The Hammer of Thor

by Aiki Flinthart

  Truda gasped, her blue eyes widened then narrowed in anger. She huffed at Jade, folded her arms and stomped away. Jade sighed at the young girl’s temper.

  Phoenix gazed after Truda then turned a cynical expression on Jade. “That was uncalled for. She’s a kid. You don’t have to make her feel bad just to make yourself feel better. She’s important, too.”

  Hurt and guilty, Jade turned away to hide the quick rush of tears that stung her eyes.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  It was a silent, tense group that followed Ásúlfr from the guest lodge, with Jade clearly still smarting at Phoenix’s comment; Truda sulking over Jade’s special treatment and Phoenix annoyed at both of them. Marcus looked grimmer than usual and Brynn stayed uncharacteristically silent, his dark, worried eyes darting between Phoenix and Jade.

  They walked for almost ten minutes, up a steep incline behind the village. Darkness slipped in to replace dusk, so it was only when they had almost reached the top that Phoenix realised what they were climbing: an enormous, man-made, fortified hilltop. At the end of the path, a great ditch encircled the top of the hill. Behind it was an earth embankment topped by a tall palisade – a massive, wooden wall made of sharpened logs. A stone causeway led to a timber gate, guarded by two large, blond warriors. They nodded to Ásúlfr and the gate swung outward to admit the party.

  Inside, flaming torches lit their path, marching straight toward a huge timber hall that had to be the Chieftain’s place. From within, they could hear the sound of male voices talking and laughing, dogs growling and the faint, regular thump of a drum.

  When the door opened, Phoenix blinked in surprise. The great hall was massive and full of people. Down either side of the rectangular room ran rough wooden tables and benches lined with dozens of hulking warriors. Little bowls filled with burning, oil-soaked reeds - rushlights - cast a mellow, flickering light on the faces of everyone present. A large fire crackled in a central hearth, the smoke rising up to seep out through the thatched roof. Huge, round wood-and-iron shields hung along the walls. At the far end was a head table, slightly raised on a dais. Seated there were three men and one woman.

  Ásúlfr thumped the end of his staff on the packed-earth floor three times.

  “My lord Hrothgar, builder of the great hall of Heorot, ruler over Svealand,” he bowed deeply to the silver-haired giant of a man at the head table. “I bring the strangers before you.” Waving them forward, he introduced them one at a time.

  “Brynn, Alun’s son of the Bretons.” Brynn stepped to the front, bowed jerkily then retreated behind the others.

  “Marcus Gnaeus Agricola, Trollslayer and son of Gnaeus Julius Agricola, Governor of Britain for the mighty Roman Empire.” Marcus bowed. His face was blank but Phoenix could see his jaw working as he heard his father’s name linked with his own. Phoenix took a moment to wonder how the old magician knew so much about them - and whether such knowledge was a potential threat.

  “Thrudr, Thor’s daughter, Goddess of Spring.” Truda curtseyed regally as the buzz of talk amongst the assembled warriors increased. The child looked extremely pleased at the excitement her name had generated.

  “Phoenix Drake Carter, Trollslayer!” The old man’s voice was exultant as he gave the title. Phoenix felt himself flushing in embarrassment as spontaneous applause broke out amongst the men. He bowed awkwardly and stepped back. It was ridiculous to feel so thrilled by impressing a bunch of barbarians he didn’t even know but he couldn’t help the surge of pride he felt as they all gazed at him in admiration. No one, except his mother, had ever been impressed by him before - and hey, that was her job.

  “And,” Ásúlfr waved Jade forward. “Jade, daughter of Eleri, Lady of the Light-elves.” She stepped up and removed the long, fur coat she’d worn over her dress. There was a collective gasp from the audience. Phoenix looked at her critically but had to admit she was worth gasping over. Her pale skin was clean now and the green dress matched her eyes perfectly. Long, silver-blonde hair rippled down her back. She was beautiful; haughty; queenly.

  Phoenix gritted his teeth and glanced at Truda. Sure enough, the young girl’s mouth was set in a mulish expression of anger and hurt. If Jade weren’t careful, she would alienate the young goddess and make their journey much, much harder.

