by Alan Early
It was much colder outside than he’d thought it would be and he shivered when an icy breeze penetrated his clothing. He put on his coat, making sure to zip it right up to his neck, and rubbed his hands together vigorously.
Thunk!
He hadn’t even time to wonder what the sound was before he heard it a second time.
Thunk!
It sounded like two pieces of heavy metal knocking together.
Thunk!
It came a third time and this time he was able to pinpoint the sound. It was coming from behind the office prefab, where the storage containers were. He hesitated for a minute but then figured that somebody might be in trouble. They might have been accidentally locked into one of the containers. It had happened on another site he’d worked on a couple of years ago. As dangerous as it had been, at least it was the height of the summer then. If somebody was locked into a container on this freezing night, they could end up catching pneumonia or worse. He considered calling the security man stationed at the gate but then decided to find out what the noise was before disturbing him – besides, there might be a simple explanation and he didn’t want to look like a fool. Maybe a fox or some other animal had gotten trapped. He pulled up his coat collar against the cold and started walking towards the containers.
‘Hello?’ he called out. No answer. ‘Anyone there?’
He heard another thunk followed briskly by a thud, as if something had dropped to the ground.
‘Is someone back there?’ he called again. Still no reply. He approached the storage area. Long shipping containers were stacked in three rows of five. They housed all the materials the crew needed for excavating: safety equipment, gear for welding, drilling, hosing and nailing, spray-paint cans, ladders, ropes, screws and glue to name just a few. All the containers in the first row seemed fine at first glance, as did the second row. But the door to the middle container in the last row was wide open. ‘Danger!’ was painted in bold red letters on the front. He heard someone moving about inside.
‘Who’s in there?’ As he walked towards the open container, his feet crunched on the gravel. The harsh work lights cast his shadow far against the side of the containers, making it look like Joe was a giant. When he got near the open door, he saw the padlock lying on the ground, split open. He reached the opening and looked inside.
At first it was difficult to see, but gradually his eyes became accustomed to the gloom. A tall, dark figure was hunched over, reading the labels on the wooden crates stacked inside. He was leaning on a shovel.
‘Hey! Who are you?’ Joe asked, hoping the nervousness he was feeling couldn’t be heard in his voice. ‘How did you get past security?’
The figure turned quickly, startled. He had long straggly hair and a matching beard. Even though the work lights were faint here, Joe could still make out his grin stretching from ear to ear.
‘Oh …’ said the man in a croaky rasp, ‘Willie and I go way back.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I apologise. It’s Hallowe’en soon so I was just playing trick or treat.’ He patted one of the boxes, taking a step towards Joe. ‘You have the treats …’ He took another step forward. ‘And I have the tricks.’ With that he suddenly swung the shovel in his hand, whacking Joe in the ribs. He swung a second time and caught him across the shins.
‘Argh!’ Joe cried out in pain as he crumpled to the ground. He’d heard a loud crack when the man had hit him first and, from the agonising spasm shooting up his side, he could only assume that the blow had broken a couple of ribs.
‘Oh dear me!’ said the man in mock concern. ‘Where are my manners?’ He bent over Joe, leering down at him. ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I’m a friend of your son’s.’ Joe heard the shovel slicing through the air once more and fell unconscious the instant it collided with the side of his head.
Arthur was surprised to find a garda standing outside when he answered the door. He was tall, with wavy ginger hair and pale green eyes. He was holding his hat to his chest. His squad car was parked in the drive, blue lights flashing. The old lady across the street with the dog had ventured out to take a look.
‘Hello, son. Are you Arthur Quinn?’ asked the garda.
‘Yes.’
‘Son of Joe Quinn?’
‘Yeah, that’s me.’
‘I’m Garda Morrissey,’ he said, showing him his identification. ‘Can I come in? I need to speak to you.’
As Arthur led the garda into the living room, he imagined the worst. There’d been an accident at work with the drill. Or the Jormungand had somehow gotten out and – he didn’t want to think about what would have happened if that was the case.
Ash looked up from the couch where she’d been watching TV.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked, getting to her feet.
