by Livi Michael
‘But Baldur didn’t die,’ said Jenny.
She lay with her head between her paws, feeling all the old pain at the mention of her master’s name.
‘No,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘And that was our fault too. We were in your world, Sam, knitting your jumper with what we thought was ordinary wool, while the game of the gods was taking place. Loki shaped the mistletoe into a dart and gave it to Baldur’s blind brother, Hod, to throw. It should have killed him, but instead Jenny here jumped up, caught it and ran off with it.’
‘I must’ve dropped a stitch,’ said Aunty Lilith.
‘So while Ragnarok was set in motion,’ said Aunty Joan.
And the end of the world was nigh,’ boomed Aunty Lilith.
‘There was no chance of it all renewing itself,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘And then Jenny here leapt into the void and emerged in your world, still carrying the mistletoe dart, and Fenrir of course followed her, because he’d worked out that if he had the mistletoe dart, then the world would never renew itself and Ragnarok would never end. Worse than that, the forces of chaos would spread throughout the nine worlds and Fenrir, as Hound of Ragnarok, would have total rule and never be chained again. Do you see?’
‘Er – no,’ said Sam, sounding rather dazed.
Aunty Dot patted his hand.
‘No,’ she said. ‘It is rather a lot to take in. Even we didn’t work it all out until the Fimbulwinter began. And it doesn’t matter now, because Jenny here got the dart to Baldur just in time, and he died as he was supposed to, and now – well – here you are!’
‘But what have I got to do with it?’ asked Sam, looking more confused than ever.
‘And what about Boris and Checkers, and Gentleman Jim and Pico, and Flo?’ asked Jenny.
The aunts exchanged significant glances once more.
‘Ah,’ said Aunty Joan.
‘Well,’ said Aunty Lilith.
‘Yes,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘They’re part of the bigger picture, you see. There was only one dog in all the worlds who could defeat Fenrir and that was my darling Berry. Boris and Checkers went to fetch him, and they did their job the best way they could. Meanwhile, Gentleman Jim and Pico went to fetch Orion the hunter’s soul back from the underworld.’
‘Yes – but why?’ asked Jenny.
‘Well, Orion shines above all the worlds and has had a very bad influence on each of them,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘He made a boast, remember, that he could hunt and kill any animal on the face of the earth. Because of his influence, mankind has believed it can lay waste the animal kingdom, creating a world in which humans rule and there is no place for other beasts. Things have got terribly out of balance. We don’t want that to happen again when the new golden age begins. So we thought it would be much better if Orion repented, for the killing as well as the boasting, and then he could blow his horn, sounding a whole new note for the new era.’
‘We’re tired of this endless cycle of birth and destruction and death,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘We don’t want it all to just happen over and over again. The human race has to learn. And it needs to learn from animals. And where better to start than with dogs?’
Aunty Joan nodded. ‘Dogs exist in a special relationship with man. Civilization as you know it would not exist without dogs guarding and hunting and fighting man’s battles. So in this new world,’ she said, ‘we want a different star to guide it. Sirius, in fact. The Dog Star.’
‘And once that’s happened,’ said Aunty Lilith, ‘we can go into retirement!’
‘I can go back to dog-walking,’ said Aunty Dot.
‘I can try woodwork,’ said Aunty Joan.
‘And I can take up line-dancing again,’ said Aunty Lilith. ‘And pottery!’
Sam stared at his aunts and shook his head. ‘I still don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Where do I come into all this?’
‘Well, we weren’t sure at first,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘But when I saw you emerging from the abyss – suddenly I knew!’
‘Knew what?’ asked Sam.
‘The world needed a new Baldur – a new Shining Boy! And so Jenny brought you from the underworld, to replace the world we knew!’
Jenny barked in astonishment.
‘No way!’ said Sam. ‘How?’
‘Because of the Jumper of Fate,’ said Aunty Dot, and the aunts all beamed at one another.
‘I said everything would turn out all right in the end,’ said Aunty Lilith, who had, in fact, said nothing of the sort.
But Sam was shaking his head.
‘Just hold on a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m not Baldur – I’m Sam. I’m not the son of Odin, or anything mythological like that – I’m just me – and I live with my mum!’