  The old man led them around one side of the hall. Heads turned as they passed; whispered comments were made; laughs followed. Phoenix chose to ignore them. He laid a hand on Brynn’s shoulder when the boy opened his mouth to reply hotly to a less-than-polite comment. Leaning down, he murmured,

  “We’re outnumbered ten-to-one, Brynn. Don’t start anything.”

  Startled, the boy looked around. He had to be noticing what Phoenix had spotted the moment they walked in the room. Every man in the place was armed with a dagger and built like an Olympic weightlifter. Between the five of them, they had a bow with no arrows, a quarterstaff, one sword, a sling and four daggers. Unfortunately, they’d been forced to leave all but the daggers outside the hall. Weapons were not allowed on the King’s presence.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Phoenix saw Marcus lean forward and mutter something into Jade’s ear. She looked briefly startled, glanced around the room then nodded. Her eyes narrowed and mouth firmed. Good. At least Marcus had jolted her out of dreamy princess-land. He’d been worried that she was going to drop her guard, just because they’d given her a pretty dress and a flowery introduction.

  So far, these people of Olshamarr had not yet shown any overwhelming reasons to trust them.

  Dinner passed jovially enough. They were seated at the high table: Phoenix, Marcus and Brynn sat on King Hrothgar’s right; Jade and Truda on his left, beside his Queen, Wealktheow. Food arrived and the companions ate the best meal they’d had for days. Roast auerhuhn, roast boar and salted fish were the main ingredients; but there were all sorts of root vegetables and breads as well as a few dried fruits – the last winter stocks of summer gathering. It was worrying to think that this might be the last of their stores, though. Truda had to get to Asgard.

  While the meal progressed, there was little talk between the king and his guests. Everyone seemed more interested in eating, much to Phoenix’s relief. He had no idea what to say to a king.

  Jade didn’t seem to have the same problem. She and the Queen chatted away like old friends. Thankfully, they seemed to be including Truda in their conversation. The girl looked happier, anyway.

  All too soon, the food scraps were cleared – either tossed to dogs scavenging around the floor or taken back to the kitchens by serving women. King Hrothgar leaned back in his high wooden chair and slewed around to stare, with piercing blue eyes, at Phoenix. He stroked his beard, eyeing the young man shrewdly.

  “So, my young hero, you are the Trollslayer? Tell us the story then.” He demanded.

  Other warriors nearby took up the request, yelling “Story! Story!” until the whole lot were chanting it and the rafters shook with the sound.

  Phoenix gulped. He hated public speaking. In fact, hated was an understatement. He’d been known to skip school just to avoid having to speak in front of the class. He looked toward Marcus. The Roman’s eyes widened and he shook his head with a half-smile, clearly refusing to do the job. Phoenix understood. If he were bad with words, Marcus was surely worse. He seemed to have a fifty-word per day limit. Glancing to his left, Phoenix saw Jade scowling at him. Go on! she mouthed, jerking her head at the impatient mob before them.

  There didn’t seem to be any option. He could hardly refuse. The palms of his hands began to sweat as he shoved his chair back. His heart pounded in his ears and his stomach felt like it was about to violently eject his dinner. Dozens of expectant faces turned toward him. He swallowed hard, his mind a complete blank.

  “My lords, ladies and good thanes!” Brynn’s voice cut through the babble, rescuing Phoenix from one of his worst nightmares. Phoenix looked over at the boy in surprise. Brynn sent him a cheeky wink before jumping onto the high table in one lithe bound.
The boy put his wooden, recorder-like pipe to his lips with a flourish and blew an intricate run of pure notes. Silenced, the audience turned their attention to him.

  “By my lord’s and Phoenix’s leave,” Brynn bowed to Phoenix and then to the king, “I shall tell the tale of high adventure that occurred just one day ago.” He blew another quick tune, this one seeming somehow haunting rather than joyful. Astonished, Phoenix stared at him. With a relieved sigh, he nodded to the Breton boy and relaxed. Whew. He was off the hook.

