The Book of Doom

by Barry Hutchison

  She looked up and met Zac’s gaze. “I know,” she said. “Worst. Mother. Ever.”

  “Ah, young Zac. Fancy seeing thee here.”

  Zac looked to his right. Just a few metres along the cliff face, Odin was clinging by his fingertips. The Allfather’s face was a rash of bruises. His white beard was matted with blood, and one of the horns on his helmet was pointing the wrong way. He grinned broadly, and appeared to be missing some teeth.

  “I hoped we might have the opportunity to hang out together,” the Allfather said, then he hurled back his head and laughed long and hard at his own joke.

  “Where’s Angelo?” Zac demanded. His arms were shaking now, both from the cold and the effort of holding on to the sword.

  “The dragon? Gone. Down there,” Odin said, nodding into the cloudy abyss. “Unfortunate, really. I would have enjoyed seeing his head on a spike. Not in a nasty way, you understand? All in good fun.”

  There was a commotion up on the ledge above them. Four Valkyries touched down by Odin’s hands. They took hold of his arms, two to each one, and dragged him back up on to solid ground.

  “My thanks, ladies,” the Allfather said. “Thy loyalty is commendable.” He glared down past Zac to where Herya dangled. “A shame the same cannot be said for all thine number.”

  “I do not know what has come over her, Allfather,” said Herya’s mother, stepping up to join Odin at the edge of the cliff. They were both standing close to the sword. Worryingly close for Zac’s liking. “She always was... headstrong, even for a Valkyrie.”

  Odin nodded sagely. “She is a disappointment.”

  “No,” spat the older Valkyrie. “She is a disgrace.”

  Zac’s muscles screamed at him as he tried to pull himself and Herya back up. But the cold was too biting and the pain was too great, and it was all he could do just to hold on.

  “H-help us up,” he pleaded. “We’re going to fall.”

  Odin squatted down. He examined the sword, then he turned to Zac and smiled kindly. “That’s right, young Zac,” he said. “Thou art.”

  Still smiling, the Allfather tapped a finger against the ground. The sword shuddered, then sliced through the last few centimetres of ice. Zac felt his stomach do a flip and then he, the sword and Herya were sucked down into the swirling mists of the abyss.

  AC WAS LYING on something. It was sharp and uncomfortable and was digging into his back. His eyes were closed and they were in no mood for opening just yet. His ears were probably working, but all they could hear was silence, so he couldn’t be sure. His nose was definitely functioning, though. A cold swirl of decay and damp seeped up each nostril and whispered dark thoughts into his brain. They told him many things had died in this place, and that he would almost certainly be next, so it was probably best just to lie still and wait for it all to be over.

  The sharp thing in his back begged to differ.

  “Get off,” it said, and Zac realised he was lying on Herya. More specifically, he was lying on her legs with the toe of her boot poking into his spine. The sudden kick she gave him was enough to jump-start his sleeping body. He rose quickly. His eyes opened. He could still see nothing.

  To call the fog thick would be to do it a disservice. It looked almost solid, as if it had been painted on to the air in layers of white and grey.

  “Where are we?” he asked. He heard Herya stand up somewhere nearby.

  “The Nether Lands,” she said grimly.

  “The Netherlands?” Zac asked. “What, as in... beside Belgium?”

  “No, not the Netherlands,” she said. Her voice sounded muffled by the mist. “The Nether Lands. The void between the Afterworlds.” Although he couldn’t see her, Zac heard Herya shudder. Her voice became little more than a whisper. “The realm of the lost gods.”

  “Right. And I’m guessing that’s not somewhere we want to be?”

  “No,” she said. “And yes. We can get to Argus from here. If we can find the way. And if we can avoid being eaten.”

  “Eaten?”

  “There are other lost things in the Nether Lands,” she explained. “Not just gods.”

  As if on cue, something howled in the distance. Zac turned to look in the direction of the sound, but all he saw were shades of grey.

  “Great,” he said quietly.

  The fog around them was briefly lit up by a flicker of lightning. For a split second he saw Herya silhouetted in the mist. “How did we survive the fall?” he asked.

