I never move in haste. In fact, I rarely even twitch. But at this I jolt upright.
In all my thoughts of vengeance, nothing so immense, so earth-shattering, had ever occurred to me.
My banishment would end. My enemies would be defeated. Not just defeated, but wiped from the worlds. I would be avenged! A fierce joy galvanises me. The first glimmer of joy I’ve felt since Baldr – I brush aside the sliver of ice his name always shoots through me. Keeping Baldr here was a small revenge. Killing all the gods – this was a vengeance undreamt of.
I sit there silently, my face blank as an empty mead horn.
What, you think I jumped up and covered Loki with kisses and thanked him for devising the most perfect retribution on the evildoers who flung me here? Have you learned nothing? Loki can never be trusted. He is called Loki the Trickster for good reason.
He reads my mind.
‘I’m a very good liar, but everything I’m telling you now is true,’ he says.
My fingers tighten around my blanket and twist through the holes. The only sound is the snakes hissing in the roof, and the rustling of the raven food in the poisonous hall beyond my curtains.
‘Well? Isn’t this the revenge you’ve been longing for?’ he asks.
‘Prove it,’ I say.
Dad grins his wolfish grin.
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ he says. He holds the nut between his slender ivory hands and murmurs runes over it.
I brace myself. Has he brought Fen here? Or one of his hag daughters? Which monster will appear?
A trembling goddess stands before me, beautiful, glowing, clutching a basket of golden apples. The apples of immortality. She gags at her first breath of the fetid air.
‘Let me go,’ she whispers. ‘I belong in Asgard. I need to get back to –’
Dad speaks the runes again and instantly she shrivels back into a nut.
Slowly, I lean forward.
‘How did you kidnap … No, I don’t want to know,’ I say. ‘What’s in it for you?’
His face twists for a moment.
But his answer surprises me.
‘I’ve been a bad boy … Let’s just say the gods want to tie me to a rock and drip snake poison on my face till the End of Days and, frankly, I’d rather not have that fate. I just want to hide out here until the happy day of doom,’ he says. ‘It won’t be long.’
Why am I always the last to hear good news?
‘What have you done?’
He waves his hands. ‘Oh, you know, bit of this, bit of that, bit of name calling at a feast – a few curses … Possibly a few secrets yelled out –’
No mention of Baldr. He hopes I don’t know.
‘Give me the eski,’ I say. ‘I’ll hide it. No one will touch it.’
‘I don’t think that’s wise,’ says my father. ‘I should keep –’
‘I don’t give a troll’s fart what you think,’ I say. ‘I’m queen. This is my kingdom. If I let you stay, you’ll obey me.’
Loki smiles and bows his head. Then he hands me the eski.
‘Of course, Hel, whatever you say. You’re the boss.’
Too right I am. I grip the precious box. It contains every drop of vengeance, all my blighted hopes, all my ruined dreams. Fierce happiness hurtles through my shattered body. Repay laughter with laughter. Gifts with gifts. And betrayal with treachery. The gods would pay dearly for what they’d done to me. Although luck has never been with me, tonight, luck swaddles me in her slippery arms.
‘Find yourself a cave,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t want you near me.’
So long as he keeps away, I don’t care where he hides.
Loki smirks as if I have just offered him a chest of gleaming gold.
‘Daughter,’ he says. ‘You honour me with your hospitality.’
Should I mention my mother? Give him her address? First grave mound on the left?
Nah.
I put the eski under my bed, lie back on my damp pillow and close my eyes.
All I have to do is wait. Wait in Hel for the mortal gods to fade away and die. I am happy to wait. Like the dead, my patience is boundless.
I could have waited forever.
And then …
And then Freya came.
And that changed everything.
37
SMELLED HER FIRST.
I smelled the rich overpowering whiff of life. So did the restless corpses, agitated that flesh was coming. Garm barked madly.
Bit late, I thought, you useless wolf.