  For twenty minutes, Brynn held the Svealanders enthralled: alternating between music, cavorting re-enactments with the pipe substituting for a sword or torch, and thrilling, hypnotic words. He kept fairly close to the real story but there were a few embellishments here and there. It all sounded a lot more gripping than terrifying. There also seemed to be quite a few more cliff-hanger moments than Phoenix remembered. The audience loved it. They cheered the “successes” and gasped at “near escapes”. He just hoped nobody asked him for his version. It was much less exciting than Brynn’s. The boy was a born story-teller. Embarrassed, Phoenix exchanged rueful glances with Marcus as the hall erupted into thunderous applause.

  Hrothgar pounded the wooden table with a stein, calling for silence. “Truly you have done us a great honour this day, boy.” Hrothgar flicked Brynn something and the boy caught it deftly, bowing his gratitude. “You are a princely sagatala, lad. Any time you wish to cease your journeying and join my court, you will be welcome.”

  Brynn bowed again. “I thank you my lord but the true heroes of this day are my lords: Trollslayers!” He gave one last, triumphantly joyous run of notes on his whistle then scooted back to his seat, flushed and starry-eyed.

  Phoenix leaned past Marcus and gripped the boy’s shoulder. “Totally amazing, Brynn. I had no idea you could do that.”

  “Me neither,” he grinned, “but you should have seen the look of terror on your face when he asked you. I figure if you can kill Trolls, this is the least I can do to contribute.”

  Phoenix laughed, “Thanks. I know which one I’d rather do!”

  The king spoke again, addressing the whole room in his deep, rich voice.

  “These strangers have done our village a great service. We must reward them suitably for they have destroyed the troll, Grendel, which has plagued our people for two long years. Surely it is an omen that Spring will come and our land will once again be rich, fertile and free from fear.” He had to wait a few moments for a fresh wave of cheers to die down.

  Phoenix snuck a look at Jade, wondering what she thought of all this, whether she resented being left out of the recognition. He saw an expression of astonished horror on her face that sent a chill down his back. He looked around, expecting to see invaders, minions of Zhudai, Roman soldiers – something to justify that face. The room seemed normal – well, normal for a hall full of half-drunk, mead-quaffing, sword-waving barbarian warriors. Hrothgar continued and Phoenix had to quit trying to catch Jade’s eye. Whatever was bothering her would have to wait until they were back in the guesthouse.

  “Phoenix Carter and Marcus Agricola, approach,” Hrothgar summoned them. Hesitantly, they moved to stand before the imposing figure. Hrothgar stood and placed a hand on a shoulder of each. “It is difficult to know what reward to give you, for there is little that can compare to the freedom you have bestowed upon my people. Ask what you will and, if it can be done, I will give it to you. What would you?” The king frowned, “My daughter’s hand?” There was a faint, startled protest from his Queen. “No, ‘tis true, she is already pledged. A place at my side then, as sons and heirs to my kingdom?” This time, there was a low muttering from several warriors at the top of one of the long tables. The Queen gasped.

  Phoenix guessed that neither of these choices would be popular, so it was a good thing he wasn’t interested in either marrying or becoming a Svear prince. He thought for a moment.

  “My lord,” he bowed, trying to find the right words, “we are on a great journey so, alas, we cannot stay in your fair land.” A relieved sigh came from several nearby people. Phoenix suppressed a smile. “However, if you would be kind enough to give us fresh supplies, perhaps horses, a sword for Marcus and directions to Uppsala, we would consider ourselves amply repaid.”

  All up, he was quite pleased with that speech. It sounded humbly regretful and grateful while at the same time getting them what they needed to continue their trip. This time, when he looked up, Jade was smiling at him. She nodded a little and gave him a tiny thumbs-up signal. There was still a faint, worried look around her eyes that said she knew something she wasn’t happy about, though.

  Hrothgar hesitated then inclined his head in agreement. “You shall have that and more, my young friend. Gifts will be prepared and delivered to your quarters in the morning but surely you will stay in Heorot a few more days and enjoy our hospitality?”

  There was nothing Phoenix would have liked better than to stay and be pampered and fed for a few more days. Well, almost nothing. He didn’t need Jade’s quick frown or Truda’s scowling, pouty look to remind him of the tight schedule they were on to get Truda home. Ragnarok had to be prevented and it seemed they were the only ones who could do it. So he expressed suitable apologies to the king and tried to pretend he was pleased to be going off into the unknown to die a few more times. Well, at least he still had five more times he could die. He’d managed to avoid being “killed” by the troll, and was perfectly happy to avoid being killed by anything for as long as possible.

