Land of Lost Things

by Cat Weldon

  ‘Hey, Fenrir,’ Hod said, holding the door. ‘Good to see you. Do you want to hear a joke?’

  That was Fenrir? Loki’s son? Whetstone eased his head towards the doorway to check.

  ‘What do you call a really cold dog? A pupsicle!’

  With a panting laugh, the wolf stepped inside, his claws clicking against the golden floor. Whetstone held his breath, praying that Fenrir wouldn’t notice him. Or Lotta. A black nose the size of man’s fist thrust itself under the bench and sniffed. The boy tried to shrink away, but sharp teeth fastened round his leg and wrenched him out. His fingers scraped helplessly against the smooth floor.

  A grey wolf as big as a bear filled the room. Black eyes stared down at the boy on the floor. The wolf’s muzzle wrinkled, a growl rumbling out. Whetstone lurched away, bashing into the trunk where Lotta lay hiding. The trunk flew open, revealing the Valkyrie, tangled in fabric. With difficulty, she freed herself and drew her rusty sword.

  Hod stepped forward, waving his hands. ‘Come on, Fenrir. They’re just kids! There’s no need for Hel to find out about this.’

  The light dimmed as another figure stepped through the doorway: a woman dressed head to toe in black, a scarf wrapped over her hair and covering the lower half of her face, her eyes hidden deep in their sockets.

  Hod stumbled backwards, his eyes wide with fear.

  The creature pulled the scarf away from her face, revealing a series of needle-like teeth set in a skeleton jaw. Whetstone stared, horror-struck. She was more terrifying than the wolf. The top half of her face was still human; the bottom a skull.

  ‘There is nothing you can hide from me, old man,’ Hel rasped.

  With that, the golden room filled with shadows, blotting out what little light there was and surging over Whetstone and Lotta like a tide. Whetstone gasped. The Helhest was so cold that it almost burned. Remembering what Hod had said about it eating spirits, Whetstone desperately tried to free himself. Sticky tendrils wrapped tightly around him, pinning his arms to his sides before dragging him out of the hut.

  Outside in the snow stood a sledge drawn by three misshapen horses. Whetstone was dumped, gasping, in the back, followed promptly by Lotta. His skin stung where the Helhest had grabbed him. The Helhest surged over the sledge and around them, forming a cage. It gleamed in the sunlight, shades of green and blue appearing in its depths.

  Lotta threw herself at the bars. ‘Let me out!’ She recoiled, her hands covered in strings of black slime.

  Hod appeared behind Whetstone, peering through the bars. ‘Don’t panic. I’ll follow you to the Great Hall when I can. Take this.’ He thrust a leather pouch through the bars and into Whetstone’s hands.

  The woman swung herself into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Please bring the cat!’ Lotta yelled as the sledge lurched away, dragged over the snow by the crooked horses. The red sun beamed down on them with a light that had no warmth.

  Hod’s voice drifted after them. ‘Hey, what’s a cat’s favourite colour? Purr-ple!’

  Whetstone grimaced at the joke.

  Lotta wrapped her arms round herself and shivered. Whetstone realized that her powers must already be fading. He shrugged out of one of his many cloaks. ‘Take this.’ The sledge jolted, bearing them across Helheim and towards the Great Hall.

  Chapter Eleven

  Road to Hel

  The sledge drew to a stop at the foot of a flat-topped mountain. Near-vertical walls of dry, brown stone towered over them. With a quiet, slithering noise that made all the hairs on the back of Whetstone’s neck stand up, the Hel-hest cage dissolved, the inky strands vanishing into the shadows under the cart.

  Hel swung herself out of the driver’s seat and stalked round to face Whetstone and Lotta. ‘Out.’

  Whetstone jumped down, his eyes fixed on a twisting path that led up the side of the mountain. The woman shoved his shoulder and they started the long trudge to the top. As they climbed, the landscape changed, endless winter giving way to dusty, brown rocks. A blustery wind whipped soil into twisting shapes and the sun grew stronger. It wasn’t warm exactly, but it wasn’t cold either. Behind him, Whetstone could hear Lotta breathing heavily and the crunch of Fenrir’s paws on the dry ground. The boy bundled up the extra cloaks in his arms, and his feet started to sweat inside their many socks.