She came, disguised as a falcon, flying down inside Hekla, the volcano which is one of Hel’s, shall we say, lesser-used entrances. I felt the whoosh of her wings, heard the flapping falling, the great thunk of her landing. I thought, Oh gods, here we go again. Another shaman’s spirit taking on a bird shape to try to wrench some dead soul from me.
Then I heard her footsteps thudding across Modgud’s echoing bridge, and I realised that this was no shaman’s spirit but a mortal.
An actual mortal. The first and only living mortal ever to come here. A living, breathing person. Who was she? Who had sent her? I did not know what to think. How had the pulse managed it? Clearly she had unusual powers.
So for which corpse was the mortal going to beg and plead? I didn’t care: the answer would of course be no. She wouldn’t be returning to Midgard anyway.
I heard her clatter across my threshold like a bear sniffing fish. This mortal was either very brave or very stupid. I sent Lazybones to bring her to me. At the speed that old woman moves, the driftwood was in for a long wait.
As I lay hidden in my chamber, I heard voices. The tones grated on my ears, so long accustomed to silence. The mortal must have spoken to the corpses, and, boy, were they taking advantage. Snippets of conversation drifted to me.
I heard her pleading to know where she could find me.
Let her wait.
Let her enjoy her last moments of life.
38
HE MORTAL STOOD outside my bed hangings. I heard her loud breaths, felt her fear. She stood there, still, uncertain, until I put my hand through the curtains and beckoned her in. I wanted to get this over with.
I lay there, eyes closed. The odour of her living body repelled me. Finally, she spoke.
‘I’m looking for Hel,’ she said. ‘I need to speak to her urgently.’
Yeah well, the time-trapped are always in a rush. And what arrogance for driftwood to say it needed to speak to me.
‘Excuse me,’ she spoke again, ‘I need to see Hel.’
Her voice was light, insistent. The creature was young. Very young. What madness possessed her to come here? How had she survived the journey?
Whoever she was, she didn’t recognise me. The mortal is face to face with Death, and doesn’t know it.
I opened my eyes.
‘I heard you the first time.’
The girl’s face went white with shock.
I stared at her battered, bruised cheeks, her mottled-ivory arms and hands, at the ivory creeping up to her throat, her filthy frosty clothes and scratched legs. Her hot breath.
This was the first living mortal I’d ever seen. The noise she’d made entering my hall made me imagine she was troll-sized. Yet she was very small, puny even. One-Eye had nothing to be proud of if this was his best attempt at creation, I thought. Her age? I’m hopeless at guessing ages – not really a skill I need, is it? – but I didn’t think she was much more than a child. Like me, in fact. I had a sudden sense that if I’d been mortal and able-limbed, I could have been her. I pushed this thought away, as it served nothing.
‘Why are you here before your time?’ I asked.
The girl nervously ran her fingers through her curly hair, tugging it. She began to babble. The dying Odin had sent her (I trembled just hearing his hateful name), blah blah blah, she was trying to rescue Idunn. She’d turn into ivory and be frozen forever if she didn’t succeed. Loki had …
I might have guessed the wolf’s father was the r
eason for her coming.
So she wasn’t here to whine for her mama.
That made a change.
I watched her shivering in the cold, wrapping her arms around herself. She wasn’t dressed for the tomb.
‘I know Loki is here somewhere,’ she said. ‘He stole Idunn. I must find her and bring her back to Asgard. The gods are dying. The world is dying. I am dying.’
I smiled inside. If only I could make the world die faster.
But while she spoke a memory stirred in the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite grasp, something someone had told me long ago …
Then I remembered. The seeress. She’d warned me a mortal hero would come. That the hero would somehow affect me, affect the End of Days.
This little … girl couldn’t be that hero. How was that possible? An ugly mortal girl recklessly named after the goddess Freyja but nothing like her?
And yet Odin had sent this child. Obviously senility had affected his judgement … and his eyesight.
I cursed the seeress for telling me too little.
The girl held out her ivory arms. Clearly she was under some kind of curse. The Old Wizard, most likely. Join the party, mortal.
‘Help me,’ she said.
