by Cat Weldon
Whetstone clenched his hands into fists. His dad was right. He would regret it if he didn’t try his hardest to stop Loki. And his mum was still out there somewhere. He couldn’t just leave her. It wasn’t as though Loki was going to stop chasing him.
Hel climbed back into her Helhest throne. It looked grander this time, with a canopy and footrest. She sipped a black drink with a black umbrella sticking out of it, a pair of dark glasses hiding her face. The necklace hummed gently against her neck, filling the still air with its music. The Hel’s Belles lined up on either side of the throne. They looked less like cheerleaders now and more like soldiers. She was really going all out to impress Loki, Whetstone thought, glancing up at the sky. He wondered how the Trickster would arrive. He was supposed to have a pair of Sky-walking Shoes. Maybe he would walk down?
‘Same rules as before,’ Hel barked. ‘Get the shield away from Fenrir to win.’
Except he didn’t have to win; he just had to keep them busy. Whetstone wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers, hoping that whoever Lotta contacted in Asgard got here quickly. And was good with wolves.
Left in the Great Hall, Lotta turned to Vali. ‘Let’s go.’
Vali stabbed his knife point down into the table. ‘It’s not going to work.’
‘It’s the only chance we have.’
‘Mum won’t be able to do anything. She never leaves Asgard.’
Lotta smiled. ‘We’re not going to ask her – we’re going to ask someone else.’
‘Who?’
Lotta’s boots echoed as she stumbled across the hall. With reluctance, Vali pushed himself to his feet and followed, his knife left point-down in the table.
Stepping back into Hel’s bedroom, Lotta shuffled carefully through the mess to reach the sticky black wall. ‘How does it work?’
Vali loomed over her shoulder – for someone made of stone, he could move surprisingly quietly. ‘I think whatever you write on the wall just appears on our wall in Asgard.’
‘You think?’
Vali shrugged. ‘I’ve never tried it.’ He handed Lotta a small pot of white paint. ‘There’s not much left.’
‘I’d better not write much then.’ The brush came out of the paint pot with a sucking noise. Strings of slime clung to it. Lotta frowned, trying not to get it on her trembling fingers.
The Valkyrie lifted the brush to the wall, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. A couple of busy minutes later the message read:
TELL FREYJA
WE HAVE MR TIDLES
STUCK IN HELHEIM
COME QUIK!
Vali looked at it appraisingly. ‘Well done – you spelled “quick” wrong, and “Tiddles” has two ds, but other than that it’s not bad. I’d give it a solid six out of ten.’
Lotta trod on his foot with her heavy boot. Vali sighed. ‘I’m stone, remember?’
Lotta brushed an escaped curl out of her face, accidentally leaving a trail of white blobby paint across her coppery cheek. A gust of warm air blew her hair back again. ‘Wow, Vali. What have you been eating? Your breath stinks.’
‘That’s not my breath.’
Lotta’s fingers clenched on the paint pot. She pivoted slowly, trying not to move any more than necessary.
Sticking through the doorway behind them was half an enormous paw, long black claws poking out of pale grey fur. A wet black nose the size of a bucket forced its way in. The air filled with dog breath.
‘You’ve grown again, Fenrir.’ Vali pushed the wolf back through the doorway. ‘Shouldn’t you be outside?’
The wolf gave a yip, which rattled the rafters. His wagging tail sent a table flying across the Great Hall.
Lotta’s palms turned sweaty against the paint pot. ‘But if this is Fenrir, then where are Hel and Whetstone?’
Outside under the red sun, the wolf growled. Long and low like something you might hear before an earthquake. It rumbled across the ground, travelled through Whetstone’s boots and vibrated up his spine. The rumbling was the reason his legs turned to jelly, not the terror, Whetstone told himself.
The boy walked towards the wolf mentally reciting, Fenrir’s just a puppy – a really, really, really massive puppy. He won’t hurt me. He just wants to play. Whetstone bent down to tug off a boot. He waved it in the air. ‘Want to play fetch, boy?’
The wolf barked sharply. His movements were more controlled, less puppy-like than before, his enormous eyes focusing on the boy rather than the boot. The wolf prowled closer.
The harp music grew in volume, filling Whetstone’s ears with a sound like honey. A creeping chill ran up his spine. Danger! Behind him, Hod cried out. Whetstone kept his eyes focused on the wolf’s curved teeth. ‘Not now, Dad.’