  He rounded the top of the mountain, a stitch in his side and his breath coming in short gasps. A flat, empty landscape opened up in front of him. In the distance sat the crouching shape of a Great Hall. The hall’s roof was black, heavily thatched and so low it almost reached the ground. It did not look like the type of place you would find roaring fires and toasted marshmallows.

  Whetstone longed for a tree or a hint of birdsong. Even Bragi’s annoying face would make everything a bit more normal. He glanced at Lotta with a pang of concern – her jaw was tight and her hands curled into fists. Maybe the shield thing was a bit more important than he’d realized. He tried to give her an encouraging smile as they plodded onwards.

  Whetstone fixed his eyes on the grey boulder that lay directly in their path. His footsteps quickened. Boulders were normal: you found them everywhere. He raised a hand to brush his fingertips against the rough surface. For a second, Whetstone could almost imagine he was back in Krud.

  ‘Don’t even think about touching me with your thieving hands,’ said the boulder.

  Whetstone stumbled back in surprise. The boulder shifted and slowly got to its feet, revealing itself to be not a boulder, but a tall, pale-skinned boy with dark rings round his eyes.

  ‘Vali?’

  The boy pulled a knife out of his belt and twisted it between his fingers. He had always been fond of sharp blades. Whetstone swallowed. They hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.

  ‘I told you he was a Troll,’ Lotta muttered.

  Whetstone stared at the taller boy. ‘But the sun’s out! You’re moving around and everything – surely you should turn to stone?’

  Vali shook back his dark hair, which, now that Whetstone looked at it properly, he realized was streaked with moss. ‘Those rules only apply on Midgard.’ Despite Loki’s spell, Vali had retained most of his good looks, but his clothes and skin were now shades of grey and there was a sheen to his face like a freshly washed pebble.

  ‘Ah.’ Whetstone gulped. ‘Is that why you came to Helheim?’

  Vali gave a half-smile. ‘I wanted a change of scenery.’

  Whetstone looked around. ‘And this is better than Krud?’

  Vali’s face froze. ‘It has better company.’

  ‘Oh.’ Whetstone rubbed his neck. ‘So, Hel must be your sister?’

  ‘Half-sister.’

  Whetstone nodded hurriedly. Fenrir panted a laugh.

  Lotta shouldered forward. ‘My shield, have you seen it?’

  Vali’s face cracked into a smile. It looked strange on his face, as if it wasn’t used to being there.

  ‘Enough talk,’ rasped Hel, tugging down her mask to reveal her pointed teeth. ‘Keep walking.’

  ‘I think I’ll come with you.’ Vali tucked the knife back into his belt. ‘I could do with a laugh.’

  The woman hissed between her teeth, but said nothing. She gave Whetstone a shove and he stumbled onwards, leading them in a silent procession towards the Great Hall.

  Unlike the Great Halls in Asgard, this one didn’t have steps leading up to a brightly painted front door. It wasn’t even sitting level with the ground like the Great Hall in Krud. Instead the door was half buried in the ground with worn steps leading down to it. Fenrir sat down beside the steps and panted, his red tongue lolling.

  Whetstone hesitated at the top step.

  Hel leaned close to his ear. ‘What are you waiting for?’

  Whetstone tried not to shudder at those teeth being so near to his face.

  The door swung open as he descended. Screwing up his courage and trying not to think about what might be inside, Whetstone took a deep breath, and stepped into the Hall.
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br />   The steps descended about as far as the height of a man, leading into a huge cave-like room. Light came from tiny windows high in the roof, which only manged to turn the darkness into shadows. Strange misshapen heaps appeared in the gloom. Whetstone blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

  Hel clapped her hands and tall white candles flickered to life, forming pools of brightness. Whetstone stared. The room was vast, it was impressive and it was full of junk. Lost Things and grave goods were heaped against distant walls. Long polished tables rose out of the mess like wooden islands, empty benches bobbing on either side.

  Behind him, Lotta caught her breath. ‘I was expecting it to be at least a bit like Valhalla.’

  Whetstone crept forward, his foot catching a bronze arm ring, which skittered across the floor. ‘Do you think there are people on those benches?’

  ‘I can’t see anyone.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean they’re not there.’ Whetstone suppressed a shudder.

  At one end of the hall was a low platform with the top table and a range of ornate chairs. These were the seats reserved for the most important guests. Whetstone stopped in front of them.