  “Nothing dies in the Nether Lands,” she said.

  “But you just said we might get eaten.”

  “Yes,” she replied.

  It took a moment for Zac to realise her meaning. “Oh,” was all he said.

  “There are worse things than death.”

  Zac nodded. “Yeah. So everyone keeps telling me.”

  The howl came again, closer this time. A second later, another one answered.

  “We should go,” Herya said. “The things down here may not need to see us to find us.”

  “I should try to find Angelo,” Zac sighed. “If he fell, he should be around here somewhere.”

  “Hello,” said Angelo brightly. Zac and Herya both screamed in fright, then immediately pretended they hadn’t.

  “Where the Hell did you come from?” Zac demanded. He was grateful for the fog so no one could see that all the colour had drained from his face.

  “Over there,” Angelo replied. “Or was it over there? I’m not sure. Is it really foggy, or is it just me?”

  “It’s foggy.”

  “Oh, that’s a relief. I was worried I’d gone blind. Phew!”

  There was another crackle of lightning and Zac saw Angelo’s outline through the mist. He was boy-sized again, and he no longer had a tail. Both good signs, but Zac wanted to be sure.

  “Are you... OK?” he asked.

  “Oh, don’t you worry, I’m fine,” Angelo said cheerfully. Zac jumped as the boy’s slender arms wrapped round him in a hug. “But thanks for asking. I knew you cared really,” Angelo said. “By the way,” he added, “is anyone else naked?”

  Zac leaped back as if he’d been electrocuted. He tried to push Angelo away without actually touching him, which proved to be just as difficult as it sounded. “Get off,” he said. Reluctantly, Angelo stopped hugging him.

  “It’s funny. One minute I’m being strangled by Odin, the next I’m here. Where is here, by the way?”

  “The Nether Lands,” said Herya.

  “What?” asked Angelo. “Beside Belgi—”

  “No,” said Zac before Herya could open her mouth. “A different one. And what do you mean? Are you saying you don’t remember what happened in Valhalla?”

  “Not really,” replied Angelo. “I remember them trying to cut my head off. That’s not something you forget in a hurry, let me tell you.”

  “Then what?”

  Angelo thought. “Not much. I remember they grabbed you. I remember... I remember Odin picking me up, and not being able to breathe, and my head going all tingly and then... And then I woke up here.”

  “What about the bit in between?” Herya asked.

  Angelo didn’t reply.

  “Well?” the Valkyrie pressed.

  “Um, sorry,” said Angelo. “It’s just, you see, I’ve got no clothes on. And you’re, you know, a girl. And so, thinking about it, I probably shouldn’t be talking to you.”

  “You are very modest for a demon.”

  Angelo snorted. “Demon?” he laughed. “I’m not a demon. Demons are big horrible ugly monsters. I’m an angel. A bit like you, but, you know? Proper.”

  “Half angel,” Zac reminded him. “Half angel and half...” He left the sentence hanging.

  “Well, human, obviously!”

  There was stillness in the fog.

  “Obviously,” said Zac, after a while.

  “He doesn’t know,” Herya realised.

  “Know what?” asked Angelo. “What don’t I know?”

  A howl interr
upted them. It sounded closer than ever, but it bounced around inside the mist, making it impossible to tell which direction it was coming from.

  “Nothing,” said Zac, remembering Angelo’s earlier rant about how horrible all demon-kind was. “Doesn’t matter. We need to move.”

  “Right you are. Should I put my trousers back on, do you think? They’ve got a bit stretched and ripped somehow, but they’re not too bad. Maybe I can sort of tie the torn bits together so they stay up.”

  “Yes,” said Zac. “Trousers. Definitely trousers.”

  There was a soft rustling of fabric. “I’m not very good at knots,” Angelo said. “Can you help me?”

  “Definitely not,” Zac replied. “Figure it out.” He turned to where he guessed Herya stood. “You said Argus is here somewhere.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You did; you said—”

  “I said we could get to Argus from here,” the Valkyrie clarified. “The Nether Lands connect all the Afterworlds, including the one where we’ll find Argus.”

