Land of Lost Things

by Cat Weldon

  The cat shifted in Whetstone’s arms. ‘My foster mother once told me that to reach Hel you had to cross a river filled with weapons.’

  ‘Yeah. And there’s supposed to be a bridge, and a bridge keeper.’ Lotta shuffled closer to the water, reaching for a long sword sticking out of the mud. ‘We’ll have to be stealthy so he doesn’t tell Hel we’re here.’

  ‘Why? I know she’s the Queen of the Dead, but she might be nice.’

  Lotta squinted at him, a warm breeze lifting her black curls. ‘You don’t know who Hel is, do you?’

  The boy shrugged.

  ‘She’s Loki’s daughter.’

  Whetstone froze. All the air vanished from his lungs. The cat dropped out of his arms, landing lightly on the ground. The boy leaned forward, put his hands on his knees and groaned.

  ‘Hel is Loki’s daughter, and the sea monster who tried to crush us is her brother,’ Lotta continued, tugging at the stuck sword.

  Whetstone rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I feel sick.’

  Lotta sniffed. ‘We don’t need to go near her. We’ll sneak in, get your dad, find the missing harp string, get my –’ she clenched her jaw – ‘shield, then get out again.’ With a final tug, the sword came free. Lotta squidged back up the riverbank. ‘How can you not know this? Odin banished Hel to the Land of Lost Things, Jormungandr was cast into the seas around Midgard and Fenrir—’

  ‘Who’s Fenrir?’ Whetstone looked up in horror. ‘Don’t tell me there are more of them.’

  ‘Fenrir’s the youngest. He’s a gigantic wolf. There are three of them.’

  ‘Four. Don’t forget about Vali.’ Whetstone straightened up. ‘He left Krud just before I did.’

  Lotta smirked. ‘I told you he wasn’t really stone. Loki turned him into a Troll.’

  ‘Yeah, but where is he and why did he leave Krud? I thought he was running away because Loki was coming back, but now I’m not so sure.’ Whetstone whipped his head round to peer over his shoulder. ‘You don’t think Loki sent him to follow us, do you?’

  ‘What’s wrong? Don’t you fancy joining the Loki family reunion?’ Lotta grinned.

  ‘How can I put this? I’d rather eat my own teeth.’

  The cat meowed and rubbed against Whetstone’s leg. Whetstone scooped it up and took a deep breath. ‘All right. Let’s find this bridge and get it over with.’

  ‘Wow – that’s what I call a bridge.’

  The bridge stretched elegantly across the river in an unbroken arc. To Whetstone’s eye, it seemed impossibly long and narrow. Thin walls enclosed a solid gold path, which glinted enticingly. A small hut, also gold, sat on the other side, sticking out of the snow like a dropped earring.

  Whetstone sighed. He might have given up being a thief, but that much gold would be enough to tempt anyone back to a life of crime. It seemed so unfair that successful thieves were rewarded with pockets full of gold, while successful Heroes just got more and more quests. He buried his fingers in the cat’s fur, wondering if he should’ve stayed a thief.

  ‘I guess this is where we cross.’

  ‘It’s either that or swim.’ Lotta’s boot met the bridge and a loud DO-I-I-ING reverberated across the landscape. A man with a long beard and a faded cloak emerged from the hut on the other side of the river.

  ‘Is that him?’ Whetstone muttered, trying to keep hold of the wiggling cat. ‘I thought a monster guarded Helheim. I was expecting someone . . . scarier.’

  ‘Remember the plan,’ Lotta whispered out of the corner of her mouth. ‘You’re dead. I’m dead. It was tragic.’

  Whetstone dropped the cat and stuck his arms straight out in front of him, his hands dangling down at the wrists. He rolled his eyes back into his head and let his tongue hang out of his mouth.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lotta hissed.

  ‘Being dead.’ Whetstone staggered forward.

  ‘Is he OK?’ the man called.

  ‘Yeah,’ Lotta called back. ‘This much gold just has that effect on him.’ She kicked Whetstone on the ankle, and he dropped his arms.

  Together they shuffled across the golden bridge, following the cat. When they reached the centre of the river, the bridge gave a shudder. Whetstone’s stomach lurched. A cold wind reached out for them, pulling at the end of Whetstone’s hair and giving him goosebumps.

  The guard watched them approach. As they got closer, Whetstone realized the man had two round pieces of glass held by twisted metal in front of this eyes, making his eyes look flat and lifeless.

