by Alan Early
‘What do we do?’ she said, staring back at the Garda with wide eyes.
‘We can’t stop,’ answered Arthur. ‘Whatever happens, we have to get to Farranfore.’
‘But he’s going to keep going until he catches us,’ said Ash. ‘He’ll radio for help if we don’t stop.’
‘Grnk!’ grunted Eirik from the passenger seat. ‘Nwk qus gwnkl!’
The others looked at each other, none of them understanding what he’d been trying to say. When he saw the looks of confusion, he rolled his eyes in an exaggerated manner. He reached out to Arthur and took his hand.
‘Ar-khur,’ he said before letting go. Then, without any warning, he unhooked his seat belt, flung open the passenger door and leaped out of the speeding car.
A shocked silence filled the Beetle as Eirik sailed towards the squad car. Ex swerved in his surprise but quickly brought the car back under control, the momentum causing the door to slam shut. As the others watched, Eirik landed with a thump on the bonnet of the Garda’s car. He gripped it, digging his fingers under the small lip around the edge. Garda Eddie McKean cried out at the appearance of a centuries-old Viking on the hood of his car. He veered to the left and straight onto the grassy slope at the side of the motorway. Mud and earth sprayed into the air as Eirik was thrown off the car onto his back. The car itself came to a crunching halt as the bonnet hit the bottom of the incline at speed.
As Ex sped further away from the crash site, the others looked out through the back window. The front end of the squad car was embedded in the earth and the back wheels were spinning uselessly in mid-air. Eirik had managed to get into a sitting position and was triumphantly watching them go while Garda Eddie McKean struggled out of the car, staring helplessly after the rapidly dwindling Beetle. He kicked his driver’s door furiously and turned to apprehend Eirik, but the Viking was disappearing into the thick woodland beyond the embankment.
‘That was close,’ sighed Ash, as she settled back into her seat.
Arthur nodded. ‘Tell me about it!’
They arrived in Farranfore just before eight o’clock. After they had left the Garda’s smoking squad car in their wake, the rest of the drive to Kerry went smoothly enough. Arthur had been worried that the traffic cop would alert more Gardaí to the Beetle’s presence, so they had gotten off the motorway quickly and used the back roads. It had taken a little longer, but they had not been spotted by any other cops. When they got to Farranfore, Arthur directed Ex to the village cemetery.
It was a strange feeling to be back in the town with Ash, Ellie and Ex in tow. And especially on this mission. Joe would be getting worried that Arthur wasn’t home from school. Arthur knew he should call and put his mind at ease, but they hadn’t time. Plus, knowing what he now knew about his mother, he couldn’t face Joe until some resolution had been reached. If only I’d stayed here today and let Ash find Fenrir, Arthur thought, then maybe I’d have had a better chance of reaching Hel first. As it was now, he seriously doubted they were in time.
Ex parked outside the stone-walled entrance to the graveyard and they all got out of the car. The sky was a deep crimson, reflecting the lights of the town, and not even the moon, hiding behind the thickest cloud, broke the monotony.
‘Let me go alone,’ Arthur told them.
‘What if something happens to you?’ asked Ash.
‘Well, if it does you can help then. But, please, for now I need to do this by myself.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am,’ he said and slung the backpack with the hammer still in it over his shoulder. He wasn’t sure whether or not Loki could sense the magic of the hammer, but he wanted to try to keep whatever element of surprise he could. Then, as the sun vanished below the horizon, he went into the quiet graveyard by himself.
If it hadn’t been for the nearby streetlights of the village, the cemetery would have been pitch black. As it was, he could see adequately in the gloom and he followed the familiar path through the graves. A mist had settled a foot above the ground and wispy fingers of fog caressed the gravestones. When he was close enough to see his mother’s resting place, he could make out a figure sitting on the tombstone. She had her back to him and was hunched over slightly, her outline lit from below by the red eternal lantern. His feet crunched across gravel and dried grass as he moved ever closer, keeping his eye fixed on the figure.
