by Cat Weldon
‘They had to do those things,’ Lotta protested, ‘to protect the Nine Worlds. And, anyway, it’s not that simple. You’re a Fire Giant and you’re not in Muspell.’
‘I never did understand why the Gods let you live with them in Asgard,’ Whetstone muttered.
‘Even the Gods know their limitations,’ Loki purred. ‘They need me, and Odin knows it.’ He focused on Whetstone. ‘The Gods are no better than you or me. They don’t care about you humans in Midgard – they’re too wrapped up in their own lives. If Odin is so powerful, where is he now, in your hour of need? Off having adventures of his own. I say it is time for change. Let the strongest, the cleverest, the bravest rise to the top and the so-called Gods can find their place just like the rest of us.’
Whetstone took a step backwards. ‘But if you start mixing the worlds together, it will be chaos! The Nine Worlds will fall and it will be the end of everything!’
‘I always thought there was something beautiful about chaos,’ Hel mused. ‘If you smash a mirror, you get the prettiest rainbows.’
‘And someone usually gets cut,’ Lotta muttered.
Hel’s skeleton grin widened.
‘You fought to change your fate, Whetstone,’ Loki said, almost kindly. ‘You were nothing. Now look at you.’
‘That was different!’
‘Was it? You wanted to be greater than you were: a poor orphan with nothing to call his own except his fleas. I’m planning the same thing, just on a larger scale.’
Whetstone and Lotta looked at each other. Lotta’s shield gleamed, forgotten in the dust.
Loki held out his hand. ‘Give me the harp string. I’m offering you everything you ever wanted. You can be with your parents again on Midgard. One big happy family.’
‘Until the Giants and the dragons arrive. Or Glinting-Fire forces us into training camps.’ Whetstone fought down a laugh. ‘And what would you know about happy families anyway, Loki?’
Hel’s eyes narrowed. ‘We can be happy now. Can’t we, Daddy? Fenrir is here – we just need Jorm and Mummy and we’re all together again.’
Loki fixed his eyes on Whetstone. ‘Enough talking. Give me the harp string willingly, or I’ll take it from you.’
‘Like you took my harp string, the one tied round my wrist when I was a baby? What did you do with it?’
The Trickster just smiled.
Whetstone fixed his eyes on Loki’s handsome face. ‘Odin sent me to stop you.’ He stuffed the harp string into his pocket. ‘Maybe you’re right and the God’s don’t care about us, but I care, and I’m going to stop you.’
Loki’s face curved into a snarl.
‘It’s all right, Daddy.’ Hel laid her hand on her father’s arm. ‘Because that one –’ she pointed at Lotta – ‘has already promised me the riddle, and Valkyries always keep their promises. Isn’t that right?’
Whetstone gulped – in the excitement he had forgotten about Lotta’s promise to Hel.
Lotta grinned. ‘Oh yes. The riddle.’ A dry wind whipped through her hair, tugging at her curls. ‘Are you sure you want it?’
Hel’s needle teeth gleamed. ‘Yes!’
‘Lotta,’ Whetstone began.
Loki narrowed his eyes.
‘The riddle as told to me by the magic cup of Chief Awfulrick, which knows the fates of all men?’ Lotta clarified, shuffling a few steps. ‘I left it in Asgard, you know.’
‘YES!’ hissed Hel.
Whetstone’s heart thumped loudly. She couldn’t be about to tell everyone the location of his parents and the cursed harp strings, could she? Whetstone forced himself to relax. Lotta would have a plan. Probably.
Loki crossed his arms. Hel’s fingers flexed as though she was going to snatch the riddle out of the air.
‘He who can solve the riddle will learn the identity of something desired by humans and Gods alike!’ Lotta announced. She threw open her arms and boomed at the top of her voice:
‘I am round, but I am not a wheeeeeel.’
Whetstone tried to hide his bafflement. He had no idea what she was talking about.
‘I am made of flour, but I do not grow.
I am hard, but I crumble in water.
You can hold me and my brothers in your hand.
What am I?’
Her voice died away. Whetstone stared at his feet, desperate not to laugh.
‘That’s the riddle?’ Vali spluttered.
Lotta nodded. ‘It’s a riddle. As spoken by the magic cup. It’s not my fault you didn’t specify which riddle you were after.’