‘That’s all right, Sam,’ said Aunty Dot kindly. ‘Don’t try too hard to understand. In this new world, all we need is a new balance between humans and the rest of the animal race. And we need dogs to lead the way. Which will all happen,’ she said, ‘once you’ve created the world anew.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Sam, who had obviously decided that his aunts were all barking mad. ‘So long as that’s all I’ve got to do. But in case you’ve not noticed, I’m just a boy. I don’t create worlds – I simply live in them.’
‘Look around you, Sam,’ said Aunty Joan gently.
Sam looked. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked again.
The desolate wastes of the city had disappeared. All around him the world had already begun to renew itself. Blackened trees were bursting into leaf once more, grass was spreading along the pavements, smoke was clearing and birds were beginning to sing. A fresh wind blew and small clouds chased one another across the sky. Everything seemed fresh and clean, as if newly rinsed. It was hard to believe in Ragnarok and the forces of chaos.
‘How did that happen?’ said Sam.
The aunts just smiled at him.
‘It all seems new,’ he said, looking round at the brilliant green of the grass.
‘That’s because it’s the morning of the world,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘It’s time for everything to begin again.’
‘All you have to do,’ said Aunty Lilith, plucking the great horn from her ear, ‘is to blow this horn.’
‘What?’ said Sam. ‘Like Orion?’
‘This is the Gjallarhorn, Sam,’ said Aunty Dot reverently, as she helped Aunty Lilith to pass it to him. ‘Older even than Orion’s horn. It is the horn of Ragnarok. But it is also the horn that the gods used to drink from the well of knowledge and wisdom.’
‘But Aunty Lilith’s just had it down her ear.’
‘Yes,’ said Aunty Dot, wiping the mouthpiece hastily on her sleeve. ‘Even so, it is the horn we need to blow knowledge and wisdom back into the world. And you have to do it, Sam – because you are the Shining Boy.’
Sam gave up trying to understand. He took the horn from Aunty Dot and held it gingerly. But as he did so he suddenly felt that he did understand after all and, in fact, that he always had.
‘So if I blow this horn –’ he said.
‘Then the world will rebuild itself – in a new and wiser way,’ said Aunty Dot.
‘Can I wish for something?’ he said, turning the great horn over in his hands.
The aunts looked anxiously at one another.
‘Well – yes,’ said Aunty Dot.
‘But be careful what you wish for,’ said Aunty Joan.
‘Because it will come true,’ said Aunty Lilith.
Sam thought hard. He thought of every exciting computer game he had ever played and how he’d wished, sometimes, that his life could be more like that. Then he thought about all the fantasy films he’d watched and the books he’d read that had dragons and knights and giants in them. Then he thought about his home and his mum. He wiped the mouthpiece of the horn carefully with his sleeve, because it had just been in Aunty Lilith’s ear, and took a deep breath.
‘I wish,’ he said, and the aunts all craned forward.
‘Yes?’ said Aunty Joan and Aunty Dot, while Aunty Lilith said, ‘What’s
he saying?’
‘I wish,’ said Sam, ‘that everything could be like it was before. Only better. For humans and animals.’
Then he raised the horn to his lips and blew.
41
The Beginning
Gentleman Jim woke from a terrible dream in which he had been hit by a flying pig. He seemed to be alone on the croft.
‘That’s funny,’ he said to himself. ‘Must’ve been something I ate.’
And he got up without any of the old problems in his back legs and trotted off towards home.
Maureen was waiting for him by the garden gate. He hung back for a moment when he saw her, but she ran towards him with her arms outstretched.
‘Oh, Gentleman Jim!’ she cried. ‘There you are! We’ve been so worried about you!’ And she flung her arms around him, knelt down in the muddy grass and buried her face in his neck.
Gentleman Jim stood stiffly, bemused by all this attention. But when she lifted her face up and called for Gordon, he set off at a loping run towards his old master, leaping into his arms just as Gordon appeared.
Gordon collapsed backwards, hugging Gentleman Jim, who licked his face all over.
‘Oh, Gentleman Jim – where have you been!’ Gordon exclaimed. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much!’