  Whetstone nudged Lotta. ‘What are those glass things?’

  She lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

  At the end of the bridge, Whetstone stepped reluctantly into the snow. His toes immediately froze. He wrapped his arms round himself and tried to stop his teeth from chattering.

  The man peered at them through his glass lenses. ‘You two took your time.’ His beard twitched into a smile. ‘Hey, this place is so popular people are usually dying to get in!’

  Lotta groaned. ‘Was that a joke? It was dreadful.’

  The man’s beard twitched again. ‘I’ve got more. Hey, why do you never see a cow playing hide-and-seek? Because they’re really good at it!’

  Lotta tutted. Whetstone jiggled up and down to keep warm.

  ‘Just the cat, is it? Very Egyptian.’ The man eyed up Mr Tiddles. ‘Did you bring nothing else with you?’

  Whetstone’s face scrunched up in confusion. ‘Like what?’

  ‘Horses, treasures, fine cloth?’ the man suggested. ‘Whatever you were buried with, really. Traditionally, you’re supposed to bring me a Hel-cake.’

  Lotta glanced at Whetstone. ‘Um . . . ?’

  The man squinted at them. ‘You’re a bit young, aren’t you? What was it that finished you off?’

  ‘I was trampled by a crazed horde of – hedgehogs,’ Whetstone invented, his teeth chattering. ‘They prickled me to death.’

  ‘And I was picked up by a really big bat, who dropped me on some rocks,’ Lotta lied. ‘It was sooo painful when I landed.’

  The man nodded sagely. ‘You have to be careful of wildlife. Not that we get much of that here. I did see a couple of flying horses not long ago, though. Hey, what do you call a horse that lives next door? Your neigghhh-bour!’

  Lotta spun towards him. ‘Flying horses?’ she gasped, grabbing hold of the man’s tunic. ‘Did they land anywhere? Were there two girls with armour like mine?’

  The man stumbled back in surprise. ‘They didn’t land anywhere. Just dropped a big round thing and a box, then flew off again.’

  ‘My shield!’ Lotta wheezed. ‘Where did they drop it?’

  The man prised Lotta off his tunic. ‘I’m not sure. The round thing landed somewhere in the snowfields between here and the Great Hall. I couldn’t see where the box went.’

  ‘Brilliant! Maybe my shield’s still in the snow. We won’t have to go anywhere near Hel!’

  ‘Why don’t you want to see Hel?’ the man asked, surprised. ‘Most people want to at least meet her.’

  Lotta glared. ‘I’m just . . . really shy.’

  ‘Well, to get it back, you’ll have to talk to her.’ The man’s beard twitched into a frown. ‘I’m afraid the Helhest took it.’

  Lotta’s forehead crinkled. ‘Who are the Helhest?’

  ‘And why does Hel keep naming everything after herself?’ Whetstone muttered, jiggling from foot to foot. ‘It’s very confusing.’

  The man looked at him sideways. ‘The Helhest is Hel’s servant. It’s magical and can change shape to be whatever Hel needs it to be. It could be a group of people, a horse, some birds, a building. But it’s always black and sticky. Keep away from it – it feeds on Viking spirits. Let it touch you for too long and there will be nothing left of you.’

  Whetstone shuddered. He glanced over his shoulder as if he was expecting a sticky, black creature to be standing just behind him.

  Lotta straightened her armour. ‘Right. Let’s track down this Helhest
and find out what it did with my shield. C’mon, Whetstone.’

  The bridge keeper’s head snapped up. ‘Whetstone?’ He wobbled slightly.

  Lotta cringed. She couldn’t believe the story of their adventures had reached all the way down to Helheim. Whetstone might be enjoying his newfound fame, but she wasn’t. The other Valkyries would never let her live this down. Lotta just hoped the man didn’t ask for an autograph; Whetstone would be insufferable.

  Whetstone continued to hop from one foot to another, trying to keep his feet out of the snow. ‘Let’s c-cross the bridge again – it’s too c-cold here. I can’t think straight.’

  The man swallowed. ‘One way only,’ he explained, his voice croaky. ‘Look.’

  Whetstone spun round. The bridge was gone. The river was gone. The green riverbank was gone. Snow covered the land for miles behind them.

  ‘Are you – sure you’re all right?’ the man asked, peering at Whetstone over the top of his glasses.

  ‘No, I’m half left,’ Whetstone replied, goggling at the snow-covered landscape.

