by Alan Early
Praise for the Arthur Quinn books
‘A brilliant creation … fast-paced and thrilling’ – Eoin Colfer, author of Artemis Fowl
‘A clever blend of fantasy and the every day. It’s like Harry Potter, Dublin style’ – Irish Examiner
‘One of the most exciting adventure stories published in Ireland in the last few years’ – Irish Independent
‘An absolute rip-roaring read’ – Sunday Business Post
‘A gripping supernatural thriller’ – Sunday Independent
‘Norse myth, Irish history and contemporary Dublin blend convincingly’ – The Irish Times
‘A mystical world of mythological characters comes alive, time stops, the unimaginable occurs, and the excitement is full blast from beginning to end’ – VOYA, Voices of Youth Advocates
‘An action-packed suspense mystery’ – School Librarian Journal
‘It’s like a ride on the back of the Fenris Wolf itself, breathlessly exciting … perfect for everyone who enjoyed Avengers Assemble.’ – Alexander Gordon Smith, Inis Magazine
‘A fantastic, riveting read and one you will enjoy over and over. Bring on the third book!!!’ – Mary Esther Judy, The Bookbag
MERCIER PRESS
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Blackrock, Cork, Ireland.
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© Alan Early, 2013
ISBN: 978 1 78117 158 5
Epub ISBN: 978 1 78117 215 5
Mobi ISBN: 978 1 78117 216 2
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
All characters and events in this book are entirely fictional. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, which may occur inadvertently, is completely unintentional.
To Paul, Dee, Lou, Ruairí and Tag,
for your names and so much more.
Prologue
Neil Conifrey felt a surge of relief when he saw the turn off the main road up ahead. It had been a long journey from Dublin and the snail’s pace of the Friday rush-hour traffic had only made it longer. Kurt and Susanna had squabbled in the back for most of the two-hour-plus drive, while Joanna – Neil’s wife – sat staunchly silent in the passenger seat, massaging away a particularly painful migraine. Now, as they approached the turn-off, the bickering finally came to an end. Neil glanced in the rear-view mirror at his two kids. Kurt was sixteen and had definitely inherited genes from Joanna’s side of the family. With the cleft in his chin and the slightly bulging eyes, he was the spitting image of Joanna’s older brother. He even shared his uncle’s dark five o’clock shadow. Ten-year-old Susanna, on the other hand, took after Neil with her mop of wiry brown hair and poor eyesight.
He focused back on his driving as he turned up the laneway towards the holiday home. Despite the harsh winter they’d just emerged from, the gravel track was overgrown with brambles and bushes already. Usually he didn’t have to trim back the growth until their annual visit over the May Bank Holiday, but by the looks of it he’d have to do some work on it this weekend.
Bad weather had forced them to remain in Dublin over Christmas. Normally they were glad to get out of the city to visit Joanna’s parents in Leitrim, but the snow and ice had put a stop to that. Now – to celebrate Joanna’s birthday – Neil had taken the family to their holiday home a few miles outside Mullingar. He thought it would be a much-needed break from the hustle and bustle of the city – although, judging by the way it had begun, he figured he’d have gotten more rest back in Dublin.
The house itself was secluded at the end of the laneway, overlooking a small hillside. It was a compact bungalow, painted a cheery yellow and of a clean, modern design. The sun had set a couple of hours before and, as Neil parked the car, he was surprised to see light pouring from one of the windows.
‘Did anyone leave a light on last time we were here?’ he asked, pulling up the handbrake. He turned to his children, irritated.
‘No,’ Kurt answered sullenly, looking out of his window.
‘Wasn’t me,’ said Susanna. ‘Honest.’
Neil turned to Joanna, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she warned him. ‘You probably left it on. You always do at home.’ He unhooked his seat belt, unwilling to admit that she was more than likely right. He did have a habit of forgetting to turn off the house lights at night or any time he was going out.