‘I don’t know,’ Arthur answered.
The three of them sat down, the garda in the armchair that Will had sat in the night before.
‘Is it about Dad?’
‘Yes, Arthur,’ said Garda Morrissey, ‘it’s your father. There’s no easy way to say this. He was attacked at his workplace a couple of hours ago. Attacked badly. He’s alive, but … well, he’s not in a good condition. He’s in the hospital and I’d like to take you to see him now.’
Tears were already running down Arthur’s face when he got up. Though shocked and anxious for Joe, he was also relieved that at least he was still alive. Ash put her arm around him.
‘If you’re ready to come now, Arthur?’
‘Can Ash come?’ Arthur asked.
‘I suppose so. Just call your parents first, Miss. We should leave now. The sooner, the better.’
Ruairí and Deirdre were in the waiting room when Garda Morrissey led Arthur and Ash into the hospital. They rushed to meet them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ruairí said.
‘The security guard found him and called us,’ added Deirdre. ‘Brace yourselves. He’s … eh … he’s in a bad way.’
Arthur could only manage to nod. Ash thanked them. Garda Morrissey laid his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.
‘Do you feel up to this?’ he asked.
Arthur nodded again. The garda led him into a private room.
Joe was unconscious in the hospital bed. He was topless, with a large gauze bandage wrapped tightly around his chest and ribs. More bandage was wrapped around his forehead. The whole left side of his face was swollen to the size of a large grapefruit and discoloured to a dark purple. Stitches ran across his cheek where he’d been cut. His right leg was in a cast and suspended above him by sturdy wires. A drip fed into his arm, while a heart monitor was clamped to his index finger. It beeped steadily on the screen next to the bed.
There was a nurse in the room checking the drip.
Arthur choked back a sob and said, ‘Is he going to be all right?’
‘His wounds are serious, but I’m sure with a bit of time and lots of rest he’ll be grand,’ said the nurse kindly, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder as she left.
Arthur sat looking at his father for a long time. Joe’s breathing was coming in ragged bursts; from the wheezing sound he made, it was clearly difficult for him. Garda Morrissey sat in the room with Arthur, looking out the window. Eventually, Arthur got to his feet. He took his father’s limp hand.
‘I’ll get him,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get the thing who did this.’ He stepped out into the hallway, leaving the garda to watch over his father. While Arthur had been in the room with Joe, Will had turned up and was sitting with Ash; Ruairí and Deirdre had left.
‘I came as soon as I heard,’ Will said. ‘I’m so sorry, Arthur.’
Arthur looked at them both coldly.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Tomorrow?’ repeated Ash.
‘Tomorrow. We go back to the tunnel tomorrow night, destroy the serpent, stop Loki and end this once and for all.’
Chapter Sixteen
Garda Morrissey took Ash and Will home a little before midnight and then re
turned to sit with Arthur who had refused to leave. Arthur didn’t sleep at all that night and he didn’t go to school either the following day. He stayed sitting by Joe’s hospital bed, watching his dad’s uneven and laboured breathing. At one stage, he rubbed his cheeks. Joe hadn’t shaved for a couple of days and the stubble appearing on his face was coarse and itchy. He might never get to shave himself again. As soon as the thought had formed in Arthur’s mind, he regretted it.
The garda had gone off duty at five o’clock in the morning. He’d offered again to take Arthur home, but Arthur had once more refused, settling himself deep into the hard armchair by the bed. Some time after lunch on the Wednesday, Arthur nodded off to sleep.
In a time before written history, in Asgard, the realm of the gods, Odin’s great steed gallops across the land, scooping large clumps of earth from the ground. The other gods and goddesses follow him in their chariots, barely keeping pace. The sky is dark overhead with black clouds threatening thunderstorms. There will be no thunder today, though. Thor, the thunder god, is gone to battle with the Jormungand. But it is not the serpent that concerns the gods. It is Loki. He rides in a chariot alongside his human wife. She has been warned not to speak to him and to ignore any movement from him. His arms and legs are tied together like a hog’s and his mouth is gagged. The Norns promised there was a cavern at the edge of the world that could hold him and that is where the gods are going on this heavy day.
