Land of Lost Things

by Cat Weldon

  Hel’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Any question?’

  ‘What?’ Whetstone opened his eyes innocently. ‘Isn’t that something Heroes traditionally get in the Sagas?’

  Hel sniffed. ‘And when you lose?’

  ‘We’ll give you the riddle,’ Lotta answered, her eyes bright.

  ‘What?’ Whetstone made a grab for Lotta’s arm, but she ducked away. There was no way they could give Hel the riddle. Whetstone’s heart thumped loudly.

  ‘Yeah, I bet your dad would love it if you could give him the riddle.’ Lotta skipped away from Whetstone, her skin glowing copper in the candlelight. ‘As spoken by the magic cup of Chief Awfulrick.’ Lotta waggled her eyebrows at Whetstone like she was trying to tell him something. But whatever message she was trying to send, Whetstone wasn’t receiving.

  Hel sucked in a breath. ‘The riddle?’

  ‘Yes. Vali might know why Loki wants it, but he doesn’t know what it is.’

  Hel squinted at Vali, who ignored her.

  ‘Loki would be so impressed. It’s what he really wants, after all. He doesn’t care about having Whetstone as long as he has the riddle.’

  ‘Lotta, you cannot be serious,’ Whetstone muttered, grabbing her arm.

  ‘We have to offer her something – I need my shield,’ Lotta growled.

  Whetstone turned back to Hel. ‘We’ll give you something else instead. I know where we can find a scrying bowl – or how about a big fluffy cat? It could keep you company?’

  ‘We’re not giving her the cat!’ Lotta hissed.

  ‘I don’t want a stupid cat – I want the riddle!’ Hel thumped the arm of her throne.

  ‘You can’t have the riddle!’ Whetstone yelled.

  ‘Then you can’t have the shield!’ Hel yelled back.

  ‘I NEED MY SHIELD!’ Lotta bellowed.

  ‘Your shield?’ Hel snarled. ‘You mean, my shield.’

  ‘It’s a trick,’ Vali called out again.

  ‘SHUT UP, VALI!’

  Hel sat back in her throne breathing heavily. She jiggled her leg, sending the scent of decay wafting into the room. Whetstone tried not to breathe through his nose.

  Hel took a deep breath. ‘OK. It’s a deal.’ She narrowed her eyes at Whetstone. ‘The riddle versus the shield and one question.’ She held up a single finger as emphasis.

  Lotta nodded enthusiastically. Whetstone felt his heart sink.

  ‘And, just so you know, we have a special place in Helheim for oath-breakers.’

  ‘Is it a nice place?’

  ‘Only if you really like snakes.’

  Lotta nodded. ‘Fair enough. But no telling Loki we’re here.’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘Not until the contest is over. This is us against you. No outsiders.’ She held out her hand for Hel to shake. Whetstone cringed at the sight of Hel’s bony fingers touching Lotta’s skin and stuck his own hands in his pockets.

  ‘I’ll show you the games we play in Helheim.’ Hel smiled. ‘Follow me.’ She swept from the platform and towards the main doors, her nose in the air as she passed Vali.

  Chapter Twelve

  The Race

  Outside, the red sun filled the land with dusky shadows. Fenrir lifted his muzzle and sniffed as Whetstone and Lotta followed Hel a short distance away from the hall.

  ‘Why did you tell her we’d give her the riddle?’ Whetstone hissed. ‘We went to all that effort to stop Loki getting it – now you want to just give it away!’

  ‘I’m not giving it to him – and why did you have to offer her a deal?’ Lotta hissed back. ‘Didn’t you learn your lesson last time? Anyway, I have it all under control. The longer we keep her distracted, the less chance she has of contacting Loki. When I get my shield back, I’ll be able to transform properly, and I’ll get us out before he even knows we’re here.’

  ‘We can’t go until I’ve found the . . . you-know-what,’ Whetstone muttered. ‘Although I’m not so sure we’re in the right place. My dad is supposed to still be alive, but Hod said there weren’t any living people here.’

  ‘Well, you can ask Hel about that with your one question, can’t you?’

  Hel turned to face them, sandy soil staining the bottom of her trousers. ‘The challenge is a race. Beat my champion and you win.’ She dragged a toe through the dust. ‘This is the start and finish line. The race is three times around the Great Hall.’