They bustled out of the car. Joanna leaned back against the bonnet, inhaling the cool air deeply, glad to be out of the stuffy vehicle. She was holding a bag of basic groceries they’d picked up in a petrol station en route. Susanna ran off to inspect the apple tree she had planted the previous spring. As Neil heaved their one suitcase out of the car boot, Kurt was waving his mobile phone in the air, trying to catch some reception.
‘I have no bars,’ he complained. ‘Dad, there are no bars.’
‘Of course there aren’t,’ Neil said, pulling the wheeled case towards the front door. ‘There weren’t any when we came here last year or the summer before that or the spring before that. And there won’t be any if we come here in May. But isn’t it nice to be away from the pitfalls of modern society for a few days?’
Kurt chose not to answer, sighed and thrust the phone back in his pocket petulantly. Neil smiled to himself, took the house keys out of his pocket and tried to find the right one before his son could voice another complaint. Even after coming here all these years, he still couldn’t work out the previous owners’ key-coding system.
‘No apples,’ said Susanna sadly, crossing back from the small front garden.
‘They’ll grow in the autumn, Suzie,’ said her mother. ‘Don’t worry. As soon as your dad gets the door open, we’ll put on some nice hot chocolate. How does that sound?’
As if on cue, Neil managed to turn the correct key in the door with a click.
‘All aboard!’ he exclaimed as he went in – an old joke he’d used countless times before, which they all rolled their eyes at now.
Considering the house had spent some months uninhabited, Neil had expected it to be almost arctic inside, but he was bewildered to find that it was actually quite warm. As he put down the case, the family all piled past him into the kitchen – to where he’d apparently left the light glowing on their last visit. None of the rest of them seemed to notice the warmth in the house, or, if they did, they didn’t think it strange. He watched through the door as Joanna turned the stove on and his children rooted through the cupboard for supplies. He made his way slowly towards them, keeping his ears alert for … well, he didn’t know what for. He didn’t want to think about it, really. The back of his hand felt a radiator as he passed; it was hot to the touch.
‘Any marshmallows?’ Joanna was asking as she heaped spoonfuls of chocolate powder into a saucepan of simmering milk.
‘Just a few,’ Kurt replied, retrieving a near-empty bag of marshmallows.
‘We’ll put some more on the shopping list for tomorrow.’
‘Joanna,’ said Neil.
‘Hmm?’ She didn’t turn, just kept stirring the chocolate.
‘Joanna,’ he said again, more urgently this time.
‘What is it?’ she asked irritably, swivell
ing towards him.
‘Did you put that there?’ He pointed to the breakfast table. The calendar from the wall had been left on it, open to the month of February. The first three weeks’ worth of days had been crossed off – right up to today. A rough-edged X the colour of rust marked off each day. It looked like it had been scrawled with a fingertip in ink. Or …
‘Is that blood?’ Kurt spluttered, staring at the calendar.
‘Hello there!’ said a voice behind them. Neil spun to find himself facing a tall man. He had platinum-blond hair, cropped close to his skull. His beard was trimmed into what he’d often heard Joanna refer to as ‘fashionable stubble’. His eyes were a shockingly pale blue and they darted from one member of the Conifrey family to the next. He was wearing pinstriped trousers, a matching waistcoat, shirt and tie. There was no sign of the blazer that would complete the three-piece ensemble. Over it all, he wore a frilly pink apron that had ‘Kiss the Cook’ scrawled across it in cartoony text and a print of a naked, muscled chest underneath it. He was grinning at them, exposing a row of flawless white teeth.
‘Is that hot chocolate?’ he asked, slamming the door behind him. ‘I do love hot chocolate.’
‘Wh– … who are you?’
Without warning, the man leapt forward. He thrust a hand against Neil’s chest and pushed him backwards. Joanna cried out as Neil flew through the air, crashed into the kitchen units and slumped to the ground.
‘Who am I?’ cackled the blond-haired man shrilly. ‘I am Loki, the Father of Lies,’ he said, strolling nonchalantly further into the kitchen. ‘And we’re all going to have such fun together!’
