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staff. You can never be quite sure whether a monster is hungry or merely curious. It was gone by the time I returned.”
    â€œAnd the creature below?”
    â€œI couldn’t find it,” said the Bard. “You know, I’ve heard that cry before, but I can’t quite remember where.”
    â€œWe should hunt for it,” said Thorgil. She drew her knife and held it up in the firelight. Her movements were much more polished after a year practicing with her left hand, but she would never regain her earlier skill. Her right hand looked completely normal, apart from a strange silvery hue, but it was as useless as a block of wood.
    Jack wasn’t sure whether Thorgil’s paralysis was of themind or whether some dire ill had passed to her from the demon she had attacked. The Bard had tried to heal her. Even Brother Aiden (when she was asleep and couldn’t spit at him) had prayed over her. Nothing helped.
    â€œIt’s as black as a lead mine out there,” the Bard said. “It’s far more likely something would find
you
before you stumbled over
it.
Besides, I have new magic for you to learn, Jack.”
    The boy was elated. At last! Months had passed with only a repetition of the spells he’d already studied. He’d called up fire, calmed winds, and practiced farseeing, which had shown him meaningless beaches and gloomy rocks. The only new spell he’d learned was to separate grain from grit by calling to the life force within the kernels.
    â€œWhat about me? Why can’t I learn magic?” demanded Thorgil.
    â€œI haven’t chosen you as my apprentice, but if it’s any consolation, you already have some powers. When you tasted dragon’s blood, you became part dragon. That’s why you can understand the languages of the air.”
    â€œPart dragon?” Thorgil said, interested. Jack could almost see the thought passing through her mind. If she were part dragon, she could fly over her enemies and blast them with fire.
    The Bard smiled grimly, showing that he, too, understood. “Don’t expect to sprout wings anytime soon. You’ve been given a useful skill, and through the sacrifice of your hand, I suspect you’ve gained even more. You might even turn into a healer.”
    Jack hooted with laughter before he could stop himself.
    â€œYour wits have turned,” Thorgil snarled. “I am no healer to mumble charms over weaklings. I’m a shield maiden and will fall in battle holding my sword, even if it’s in the wrong hand.”
    â€œThat path is no longer open to you,” the Bard said. “I’ve seen how the horses come to you and follow your every command. I heard how you lifted that crow from the mud and breathed hope into his wings.”
    â€œWhat crow? Nobody saw me. I didn’t do it,” cried Thorgil.
    â€œHe came by the house and told me about it,” the Bard said, amused.
    â€œHe was a follower of Odin. It was the least I could do,” the shield maiden conceded.
    â€œYou needn’t be ashamed of kindness, Thorgil. Even the great Olaf One-Brow once stretched out his hand to a girl-child nobody wanted. Now, I need to teach Jack a sleep-spell. We must put Seafarer’s wing right before it sets permanently in that position.”
    â€œI could learn that,” Thorgil said eagerly.
    â€œNo, you couldn’t, but you can haul Seafarer out of his nest for me.”
    Seafarer was in no mood to let anyone touch his wing. He snapped and screamed when Thorgil tried to move him. In the end she had to lure him out with a trail of dried fish. He gulped down the treats, keeping one beady eye on the humans, and kept up a burble of hisses and grunts. EvenJack, who knew no Bird, recognized them as insults.
    â€œNow comes the hard part,” the old man said when the bird had settled far from its lair. “I must pull Seafarer’s dislocated wing back into line, and it’s going to hurt