Vali leaned on Fenrir’s shoulder, weak with laughter. ‘Well done, sis. You got your riddle!’
Hel looked from Vali to Lotta, pink spots appearing on her lifeless cheeks. ‘You’re not a real Valkyrie,’ she spat. ‘You’re a cheat!’
‘I’m a different sort of Valkyrie,’ Lotta retorted proudly. ‘And you’re a sore loser!’
‘You’ll regret upsetting my daughter.’ Loki opened his hand – a palmful of green sparks glinted there. The man threw them high into the air. Dark clouds rushed in from the horizon, blotting out the red sun.
The harp string thrummed again and Hod dropped to the ground with a thud. Whetstone managed one step towards him before a freezing cold wind pushed him back.
Lotta shivered and slumped against Whetstone’s arm. ‘I r-really need my shield,’ she stammered through chattering teeth. ‘It’s so c-cold.’
Loki laughed as snow filled the air, landing on Fenrir’s fur, covering him in white spots.
‘What are you doing?’ Hel spluttered. She shook Loki’s arm. ‘This is my kingdom; you can’t just mess about with it.’
‘Shut up, Hel,’ Vali shouted. ‘No one cares about your rotten kingdom!’
Hel spun towards him, her needle teeth snarling. ‘STOP INSULTING MY HOME!’
Fenrir growled.
Vali staggered as the ground beneath him turned soft and boggy, his stone feet sinking into the earth.
Whetstone and Lotta wobbled, the soil soupy under their feet.
‘What’s happening?’ Whetstone yelled as the snow thickened and the ground sucked at his boots.
Fenrir yelped as his paws sank.
‘This is Hel’s kingdom,’ Lotta called back as Vali struggled to free himself. ‘She can control everything. She’s turned the ground into quicksand!’
‘You’ve got him, Hel.’ Loki laughed as Vali sank up to his knees, his own boots balancing on top of the spongy ground. ‘Now finish him off!’
Whetstone and Lotta ducked as Vali sent a blast of green magic towards his sister. Lightning crackled along her bones, sparks leaping between her needle teeth. She shrieked and the ground turned solid again. Loki cackled with glee, relishing the destruction.
‘Get up!’ Whetstone tried to pull Lotta onwards. ‘Quick, while they’re all distracted.’
‘I can’t. My boots – I’m stuck.’ Lotta’s heavy armoured boots had sunk into the now solid quicksand. She fumbled to undo them.
Flashes of darkness filled the field as Hel hurled balls of black fire at her brother. Whetstone flinched when Lotta touched his arm. They crawled away, her abandoned boots sticking out of the ground. Fenrir threw his head back and howled, his fur caked in mud.
‘That’s enough!’ Loki bellowed, stepping between his son and daughter. ‘Focus on the boy – don’t let him get away.’
Hel turned to look for Whetstone, a fireball still in her skeleton hand.
With a huge effort, Vali wrenched his feet out of the earth. Cracks opened across the ground, which quickly filled with snow. His clothes were covered with charred spots where Hel’s fire had struck him. He yanked a knife out of his belt and flicked it towards his sister.
The movement caught Hel’s eye. The fireball vanished and she grabbed a nearby cheerleader, pulling it in front of her as a shield. The knife hit the Helhest and disappeared with a faint gloop. Hel bared her teeth in a snarl and gestured towards Vali.
‘Look out!’ Whetst
one yelled as the Helhest rose behind Vali.
Hod had said the Helhest fed on the spirts of dead Vikings and that touching it for too long would be deadly. Vali darted forward, grabbing his sister in a bear hug and lifting her off her feet, her arms trapped by her sides. Hel shrieked and bit into Vali’s shoulder with her needle teeth. Bone squealed against stone. The Helhest swept over both of them like a tide. Fenrir yelped and pawed at their struggling forms.
Whetstone guided the violently trembling Valkyrie away from the battling siblings, trying to keep one eye on Loki through the whirling snow. ‘Stay here. It’s too dangerous.’
‘You’re h-having a laugh.’ Lotta pushed past Whetstone, propelling herself into the snowstorm, desperate for her shield. ‘The challenge is still on. We can win this.’