‘I’m going to cook you a whole pan full of your favourite pet mince!’ Maureen said, beaming.
And she did! Gentleman Jim stood in the kitchen while she boiled it up, thinking that something, somewhere, was not quite right, but he couldn’t remember what. And soon the delicious smell of tripe and offal and the remains of long-dead animals filled his nostrils, driving all other thoughts away. He lifted his nose and gave vent to his feelings in a long, baying howl. Gordon and Maureen laughed in delight.
‘That’s my boy!’ said Gordon, ruffling Gentleman Jim’s ears in exactly the way he liked. ‘We’ve missed that noise!’
Then, after he’d eaten it all up, every scrap, Maureen said, ‘You look tired, Gentleman Jim. What you need is a nice lie-down on your bed.’
She led him upstairs to the old bed with the comfortable old mattress that had bumps and hollows in it which were exactly the shape of Gentleman Jim. Then, after a nice long sleep, Gordon and Maureen took him out for his evening constitutional. Maureen insisted that he wear the coat she had made for him, since it was still a little chilly in the evenings and she didn’t want him catching cold. Gordon laughed at her.
‘I swear you think more of that dog than me,’ he said.
‘Nonsense,’ said Maureen, but she gave Gentleman Jim a little squeeze that suggested that Gordon might really be right, and they set off together towards the croft.
And as they walked Gentleman Jim remembered that all this was true and not a dream. He lived with two people who thought the world of him, who cared for him more than they cared for anyone or anything else. He had come home at last.
Boris slid all the way to the bottom of his street and lay there, stunned for a moment. He closed his eyes while the whole world seemed to shake itself like a wet dog. When he opened them again he was facing his front door.
Boris experienced the familiar feeling of not understanding what was going on.
Door, he thought slowly. He had a feeling of wariness about it that he didn’t understand, but after a moment he went right up to it and barked.
Mr and Mrs Finnegan hurried to greet him. ‘Boris!’ they cried together, and they made an enormous fuss of him as he plodded past them to the kitchen.
His food bowl was empty, but Mrs Finnegan said that she’d soon put that right – she’d cook something for him straight away. Boris’s ears went down at this, for reasons he couldn’t understand, but he waited patiently in the lounge while Mr Finnegan hugged him and played tug-of-war with him and his favourite toy. And then minutes later, when Mrs Finnegan called that food was ready and Boris went into the kitchen with a sinking feeling in his stomach but determined to be brave, there in his bowl was the biggest, juiciest steak he had ever seen!
Despite his hunger, Boris sniffed at it several times before nibbling it cautiously, sure that there was something about Mrs Finnegan and food that he had to be wary about. But he really couldn’t remember what and soon he was overwhelmed by the glorious, meaty smell, so he wolfed the steak down in a single bite.
Mrs Finnegan fondled him lovingly.
‘I’ve put the baby in the back room for now,’ she said. ‘I thought you might like to watch some telly with us.’
So Boris sat between Mr and Mrs Finnegan in the front room, and they all watched the comedy programmes together, and Boris even got the jokes. For the first time in many months he felt really at home.
Checkers clambered slowly out of the pile of refuse. The garbage truck seemed to have gone and with it his memories of the Apocalypse. But he felt a bit bruised and stiff and, well, sober for the first time in his life. His coat seemed heavier than usual, matted with dust and mud and rubble. He shook his ears and a mouse flew out. Then he limped slowly and painfully towards his house. He had the feeling that he might be in trouble, but he really couldn’t remember why. Something told him he was always in trouble.
The door was partly open when he reached his house. Freda was on the settee, eating an apple and reading a magazine. She hardly looked up as Checkers passed, but reached out and patted him gently. ‘Good boy,’ she said, and Checkers managed a muffled ‘woof’.
He went upstairs to where John was working on the computer. Checkers had a bad memory about the computer, but he couldn’t remember what, and it seemed to be working fine now. John reached out and scratched Checkers behind the ears.
‘Hello, Checkers, old son,’ he said. Then he looked at the muck on his fingers. ‘My goodness,’ he said, ‘where’ve you been? Do you need a bath?’