  “In that case, Angelo can take us to wherever he is. He can move between dimensions or... whatever they are. It’ll mean holding his hands, but he’s wearing trousers now at least.”

  “No, he can’t. Not here. There are many ways into the Nether Lands, but only one way out. A portal.”

  “Where is it?”

  “The portal can be found right at the top of the Mountain of Eternal Torment, in the Cavern of the Endless Damned.”

  Zac winced. “Oh, great. Really?”

  “No, not really. Just kidding,” said Herya. “It’s in the middle somewhere. At the lowest point. The Nether Lands is like a big bowl with the portal at the bottom.”

  Zac scuffed a foot across the ground. It sloped slightly downward in one direction. “Right. Then we go this way.” He reached out into the fog. “Grab my hand. Then we can all stick together.”

  “Yeah, in your dreams, mortal,” said Herya. “I’ll take the demon’s hand and the demon can take yours.”

  “Angel, not demon,” Angelo laughed. “You’re such a Mrs Mix-up!”

  “OK, fine, whatever,” Zac sighed. He fumbled around until he found Angelo’s left hand. Herya was already holding on to the right.

  “This is nice, isn’t it?” Angelo said, his broad smile wasted in the fog. “This is really nice. Three friends, just hanging out, holding hands.”

  “Just what I always wanted,” said Zac. Then they all set off down the slope into the deepest depths of the Nether Lands.

  HE GROUND WAS rough and uneven. They picked their way down it carefully, relying on their feet to feel the way. Zac took the lead; Herya’s heeled boots were no good for testing the ground and Angelo... well, Angelo was just Angelo. Zac glanced in the boy’s direction whenever another crack of lightning illuminated the fog, just to be sure he was still the same size and shape.

  They had been walking for twenty minutes or more. The slope had become dangerously steep at several points, but they’d moved sideways until they’d found an easier route and carried on down that way instead.

  Three times they heard a howl, each time further away than the last. But Zac remained focused, listening for any other movement in the mist. He wasn’t keen on the idea of being eaten at the best of times, but to be eaten, digested and then passed back out in a place where it was impossible to die was, he reckoned, a definite no-no.

  “He’s got the whole world in His hands,” began Angelo. “He’s got the whole world in his—”

  “Please don’t,” said Zac, his voice clipped and gruff.

  Angelo fell silent, but only for a moment. “Give me oil in my lamp keep me burning,” he sang. “Give me oil in my lamp, I pray – Hallelujah! Give me oil in my lamp keep me burning burning burning; keep me burning till the break of day. I wanna sing Hosanna, sing Hosanna—”

  “Please stop,” groaned Herya.

  “What,” protested Angelo, “just because it’s not about... about... a giant’s knickers it’s not a good song all of a sudden?”

  “Look, no one’s singing anything,” Zac said. “It makes too much noise. You’ll attract attention.”

  “We should be safe to talk, though,” Herya replied. “So talk to me. Tell me things.”

  Zac slid a few centimetres down a gravelly incline, paused, then sidestepped on to more solid ground before continuing downwards. “What sort of things?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t that what you do on Midgard? Just talk endlessly and never actually do anything?”

  “Midgard?” said Zac. “That’s what your lot call Earth, isn’t it?”

  “No. Earth is what your lot call Midgard.”

  “Ooh! Ooh! I can tell you something,” said Angelo. If the others hadn’t been holding them, he’d have raised a hand. “Me, me. I can tell you something!”

  “Go on, then, demon.”

  “Angel,” said Angelo automatically. His mind raced through the list of topics he knew about. The focus was narrow, so it didn’t take long.

  “I have two-hundred-and-nine Hulk comics, and the Hulk’s real name is Bruce Banner,” he announced happily.

  Zac shook his head. “Jesus,” he muttered.

  “Where? Here? What’s he doing here?” gasped Angelo. He shouted into the fog. “Jesus? Jesus, it’s me, Angelo!”

  A chorus of howls rose up, some far away, some not so much.

