Frankie Fish and the Viking Fiasco

by Peter Helliar

  Finally, though, as the sun was starting to set, Drew triumphantly presented Frankie with a small but clearly burning torch. Together, the boys began walking deeper into the forest in search of another helmet, an ancient axe or Thor’s hammer.

  Sadly, after an hour of looking, all they found were sticks, rocks and deer poo. But then, just as Drew was becoming disheartened and Frankie impatient, they heard something. Voices. Lots of voices, that were either singing, or … crying.

  The boys’ curiosity overcame their fear and they walked quickly towards the sound. The voices became louder, and soon an incredible sight appeared before them. ‘Wow!’ whispered Drew. ‘A real Viking village.’

  Frankie looked out at the scene. Several low, sturdy wooden buildings, topped with mossy wooden roofs, were contained within a tall wooden fence. Campfires burnt dangerously close to each of these wooden cabins (Vikings certainly seemed to love their wood). To the left of the village was the ocean and along the shore were huge wooden ships that curled up at either end like upside-down moustaches.

  And then the boys saw the source of the wailing, singing noise that had led them here. A slow procession of people was making its way through the centre of the village.

  Six of the largest men Frankie had ever seen were up the front, carrying something between them.

  ‘What is that?’ Drew leant forward, straining his eyes to see. Then he gasped. ‘Is that … is that a body?’ he exclaimed in horror.

  As soon as Drew said it, Frankie could see he was right. The men walked very slowly, wailing and singing mournfully as they trudged along, carrying their sad burden.

  Then Frankie spotted two figures right at the back of the procession. One of them was wearing a ridiculously small plastic helmet with horns. ‘Look! There’s Birger.’

  Drew could see them too. ‘The guy beside him has to be his brother,’ he said, pointing. ‘He looks just like Birger, only bigger – if that’s even possible.’

  For a moment, Frankie was pleased to see their Viking buddy again. So happy, in fact, that at first he didn’t notice the thing that Birger and his brother were dragging along behind them.

  But once he did see it, his joy shrivelled up like a worm on a hot footpath in the midday sun.

  It was the lifeless body of a giant brown bear, being dragged along on its belly.

  A dead Viking. A huge bear carcass. Frankie had a bad feeling that these things were connected to each other, and that both things were connected to him and Drew. He hadn’t felt this anxious since the time Miss Merryweather had asked him to solve an algebra equation in front of the whole class, and everyone laughed at the word ‘bra’.

  ‘Does that bear look familiar to you?’ Frankie muttered to Drew.

  Drew shrugged. ‘One scary brown bear looks pretty much like any other scary brown bear to me,’ he said. It was clear Drew had other things on his mind. ‘Let’s get closer,’ he added.

  ‘Uh, I don’t think that’s such a good idea,’ murmured Frankie.

  ‘Oh, come on,’ urged Drew. ‘We know Birger is a friendly Viking, so he probably comes from a friendly Viking village.’

  Frankie wasn’t so sure about this logic, but before he knew it, Drew had run out of the forest and towards the tall front gates of the Viking village. Not wanting to be left behind, Frankie raced after his best friend.

  As they entered the village, Birger (who was still at the back of the procession) turned around. His face, which had been so cheerful and cheeky when they’d seen him earlier, was now streaked with tears and – Frankie noticed uncomfortably – paint.

  Birger regarded them with astonishment through his red, watery eyes. ‘Frankiifisk? Dru-børd?’

  Twisting the key in the padlock translator, Frankie said nervously, ‘Birger, are you OK?’

  Birger shook his head sadly and pointed towards the front of the procession, where the dead Viking was being held aloft. He uttered a single word.

  ‘Faðir.’

  Frankie didn’t need the padlock to translate that word. He’d already guessed what it meant.

  ‘Your father? He died?’ Frankie said softly. He felt a lump in his throat like he had swallowed a billiard ball.

  Birger nodded slowly. ‘Yes, he was attacked while hunting,’ the padlock translated. He pointed down at the bear he and his companion were dragging. ‘My father was very strong, but that creature was even more powerful. I was with you when the attack happened. By the time I reached my father, it was too late. Usually bears don’t cause us any harm. But this bear was very angry. Its fury gave it the strength of twenty animals.’