Checkers tensed immediately, ready to do battle, but John, noticing this, said, ‘It’s all right, old boy. You don’t have to have a bath if you don’t want one.’
I don’t? thought Checkers, considerably surprised. Something told him he was always having baths whether he wanted them or not.
‘You’re not looking quite yourself,’ John said, lifting Gheckers’s face and searching for his eyes among all the hair. ‘Why don’t you come and sit down with me and Freda?’
So Checkers followed John into the lounge and sat down on the settee, and John and Freda petted him in spite of all the dirt and didn’t try to make him sit on a plastic sheet, and Checkers felt so relieved by all this that he promptly ate a cushion. Then he looked anxiously at his owners, but they only laughed and shook their heads.
‘What’s a bit of soft furnishing between friends?’ John said. ‘Quality of life, that’s what matters,’ he added, slinging an arm around Checkers’s muddy coat.
Then Freda brought a box of biscuits from the kitchen, and they all sat together and ate the lot, dropping crumbs everywhere and feeling comfortable, safe and warm.
Flo stared around in confusion. Where had all the wolves gone? Everything had returned to normal and she seemed to be on the croft. Had she imagined everything? As she turned around slowly, feeling mystified, it occurred to her that she could no longer remember whatever it was she might have been imagining. There were flashing images in her mind, but they were fading, and they didn’t make sense. Something funny was going on, but she really didn’t know what.
Then someone called her name.
‘Flo?’ the voice called. ‘Flo!’
And when she turned around slowly once more, Flo could see Myrtle Sowerbutts approaching her from the other side of the croft.
Myrtle? thought Flo. Because one thing she seemed to remember was that Myrtle never left the house. Yet here she was, walking in a slightly unsteady way, towards Flo.
‘Oh, you darling dog!’ cried Myrtle. ‘Come to Mumsy right now!’
And she threw her arms around Flo and clipped the lead on to her collar.
‘Where have you been, my darling poodle-doodle?’ she cooed. ‘And whate
ver’s happened to your bee-yootiful coat?’
When Flo didn’t reply, she said, ‘Never mind, darling. We’ll get home and give you a nice hot bath!’
And Flo, who didn’t mind baths at all, felt that this was, in fact, exactly what she needed. But Myrtle kept talking to her as they walked.
‘We’re going to go for lots of walkie-poos together from now on,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing like fresh air for expanding the lungs.’
Then she said, ‘I’m not sure that pink’s the right colour for us, Flo. So I’m going to let you return to your own natural, gorgeous colour. And I shall only wear white from now on! I’m going to look just like you!’
Flo let Myrtle talk on. She was hardly listening. She felt a mind-numbing tiredness creeping over her, yet as they approached the house and Myrtle let them in, all the old anxiety returned. She had a vivid, flashing memory of something terrible and ginger and frightening, with horrid teeth and claws.
‘You’ll never guess what’s happened to Henry,’ Myrtle said, walking ahead of Flo into the kitchen. ‘I sold him, while you were out, to a TV company that makes horror films for pets! They were looking for something orange and mean, and Henry fitted the bill perfectly. They promised to take frightfully good care of him and they paid me quite a lot. So there you are. It’s just the two of us from now on.’
Flo felt a wave of astonished delight. Tremulous with gratitude and fatigue, she made her way over to her bed. She was back in her own home and she needn’t worry about the dreadful beast that used to stalk it. She wondered briefly whether she had in fact died and gone to heaven. Tired but very, very happy, she sank down on her bed in front of the fire, while Myrtle ran her a bath.
Finally Pico got the plant pot off him. He struggled out and looked around. Everything had changed. Or rather, nothing had changed. Everything was as it was before – before…
Well, something had happened, but he really couldn’t remember what.
And now he seemed to be on the croft, but none of his friends were there.
Pico felt quite exhausted from doing something, though again he wasn’t sure what. Home seemed a long way away, over dark and dangerous terrain. Nonetheless, there was nothing for it, so he set off bravely in what he hoped was the right direction, pushing his way through clumps of grass like jungles and molehills that were exactly like mountains. He might have lost heart, but fortunately, he hadn’t gone very far when he heard Aunty Dot calling for him.