‘Yes, now,’ replied Hel.
Whetstone spun round to see Hel holding a knife to Hod’s throat with one hand, twisting his arm up behind his back with the other. Hod gripped on to Hel’s knife arm, his fingers slipping on the smooth bone.
‘Let him go!’ Whetstone shouted. ‘This isn’t part of the deal.’
‘Eyes on the prize, Whetstone. No one cares about the silly shield.’
The harp string rang out again, glowing white against Hel’s neck.
A blast of dog breath hit the boy from behind. Whetstone turned round slowly. Long white rocks and a dark, dripping cave filled his vision. It took a moment for him to realize he was staring into the wolf’s open mouth. He flinched backwards, sprawling on the ground as Hel giggled.
Lotta held her breath and squeezed past Fenrir, his thick fur blocking the way to the Great Hall. Fear churned in her stomach. Hel had tricked them. She had to find Whetstone – he’d be in deep trouble.
‘Get off, Fenrir. Urgh, I’m covered in dribble now.’ Vali had made it through to the Great Hall and, by the sounds of it, Fenrir was giving him a good wash.
Lotta pushed through the endless fur. She could stretch out her whole arm and still touch nothing but hair. ‘At least it’s not a cat,’ she muttered as fur tickled her nose.
She popped out into the candlelight. Vali stood in a puddle of drool, his clothes damp and his face wet. He shoved his hair out of his face with one hand and held Fenrir off with the other. The wolf had indeed grown larger. He now filled the space inside the Great Hall, looming over the piles of Lost Things.
Lotta looked around apprehensively. Except for them, the hall was empty. ‘Where are Hel and Whetstone?’
Vali wiped the drool off his face. ‘Not here. I knew she agreed too easily.’ He glanced around. ‘Where’s the cat? The last thing we need is for Freyja to turn up and find out we’ve lost it.’
A yowl answered him. Mr Tiddles was perched on the back of Hel’s throne, his fur sticking straight up so he resembled a dandelion.
‘I’ll get the cat – you look for Hel.’ Lotta tentatively placed a foot on the platform, wary in case she got stuck like she had when they first arrived. But the power must lie with Hel, and as she was not in the room Lotta climbed on to the platform easily, even though her knees wobbled from the effort.
Lotta gazed longingly at the empty space on the wall behind the throne where her shield had been displayed, before tearing her eyes away.
‘Come on, Mr Tiddles. Achoo!’ Lotta started prising the cat off the chair, the cat’s claws scoring long scratches into the frame.
Fenrir wagged his tail, smashing benches and piles of Lost Things aside before lunging for Vali again. Lotta watched them from the platform. ‘You know, of all your relatives, I think he’s my favourite.’
Vali climbed out from under his younger brother’s paws. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
‘Achoo!’ Lotta clutched the cat to her chest and scrambled down to make her way to the stairs. She stopped. ‘The door has gone.’
Vali peered over Fenrir’s shoulder. ‘What do you mean? It’s a door – it can’t be gone.’
Lotta staggered up the worn steps, which now led up to a blank stretch of wall, her breath coming in gasps. She ran her hand o
ver the space, hoping the door was still there and that her eyes were playing tricks on her. Her fingertips found solid wood and clay. Lotta’s heart sped up; her skin prickled. ‘She’s trapped us.’ She turned to Vali. ‘Is there another way out?’
‘I don’t think so. That’s the only door.’
Fenrir barked, making Lotta’s head ring. His tail swiped back and forth, turning benches to toothpicks. A candlestick flew towards her, bouncing up the stairs before landing at Lotta’s feet. An idea occurred to her as she bent to pick it up. ‘We’ll just have to make our own door, then. Fenrir, can you play fetch?’
The wolf snapped his jaws excitedly. Vali clambered out of the way as Fenrir tensed his shoulders, his eyes fixed on the shiny object.
‘FETCH!’ Lotta threw the candlestick as high and as far across the room as she could. The enormous wolf jumped after it. He overshot, his back slamming into the corner where the wall met the ceiling. With a splintering crash, the wolf vanished, leaving a jagged hole behind him.
Lotta choked, the air full of dust and splinters, the cat squirming in her arms. She wiped her nose on her shoulder. ‘Achoo! Achoo!’
Just visible through the dust, a pair of pointed furry ears poked up from the other side of the hole.