Help her? I’d sooner chop off my hand. I sat up a little and the blanket slipped, revealing my oozing legs. I saw her face: revolted and horrified, her eyes sliding away from mine as I covered my body again.
‘Not so pretty, am I?’ I said.
That shut her up.
You want your mother back? Tough. Your husband? Too bad. Your friend, your granny, your child? Yah boo sucks to you. Nothing doing.
But Idunn? She wanted Idunn? Did the mortal have any idea what she was asking? The presumption, the arrogance, was breathtaking. I’ll send the driftwood to Nidhogg and end this now, I thought, before the begging and pleading starts.
But, as I moved, the bed curtains parted and Loki sauntered in. He made himself comfortable at the end of my bed, as if I were his poorly guest and he was checking to see how I was.
The girl’s face went purple with anger. She looked as if she’d like to rip his eyes out.
I had ordered him to keep away from me, and here he was entering my chamber at will.
How dare he disobey?
‘Who said you could come into my bed closet?’ My voice was ice.
Loki laughed. ‘I go where I please.’
‘Not here you don’t,’ I said. ‘Hel is my kingdom. You’re here because I allow it.’
Dad’s viper eyes flickered.
The mortal began to scream at him.
‘Where is Idunn? Give her back to me!’
‘Who’s the pulse?’ he said, jerking his thumb at the shivering girl.
‘You know perfectly well who she is and why she’s here,’ I said.
Loki pretended he’d heard nothing.
‘I’ll show her out,’ he said, then looked at Freya. ‘You don’t belong here.’
‘You get out,’ I ordered. ‘Leave us alone. I don’t often get to speak to someone with skin on their bones.’ I would decide what happened to the mortal, not him.
‘Where is Idunn?’ screeched the girl. She was so fixed on her mission she didn’t even notice her reprieve.
‘Safe,’ said Loki.
‘Everyone is dying because of you,’ said the mortal.
‘Good,’ said Dad. She shrank from him, trying not to touch the curtains, trying not to touch my bed.
‘I know what my fate holds,’ he said. ‘A man’s fate should be hidden, but I know mine. One day the gods will catch me, bind me to three sharp stones with the guts of my own son, and a snake will drip poison on my face until the End of Days. Drip. Drip. Drip. Who wouldn’t do whatever they had to do, to avoid such a fate?’
No wonder he’d stolen Idunn. Had to hand it to Dad, he always knew how to justify himself.
‘Bring Idunn back to Asgard,’ the girl said. ‘The gods will be grateful.’
‘No chance,’ said Loki.
My mind began to wander as they argued, away from their story. I kept seeing my father shackled and I longed to make this happen.
‘All the gods will be dead soon,’ Loki continued. ‘Then I’ll return to Asgard and thwart my fate. I’m writing a new ending. No being chained to a rock with poison dripping on my face. Just me. One god. One all-powerful, immortal god.’
A new ending. I tucked the phrase away in my word hoard, to consider later. I’m not stupid. When the gods died, Dad’s take-over plans wouldn’t include me. Most likely he’d keep me trapped here.
‘I hate the gods,’ I said. ‘That doesn’t mean I want you ruling, Dad. Now leave us alone and get out of my hall.’
My father bowed. ‘Whatever you say, Queen of the Dead,’ he said. He edged round the bed and went to the chamber’s entrance. Then he turned. ‘What in the name of the accursed gods do you think you’re doing, you ugly little troll?’ he hissed at me. His red and green eyes glared.
‘I rule here, Father.’
‘Why not keep the mortal if you like her so much?’
I laughed.
‘I can wait. Let her have her brief moment of light and warmth. Everyone ends up here in the end.’ Then I turned over and faced the wall.
Loki slipped out. I knew he’d be waiting nearby, watching and waiting to strike.
I turned back and looked at the little girl. I’d used her against Dad: now he was gone, her usefulness to me was over.
‘Will you help me?’ asked Freya.
I paused for a long time. The mortal never took her pleading eyes off my face.