  Frankie was feeling more and more uncomfortable.

  Just then, the other, larger Viking boy dragging the bear began speaking sharply to Birger. He was too far from the padlock for his words to be translated, but it was clear from his face that he was angry. Birger spoke back rapidly, then turned towards Frankie and Drew.

  ‘This is my big brother, Brynjar,’ Birger said. ‘He wanted to know why I was talking to strangers without beards, who smell so weird. I explained that you can’t help how you smell and I told him you are here to attend our father’s funeral. That is why you came to our village, isn’t it?’

  Frankie nodded, trying not to be offended at the ‘weird’ part. Attending the funeral seemed like the least they could do.

  Birger wiped his eyes and even managed a small smile. ‘I’m glad,’ he said. ‘It’s an honour to have you here with us.’

  Frankie felt very sorry for Birger and his brother for their loss. But beneath this, though he wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, he was also a little awed. Here he was, wearing an actual Viking helmet, being escorted through an actual Viking village by some actual Vikings, one of whom he and Drew were basically best friends with. This didn’t happen every day.

  The Viking villagers eyed the boys curiously as they walked along with Birger.

  ‘Stay close,’ Frankie whispered to Drew.

  ‘You bet,’ replied Drew.

  Darkness had fallen by the time the procession made its way through the village and down to the boat-lined shore. A group of Viking women was busy filling one of the longboats with flowers and sweet-smelling grasses; the dead Viking’s body was carefully placed into it. Further along the beach was an enormous bonfire, the biggest Frankie had ever seen, and animals were being roasted on spits over the coals.

  It was an amazing scene. And then Frankie noticed something even more incredible. The night sky above them began to pulse with colours, flowing and changing ceaselessly like the world’s most impressive laser light show. It was the aurora borealis, also known as the northern lights!

  Frankie had learnt about this phenomenon in the Viking documentary he’d watched. He’d immediately vowed that one day he’d see this amazing spectacle for himself. But unfortunately, now was definitely not the right time to enjoy it.

  The wailing grew louder as grief-stricken Vikings drank beer, sang mournful songs and hugged each other, thumping each other’s backs so hard Frankie fully expected to hear the sound of breaking bones.

  Birger stopped by the boat where his father lay and began to cry loudly. ‘Faðir!’ he sobbed.

  Brynjar stood on the other side of the boat. He didn’t cry, but his face was clouded with fury. This time when he spoke, he was close enough for the padlock to translate.

  ‘You should have been there to protect our father, Birger,’ Brynjar said, his voice bristling with rage.

  ‘I know,’ wept Birger, tears pouring down his cheeks. ‘But this was no normal bear, Brynjar. Look!’

  With a tremendous effort, Birger reached his hands beneath the bear and flipped it over.

  Frankie and Drew stared down with horror at the creature, whose belly was stained with red, yellow and blue.

  Frankie Fish’s head was spinning faster than the spinniest ride at the Spinfest Carnival in Spinsville.

  Drew grabbed his arm. ‘That’s the bear I hit with my slingshot!’ he hissed urgently. />
  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ muttered back a rather frazzled Frankie as he turned off the padlock for a moment. The pieces of this awful puzzle were fitting together in his mind.

  ‘We made the bear angry. And that must be why it killed Birger’s dad!’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure –’

  But Frankie knew that Drew didn’t really believe this. To say this adventure had gone pear-shaped would be an insult to pears.

  Nearby, Birger was weeping even louder than before.

  It is fair to say Frankie and Drew had NEVER been in a situation like this before: consoling a Viking friend who had just lost a loved one. A loved one whose death was, quite possibly, Frankie and Drew’s fault.

  This felt like a very adult problem, and Frankie didn’t know what to do. His mind was foggier than a bathroom mirror after someone had taken a long, hot shower.

  ‘We need to fix this,’ Drew said, through clenched teeth. ‘Now.’

  Frankie wished he could snap his fingers and take back their decision to fire paintballs at the bear. But sadly, Frankie’s fingers weren’t magical, no matter how many times he tried.