Chapter Eighteen
Cats and Gods
Whetstone shook the snow out of his face. Shapes danced through the falling flakes, making it difficult to see. The boy stumbled after the Valkyrie, heading for where he had last seen the shield. A hand grabbed his ankle. Whetstone leaped into the air, instinctively kicking the hand away. He heard a human-sounding groan. ‘Dad?’
Hod pushed himself into a sitting position. ‘I fink you bwoke my dose.’
‘Achoo!’ Lotta sneezed loudly somewhere in front of them.
‘Sorry, I have to get the shield!’ Whetstone darted after her, leaving his father pinching his nose to try to stop the bleeding.
‘Achoo! ACHOO!’
Following the sound of sneezing, Whetstone stumbled across the plain. His foot brushed against something. His fumbling fingers found a round, flat object. Lotta’s shield! He pulled it upright and brushed the snow off.
‘It’s here!’ he yelled, looking around for the Valkyrie. ‘We win – I’ve got it!’
A flash of green light knocked him backwards, the shield skittering out of his grasp. Whetstone shook his head, trying to clear his vision as Loki appeared out of the snowstorm. The boy scrambled towards the shield and managed to dig his fingers under the metal rim. A soft leather boot landed on the shield and pushed down, trapping his fingers.
Whetstone struggled to free his hand. ‘Ow! Get off, Loki. Lotta needs this shield.’
‘You should’ve taken my offer—’
Lotta materialized through the snow. ‘LOKI, CATCH!’ The cat hit Loki full in the face, knocking him down.
‘Ha, just like on the longboat!’ Whetstone grinned.
Lotta swayed, her chest heaving.
‘Here!’ Whetstone shoved the shield across the rapidly freezing ground, it skidded towards her like a lethal ice puck. Lotta dropped to her knees, collapsing across the shield.
Whetstone scuttled towards her. ‘Lotta, are you OK?’
Beneath the fallen Valkyrie, the shield flickered and went dark.
Whetstone shook her shoulder. ‘Lotta?’
Freyja’s fluffy cat appeared out of the snow and rubbed itself against the girl’s arm. Whetstone waited for the sneeze.
Loki sat up and shook the snow off his blond hair. Somewhere in the storm, a wolf howled mournfully.
‘What did you do to her?’ Whetstone demanded.
Loki climbed lightly to his feet, wiping blood off his face. ‘I didn’t have to do anything.’ He kicked some snow over Lotta’s unmoving body. ‘The girl is dead.’
Somewhere in the distance Whetstone heard Vali give a shout. Hel’s giggle rang out.
A sob rose in Whetstone’s chest. Overwhelming loss crashed over him. He shook Lotta’s shoulder again. She couldn’t really be gone, not when they had come so far. Without Lotta he would never have found out about the harp strings, or the curse. He would never have visited other worlds or discovered that he could be a Hero. He had only done half these things because Lotta had been there, pushing him along. Whetstone balled his hands into fists, the pain in his crushed fingers a welcome distraction from the pain of losing his friend.
Loki held out a hand to Whetstone. ‘Just give me the harp string and this will all be over.’
Whetstone reached into his pocket. Loki was right – where was Odin when he needed him? The glowing string tingled against his skin. He had tried, but he was only a human. He couldn’t defeat someone like Loki.
Whetstone looked into the Trickster’s face to see if there was any trace of a lie there. Dark eyes bored into him. Whetstone opened his mouth to speak but then a moving shape appeared in the sky above them. Loki’s head snapped upward, and he spat out a curse.
Whetstone craned his neck – there was something up there. The shape grew larger.
Loki paced forward. ‘Give the harp string to me! Now!’
Next to Lotta, Mr Tiddles stretched and purred. Dark shapes descended through the swirling snow. A pair of cats the size of bears – one grey-striped, the other black and white – landed gently on the ground, their paws not breaking through the snow, but skimming softly on top of it. Whetstone was so busy staring at the enormous cats that he almost didn’t notice the chariot. A dark-skinned woman jumped down and marched towards them, her fluffy slippers crunching through the snow.
Whetstone’s mouth went dry. He shoved the harp string back into his pocket. ‘Fre-Freyja?’
The snowy wind tugged at her fur-lined cloak, pushing down her hood, which Whetstone noticed had fabric cat ears sewn on to it. Round her neck, a golden necklace glowed brightly. Her eyes flashed impossibly brighter and her mouth was set in a grim line. She was beautiful in the way a fire was beautiful: dazzling – and dangerous.