They come to the top of a rainbow which curves downwards and away from them, over the edge of a sheer cliff. The rainbow is known as Bifrost and it is the bridge from Asgard, land of the gods, to anywhere in Midgard, land of man. Odin stops at the edge of Asgard and turns to his gods.
‘We ride for Dubh Linn!’ he announces then kicks his steed forward onto the great rainbow bridge.
The others follow, Loki’s chariot first, where they can all keep an eye on it. Bifrost is wide and strong enough to carry them all. It doesn’t so much as shudder under the weight of the gods, their chariots and their animals. They ride downwards on the sloping bridge, through the sky and away from Asgard. Green land rises before them. They can see a pair of rivers and a human settlement: stone and mud huts for houses and a high stone wall around the perimeter. This is Dubh Linn, the city at the edge of the world. In the future, it will be known as Dublin.
Odin arrives first, his steed bounding off Bifrost and onto the frost-covered land of the Irish town. The All Father waits on his horse until all the chariots have disembarked from the bridge.
‘There!’ he says to them, pointing in the direction of one of the rivers. Next to the riverbed is a large hole in the ground. It gapes wide and deep, as if a mouth had opened in the earth itself: the entrance to the cavern the Norns promised. Odin leads the way in and down through the cave. Jagged rocks surround the opening, making it seem more like a mouth with fangs than the gods are happy to think about.
From the opening, rock and earth slope downward on a gradual incline that is gentle enough for the animals and chariots to make their way down. Loki’s eyes bulge at the sight of the dark cave around him. His wife continues to ignore him. She knows he has done wrong and now it’s time to pay, and she has chosen to stay with him, whatever the cost. Water drips somewhere in the distance, echoing throughout the cavern, and stalactites hang low over their heads. As Odin rides down, he rubs his hand along the rock face. The walls are damp. It is cold, dark and empty: a suitable place for Loki’s punishment for what he has unleashed on the world.
They come to the open cavern. Although ‘open’ is not the best word to describe it. It’s true that it has a high ceiling with one massive stalactite in the centre, but the surrounding walls are close and the atmosphere claustrophobic. A stone table sits in the middle, directly below the huge stalactite.
Odin dismounts from his horse and looks up at the stalactite with his one good eye. Then he looks at the altar underneath. A suitable place indeed.
‘Bring forth the Father of Lies,’ he calls to the other gods. Vidar and Vali, youngest sons of Odin, lift Loki from his chariot and carry him to the altar. They lay him on top as his human wife steps around next to them; then they bind him to the altar itself.
‘Ungag him,’ Odin says. Some of the gods start to protest but Odin speaks over them. ‘He deserves one last chance to redeem himself. Ungag him.’
The two gods untie the gag from around Loki’s mouth. He sighs and stretches his jaws with a loud click.
‘Ah now!’ Loki says. ‘That’s much more comfortable. Although I could do without the bindings around my arms and legs.’ He smiles wryly.
‘You’ll have to get used to them, Loki,’ says Odin.
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Listen to me well, Loki,’ Odin says. ‘You are the Father of Lies, the Lie-smith, the Trickster God. You are my half brother. What you have unleashed on the world is truly terrible. The Jormungand and your other brood bring nothing but sadness and pain. Their only motive is to spill tears and blood. Because of your beasts, families have been left fatherless, whole towns and villages have ceased to exist, the world as we have known it could be torn asunder.’
The All Father takes a step forward and rests a hand on Loki’s shoulder.
‘Now is your chance, half-brother Loki. Redeem yourself and this punishment need not take place.’
Loki looks up at Odin through teary eyes. ‘Redemption? You’re offering me redemption?’
Odin simply nods. The other gods wait in silence while Loki’s human wife merely hopes.
Suddenly Loki spits at the All Father. A great wad of phlegm stains his brown woollen tunic.
‘That’s what I think of your redemption!’ Loki screams, laughing.
Odin looks down at the stain then back to Loki.