Part One
Chapter One
‘We should go to the cinema tomorrow.’
‘Is there anything good on?’
‘There’s that new one about the gangster who moves to a small town. It’s meant to be OK.’
‘Ugh, no. How about the new one in the “Blue Moon” series? It’s got vampires.’
‘And also romance. And that Robert Mattinson guy. So, no thanks!’
‘We can decide when we get there. I’ll ask my mum to drive us into Tralee. You up for it, Arthur?’
Arthur Quinn was in another world, kicking an empty Coke can in front of him as he shuffled along the pavement heading home from school. He should have been as excited as his friends for the weekend ahead, but he just couldn’t get that ‘Friday feeling’. His brown hair, naturally shaggy, was starting to become unruly again after a tight haircut only a month previously. Freckles covered his nose and high cheekbones. His right eye was a deep blue, punctuated by flecks of apple green, while his left eye was covered in a dark leather eye-patch. It was permanently bloodshot now and the once-blue iris had turned an ugly crimson. A line of scar-tissue peeked out from either side of the patch, tracing where a chunk of rock from an exploding tower had taken the vision there. The can tumbled off the path and kept rolling along the rain gutter.
‘Arthur?’
‘Hmm?’ He picked the can off the road and dropped it into a nearby bin, then turned to his friends. Paul, Louise and Dave were all staring at him quizzically. ‘Sorry, did you say something?’
‘I asked if you wanted to come to the cinema tomorrow,’ Paul repeated irritably. He was tall and lanky, in the middle of his first teenage growth spurt. The eldest of the group, he’d just turned thirteen a few weeks earlier, although Arthur hadn’t been around to join in the celebrations. He’d still been living in Dublin then. Last October, Arthur’s father, Joe, had been offered a job in the capital city, working on the excavation for the upcoming Dublin Metro train. When the work had been postponed indefinitely a month ago, Joe had made the decision to move home to Kerry. They’d been back in the quiet village of Farranfore less than a week, but already Arthur was missing his Dublin friends. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Paul, Louise or Dave. On the contrary, he still valued their friendship greatly. But he and his Dublin mates had been through so much together in such a short time. Only they could really understand how he felt now and the fears that he had.
‘Oh. Uh … no thanks.’
‘Oh come on, Arthur! It’ll be fun,’ Louise urged. She was almost as tall as Paul, with black hair and olive skin that were a result of genes from her Italian mother.
‘It’s been a long week and I just want to rest,’ Arthur lied. Granted, it had been a long week, but he didn’t feel like resting. He’d had enough of that in the hospital after the explosion. He’d caused the explosion himself, three weeks ago, in order to stop the evil trickster god Loki’s latest plan. Arthur had had to do it and he still believed that losing the sight in one eye was a better option than what the god had had in mind for him. Loki had been trying to transform everyone in Ireland into wolves, an unstoppable army to help him conquer the world.
A millennium before, the trickster god had created three terrible children with the ultimate aim of destroying the world. The other gods were enraged by his actions and bound him under Dublin for eternity, disposing of his children in various ways. However, when construction on the Metro began, Loki was freed and set about finding and releasing his evil brood. Arthur – with the help of his friends and an army of dead Vikings that had been buried to guard it – managed to defeat and kill the first child, the World Serpent. Then Loki went to find his second child – a wolf-man called Fenrir. Fenrir was supposed to have created an army of wolves for Loki to enslave humanity with, but, after spending a thousand years living in this world, he had grown to respect – and even like – the human race. He had disobeyed the Father of Lies’ orders and went as far as hiding Loki’s third child in case the god returned. Only Fenrir knew the whereabouts of Loki’s daughter – Hell’s Keeper, as she was known.
But after the explosion at the tower, Fenrir had gone missing …
The only thing Arthur wanted to do this weekend was chat to his Dublin friends online. He was desperately looking forward to finding out if they’d had any luck in finding Fenrir with Ash’s GPS since he’d left them the Sunday before.