  The celebration finally dribbled to a halt at around midnight when the last of the king’s thanes and warriors drank themselves into oblivion under the tables. The worst part, Phoenix decided, was how truly awful their singing became as the evening progressed. There seemed to be a direct connection with their inability to stay in tune and the amount of mead consumed. The poor court musician’s ears must have been bleeding.

  Jade had long since taken Truda and Brynn off to bed. Marcus and Phoenix only stayed because Hrothgar insisted. Somehow, they managed to stay fairly sober by tipping more mead and ale onto the floor than into their mouths. The dogs were now staggering about, howling drunk but at least Marcus and Phoenix weren’t.

  By the time they picked their way through the sprawled, snoring bodies and down the hill to the guest hall, they were completely exhausted. Phoenix was looking forward to a decent sleep – in a bed for once.

  His luck was out. The minute they pushed the door open, Jade pounced on them. She had changed back into travelling gear. Her expression said she’d been pacing the room anxiously and had something important to say.

  Phoenix groaned. “Not now, Jade. I’m totally wrecked. Can’t this wait until morning?”

  “Shhhh!” Jade hissed. “Don’t wake the others.” She glanced over her shoulder at Brynn & Truda’s blanketed forms. Clutching at Phoenix & Marcus’ arms, she dragged them into a corner. “No, it can’t wait until morning.”

  “Why not?” Phoenix yawned. She was being very dramatic. “What can possibly happen between midnight and morning?”

  “You don’t understand,” she said fiercely. “You are Beowulf!”

  He stared at her blearily, having no clue at all what she was talking about. Tired of the drama, he said so. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jade. I’m Phoenix, remember? P.H.O.E.N.I.X.” He patted her arm. “It’s been a long day. You’re tired. Get some sleep and you’ll be fine in the morning.”

  “Aaaargh! You moron!” Jade thumped his chest. “Don’t patronise me, just because you don’t read books. Beowulf is the hero in a story.”

  “So?” Phoenix yawned again. Marcus began removing his outer furs and boots, having wisely decided to stay out of it.

  “So!” She took a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. “Beowulf killed Grendel the Troll in the old Norse story of ‘Beowulf’. Grendel had been terrorizing king Hrothgar, his wife Wealktheow, his hall Heorot and his people. See, everything fits.”

  H
e raised his eyebrows in an effort to seem amazed. “Huh, well what do you know? So the programmers wrote an old story into this world. Cool. So what? We did kill Grendel. Story over.”

  She threw up her hands in frustration, somehow managing to yell in a whisper, “Grendel had a mother! A big, fat, angry mother troll who came to take revenge on Beowulf for her son’s death!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Marcus dropped a boot onto the floor with a thud that seemed loud in the silence following Jade’s words. She glared at Phoenix. Surely he understood the danger they were in, now?

  “Ah,” he expelled the word on a sigh, “so you’re saying there’s another one of those walking mountains out there?”

  Jade nodded. It was hard to stay calm when he was being so stupidly relaxed about it. She wanted to thump him on the head to try and get the idea into his skull. Honestly!

  Phoenix ran a hand through his long, dark hair and scratched his scalp.

  “So will it come after us like, right now?” He cast a longing glance at an empty bed.

  She bit her lip. She’d never read the original Norse poem, only a Rosemary Sutcliff book based on the 1500 year old saga. So she couldn’t say exactly when Grendel’s mother was supposed to attack Hrothgar’s hall.

  “I’m not sure,” she admitted.

  “Excellent,” Phoenix arched in a bone-cracking stretch. “How about you stay up for this first watch, just in case? Marcus and I will get some more sleep. That way,” he waved a hand, “we’ll be ready to give mother troll the run-around as well.”

  “Well,” she hesitated. Glancing at Marcus’ face, she saw he and Phoenix both had heavy, dark circles beneath their eyes. They needed sleep. She felt another twinge of guilt for letting them bear the burden of defeating Grendel. She owed them. “OK,” she sighed. “You sleep, I’ll keep watch but…”

  Phoenix slapped her on the back, making her cough. “Don’t stress. I’m sure we’ll have at least one night’s grace.”