Read Online The Islands of the Blessed by Nancy Farmer - Free Book Online

earth with enough pale light for Jack to make his way to the Bard’s house. He gathered his belongings and replaced his knife in the scabbard that hung from his belt. “Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. “I know the Bard likes your company.”
    â€œI’ll come in the morning,” Brother Aiden said. “I’ve much to think about tonight. I must consider that scream you heard.”
    Jack looked up, startled. So the monk did suspect something he wasn’t telling. “Are you safe here?” he said, suddenly aware of shadows all around and the distance to the nearest house.
    â€œNo one is entirely safe in this world,” Brother Aiden said. “If God chooses to call me in the night, I hope I may answer bravely. I will stay. However, there’s no point leading whatever-it-is into temptation. I’ll take the bell insidewith me, though the Lord knows where I’ll find space for my head.”
    Jack looked back frequently as he made his way through the fields, to see whether the monk was still outside. He thought he saw the door of the hut close and the fire dim as though something had flitted in front of it.
Huge, glowing, blue eyes,
he thought, searching the darkness.
Why blue?
For some reason the color was the creepiest part of the story.
    To the right of the path Jack saw long, gray breakers advance to the shore and withdraw. To the left was the black, meandering path of a stream. He smelled seaweed and meadowsweet and felt a fine salt mist. The sea was hidden on the last part of the trip, though he could hear it hissing and rattling over pebbles. At last he came to the Bard’s house and entered its warmth gratefully.
    â€œIt’s about time,” complained the Bard, sitting by the fire with Seafarer at his feet. “I was about to send a bat to look for you. Where’s Thorgil? Don’t tell me she’s off gathering moonbeams too.”
    â€œI warned you about picking fights,” said the old man, fastening lengths of twine across the room. “She’s like a ship without ballast, always at the mercy of the wind.”
    â€œI didn’t pick the fight,” Jack said sullenly, hanging herbs to dry on the lines. He’d described the events of the day, ending with the scream and the visit to Brother Aiden.
    â€œNo, but you kept it going. Only Freya knows where she’s hiding out.” The Bard opened the bag with the
atterswam
andsniffed. “Excellent! I meant to ask you to look for these.” He threaded the mushrooms on a string.
    â€œYou aren’t … planning to eat them?” Jack asked hesitantly. He remembered how the Northmen took them to go berserk.
    â€œMy stars, lad, I’m not insane. Once these are dried and powdered, they’re going into one of my best potions: Beelzebub’s Remedy Against Flies. I discovered the recipe while fumigating King Hrothgar’s hall. You have no idea how nasty a place can get after a monster’s been rampaging through it. Did I ever tell you how I saved Beowulf’s life?”
    â€œYes, sir,” said Jack. He liked the story, but he was more interested in
atterswam
now.
    â€œHrothgar nailed the monster’s arm to the wall as a kind of trophy. Foolish man! It attracted flies like you wouldn’t believe. I went out to the forest for fresh air, and what did I come across but a patch of
atterswam?
As I watched, a fly settled on one of the caps. One minute later it keeled over dead. That was all the hint I needed. I mashed up the mushrooms in milk, soaked balls of wool in the mixture, and hung them from the ceiling of Hrothgar’s hall. You know how flies like to circle around the center of a room. When they get tired, it’s natural for them to land on the nearest resting place, but they only land once on Beelzebub’s Remedy.”
    â€œThat’s brilliant,” said Jack.
    â€œYes, it is. I used to sell the potion as Dragon