  Hel pushed forward, unwinding her long scarf from round her head. Half her hair was a glossy black, the other half as white and fine as cobwebs. She stepped up on to the low platform, unbuckling her cloak and dropping it to the floor to reveal a short-sleeved tunic and dark trousers. She lowered herself on to the most ornate chair, which sat in the centre. White and spindly, it looked like spiderweb turned to marble.

  Whetstone tried not to stare. One of the woman’s arms was pink and human, the other nothing but bones. She moved her hand, the small bones in her wrist clicking together in a strangely fascinating way. Half woman, half corpse, just as Lotta had said. Whetstone felt his skin creep. Hel watched them expectantly.

  Whetstone’s eyes flicked sideways to Lotta, wondering how they were going to explain their arrival in Helheim. But Lotta had her eyes fixed on an object behind Hel’s head.

  ‘That’s my SHIELD!’ Lotta strode forward, her boots kicking up sparks against the flagstone floor. She pointed a finger at the wall behind Hel’s throne. Hanging there between a faded tapestry and a twisted sword was a round wooden shield split into six segments, each faintly glowing in a different colour. ‘I need it BACK.’

  Hel’s eyes creased like she was smiling. ‘This is the Land of the Lost. Once something or someone makes its way here, they are beyond finding.’

  ‘Well, I’ve found it,’ Lotta announced, placing her foot on the platform.

  ‘But you can’t take it, can you? Not now I’ve claimed it,’ Hel hissed, her voice suddenly vicious.

  Lotta froze, her boot stuck to the platform. ‘I can’t move,’ she whispered through gritted teeth.

  ‘I have all the power here, little girl. The shield is mine, and the only way to get it back is if I return it to you. Which I won’t.’

  Lotta grimaced and with a huge effort pulled her foot free. Hel smirked. Whetstone glanced over his shoulder to see Vali snigger as he played with another knife.

  ‘Besides, the magic from this shield increases my own power.’ Hel picked up a shiny red apple from a bowl beside her chair. It withered and turned black in her hand. ‘A few more of these and I’ll have the magic I need to leave Helheim.’

  ‘Odin will never let you out,’ Lotta panted. ‘He banished you here and he can keep you here.’

  ‘You sound very sure of that, but things are changing in Asgard. New friends are rising and soon not even Odin will be able to stand in our way.’

  Lotta ground her teeth.

  Whetstone stepped forward with his palms raised. ‘Look, let’s all calm down. Just give us the shield and we’ll get out of your hair . . . bones . . . whatever.’

  ‘That’s the trouble with you,’ said Vali. ‘You’re always taking things that don’t belong to you.’

  Hel giggled. ‘Oh yes, Whetstone. Yes: I know who you are. And, no: you’re not going anywhere.’ Despite her raspy voice, she suddenly sounded much younger. She pulled a polished comb made of antler out of her hair. ‘This Lost Thing arrived yesterday.’ Several lines of runes were carved into the comb. As Hel read them aloud, Whetstone’s heart sank.

  Whetstone has the riddle I need.

  Don’t let him get away. L

  ‘Daddy doesn’t often send me messages –’ Hel stuck the comb back into her hair – ‘so it must be important.’ Hel fixed her eyes on Whetstone. ‘So, Whetstone-with-the-riddle, Whetstone-don’t-let-him-get-away.’ Hel giggled again, the creepiest giggle Whetstone had ever heard. The type of giggle a little girl would make while chopping off the heads of her teddy bears. ‘What is the riddle?’

  Whetstone gulped. ‘No idea! That must be about a totally different Whetstone.’ His eyes slipped sideways to Vali. The knife had stilled in his fingers.

  Hel leaned back in her chair. ‘I think Daddy would be very interested to know that you’re in Helheim.’ She tapped her skeleton jaw in thought. ‘Maybe I should tell him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Whetstone gabbled. ‘It would be a total waste of his time. We’re only here because Lotta needs her shield back.’ Sweat prickled between his shoulder blades. ‘Once we’ve got that, we’ll be off.’

  Vali barked a laugh. The sound echoed around the hall.

  Lotta was practically vibrating in frustration. ‘That shield is MINE! GIVE IT BACK!’

  Hel picked at her trousers. ‘Your friends need to learn some manners, little brother.’

  Vali glared, his face pale in the darkness. For one uncomfortable moment, he reminded Whetstone of Loki.