‘Don’t worry, Mad-Eye Moody,’ said Dave. ‘We won’t go to a 3D film!’ He pointed to Arthur’s eye-patch and burst out laughing. Despite the dull pain he still felt there, Arthur couldn’t help but join in. Dave was short for his age. Actually, if he had been nine, he would still have been short for his age. He was tubby, moved slowly and had greasy hair. In other words, perfect fodder for bullies. His one saving grace – and the one thing that kept bullies at bay – was the witty one-liners he was known for.
A car-horn honked. Arthur looked around to see his dad behind the wheel, waving to him.
‘See you three Monday,’ Arthur shouted to them as he ran to the car. He was secretly pleased that his dad had shown up when he did; it meant that he wouldn’t have to field any more questions about why he didn’t want to go to the cinema. He guessed his old friends wouldn’t be too impressed that he was blowing them off for his new friends in Dublin. Buckling himself into the passenger seat, he said hi to Joe.
‘Good day at school?’ Joe enquired as they drove through the quiet market town. His hair was starting to thin and he was going grey at the temples, but apart from that, and the bags that sometimes appeared under his eyes, he showed no other signs of aging. Upon quitting the job in Dublin, he’d been fortunate enough to return to his previous career as a freelance engineering consultant. The work wasn’t as regular as in the city – which meant that he had much more time to do errands and hang out with Arthur.
Arthur’s mother had always liked the freedom the job had given Joe. It meant that they could book weekends away at short notice or that she could rely on him to pick up Arthur from school. But then, less than a year earlier, she’d suddenly become sick. She’d deteriorated very quickly, getting weaker with each passing day. Arthur still missed her and thought of her constantly. He reached for the golden ribbon tied around his right wrist. It had been hers and she’d worn it always, so when she died he had taken it as a constant reminder of her.
They passed through the quiet village and into the countryside. It was an overcast February day outside, mild and dry for this time of year. As they waited at a crossroads for a tractor to turn, Arthur gazed with fascination at a robin by the ditch in the road. It was pecking at a scrap of sandwich someone – probably a farmer – had dropped earlier. Just then, a crow swooped down out of nowhere. It grabbed the crust in its strong beak and soared away, leaving the robin hungry. Joe pulled away before Arthur had a chance to throw out some of his leftovers from lunch.
Their house was a large two-storey building covered in a sandstone facing. Each of the four front-facing rooms had a bay window. There was an expansive lawn in the front – always kept neatly mowed and with a cosy rockery in one corner – and a long, unkempt field in the back. Joe kept meaning to get some animals to keep in the meadow – a couple of goats or sheep, he used to say – but he never got around to it.
He parked and unlocked the front door. Arthur dropped his schoolbag on the hardwood floor and loped upstairs.
‘Dinner in an hour!’ Joe shouted after him as he bounded into his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. He sighed and looked around the room, thinking of Ash and the others in Dublin.
This is home, this is home, he kept telling himself. But then, why didn’t it feel like it?
In a time before the writing of history, in Asgard, the realm of the gods, the great rainbow Bifrost is a bridge between the worlds. Seven colours shimmer and shift across the magical structure. It changes position – travelling to where a god most needs use of the bridge – and leads from any point in Asgard to any point in Midgard, the world of man.
The sun is at its highest point in the clear azure sky. It is noon and, though the air is hot, Loki feels comfortable in his heavy brown tunic. Such is the magic of the place. Bifrost rises before him then dips over a hillside and into Midgard. He sits on a boulder, watching the fluctuating colours and resting before his journey. He has a small feast laid out before him on the rocky terrain, comprising seven types of cheese, nine wines from the nine worlds and more meat, mead, bread, pâté and sweets than one could count. He is filling his belly now with a swan leg, savouring the rich flavour as meat juices seep down his bearded chin. He smirks as he chews, thinking of all he has achieved in such a short time.