  Lotta nodded. ‘Are we using horses or chariots or—?’ ‘Nothing. This is a foot race. You must both run.’ Whetstone grabbed Lotta’s arm and drew her a few steps away. ‘Sounds simple enough. Are you any good at running? You know, without your Valkyrie powers?’

  ‘I’m turning human – my legs aren’t falling off.’ Lotta started unbuckling her armour, dumping her breastplate and wrist guards on the ground. ‘I’ll run as fast as the wind if it means I get my shield back.’

  Whetstone nodded. ‘This’ll be easy! Dead people can’t be that fast, and I’m brilliant at running away from things. We’ll have the shield back in no time. I wonder who we’re racing against?’

  Hel giggled and beckoned something over. Whetstone turned to see a shadow pass through the doorway of the Great Hall. The shadow formed into a tall boy.

  Whetstone smirked. ‘Vali? He’s made of stone. There’s no way he could beat us in a race.’

  Vali stepped to one side, but the shadow continued to pour out. Huge and black, it shimmered faintly, draining what little colour there was in the place.

  Lotta stood up. ‘Not that stuff again.’

  The Helhest broke away from the hall, slithering across the ground like a mass of glistening beetles. Lotta skipped out of the way as it approached, trying to stop it touching her feet. It slid over their shadows, and when it moved on, it left part of itself behind. Whetstone lifted an arm, watching as the inky shape infected his own shadow in the same disturbing way.

  ‘We’ve got Helhest shadows.’ Lotta scrunched up her nose, disgusted.

  ‘What is she playing at?’ Whetstone wondered aloud.

  The remainder of the Helhest swarmed towards Hel, where it swelled upwards to form a group of women in short skirts holding pom-poms – like cheerleaders after an accident in a tar factory.

  Lotta’s lip curled. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘My supporters. The Hel’s Belles.’

  The figures leaped around, performing athletic kicks and jumps. They shook their pom poms and cheered:

  Give us an L!

     Give us an O!

         Give us a K!

             Give us an I!

               TEAM LOKI!

  Whetstone wrinkled his nose. ‘Loki has a team? He’s like the opposite of team.’

  Hel tossed her hair. ‘Three times round the Great Hall, beating my Helhest. Or you could just give me the riddle now?’

  Whetstone shaded his eyes to look at the sun. He made a few calculations. ‘But if this is the finish line, and the Helhest is in our shadows, the sun will be behind us, so our shadows will always cross the line first.’

  Hel giggled again. Even Vali looked as if he was trying not to smirk.

  ‘Maybe we could wait till later?’

  ‘No time passes in Helheim, so the sun doesn’t move here,’ Lotta hissed. She marched up to Hel. ‘Why should we run if we know we’re going to lose?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll run,’ replied Hel. She stuck her bone fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Fenrir, the enormous wolf, pricked up his ears and replied with a bark that made all their heads ring.

  Whetstone took a swift step behind Lotta. ‘You have a pet wolf-dog-thing. You can deal with him.’

  ‘He’s nothing like Broken Tooth,’ Lotta replied, shoving Whetstone away. Broken Tooth was the name of her very soppy dog back in Asgard. ‘Anyway, you grew up in a foster home for wolves – this should be right up your alley.’

  ‘Yes, and they used to try to eat me.’ After his parents had
been taken by the cursed harp strings, Whetstone had been brought up by his foster mother, Angrboda (or as Whetstone called her – the Angry Bogey), a surprisingly tall and bony woman who ran a home for abandoned wolf cubs. None of the Angry Bogey’s wolves had looked anything like this one.

  Fenrir padded over to Hel, who stroked his head. A low rumble came from the wolf’s throat. Ironically, the sound made Whetstone want to run very fast indeed. Away from the wolf. He gazed up into the empty sky to avoid looking at Fenrir’s long teeth.

  ‘If you don’t run, Fenrir will eat you,’ Hel said simply. Fenrir fixed them with a stare, opening his mouth to reveal his pointed teeth.

  ‘So, it’s three times round the Great Hall, trying to beat our own shadows.’ Lotta rubbed her neck. ‘Or we get eaten by the wolf. If we win, I get my shield. If we lose, I have to give you the riddle?’ There was a wobble in her voice and she didn’t look half as confident as she had in the hall.