‘Hello?’ he called out, but got no reply; the figure didn’t so much as shudder. He could see now that she was wearing a long navy-blue dress. He recalled seeing it once before: they’d buried his mother in it. As he kept walking, his hands started to shake. He put them in his pockets to stop them, but it was no use so he took them out again. He could feel the warmth of the pendant on his chest and knew that it would be glowing green, ready to protect him from Loki, but that wasn’t much comfort. All he wanted was to run away from this place and never look back. But he had to keep going.
He stopped by the edge of his mother’s open grave. A deep hole looked down into an empty coffin and the lid was lying next to the grave itself, snapped jaggedly in two.
‘Mum?’
The woman on the gravestone lifted her head and slowly slid from her seat, deliberately turning to face him. Her movements were jerky, like she wasn’t used to controlling her limbs; it was a disturbing sight – lacking in humanity – and Arthur felt fear rise in his throat. Her hair was as he’d remembered it: strawberry-blonde, curling inwards around the jaw. But the rest of her was completely different. Her eyes were golden, as Fenrir’s had been, but were glowing and shone in the darkness. Her face was contorted, her high cheekbones and narrow chin exaggerated and drawn. Deep wrinkles indented her entire face, marking out her forehead and mouth lines. Even in the red of the eternal lamp, her complexion seemed wrong, as if the skin itself would be a pallid, sickly green colour under normal light. Either way, there was no radiance in it and no love in her expression. This was not his mother. This was Hel.
‘Hello, Arthur,’ she said. Even her voice was different: deeper and scratchier somehow.
‘Let my mum go.’
‘I am your mum.’
‘No you’re not. You’re an abomination.’
‘Now, now, Arthur!’ scolded a voice from behind him. ‘That’s not a nice thing to say to mummy dearest, is it?’ Loki appeared from the darkness, pushing Drysi in her wheelchair. As he strolled forward, he hummed an old song that Arthur vaguely recognised: ‘Tie a Yellow Ribbon Round the Ole Oak Tree’. The god probably thought it suited the situation in some sick way. He stopped at Hel’s side and tilted his head quizzically at Arthur.
‘Aren’t you going to say hello to your dearest grandpapa?’ asked Loki. ‘And by “dearest grandpapa” I clearly mean me! I always knew there was something special about you, something drawing us together. And now I know what.’ He patted his pockets absentmindedly. ‘I wish I had some Werther’s Originals to give you. That’s what granddaddies do, right?’
‘You’ll never be my grandfather, Loki. No matter what you think.’
‘Do you know what, Arthur? I believe, for the first time, I’m in agreement with you.’ He laughed suddenly. Drysi and Hel joined in.
‘Set my mother free,’ Arthur said.
‘Or what?’ Loki stopped cackling and looked straight at him.
‘I’ve stopped you before. I’ll stop you again.’
‘I don’t think you quite see the gravity of the situation.’ He looked past Arthur. ‘Oh look – here comes the cavalry!’
Arthur looked over his shoulder to see Ash, Ellie and Ex stumbling through the graveyard towards him.
‘I told you to wait,’ he hissed at them.
‘Oh, the more the merrier I always say!’ cried Loki, clapping his hands in delight. ‘You’re all just in time for the final show.’ He turned to the woman standing by the gravestone. ‘Hel, dearest, would you be so kind as to deal with Arthur?’
‘Of course, Father.’ She pointed a long, crooked finger at him.
&nb
sp; ‘What are you doing?’ Arthur asked, taking a step back.
‘Just erasing the mistake of your existence,’ she said nonchalantly.
He turned to run for cover, but it was too late. Lightning shot out of her hand, slamming into his back. His friends rushed forward as green bolts of energy pulsed around him frantically.
‘Arthur!’ cried Ash, reaching for his hand. He tried to grab hold of her but her hand didn’t seem to be solid and passed through his own. No – he realised with apprehension – it’s my hand that’s not solid! He looked down at the rest of his body and watched it fade as the pulses rushed through him.
He looked up one last time into Ash’s face. Tears were spilling from her eyes.
And with that, Arthur Quinn blinked out of existence.
