the shield maiden said after cramming her mouth with oatcake. “There’s Skakki and of course Rune, Sven the Vengeful, Eric Pretty-Face, and Eric the Rash. Schlaup is new. Eric Broad-Shoulders was eaten by trolls.”
    â€œOh, my,” said Brother Aiden.
    â€œMy foster father, Olaf One-Brow, tried a slice of troll once. He said it was nasty.”
    â€œThorgil!” thundered the Bard. “Don’t make me turn you into a frog.”
    She laughed and helped herself to another oatcake. Jack was delighted to see her so happy. She had apparently forgiven their quarrel in the hazel wood, for she’d greeted him with warmth. She had, as he’d suspected, fled to the beach. Once she began walking north, it seemed reasonable to continue. The waves calmed her mind and the smell of the sea raised her spirits. After a while she cut cross-country to the old Roman road and found her way to the inlet.
    â€œSkakki never believed I was dead,” Thorgil said. “Early this year he returned to the beach where he’d left me and saw my runes carved into a tree. When he couldn’t find me, he guessed I’d gone to the only place where I might find welcome. He’s much bigger. I thought he’d had his full growth, but he’s practically a giant now. Like Olaf.” A shadow crossed the shield maiden’s face.
    â€œSo he’s willing to take us to Bebba’s Town,” said Jack, to keep her from brooding.
    â€œOnce he’s finished with business farther south. You don’t want to know what that is, Brother Aiden—all right! I’ll shut up!” Thorgil