  ‘And I have witnesses,’ Hel preened. ‘Everybody’s watching.’

  Whetstone looked around the empty field. It was hard not to imagine thousands of invisible spectators, silently watching them. Lotta shivered, clearly having the same thought. Whetstone mouthed, ‘You OK?’ The Valkyrie nodded.

  Hel’s cheerleaders bounced acrobatically behind their queen, performing flips and high kicks. Hel clapped her hands and several of the cheerleaders glooped together to form a perfect replica of her throne. Hel settled back in her chair.

  Moving to the start line, Whetstone racked his brains for something, anything, that could help them. There had to be something he could do. He might be a prisoner in the Land of Lost Things with only a poorly Valkyrie for company, but that didn’t mean he had to give up. He was a Hero after all.

  He slowly pulled off his spare tunics and all but one pair of hairy socks, trying to buy time before the race started. Feeling a bump in one of the pockets, Whetstone drew out the pouch Hod had given to him. The leather was smooth and well-worn and something lumpy lay inside it. Whetstone left it on top of his pile of clothes. Whatever it was, it would have to wait until after the race.

  He pulled his boots back on and performed a few stretches, his Helhest-infected shadow copying his movements. An idea started to form.

  ‘How are you so calm? This is impossible,’ Lotta groaned, smoothing back her black curls. ‘I wonder how bad the place with snakes is?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Whetstone, still eyeing the Helhest’s movements in his shadow. ‘I’ve got an idea. I am a Hero, remember?’

  ‘Oh good.’

  ‘When have I ever let you down?’ Whetstone turned to look at her with a bit of a grin on his face.

  ‘Do you want a list?’ Lotta’s mouth screwed up into a squiggle. She lowered herself into a crouch.

  ‘Just run,’ Whetstone muttered out of the corner of his mouth, ‘and do exactly what I tell you.’ The boy sank down, his fingertips digging into the dry, dusty soil. ‘How do we know when to start?’ he called.

  Hel waved a hand dismissively. ‘Start when you like. The sooner you start, the sooner you lose.’

  Behind them the wolf barked, his voice echoing across the empty landscape.

  ‘Run?’ Lotta suggested. Whetstone nodded. Together they darted away from the start line, their feet sending up clouds of dust.

  ‘And they’re off!’ Hel cackled, her voice bouncing around the field.

  The walls of Hel’s sunken Great Hall stretched out endlessly. It was more like running around an entire village than a single building. Whetstone’s boots thudded into the ground, sending shockwaves up his legs. He slowed to a jog – there was no way he could sprint round the whole thing without dying.

  ‘Fenrir isn’t following us,’ Lotta panted.

  ‘He doesn’t need to. We’re running.’

  They rounded the first corner, their shadows vanishing as they were swallowed by the larger shadow of the Great Hall.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ Lotta gasped, her arms pumping.

  ‘For now, just run.’

  They rounded the second corner, their shadows separating from the darkness and reappearing behind them. ‘If only the finish line was on this side,’ Lotta moaned.

  They pounded on, their feet leaving tracks in the untouched soil. Breathlessly they turned the last two corners and sped towards the finish line. Vali watched them, his eyes glittering from the doorway.

  ‘One!’ Hel called as they passed her throne. ‘Two more to go.’ The Hel’s Belles waved their pom-poms and cheered.

  The dry air caught in Whetstone’s throat; he swallowed down a mouthful of dust and thought longingly of water. Two more laps. They pounded up the long walls, following their own footsteps. As their shadows vanished again, Lotta looked at him questioningly.

  ‘Tell you next time.’

  On and on they ran, Whetstone’s breath burning in his chest and a stitch knotting in his side. Lotta’s face had look of grim determination, but her feet started to stumble over the flat ground. Whetstone slowed to keep pace with her.

  ‘Two!’ Hel cried as they passed her, the cheerleaders performing a series of backflips. ‘I hope you’re not getting tired. Fenrir – after them!’ The wolf licked his lips and loped away from Hel, his long legs eating up the ground. Faint, lilting music filled the air. One of the ghosts must be giving them a musical accompaniment, Whetstone supposed.

  Whetstone could hear Fenrir’s feet crunching behind them. He sped up. ‘Come on – last lap.’

  Lotta nodded, her feet struggling to lift clear of the ground. She started to drop behind. Whetstone grabbed her arm and dragged her onwards, her brown skin cold and clammy.