Part Two
Chapter Seven
In Asgard, the realm of the gods, there is a tree. Though at first glance it is just like any other tree, anyone who dares to look at it would know that this is not like any other tree. The branches – which once flourished with greenery and fruits and berries of every sort – are now bare. Only withered berries and bone-dry leaves cling to the once-strong twigs. The trunk stands straight and upright, though the bark is falling off in thick clumps here and there. The tree overlooks a precipice situated by a river that flows over the edge into a waterfall. Three great roots extend from the trunk and into the river, soaking up the water. These are gnarled, with fungi sprouting all over and dark-green sap oozing into the waterfall. It is called Yggdrasill, the tree of life, but now it is clearly diseased and dying.
The river crashes over the edge of the cliff, plummeting into the pool below in a white foam. The pool is known as the Well of Urd. It has no bottom and is ever-deepening, as it contains all the knowledge that was ever known, that will be known and that could be known. The green waters ripple out from the foaming waterfall but, aside from that, all is still at the well.
This part of Asgard is frequently battered with torrential wind and rain, but on this day the weather has been stilled. It is impossible to tell the time of day, as the sky above is a deep blood-red and black clouds shift past the horizon. It is even difficult to tell if the flaming crimson disc in the sky is the sun or a burning moon or even an exploding star. No gods dare to roam the land on this day and no animals attempt to hunt their prey. All is eerily silent and motionless in the world of the gods, as if the very realm itself is waiting, anticipating …
Suddenly there is a movement. A female figure steps out of the waterfall, followed closely by a second and a third. They stay standing in the middle of the crashing water and their features are obscured by the foam and rushing river. They are tall and slender, dressed in flimsy gowns that cling to their perfect forms. Their long hair is slicked down against their skulls in the water. Their faces – if they have any at all – are just vague indentations behind the waterfall, hinting at hollows for eyes. They are turned at an angle and it’s somehow obvious that they are looking past the edge of the well at the boy on the ground.
The ground is hard and dusty beneath the boy, a threatening shade of red reflecting that of the sky. He is on his side, unconscious, and he is wearing a pair of denim jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie. A schoolbag is on his back and a leather patch covers his left eye. The Norns can sense a great power emanating from the backpack but also from the boy. A ribbon is tied around his right wrist and somehow – despite the lack of a breeze – the ends of the ribbon sway in the air. A faint golden light shimmers and pulses from it, then fades as the ribbon falls still by his hand once more.
Arthur Quinn wakes in Asgard. He sits up and, although the red landscape and sky are alien to him, he knows instantly where he is. He’s been here many times before, in his dreams. In the visions he always saw the realm of the gods through someone else’s eyes. But now, he is seeing it with his own.
‘Welcome, Arthur Quinn,’ says one of the figures standing in the well. He looks up at them and guesses that the woman in the centre has spoken.
‘Uh, hi,’ he says, getting to his feet. He is surprised by how steady he is on them.
‘Do you know where you are?’
‘Asgard.’
‘That is correct.’
He takes a few steps towards the pool.
‘But how did I get here? Last thing I remember was–’
‘We will tell you that in time, Arthur Quinn,’ the woman cuts him off. ‘But first, do you know who we are? What we are?’
He nods, moving even closer to take a look into the depths of the pool. There is just darkness beyond; it really is as bottomless as the legends say, he thinks.
‘Yes,’ he says, turning back to the figures in the waterfall. ‘I know who you are. You’re the Norns of Asgard. You can read the knowledge in the well and you’ll tell me about the present, the future and my fate.’
‘That is correct.’
‘So tell me then – am I dead?’
‘Perhaps my sister Verdandi can elucidate on that,’ says the Norn in the centre. She turns to the sister on her right and Verdandi steps forward.
‘You are not dead,’ she tells him. ‘Loki and Hel tried to erase you from existence. But they failed.’
‘How did they fail? And why did I end up here?’ Arthur is thrilled beyond belief that he is still alive, but his thoughts quickly turn to his friends and family back in Midgard, the world of man. Without him they are powerless against Loki. He needs to get back, and quickly, to save them.
‘They failed because they forgot about Gleipnir,’ explains Verdandi. Arthur glances at the ribbon on his wrist.
‘Gleipnir?’ he repeats.
