The Islands of the Blessed by Nancy Farmer Page A

ducked as the Bard raised his staff.
    They made a second breakfast with fresh bread from the village and a roast goose Thorgil had brought from her shipmates’ dinner. Brother Aiden retold the tale of Fair Lamenting for her benefit. “I did hear a woman weeping as I walked on the beach,” mused the shield maiden. “I couldn’t find her. Skakki thought he saw a
draugr
when they dropped anchor.”
    â€œDraugr?”
inquired Jack.
    â€œYou know. An undead spirit. We ringed the camp with silver coins to keep it away.”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I feared,” said the Bard. “Tell the rest of Severus’s story, Aiden. We need to make plans.”
    â€œFor seven days Father Severus tried everything he could think of to get rid of the mermaid. He chanted exorcisms, waved crosses, and cursed her, but she was relentless. Each afternoon she pursued him. She was amazingly strong. She could lift boulders and throw them as easily as you toss a pebble. She wasn’t trying to kill him, of course, but to frighten him into giving up.
    â€œThe mermaid could also command the waves. On the next-to-last afternoon she called up a wave so powerful, it reached the rocks where Father Severus was hiding. It almost pulled him into the sea. Then he knew how she planned to capture him on the last day. That night he struggled to climb the mountain at the center of the island. He could almost do it, but there was a sheer cliff partway up that was impossible to pass.
    â€œHe went down to the water, sunk in despair and lamenting the day he’d left the Holy Isle. And then it came to him. What if she lived on the island with
him?
    â€œHe couldn’t marry her, of course. Not because he was a priest—some priests did take wives, though it was frowned on in Rome. He couldn’t because she was a beast, plain and simple. Oh, she might look human, but underneath she had no more spirituality than an ox.”
    â€œâ€˜An ox,’” he mused thoughtfully.
    â€œShe was enormously strong. He’d had ample evidence of that. She was talented—just look at the hut she’d constructed. She could fish and gather driftwood.
She could farm.
    â€œOn the last afternoon Father Severus built a great fire next to the water. He tolled Fair Lamenting, and the mermaid rose from the waves. She came to shore swiftly and dropped her scales on the beach. ‘Nice day for a swim,’ Father Severus commented.
    â€â€™You do not flee,’
said the mermaid.
    â€œâ€˜What’s the point? You’d only catch me.’
    â€œâ€˜I would prefer that you come willingly,’ she conceded. ‘It’s a poor marriage that begins with force.’ She held out her arms to embrace him.
    â€œâ€˜I have one thing to attend to first,’ Father Severus replied, smiling. He darted past her, snatched up the scales, and threw them into the heart of the fire.
    â€œThe mermaid screamed. She raised a wave to put out the flames, but it was already too late. Her fish tail had burned to ashes. ‘You have severed me eternally from the sea,’ she cried. ‘Oh, cruel, cruel man! How could you have treated me so after all my care? I can never swim the long miles back to my home.’
    â€œâ€˜Then I suppose you’ll have to live here,’ said Father Severus.
    â€œHe trained her to dig seedbeds and to carry water from a stream flowing out of the mountain. She built a wall to keep the north wind from blowing soil away. She lured salmon toher hand by singing. Father Severus had to teach her to cook, however, for her kind prefer to devour food raw. At night she slept naked on the beach. After several months her hands became rough and her hair grew matted and filthy. Father Severus didn’t mind. You don’t ask for beauty in an ox.”
    â€œBy Thor, that’s a fine tale,” interrupted Thorgil. “He tricked the mermaid and turned her into a