‘So it goes. You had your chance,’ he mutters. He strides back to his horse and plunges his hand deep into the saddlebag. When he has found what he’s looking for, he returns to the altar. In one hand he holds a bowl; in the other he holds a writhing venomous snake. The bowl is small and shallow. It is made of plain and undecorated red clay. He hands it to Loki’s human wife.
‘If you truly wish to help Loki,’ he says to her, ‘you will need this.’
Then he holds the snake towards Loki. It’s a viper, tongue lashing out and fangs exposed. It keeps lunging for Loki’s face but Odin has it tightly wrapped around his wrist.
‘This will be your tormentor,’ he says, ‘as you have tormented the world with your own World Serpent. I have granted this snake the gift of agelessness. From this day forth, it will never age nor sicken. It will guard you for eternity.’
Loki raises a quizzical eyebrow at Odin but the All Father just looks at the human wife once more.
‘I take away your appetites, woman. For food and water and air. You, however, will not be granted agelessness – despite your loyalty to your husband you do not deserve to share his eternal punishment. Now, have that bowl ready,’ he says. Then he flings the snake towards the rock ceiling. Rather than fall back down to earth, the snake coils itself around the large stalactite. It looks down at Loki, fangs bared. Then a single bead of bright green venom forms at the tip of one of the fangs. It hangs there for a second before falling off. The venom drops through the cavern and lands right on Loki’s forehead. He yells out in pain but doesn’t have time to recover before another pearl of venom falls from the mouth of the snake onto his face. As he cries out again, his human wife now sees the importance of the bowl. She holds it over Loki’s face, catching the next drop that falls.
‘That will be your punishment,’ Odin states. ‘The venom will fall for all eternity, dulling your mind. The only relief will be your wife catching the drops. However, when the bowl is full, she will have to go and empty it. During these moments, you will suffer true excruciating pain. Each drop represents a life you took with your children.’
‘You think this will stop me?’ Loki cries, the pain starting to subside. ‘I’ll be back. And when I am, I’ll s
tart Ragnarok. The end of everything. The end of man, the end of gods. The end of all of you.’
The gods cannot hear him. They have left already, sealing the cave behind them. As Loki rants, the bowl his human wife is holding fills up. She walks off deep into the cavern to empty it. More venom falls onto his face and the ground shakes with his roars of pain. Drip-drip-drip.
Someone was shaking Arthur’s shoulder. He opened his eyes and looked up groggily. Garda Morrissey was back and standing over him.
‘You fell asleep in the chair,’ he said.
‘Sorry. What time is it?’
‘Just after six. Time to go home, son. You need proper rest too.’
Arthur rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and nodded blearily to the garda. He looked at his dad, still unconscious in the bed. The bruising under his eye had darkened and an ugly yellow discolouration had spread to the rest of his face. His breathing was just as strained as it had been the night before.
Arthur took Joe’s free hand and whispered, ‘I’ll be back before you know it.’
‘Don’t worry, son,’ Garda Morrissey said. ‘He’ll be awake in no time.’
‘I hope so.’
The dream was still fresh in his mind on the drive home. So now he knew what had happened to Loki. He considered the new evidence that the dream had given him and guessed that the cave-in a few weeks ago had somehow killed the snake, allowing Loki’s mind to clear and letting him plan his escape. While he thought, he barely heard Garda Morrissey speaking.
‘Your friend, Ashling, is that her name?’ he was saying from the driver’s seat. ‘Anyway, her parents called up the station this morning. They said they’d take you in since your extended family all live in Kerry. Just until your father gets better. If that’s all right with you?’
‘That’s perfect,’ Arthur said, looking out the window. People were wrapped up tightly against the brisk wind and a light drizzle fell from the dark clouds. The sky reminded Arthur of the day the gods left Asgard.
Will was also in Ash’s house when Garda Morrissey dropped Arthur off. They’d used the cover story of another sleepover and they both nodded at him grimly when he entered. How Ash’s parents didn’t realise they were up to something, Arthur would never know. They all ate dinner in silence, interrupted only by Max’s non-stop chattering.