  “Sssh, shut up!” Zac hissed. That settled it. He came to a decision. “As soon as we get to the portal, you’re going home.”

  “What? But I can’t,” Angelo said. “They told me I had to go with you. I’ll get into trouble if I don’t go—”

  Zac cut him off. “The decision’s made. Herya will come with me. You’ll go back to Heaven. No arguments.”

  “But—”

  “No arguments.”

  They trudged on without speaking for all of thirty seconds.

  “My feet hurt.”

  Zac sighed. “They’ll be fine. Keep walking.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. I’ve got no shoes on. I bet you’ve got shoes on, haven’t you?”

  “Ha!” said Herya. “You think you’ve got problems? Try walking in these boots.”

  “What, can I?” Angelo asked.

  “No.”

  “Oh, but I could just try them on for a—”

  “Seriously, demon,” the Valkyrie warned, “don’t even think about it.”

  On they walked, in single file, hands locked, down through the soupy fog. For an hour they continued like that, in silence apart from the occasional comment from Angelo. Once, he made a tuneless attempt to whistle what may have been ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’, but which might just as easily have been ‘Can’t Touch This’ by MC Hammer. He’d sighed heavily when Zac had told him yet again to shut up, and had remained quiet ever since.

  Until now.

  “Please don’t send me back yet. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  “The fog’s thinning,” said Zac, ignoring the request. “I can see my feet.”

  “The area round the portal should be clear,” Herya said. “The mist sits above it like a cloud.”

  Zac felt Angelo’s hand tighten in his. “Are we nearly there, then?” the boy asked.

  “Must be,” replied Zac. “And, yes, you are going home. It’s too dangerous to come with me. You could get killed.”

  “I don’t mind that it’s dangerous. I’m not scared of going into Hell,” Angelo insisted.

  “No, I meant I might kill you if you keep singing.”

  “Well... Well... OK. You can if you want, I don’t mind. Seriously. Just, just please don’t send me back. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

  “Come on, it’s Heaven. What are they going to do? Take away your harp privileges?”

  “They might take away my posters. Or my comics. Or both,” Angelo said. His voice shook. He took a deep breath. “Besides,” he mumbled, “I’m having fun.”

  “Fun?” said Zac.
“You call this fun?” He saw Angelo shrug through the final wisps of fog.

  “It’s more fun than sitting in my room all the time,” he said. “That’s all I ever get to do. No one else likes me, really, because I’m not a full angel. Even my mum doesn’t come round. You two are my only friends in the whole Afterworld.”

  Herya snorted. “What? When did that happen, exactly?”

  “Everyone says I can’t do anything. They say I’m useless,” Angelo said. He sniffed and blinked back tears. “And if you send me back, then that means they’re right, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, he’s good,” Herya said. “You’ve got to give him that.”

  But Zac wasn’t listening. He was looking instead at a tattoo on Angelo’s scrawny chest. The words HALF BLOOD had been inked on to it.

  “Who did that?”

  Angelo looked down at the tattoo. “Hm? Oh, that was Michael. He said it was for the best.”

  “Did he?” said Zac. The skin round the writing was red and raw. “Did it hurt?”

  “I didn’t cry,” said Angelo, but he avoided Zac’s gaze.

  “Right, you can come,” Zac said. “I mean, if you really want to.”

  “Whoopee!” cried Angelo, punching the air.

  Zac rolled his eyes. Whoopee. Who actually used the word whoopee?

  “But don’t get in the way, don’t sing and whatever you do, don’t get angry.” Zac turned and marched briskly down the hill. “We really don’t like you when you’re angry.”

  “This is it.”

  It had taken another hour or more of walking before they came to a ramshackle circular bandstand at the lowest point of the slope. It looked like it might once have been a grand, impressive construction, but now the red paint on the roof was flaking away, and the purple drapes that hung from each of the eight carved pillars were tatty and threadbare.

  The curtains were all closed over the spaces between the posts, but there were gaps here and there, through which Zac could see something moving.

  “Are you sure this is it?” he asked quietly.

  Herya gestured around them at nothing but emptiness. “No; maybe it’s in one of these other places.”