‘The ribbon cannot be destroyed. Hel tried that before and failed. And it kept you bound to reality. She could not pluck you from existence while you were wearing Gleipnir.’
‘OK. But why am I here?’
Verdandi turns to her sister on the far left. ‘Skuld,’ she says, ‘mayhap you can tell Arthur Quinn more?’
Skuld studies the flowing waters of the well, reading Arthur’s future. Eventually, she looks back at him and speaks.
‘Although Hel failed to completely destroy you, she did succeed in one aspect.’
‘What?’
‘She created a world where Arthur Quinn never existed.’
‘A world where …’ He finds that he can’t finish the thought.
‘Each time a world is created, a delicate balance is struck. Think of your world as an arch. And Hel and Loki have just removed the keystone. Your world is crumbling, Arthur. And if it falls, then all of creation will be destroyed with it.’
‘All of creation …?’
‘Look at the tree above you, Arthur.’ He does as she bids and looks at the tree at the top of the waterfall. It looks very different from the last time he saw it in a vision, when it had been covered in bright-green leaves and was ripe with fruit.
‘That tree is Yggdrasill,’ she tells him. ‘The tree of life. It brought you here so that you would understand, for you to see what is at risk. Its roots are anchored in each of the worlds. If one world ceases to be, they all will. Disease from Midgard has spread into the tree already. If the tree dies, then there is no hope for any of us: gods, men or giants. Ragnarok.’
‘The end of the world,’ he mutters, remembering the Vikings explaining that word to him before.
‘The end of creation itself,’ corrects the Norn.
‘I have this.’ He holds up his wrist to show off Gleipnir. ‘If it saved me, can’t we use it to save the world somehow?’
‘Not even Gleipnir is powerful enough for that. But my sister Urd may tell you more.’ She looks at the Norn in the centre, the wisest of the three, who can read fate. When Urd is done gazing into the whirling waters, she looks back at Arthur.
‘The only way to save Yggdrasill and the known worlds is to restore balance. And the only way to restore balance is to defeat Loki. You must return to Midgard now, Arthur Quinn,’ she says. ‘Only you can stop the Father of Lies.
Only you can save creation. Only you.’
‘People keep telling me that!’ he cries in desperation. ‘Be honest with me for once. Tell me why it has to be me!’
‘I can’t, Arthur Quinn. No man, nor beast, nor god should know too much of his fate.’
‘But you’ve told me nothing!’ he shouts in anger. ‘At least tell me how I kill him!’
‘To kill a god is a terrible thing. You kill a part of yourself in doing so.’
‘Then how am I supposed to stop him?’
The Norn pauses; for the first time in her long existence, she is stuck for words.
‘Like All-Father Odin, you have a damaged eye and, like him, you will learn to see the truth through it,’ she says finally.
He turns from the Norns and walks a few steps away, simmering in anger.
‘Send me home,’ he says with his back to them.
‘Arthur,’ warns Urd, ‘you must know that the world will not be as you left it.’
‘Send me home!’
‘Close your eye. When you open it again, you will be in Dublin.’
Arthur turns for one last look at the Norns but he finds himself all alone. Only the waterfall rushes into the well and the figures have disappeared. He reaches under his T-shirt and grips his pendant tightly, then looks at the tree at the edge of the cliff. As he does, a branch breaks off Yggdrasill. He shuts his eye and–
–opened it again. He was falling through a green sky towards a great expanse of dark water.
‘Aargh!’ he screamed, as the air rushed past his ears. Not again, was all he could think as he plunged head first into the cold water.
Chapter Eight
Before he had a chance to hold his breath Arthur swallowed a mouthful of water. He went to spit it out but quickly realised that if he did he’d only ingest more water. It wasn’t as cold as he’d thought it would be and, even though he’d shut his eye before impact, he’d caught glimpses of dark shapes underneath the surface. His clothes were instantly soaked through and became heavy, dragging him downwards – and the stuffed backpack wasn’t doing him any favours either. Despite all that, he managed to turn around and kick his legs against something solid in the murk. He thrust himself back towards the surface, pulling with his arms and kicking with all his might, and a moment later broke through, gasping in as much oxygen as his lungs could take.