‘OK, that’s one way to get out,’ Vali conceded, dusting himself off.
Dark shadows rushed towards the wall, stretching to fill the gap with gooey tar-like strands.
‘More Helhest!’ Lotta scrabbled towards the broken wall, dust catching in her chest. ‘How much of that stuff is there?’
Vali and the trainee Valkyrie scrambled up piles of broken benches to reach the hole in the wall. ‘Achoo! I really don’t want to be here when Hel finds out what we’ve done to her hall. Achoo!’
‘Agreed.’ Vali nodded, jumping through the hole. Lotta followed. Outside, Fenrir barked and wagged his tail. He dropped something at their feet: a very dribbly candlestick.
‘Good boy.’ Vali reached up to scratch Fenrir behind the ears. The wolf closed his eyes and twitched his back leg.
Lotta rubbed her sore eyes and shook the rubble out of her armour. Behind Fenrir, a howl pierced the air.
They all froze.
Vali’s skin turned a pale grey, gleaming like flagstones in the rain. ‘Oh no.’
Chapter Seventeen
A Cold Day in Hel
Whetstone sprawled backwards on the ground, desperate to avoid the wolf’s gaping jaws. The wolf barked a laugh, then threw his head back in a howl. The sound cut across the landscape like a knife. Terrible, mournful and old. Hel giggled, holding her blade steady at Hod’s throat.
The enormous wolf reared up on his back legs, his dark shape blotting out the sun. The howl changed tone, sharpening and breaking up into a man’s laugh. Fear gripped Whetstone’s insides with icy fingers as, with a whirl of grey fur, the wolf vanished. In his place was a tall, handsome man in a red tunic. The man shook his blond hair out of his face and smiled. ‘Hello, Whetstone.’
Blood thudded loudly in Whetstone’s ears. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes.
Loki.
Loki was here.
And there was no way out.
The boy dug his fingers into the hard ground, the soil building up beneath his fingernails, his mind desperate to block out the man in front of him.
Hod struggled against Hel’s grip, but her thin fingers were surprisingly strong. She dragged him forward. Whetstone snatched his hand out of the way of their boots and scrambled to his feet, his heart pumping as if it was going to jump out of his chest.
‘I told you he was here,’ Hel simpered. ‘Haven’t I done well, Daddy?’
Loki smiled more broadly, the scars on his face pulling his lips into strange shapes. He brushed dust off his fine clothing. ‘Indeed. Very clever.’
What was left of Hel’s cheeks went pink. The harp string thrummed again. Whetstone coughed, trying to mask the sound.
‘Thank you, Whetstone. I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you.’ Loki gestured at the string glowing round Hel’s neck. ‘I think that’s mine.’
Whetstone watched horror-struck as Hel changed her grip to tug the necklace from her neck and toss it towards Loki.
With a sudden lunge, Whetstone launched himself upwards, snatching the bright string out of the air before it could reach the smiling man. He landed badly, stumbling and falling on to his side. Beads and charms flew everywhere, landing soundlessly on the dry ground. One made its way into Whetstone’s boot. The string blazed white, dazzling Whetstone’s eyes. It was like holding a sunbeam in his hands.
Loki walked forward, his soft boots leaving no marks in the earth. He stood over the boy. ‘Give it to me.’
Whetstone took a deep breath. This time he was going to face Loki down properly and be the Hero. Lotta wasn’t here to help him; he would have to do this alone. Whetstone stood up slowly, pain shooting up his leg. ‘No.’ His palms were sweaty; he doubled his grip, worried that the string might slip out of his grasp. ‘This belongs to the Dwarves.’
‘Why give it back to them? They wouldn’t use its full powers.’ Loki looked into Whetstone’s eyes. ‘Wouldn’t you like to see what the Skera Harp can do?’
Whetstone felt a tickle in his mind. More power than he could ever have imagined, right at his fingertips . . . The Dwarves had designed the harp as a way of travelling between the Nine Worlds, to impress the Gods and display their skills. Whetstone’s mind was filled with all the things he could do and all the places he could see if he had the Skera Harp. He could walk into Asgard whenever he liked. He could visit the Elves or the Fire Giants, find treasures, explore new lands . . . That would prove to everyone that he was special, not just a scruffy nobody from nowhere.