  ‘There isn’t anything we can do,’ said Frankie in a low, firm voice.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Drew angrily. ‘We have to make this right! Let’s just go back in time and –’

  ‘Stop the bear, Drew?’ Frankie yelled back. ‘Even if we could do it without wearing out the time path, how we would stop a freaking bear?’

  Birger and Brynjar were both staring at the boys in astonishment, unsure what had suddenly made them scream at each other.

  ‘We need to undo what we did,’ insisted Drew, lowering his voice slightly.

  ‘Drew,’ said Frankie, trying to calm down. ‘The more we meddle, the more we put everything and everyone in danger. We can’t change history any more than we already have by … by getting Birger’s dad killed. Trying to undo this situation could be catastrophic.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘But nothing,’ Frankie said, cutting him off abruptly. ‘Some knots just can’t be untied.’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ demanded Drew. ‘Just leave? Go home?’

  ‘That’s exactly what we do. We go home and we never meddle in time travel again. What if that had been my dad, Drew? Or yours? This time we went too far.’ Frankie felt sick. ‘We broke the rules of time travel.’

  Birger came up behind the boys and patted their shoulders with his huge hands. Frankie knew Birger was trying to be gentle, but he felt a little like a tent-peg being hammered into the ground.

  He was murmuring something, so Frankie turned the padlock back on. It hummed and crackled and did the best it could to translate Birger’s words. ‘Don’t fight. Come and eat. Hungry makes angry … much worse …’

  Despite himself, Frankie’s tummy rumbled. He was indeed starving. Night had fallen and all they’d had to eat since arriving was a handful of berries. And the roasting meat did smell delicious.

  Drew’s tummy was rumbling too.

  ‘Well, maybe we are a bit hangry,’ Frankie muttered. ‘I guess we’ve got time for a quick nibble.’

  ‘Nibble?’ Birger repeated, raising his eyebrows in confusion.

  ‘He means yes,’ Drew replied, keeping it nice and simple. ‘You go ahead, I just need to ... find the loo,’ he said, giving Frankie a look. He dashed off before Frankie could say he doubted the Vikings even had toilets.

  Birger led Frankie over to where some logs had been placed around the bonfire. A number of villagers were already there, gnawing on massive hunks of meat, juice dribbling down their arms.

  Birger pulled over a massive log as if it were no heavier than a feather-filled cushion, and plonked himself down on it. Then he smiled at Frankie and patted the empty space beside him. ‘I am happy you stay, Frankiifisk. It shows great respect … to our faðir.’

  Frankie gulped, the guilt welling inside him. They hadn’t meant to change history, but that didn’t matter. They had, and they’d made a mess of it.

  He couldn’t help noticing that Brynjar, who was sitting on another log nearby, seemed madder than a snake trying to learn the chacha. Frankie had heard of people looking daggers at someone, but right now, Brynjar was looking axes at him and Birger.

  Frankie looked away, and was glad when Drew returned a few moments later. His backpack made a soft rattly-clunk as he put it on the ground beside him. Frankie glanced sideways at the bag. Was it his imagination, or was it bulging more than before? Brynjar, Frankie noticed, was staring at it too.

  But then Frankie was distracted when a strong-looking Viking woman started handing out what appeared to be T-Rex thigh bones. His empty stomach gurgled loudly. He was starving, and Drew was too. When the massive drumsticks arrived, the boys silently tore into them, surrounded by teary, tipsy Vikings.

  Frankie did notice, however, that as the Viking woman gave a thigh bone to Brynjar, she tried to speak to him (probably to give him her condolences, thought Frankie). But he brushed her aside and barely ate any of his meat.

  When Frankie and Drew could not fit another thing in, they stood up. Frankie felt awful knowing that they had accidentally caused the death of Birger and Brynjar’s father, but they’d simply had to warn off the bear. And there was nothing they could do about it now.

  ‘We’d better go,’ Frankie said. He was half-expecting Drew to put up a fight, but to his surprise, Drew slung his backpack onto his shoulder and stood up too. ‘Yep, you’re right,’ he said quickly. ‘Let’s go.’