  ‘They are not my friends,’ the boy spat, making Whetstone flinch. The knife spun out of his fingers and landed point down next to Hel’s foot. ‘And I am not your little brother.’

  Hel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Behave yourself, Vali, or I’ll tell Daddy on you. Just think – when I give him these two, I’ll be his favourite, not you.’ She kicked Vali’s knife away. As she moved, Whetstone caught a glimpse of blue-black flesh, and the scent of death filled his nostrils. He tried not to gag.

  ‘His favourite?’ Vali scoffed. ‘How often has Father been to visit you here, in your kingdom, which you’re soooooo proud of ? Oh that’s right – never!’

  ‘You’re just jealous,’ Hel spat.

  Vali stopped laughing. ‘At least I didn’t get banished from Asgard.’

  ‘At least I’m still half human!’

  ‘At least I don’t have cobwebs for hair.’

  ‘At least my mum isn’t ashamed of me, stone boy!’

  A sheen covered Vali’s face; his jaw clenched. ‘At least I know why Father wants the riddle.’

  Whetstone bit his lip. This was some messed up sibling rivalry.

  Hel’s face creased in a scowl. ‘Whatever comes to my land is mine. You, and you, and you.’ She stabbed a bony finger at each of them in turn. ‘You all belong to me. I am the Keeper of the Lost and the Queen of the Dead. No one and nothing can leave my realm without my say-so. You will give me the riddle, you will tell me why Daddy wants it and I am never giving back the shield. Never, ever, ever, ever.’ Hel crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air. ‘So there.’

  Lotta shook with fury – well, either fury or frustration – her brown eyes fixed on her shield.

  Whetstone shuddered. There was no way he was staying here with this power-mad zombie woman. He had to find his dad and the harp string and get out of here. Oh, and get Lotta’s shield, of course. But how? Hel knew who they were, so there was no way she was just going to let them walk out. They would have to escape, or – a thought popped into Whetstone’s head – win their freedom. Hel was Loki’s daughter after all.

  Whetstone cleared his throat. ‘So you don’t want to make this interesting, then?’

  Lotta stopped shaking and tore her eyes away from her shield. ‘What?’

  ‘How about— a contest?’

  Hel leaned forward, resting he
r spindly elbow on the arm of her throne and cupping her jaw in her hand. The candles flickered. ‘What sort of contest?’

  ‘A . . . game?’ Whetstone improvised. ‘For our freedom.’ He could feel Lotta’s eyes boring into the side of his face.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she hissed.

  Hel twisted her white hair round a bony finger. ‘I like games.’

  ‘It’s a trick,’ said Vali flatly. ‘It always is with Whetstone.’

  ‘Be quiet, Vali.’ Hel smoothed back her two-tone hair. ‘No one is listening to you.’

  ‘I was trying to be nice,’ said Vali, walking backwards away from his sister. ‘No one can say I didn’t try to stop you.’

  ‘I’m not listening to you, little brother.’

  ‘I’m OLDER than you!’

  ‘I’m BETTER than you!’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  Whetstone leaned closer to Lotta. ‘Should we just go . . . ?’

  ‘GET OUT OF MY HALL!’ Hel bellowed, making them all jump, her face pale with anger. She pointed a finger at Vali.

  Vali backed away. ‘I wouldn’t want to be in your hall. It stinks, and you stink, and this whole place is stupid!’

  Hel picked up Vali’s knife from where it had been left by her throne. She hurled it across the room. It flew through the air, trailing green sparks. ‘SHUT UP!’

  Whetstone stepped forward. ‘As fun as this is, maybe we should focus on the contest.’ Hel snapped her head back towards him, her needle teeth snarling. Whetstone tried to keep his eyes on the top half of her face. ‘What sort of game do you fancy? Charades? Hide-and-seek? I spy? Lotta is really good at poetry.’ Lotta aimed a kick at him.

  ‘It’s a trap,’ Vali called in a sing-song voice as he picked up the knife.

  ‘I DON’T NEED YOUR HELP!’ Hel bellowed, pummelling her fists on her throne. ‘GET OUT!’

  Vali sat down on a bench, his back towards his sister.

  Whetstone waved his hands, trying to attract her attention again. ‘So, the contest. If we win, we get to leave, with the shield and the answer to any question we want to ask.’