“How much farther is it?” said the little girl.

“An hour’s walk. Maybe more.”

“I’m tired,” she said.

To divert her, Jack took out the necklace of silver leaves. “Thorgil wanted you to have this.”

“Ooh!” Lucy grabbed the necklace and put it around her neck. “It’s from the queen,” she said, running her fingers over the bright metal.

“It’s from Thorgil,” he corrected.

“No! I saw the queen wearing it. She took me away to her palace. She gave me honey cakes and flummery.”

“That’s not true,” Jack said, losing patience. “You were sleeping on filthy straw and starving.”

“I was not! The queen sent me this necklace!”

Jack yanked it from Lucy’s neck. “You can have this back when you’re grateful to the person who really gave it to you.”

“You kindaskitur!”

“Call me ‘sheep droppings’ all you want, but—” Bold Heart cawed and flew into a tree. Jack was instantly alert. “Hide in the bracken, dear,” he whispered. Lucy, without a word, tumbled off the edge of the Roman road and scurried under a bush. She had certainly learned about avoiding danger.

Jack stood in the middle of the road. He heard footsteps and a tuneless whistling. He saw a figure emerge from the mist. At the same time the figure saw him.

“Don’t hurt me!” the boy yelled, turning and fleeing back down the road.

“Colin!” cried Jack, but the blacksmith’s son pounded away as fast as he could go. Jack looked down at himself. He was wearing the clothes the Mountain Queen had given him. Beneath his marten-fur coat he wore a fine green tunic and brown pants stuffed into his cowskin boots. He had a leather scabbard on his belt, and the knife from that scabbard was in his hand.

“Oh, my,” said Jack. “I look like a Northman. Come on, Lucy. We’d better get home before someone shoots me with an arrow.”

She climbed up and took his hand. “If I’m with you, they won’t shoot,” she said, which was so brave and perceptive, Jack leaned over and kissed her on the top of her head. They walked on. Bold Heart immediately fastened himself to Jack’s shoulder.

After awhile they heard many voices in the distance. The mist was thinning and sunlight broke through, turning the autumn forest red and gold.

“There he is! Wait! Don’t shoot yet! There’s a girl with him!” said several voices.

Yet?thought Jack. They came out to a clearing. Several men crouched with the kind of weapons you found around farms. John the Fletcher had an arrow nocked to his bow.

“Father!” shrieked Lucy, running forward.

“Lucy?” said Father, dropping his scythe. “Jack?” Heswept the little girl into his arms. John the Fletcher lowered his bow.

“It’s a berserker!” yelled Colin. “He came at me with an axe!”

“Don’t be silly,” said the chief of the village. “That’s Giles Crookleg’s lad, but he’s so big.”

Jack stood forth with his ash wood staff. Bold Heart sat on his shoulder. He knew he couldn’t have grown much in the time he’d been gone, but he must look entirely different. He certainly felt different from the boy who’d been dragged away by Northmen.

“He saved me from a horrible monster. And he fought trolls and dragons!” Lucy told Father.

Father looked completely bewildered. “You’re alive,” he said. “My son, you’re alive.” Giles Crookleg began to cry, and Jack began to cry too, which spoiled some of the grand effect he was trying to make.

“I know what’s different,” the chief declared. “See that crow? Ow!” he said as Bold Heart snapped at him. “That’s what bards carry on their shoulders. Jack went off an apprentice and has come back a full-fledged bard—about time, too. The old one hasn’t been making any sense.”

Everyone congratulated Jack then, and Father hugged him. They set off for the village with John the Fletcher running ahead to spread the good news. In a low voice Jack told Colin, “If I hadbeen a berserker, your head would have rolled on the ground before you’d gone three steps,” and he was gratified to see the boy turn pale.

An eager crowd waited outside Giles Crookleg’s farm. They cheered when they saw Jack and Lucy. The little girl danced before them, basking in the attention. Her dress was a wonder never seen in the village. Heide had made it after the style of her people. It was bright blue, with green embroidery at the neck and hem and white flowers scattered over the rest. Lucy looked like a real princess.

Everyone laughed and clapped. The little girl didn’t even notice Mother standing far back, at the door of the house. But Jack went to her immediately, fending off the hearty congratulations of well-wishers. Father had begun to recount the brief story Jack had given him of their captivity. “He saw trolls and dragons and giant spiders!” Father cried.

“Go on, Giles, that’s just one of your fantasies,” someone yelled.

Jack and Mother slipped to the back of the house. “I should fetch Lucy,” the boy said.

“Let her have her moment,” Mother said softly. “What happened to her hair?”

“It’s a long story. You won’t believe what happened.”

“I might. We suspected you’d been taken by berserkers. Father thought you were dead, but I never believed it. I looked into the water and saw you standing in a swarm of bees.”

Jack shivered. Mother was a wise woman, though she was careful to hide it. He wasn’t sure what “looking into the water” meant, but he’d seen Heide staring into a bowl, and everyone else tiptoed around when she did it. “How’s the Bard?” he asked.

She sighed. “He eats and sleeps, but his behavior is that of an infant. He screams at odd times, and he keeps waving his arms.”

“Is he at the Roman house?”

“He can’t take care of himself,” Mother said sadly, “and he’s so difficult that Father had to build him a shed near the back fence. People take turns caring for him. I don’t know what we’ll do when winter comes.”

They went down a path to the fields. Giles Crookleg’s farm was in magnificent shape. Stands of wheat were heavy with grain. Black beans and broad beans, turnips and radishes, parsnips and carrots grew in orderly rows. It had been a wonderful year, aside from getting raided by bloodthirsty berserkers from across the sea.

“You look very bardlike with that staff and that crow on your shoulder,” Mother said. “Is he tame?”

“Sometimes he snaps at people,” Jack said. But Mother fearlessly stroked the bird’s feathers, and Bold Heart warbled deep in his throat.

“You’d almost think he was talking.”

“Actually, he is. A girl I knew could understand what he said.”

“My! You havehad adventures. I can’t wait to hear about them.” Jack heard screams in the distance. His hand went automatically to his knife. “It’s only the Bard,” said Mother. “Sometimes he keeps it up for hours. We don’t know what he wants, and he can’t tell us.”

Jack approached the shed with a feeling of dread. Those cries! They were scarcely human. “Is he violent?”

“No, only very frightened. Everything we do frightens him.”

The door was secured with an iron bolt. Jack pulled it back. The inside of the shed smelled bad. The Bard scuttled to the far wall. His hair was wild and his fingernails as long as claws. His clothes—a rough tunic belted with a rope—were smeared with excrement.

“We try to keep him clean, but he gets so agitated when we attempt to bathe him that we’re afraid he’ll die of fright,” Mother said.

“Sir, it’s me, Jack. I’ve returned. Your enemy Frith is gone. You don’t have to be afraid.” But the old man only cowered in the deep straw that covered the floor. “I’ve brought you something that might heal you,” said Jack. “It’s song-mead from Mimir’s Well. There’s only a few drops, so you can’t waste them.”

“Wud- duh.Gaaw,” said the Bard. He raised his clawlike fingers to defend himself.

How am I ever going to get anything into his mouth?thought Jack. He took a step forward, and Bold Heart suddenly swooped from his shoulder and flew straight at the old man.