  ‘Keep going. We don’t win if you get eaten,’ he said encouragingly.

  Passing through the shadow of the Great Hall again, Whetstone puffed, ‘Run when I say run, and stop when I say stop.’

  Lotta raised her eyebrows. ‘That’s it? Genius.’

  Whetstone nodded, too breathless for more words.

  They turned the corner and headed down the third wall, the grey wolf getting closer with every step. Whetstone slowed, the pain from his side intense. Behind them, Fenrir gave a loud yip.

  Staggering and bumping into each other, they passed the third corner. Whetstone glanced at the Helhest glinting in their shadows, biding its time. He crossed his fingers, hoping that this would work.

  Lotta waggled her eyebrows as they rounded the last corner, her breath coming fast and shallow. The boy winked. The finish line lay ahead of them. Their shadows twitched, starting to move with their own power, stretching out dark fingers to cross the line first.

  ‘Stop!’ Whetstone yelled. Lotta stumbled to a halt, breathing heavily.

  ‘Keep running!’ Hel screamed, standing up on her throne, which grew larger, lifting her up into the dead sky.

  Lotta jogged a couple of steps as Whetstone sped up to take the lead, his Helhest-filled shadow reaching out its arms to touch the finish line.

  ‘Now RUN!’ he yelled back at Lotta.

  Lotta screwed up her face. With a loud pop, wings materialized out of her back. Fenrir sneezed as the feathers tickled his nose. Flapping her wings, the Valkyrie shot forward, her toes weaving across the racecourse, her eyes fixed on the finish line. As she overtook him, Whetstone stepped sideways so their shadows crossed. Now it looked as if Lotta was going to win. All the Helhest surged out of Whetstone’s shadow, creeping across the dry ground to join Lotta’s.

  ‘STOP!’ Whetstone bellowed.

  Lotta locked her feet together and flattened her wings. Her shadow a hair’s breadth from the line Hel had drawn in the sand. The Valkyrie collapsed backwards, throwing a cloud of feathers into the air and pulling her shadow away from the finish line. Fenrir loomed over her, drool dripping on to her face.

  Whetstone shot forward like a rocket, he and his uninfected shadow crossing the finish line in a sprint. He staggered to a stop and dropped to his hands and knees, gasping for air, his heart pounding as if it
was about to leap out of his chest. Peering through his legs, he saw the wolf growl at Lotta before slouching away.

  ‘Did it work?’ Lotta wheezed.

  Whetstone looked round to check his shadow: it looked normal. But something the colour of jet was oozing out of Lotta’s. The defeated Helhest crawled away, vanishing into the shadows of the Great Hall. Vali took a step out of the doorway, a smirk on his stony face. It might have been Whetstone’s imagination, but he thought he heard the rustle of ghostly voices congratulating him.

  Happiness fizzed inside Whetstone’s chest. He was right – this had been easy! They had won the shield, and Hel wasn’t getting the riddle! He was good at this Hero stuff.

  Hel thumped her hands on the arms of her throne. ‘No! NO! NO!’ All around her, the Hel’s Belles exploded, as though detonated by an invisible force, coating the landscape in sticky shadows.

  Vali ran his hand over his dark hair, wiping off bits of splattered cheerleader. ‘I told you so.’

  Hel turned on him, her face pink. ‘SHUT UP!’

  Whetstone got to his feet, clutching his side. ‘We did it – we won.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Lotta rolled to her feet and staggered forward, one wing stuck out at a funny angle. ‘We won.’ Swaying slightly, she scraped a lump of Helhest off her cheek and looked up at the woman on her towering throne. ‘Now, give me back my shield.’

  ‘And don’t forget you have to answer my question,’ Whetstone added.

  ‘But the contest isn’t over yet,’ Hel replied. She pointed a finger at Lotta. ‘She didn’t finish.’

  From the doorway, Vali laughed. The ghostly voices whispered again.

  Whetstone goggled at Hel. ‘But . . . we both ran. No one said anything about finishing!’

  ‘This is not what we agreed!’ Lotta stamped her foot. ‘Whetstone crossed the line – that was the contest!’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Hel ran her hands over her two-tone hair in a gesture that reminded Whetstone of Vali. ‘This contest is invalid. We’ll have to try again – something different his time.’