  The man laughed and patted Whetstone on the shoulder. ‘Good one.’

  ‘Now you’re at it with the jokes,’ Lotta muttered.

  ‘Look, why don’t you come inside.’ The man gestured towards the golden hut. ‘It’s warmer in there, and you can tell me what’s really going on.’

  Whetstone nodded enthusiastically.

  Lotta crossed her arms. Whetstone hadn’t wanted to hang around when she was trying to contact Asgard, but now he had plenty of time to laze about in golden huts? She didn’t know what the man had heard about them, but if he turned out to be some of sort of Whetstone superfan, she didn’t think she would be able to cope.

  Whetstone looked at Lotta with pleading eyes.

  ‘Fine,’ Lotta sighed. ‘But we’re not staying long.’

  ‘Wait.’ Whetstone gave the man’s beard a sharp tug.

  ‘What was that for?’ he complained.

  Whetstone grinned. ‘Just checking.’ He then tottered on frozen toes towards the sounds of a crackling fire.

  A little while later, Whetstone sat wrapped in blankets in the golden hut. A delicious smell wafted from the cauldron over the fire, and the fluffy cat stretched out on a rug, purring. Whetstone watched as the bridge keeper, who said his name was Hod, bustled about, finding bowls and spoons.

  The door banged open, filling the air with snowflakes, and in marched Lotta with armfuls of blackened branches. She dumped them on the ground next to the fire. ‘There.’

  ‘How are you not cold?’ Whetstone shivered and burrowed deeper into his blankets.

  ‘I don’t mind the cold. Plus,’ she added in a lower voice, ‘I’m not human yet. It’s different for Valkyries: we’re made of pure battle frenzy. It keeps you toasty.’ She plopped down next to him and poked at the fire.

  ‘Maybe that’s how we’ll know when you turn human – you’ll start trying to borrow my vest.’

  Lotta stuck her tongue out.

  Whetstone had been thinking; he nodded towards Hod. ‘Do you think we should ask him if he’s seen my dad?’

  Lotta wrinkled her nose. ‘Can we trust him? He works for Hel.’

  ‘You already told him about your shield.’ Whetstone pouted. ‘Why shouldn’t I get some help too?’

  ‘Nice firewood.’ Hod joined them by the fire. ‘Hey, what’s brown and sticky? A stick.’

  Lotta groaned.

  Hod handed Whetstone and Lotta bowls of something warm and meaty.

  ‘How do you get food here?’ Lotta asked, poking a finger into her bowl. ‘If everyone is dead, there’s no need to grow food.’

  The man grinned; several of his teeth were missing. ‘You’d be surprised what people have buried with them. Furs, food, weapons. Then they get here and realize it’s all worthless. Dead people don’t need much. They don’t feel the cold, they can’t eat and there’s no point in fighting any more. They either give their grave goods to me or take them as gifts for Hel, thinking they can win her favour.’

  ‘I guess you’ve figured out that we’re not dead, then,’ Whetstone said, gobbling down the stew. Lotta rolled her eyes.

  Hod smiled. ‘You might have given it away, yes.’

  ‘Are the Lost Things different to grave goods?’ Lotta asked.

  Hod nodded. ‘If something is lost by accident, it joins the Lost Things. If it’s sent as part of a funeral, it’s grave goods. It doesn’t make much difference really. Hel keeps it all.’

  Whetstone wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was good to have a full belly again. ‘What’s Hel like?’

  Hod looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘She’s cold, and rich, and –’ he paused – ‘lonely, I think. Smells pretty bad too. Try to stay upwind of her.’

  Whetstone wrinkled his nose in confusion.

  ‘She’s half woman, half corpse,’ Lotta said through a mouthful of stew.

  Whetstone wrinkled his nose further. ‘Which bit is—?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Listen –’ Hod put his bowl down, suddenly serious – ‘I don’t know how you two came to Helheim, or what you want here—’

  Whetstone opened his mouth to reply. Lotta trod on his toe.

  ‘But, whatever you’re looking for, you won’t find it,’ Hod continued. ‘Once someone – or something – comes to Helheim, it never leaves.’

  ‘Oh yeah? We’ll see about that,’ Lotta muttered, dropping her spoon back into the bowl.

  ‘The Nine Worlds would be filled with ghosts, otherwise,’ Hod continued reasonably. ‘Your best bet is to stay here with me. I have food and a fire – you won’t last long out there without that.’