  It seemed that for a boy-mountain, Birger was a real softie. He began to weep when he realised they were leaving, and swept them both up into an extreme hug that very nearly squished the boys permanently together, like two sticks of plasticine. There was a clanking sound as Birger released them, and Drew tugged at Frankie’s arm. ‘Come on!’ he said.

  Suddenly there was a shout. A very angry shout, followed by a stream of furious-sounding words that were too fast for the padlock to translate. Frankie turned to see Brynjar charging towards them, swinging his axe above his head. Frankie knew they should get out of the way, but he was too scared to move.

  At the last minute, Birger grabbed hold of Brynjar’s arms, holding him back. Brynjar looked like he couldn’t believe his younger brother would dare to stop him like this, and yelled and struggled frantically.

  Frankie felt faint with terror. What was going on? Why had Brynjar suddenly exploded like that? As Birger did his best to keep Brynjar away, Frankie realised Brynjar was gesticulating angrily at Drew. Or, more specifically, at Drew’s backpack. With a gnawing feeling in his gut, Frankie looked at it. The zip was partially open and through the gap the gleam of something curved and metallic could clearly be seen.

  ‘Oh Drew,’ groaned Frankie. ‘What have you done?’

  But before Drew could answer, the zip opened up completely and a heavy object fell out. Frankie’s heart leapt into his mouth when he saw what it was: a Viking helmet. It was a lot like the one Birger had given Frankie, except that this one was more battered-looking.

  Brynjar went completely wild then, and it clearly took every ounce of Birger’s strength to keep him away.

  Purple in the face, Brynjar pointed to the helmet and then at his own head, screaming with fury. And then it dawned on Frankie exactly what was going on.

  ‘Drew! You stole Brynjar’s helmet?!’

  ‘I'm only borrowing it!’ corrected Drew huffily. ‘Which was your idea, remember?

  We're going to give them back, once we've worn them in the Best Costume competition!’

  ‘I know,’ Frankie yelled, ‘but I thought you were going to ask first!’

  ‘We’re in the middle of a funeral,’ Drew shrieked back. ‘It didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up!’

  Finally, Brynjar pushed his full weight against Birger, and Birger toppled over. Frankie’s pulse went into overdrive. Now there was nothing between the boys and Brynjar!

  ‘Sta
y back!’ Frankie called out. His voice sounded so thin and shaky compared to Brynjar’s impressively deep, powerful tones. Frankie was sweating so hard he nearly lost his grip on the Sonic Suitcase.

  ‘Back me up here, Drew,’ he muttered to his mate.

  Drew swallowed and cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry, OK!’ he said, his voice quivering. ‘I swear I was going to bring it back.’

  Shaking with fury, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the boys, Brynjar reached down and grabbed his helmet. Frankie watched him, his mouth dry. Maybe now that Brynjar had his helmet back, he’d calm down a bit?

  But that is not what happened. Not at all. As Brynjar lifted the helmet, it tipped to one side and out rolled three little round paintballs: one red, one yellow, one blue.

  Brynjar picked up one of the balls, squeezing it until it popped. By the light of the aurora’s glow, the yellow paint on his hand was easy to make out.

  Brynjar stared at the coloured blotch, then looked over to where the bear’s body lay. Frankie could practically SEE him joining the dots in his head.

  A great hush fell over the scene. The owls stopped hooting, the crickets stopped chirping and even the waves momentarily seemed to stop crashing against the sand. And in that moment of almost pure silence, Drew clutched Frankie’s arm and uttered a single word:

  ‘RUN!’

  Frankie belted towards the forest, his heart pounding so hard that it felt like it was trying to pop out of his chest. From the way Drew was breathing as he ran along beside him, Frankie could tell he felt much the same. As soon as they were on firmer ground, Drew whipped his blue scooter out of his backpack and scooted along instead.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’ Drew yelled again as they raced away. ‘I was only going to borrow it!’

  Frankie was huffing and puffing like a steam train with asthma, but even as the yelling died down in the distance, he knew they weren’t out of trouble yet.

  From the sound of the thumping behind them, they were being followed – by something large and scary.