Fenrir prowled through the snow, growling. One of the giant cats hissed at him in return.
‘WHERE. IS. MY. CAT?’
Whetstone grabbed Mr Tiddles from where Lotta lay and held it out to the woman. Freyja snatched the cat and cradled it like a baby. ‘Mr Tiddles! Mummy has missed you!’ The cat clawed her affectionately as the woman cooed.
Whetstone’s fingers twisted together. ‘What about Lotta? Can you help her, please?’
The woman peered down at the trainee Valkyrie lying half hidden in the snow. ‘She got her shield back, then, I see.’
Hope blossomed in Whetstone’s chest. Freyja was supposed to have powerful magic. Perhaps even more powerful than Loki. If anyone could help Lotta, it would be Freyja.
Freyja frowned. ‘Valkyries are more Odin’s department.’ She glanced at something over Whetstone’s shoulder. ‘Loki. I might have guessed I’d find you here.’ Her nose scrunched up as if a bad smell had wafted beneath it; Mr Tiddles meowed.
‘Looking lovely as ever, Freyja,’ Loki said with a small bow. ‘Found your cat, then?’
‘No thanks to you.’
Loki grinned. ‘Believe it or not, taking your cat had nothing to do with me.’
‘This time.’
Loki dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘I’m surprised to see you here. I thought Glinting-Fire had stopped anyone leaving Asgard.’
Freyja raised an eyebrow. ‘And how would you know that?’
A thin figure appeared at Loki’s side. Freyja pulled her cloak in round her shoulders. ‘Hello, Hel.’
‘You can get lost, Freyja. We don’t need your sort here,’ Hel snarled through her needle teeth.
Freyja tossed back her hair; the golden threads twisted through it bringing a hint of summer to the snowy field. ‘Gladly.’ She tucked the cat into the chariot and picked up the reins.
‘Have a safe trip back to Asgard.’ Loki smirked. ‘Lovely of you to visit.’
‘Wait!’ Whetstone grabbed the side of the chariot. ‘Take us with you. Me and Lotta. We saved your cat.’ The woman turned as Whetstone circled the chariot, avoiding Loki. ‘Odin sent me on a quest. You need to take us back to Asgard.’
‘You’ll be lucky,’ Loki snorted. ‘The lovely Freyja isn’t exactly known for her hospitality.’
Freyja glared. ‘I can be perfectly hospitable, just not with people who keep trying to sell me to the Giants for their own benefit.’
‘Take the girl, then.’ Loki m
ade a grab for Whetstone. ‘That boy is mine.’
‘No, that boy is yours.’ Freyja pointed through the snow to where Vali stood. A few chips had been knocked out of him and a long crack ran down the side of his face, making his resemblance to Loki stronger than ever. Hel snarled.
‘You really did turn him to stone?’ Freyja said in surprise, stepping out of the chariot and touching her brown fingers to Vali’s grey cheek. ‘Does your mother know about this? You can’t just turn back, you know.’
Loki raised a hand full of green light. ‘I told you to go, Freyja.’
Whetstone gritted his teeth, waiting for Loki to use the magic.
But, instead, everything stopped.
A huge beam of light lit up the battlefield. Through slitted lids, Whetstone managed to make out snowflakes hanging motionless in the air. He turned his head, searching for the source of the brightness. It was Lotta’s shield.
With a soft poof, all the snowflakes turned into feathers and spiralled gently to the ground. The light faded. Whetstone stood, stunned, ankle-deep in a drift of fluff.
With a groan, Lotta pushed herself upright, feathers sticking crazily out of her black curls. They all watched in silence as, pulling her shield on to her arm, she slowly got to her feet. ‘What happened?’
‘Good question.’ Whetstone twitched as plumes found their way in through holes in his clothes and tickled his white skin.
Freyja stepped through the downy drifts. ‘Are you all right?’ She peered into Lotta’s confused face. ‘How are you feeling?’
Behind Lotta, the dark shape of Fenrir jumped into piles of feathers, barking with delight.
‘A bit lightheaded, I guess.’
A chuckle bubbled out of Whetstone’s mouth: relief, shock and happiness that Lotta was OK all rolled together. For a second, he even thought about hugging her, but quickly changed his mind. Maybe not mid-battle. ‘What’s with all the feathers?’