‘How’d you like to spend eternity lying in a sickbed hung with curtains called Glimmering Misfortune, and be waited on by two servants called Slowpoke and Lazybones who move so slowly that they might as well be dead again because no one would notice?’ I said, raising my creaking body to sit up. ‘I never get out, I have no friends – in fact, everyone hates me. I have to spend my time with gangrenous, rotting raven food. I just lie here all day waiting for a cup of wine, then all night waiting for it to be removed.’
The girl sat there, listening. Her face in the shadowy candlelight was masked.
‘I’m glad the gods are dying. They kidnapped me when I was a child, then Odin took one look at me and hurled me here, into this dark world below the worlds. “You’ll like it,” he said. “You’ll be queen down there.” Well, I don’t like it. Not at all. So, no, I won’t help you. Now go away.’
39
LAY BACK AND closed my eyes. I felt her staring at me, at my legs, so I yanked the curtains closed, shutting her out.
Bye-bye, hero. In the distance, I could hear Garm howling. What, he’s only just realised there’s an intruder around? Stupid dog.
My serving woman, Ganglot, waited silently by the threshold. Slowly she started to point to the exit.
And then, suddenly, I didn’t want Freya to leave. I felt so lonely I didn’t think I could bear it.
Maybe I’d keep her just a little bit longer.
‘Wait,’ I said, poking my hand through the tattered bed curtains.
Freya froze.
I beckoned to her again. I suddenly saw my cracked, curved nails, more like a wolf’s than a god’s.
I curled up my hand.
‘Stay for a moment,’ I said. ‘Nice to look at someone who’s still got skin on their face. Makes a change.’
Freya hesitated. Then, carefully, she sat on the edge of my bed. A shower of dust and worse billowed into the choking air.
Slowly I reached over and picked up the empty dish lying on the rancid blanket.
‘See this plate?’ I said. ‘I named it Hunger. My knife is called Starving. I’m the only one who can eat around here, so I thought that would be fitting. My goblet is called Thirst. Bit of a joke, really, because I can wait all day for it to be filled …’
Freya shrugged.
‘Do you like my bed hangings?’ I said. I was trying to think of things to talk about, but I
am not practised at this. I was starting to regret calling her back. A hero she might well be, but what was that to me?
Freya shrugged again. Clearly, she wasn’t feeling very talkative.
‘I went through so many names for them,’ I said. I fingered what remained of the black-and-silver fabric, covered in a cheery scene of decomposing corpses dangling from gibbets. ‘Rickets. Glittering Pain. Shining Harm. Shimmering Torment. They’ve been Glimmering Misfortune now for ages. I might rename them again in the next hundred years or so.’
‘That’ll be fun,’ said Freya.
I looked at her with ice-dead eyes.
‘Are you laughing at me?’
‘No,’ said Freya. ‘I like naming things too. I even named all my stuffed toys when I was little. I called my dog Bel Gazou.’
‘I called mine Garm,’ I said. ‘That means rag. He’s huge and ugly. Everything here is ugly.’
‘You’re not ugly,’ said Freya.
I snorted.
‘Not ugly? Are you blind? I’m a monster.’
The young girl shook her head.
‘You know,’ said Freya, ‘if you tied back your hair, you’d look quite pretty.’
‘Pretty?’ I said. ‘What’s pretty?’
‘It means … you look good,’ said Freya.
I stared at her. ‘How would I know?’
‘Look,’ Freya fumbled with her unruly curls and took off the tortoise-shell clip. ‘May I touch your hair?’
I started as if Freya had asked if she could brand me.
‘You want to … touch me?’ I said.
‘Well, your hair … I was going to …’ Freya stopped in confusion. Maybe she thought she’d drop dead if she touched me. Maybe she would.
‘We both have Medusa hair,’ said Freya.
‘Who’s Medusa?’ I said. I didn’t think there was anyone named Medusa down here.
‘A monster from the Greek myths,’ said Freya. ‘She turned people to stone if they looked at her. She had snakes for hair.’
Great. The M word again. I saw Freya bring her hand to her mouth as she realised what she’d said.
The Monstrous Child Page 11
