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like the very blazes. I don’t dare give him poppy. The infusion is too strong and might kill him.”
    â€œShould I hold him down?” said Jack, looking doubtfully at the sharp beak.
    â€œToo dangerous. Birds, even intelligent ones, panic when you try to restrain them. Thorgil, you must distract Seafarer. We need him relaxed while the spell works its power. Ask him about the land he came from. You can tell him about the Northland too.”
    Thorgil grinned, and Jack knew she had every intention of learning the new spell. She began speaking in Bird. It was a strange language full of groans and clicks, and Seafarer answered her with croaks and sighs. Sometimes his voice seemed to come from a great distance, like something you might hear on a night wind. Sometimes it boomed close to your ear. Whatever they were talking about, the great bird was entranced by it.
    â€œNow, lad. Observe my hands,” the Bard said quietly. “I’m going to weave a spell in the air as well as with words. Seafarer can’t understand human speech, but with animals, music is far more important. Listen to the tone of my voice.”
    The Bard settled in front of Seafarer and began to move his hands like seaweed undulating in a gentle sea. It was a beautiful motion, so fluid and peaceful that you wantedto watch it for hours. Jack thought it was like music made visible. The Bard began to speak in a drowsy voice that made the boy feel warm and safe inside. The words didn’t matter. The Bard could have been saying “tra-la-la” for all the difference it made, but in fact he was actually making sense:
    You are floating on a still pond … floating… floating. … It’s the softest bed you have ever known … floating … floating … softer than your mother’s wings … safer than your father’s shadow. … Nothing can harm you. … All is peaceful… floating. … You are getting very sleeeeepy. …
    Jack’s head jerked up. His vision had blurred and he had to force himself to focus. For an instant the Bard’s hands looked
exactly
like seaweed, and Jack knew the magic was overwhelming him. He pinched himself viciously.
    Seafarer sat with his beak half open. He slowly blinked that double blink of seabirds when a milky skin slides sideways before the eyelids come down. His legs gradually collapsed until he was sitting on the floor. Jack pinched himself again.
Warm … safe … floating …
    Thorgil fell over with a thump. She was going to have another bruise, Jack thought distantly, trying to keep his wits about him. Then Seafarer fell over.
    â€œQuick, before he wakes,” murmured the Bard. “Hold his good wing close to his body.” Jack obeyed, and all the while the slow music of the old man’s voice wove itself around them like a vast, shining coil. The Bard grasped the other wing and flexed it with a quick movement. There was anaudible click. Seafarer shrieked, but his eyes stayed closed. He lay on the floor, sound asleep.
    â€œThat went well,” the Bard said briskly, dusting off his hands. “I’ll let him rest awhile. You might turn Thorgil on her side, lad. She’s facedown, and if I’m not mistaken, she’s got a straw up her nose.”

Chapter Five

A SCREAM IN THE DARK
    Thorgil did have a nasty bruise in the morning, but what annoyed her more was not remembering the sleep-spell.
    â€œSome people can do it and others are unable to resist the magic,” the Bard explained.
    â€œI can resist anything,” the shield maiden protested.
    â€œWe’re all aware of that, but the sleep-spell is out of your control. It’s just how things are. You couldn’t fly, no matter how hard you flapped your arms.”
    â€œOlaf used to say that when I tried to make poetry,” Thorgil said. “But after I drank from Mimir’s Well, I could do it as well as Jack.”
    â€œThat’s