  Whetstone glanced at Lotta. ‘Hod’s right, kind of. We need an actual plan. We can’t just march up to – Where does Hel live? Hel-hall?’

  Hod barked a laugh. ‘No, her hall is called Eljudnir. It means, Sprayed by Snowstorms.’

  ‘Sounds cosy.’ Whetstone huddled into his blankets. ‘We can’t just walk up to Eggy-jug-nir and ask for the shield and the . . . other stuff. There’s no way she’d give it to us.’

  ‘Well, we can’t just sit around here.’ Lotta bit off a piece of her thumbnail and spat it into the fire. ‘I’ve got about a day before . . .’ She looked meaningfully at Whetstone.

  Whetstone thought for a moment. It wasn’t fair that Lotta was taking over their quest to Helheim with her shield problems. Finding his dad and the harp string was way more important. He was the Hero, after all, not her. He made a decision and turned to Hod. ‘If you’re the bridge keeper, does that mean you see everyone who comes to Helheim?’

  Lotta threw up her arms in exasperation.

  ‘The bridge is the only way in. And there is no way out.’

  ‘So, do you ever get anyone coming here who shouldn’t be here? Like . . . living people, perhaps?’ His voice went all high and peculiar as he spoke.

  Lotta raised her eyebrows at him.

  ‘Other than you, you mean?’ Hod leaned back. ‘Sometimes we get those who are supposed to go to Niflheim trying to get in, but that’s as exciting as it gets.’

  Whetstone nodded, disappointment sour in his stomach. That must mean that his father was dead. Vali had warned him as much before Loki had turned him to stone. Living people wouldn’t last long in a place like this.

  ‘What about Loki? Does he ever come to visit Hel?’ Lotta asked.

  It was Whetstone’s turn to stare at her. She shrugged.

  ‘Not that I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘But he’s a shapeshifter,’ Lotta continued. ‘He could have been in disguise.’

  Hod tapped his glasses. ‘Not with these. Nothing can hide from these.’

  ‘What are they?’ Whetstone asked, still trying to shake off his disappointment.

  Hod took off the glasses and tucked them into his tunic pocket. Without them, his eyes sparkled with life. ‘They’re magic. It’s how I can see who is coming over the bridge. Hel’s subjects are usua
lly invisible.’

  Whetstone glanced around. A chill crept down his spine. ‘You mean we could be surrounded by dead people right now, but I just can’t see them?’

  Hod laughed. ‘Don’t worry. You soon get used to it.’

  ‘What are the glasses made of ?’ Lotta asked.

  ‘Valkyrie tears, they tell me. And you can imagine how difficult they are to find!’

  Lotta let out a snort of laughter. Hod got up to tidy the bowls away.

  Whetstone leaned towards Lotta. ‘Can you see the dead people?’ he whispered.

  She shook her head. ‘I guess I’ve lost that power too. No transformations, no seeing spirits. What’s next?’

  ‘Well, I bet you’re still terrible at poetry, so no change there.’

  Lotta thumped him on the arm.

  Somewhere in the distance came a lone wolf’s howl. It rolled around the golden hut, making the metal walls vibrate unpleasantly. Hod spun round, the bowls dropping out of his trembling fingers. ‘Hel’s on the move – she must know you’re here. You need to hide!’

  In a moment Whetstone went from being warm, comfortable and full of stew to cold with terror. His skin prickled at the thought of Loki’s daughter finding them. He pushed off the blankets and started to pull on as many hairy socks as he could manage before wedging his feet into a pair of sturdy boots. If he was going to be captured, he was not going to be cold.

  Hod threw baskets and clothes across the room, revealing a large, charred trunk. He lifted the lid. ‘Get inside. They know me, but if they find you . . .’

  Whetstone paused while pulling three tunics over his head. ‘I’m not getting in there.’ His head popped out of the tunics. ‘Last time I was shut in a chest, I was almost eaten by Jormungandr.’

  Lotta rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, for Odin’s sake.’ She clambered into the chest. ‘You’re going to have to get over that.’

  Hod closed the lid and covered it with a rug.

  Whetstone slid under a narrow bench, tucking himself into the shadows, his heart pounding. Hod tipped a cup of water over the fire, plunging the room into darkness. The fireplace hissed, dark smoke curling out.

  Red sunlight spilt into the room as the door creaked open. Something big sniffed the air.