But Whetstone knew it wouldn’t be like that. The Dwarves had destroyed the harp to prevent Loki from getting his hands on it. Loki wanted to use the harp’s powers, not to travel between worlds, but to break down the walls that separated them. Without the walls there would be nothing to stop all the Giants and monsters destroying everything in their path. A vision of Hel marching into Krud flashed through his mind. Loki would use the chaos to his own advantage and people would get hurt. People had already been hurt. Whetstone shook his head.
‘No? Pity. I thought you had more ambition.’ Loki gestured towards Hod. ‘But then look at your useless family. It’s no wonder you’re so spineless.’
Before Whetstone could protest, crackling green ropes wrapped round his father, lifting him into the air. Hel giggled, jumping out of the way. She clapped her hands.
‘What are you doing to him? Stop!’ Whetstone squeezed the harp string as it tingled against his palm.
‘Why do you always have to make everything so difficult?’ Loki mused, walking forward as Whetstone backed away. Hod rose higher. ‘We could be friends, Whetstone. But helping your friends isn’t something you’re very good at, is it?’
Whetstone flushed. ‘You’re not my friend, Loki.’
Loki sighed. The ropes of green light surrounding Hod contracted. The man gave a muffled grunt.
‘But I could be. I’m being more than generous,’ Loki continued. ‘Give me the harp string and I promise to return you, and that –’ he jerked a thumb towards Hod, who had gone a very peculiar colour – ‘to Midgard. Alive. And in one piece. Give me the rest of the riddle and I’ll even help you rescue your mother.’
‘Whetstone, don’t—’ Hod managed to gasp before the ropes wrapped round his mouth.
‘What about Lotta?’
‘What about her?’ Loki sighed and straightened his cuffs. ‘Your friend can stay here with Hel.’ He grinned at his daughter. ‘She’ll be some company for you.’
‘What – like Vali is?’ Whetstone said. ‘He’s here too.’
‘So?’
‘So, you’re just going to abandon them all?’
‘I’m not abandoning anybody. When I open the walls, they can walk home.’ Loki smiled. ‘Not that there will be much of Asgard
left after I let the Frost Giants in. Then, without me to do their thinking for them, everyone will see how pathetic Odin and the other Gods really are.’
‘You’re destroying the Nine Worlds because you’re jealous of Odin?’ Whetstone said in astonishment.
Footsteps thudded behind him. Lotta skidded to a stop, throwing up a shower of dust. ‘That’s not Fenrir!’ The fluffy cat leaped out of her arms. ‘Achoo!’
‘Yeah, I noticed,’ Whetstone muttered, his eyes fixed on Loki.
Lotta rubbed her red eyes and peered at the Trickster. ‘Oh.’
A blast of dog breath hit them. Vali and the real Fenrir stopped a short distance away. Vali ran his hand through his hair and leaned against the wolf’s shoulder.
‘Odin has had his chance,’ Loki continued. ‘It is time for the Nine Worlds to be reordered.’
‘With you in charge, I suppose?’ Lotta spluttered.
‘Why not?’ Loki smiled. ‘All things must change. Even the Valkyries know that, now that Glinting-Fire is their leader.’
‘And have you told this Glinting-Fire about your fabulous plan?’ Whetstone huffed. ‘Isn’t the whole point of the Valkyries to bring Heroes to Valhalla? If anyone can go wherever they like, they’re out of a job.’
‘The Valkyries will adapt. Glinting-Fire has a new plan for the humans of Midgard.’
‘Like what?’ Lotta demanded.
Loki waved a hand dismissively. ‘I don’t know all the details. Something about Hero training camps. Put the humans through regimented training to weed out the weaklings.’ His white teeth glinted as he smiled. ‘She believes it will be more efficient than waiting for humans to prove themselves in battle, and Glinting-Fire loves efficiency.’
‘That’s terrible!’ Whetstone gasped.
A hiss escaped between Lotta’s teeth.
‘Freyja was right.’ Whetstone took a step. ‘Glinting-Fire got rid of Lotta to stop her warning us. And you sent Odin away so there was no one to stop Glinting-Fire!’
Loki narrowed his eyes. ‘Why should our lives be dictated by Odin and his cronies? They’re bullies, Whetstone. Even to the other Gods. They went to war with the Vanir and forced them into Vanaheim. Trapped the Fire Giants in Muspell and banished poor Hel to the Land of the Dead.’ Hel gave a simpering smile.
