by Alan Early
‘What can it mean?’ That was Max. After having the dream for himself and witnessing the baby-napping, he seemed quieter, more subdued than usual. He’d experienced some bad nightmares after Loki’s first scheme and Arthur hoped they wouldn’t start up again.
‘Haven’t a clue, Max. Although every time I had one of the dreams before, they usually told me something that would help me defeat Loki. So maybe …’
‘Maybe it’s someone reaching out to us?’ Ellie finished for him. ‘Someone wants to help humanity? To beat Loki?’
‘Possibly. Who knows … but tell me, what else has been going on? How are the army?’ he asked, referring to the surviving members of the Viking army who had helped them fight the World Serpent. After the monster was defeated, the army had remained alive, so they were now living in the Viking Experience in Dublin, hiding in plain sight. Although ‘alive’ wasn’t quite the right way to describe them, Arthur thought. Sure, they could move and think, but their skin had shrunk and discoloured like an Egyptian mummy’s, their hair was gone and Arthur hadn’t a clue if their hearts were still beating. They weren’t dead but they weren’t quite alive either.
‘They’re fine,’ Ash said. ‘We visited them on Thursday after school. Eirik seems to miss you.’ The soldiers couldn’t talk – their vocal chords had long since withered away – but they could communicate to some extent by grunting, and Eirik was the most proficient at this.
‘What about the webcam? Find anything?’
Ash had been held captive by Loki for a short time and she had struck up a friendship with Fenrir, who had also been a prisoner. And now he had a webcam that belonged to her. The webcam was wireless and GPS-enabled, so if it was still out there she should be able to track it down.
‘Nothing,’ she said, frustrated. ‘It might have been destroyed. Or maybe Fenrir’s already gone. Maybe Loki has him.’
‘I hope not. Because if Loki finds Fenrir before we do, I have a sneaking suspicion that all hope of stopping him is gone.’
Chapter Three
Within twenty-four hours, every news agency on earth was broadcasting reports of the mysterious Dream. It was such a huge story that journalists the world over decided to capitalise the ‘D’ to emphasise the importance. The Dream – which hardly varied at all from one account to another – appeared to focus primarily on the inhabitants of Western Europe, as it hit when most of the populations in these time zones were asleep. Despite this, reports were also coming in from every other continent that the Dream had spread there also. People who had dozed off for an afternoon nap in the Americas, to those who’d slept in or worked night-shifts in Australasia, all testified to having had the same dream. Enthusiastic reporters visiting the town of Roskilde, Denmark, helped to fill the twenty-four-hour rolling news channels. There was no doubt that this had been the village featured in the Dream. Most Dreamers were even able to name the town itself – as if it was somewhere they’d actually been to – and historians confirmed that the descriptions of the Viking-era village matched how they believed Roskilde looked a thousand years ago.
No one could identify the baby that had been stolen all those centuries ago. No one could explain the Dream. No one came forward with any helpful information. And no one felt quite safe going to sleep the following night.
But sleep came and days and nights passed without any further incidents. Some people reported that they’d had another one, claiming that their nightmares of going to work without any clothes on, or of finding that they were back in school on the day of an important exam which they hadn’t studied for, were in fact prophecies of the End of Days. News coverage continued to pore over the Dream, while analysts and psychologists searched the vision for metaphors. They prattled on for hours about the obvious symbolism behind the rainbow or how the whole Dream was really an allegory for the Iraq War. They were all so busy looking into the various hidden meanings that they couldn’t see the wood for the trees. In fact, some historians who suggested that the rainbow was similar to the Norse legend of Bifrost were actually laughed off the air.
Only Arthur and his friends knew the truth, but they weren’t planning on letting anyone in on the secret any time soon. They’d spent most of the weekend working to find Fenrir. Ash had managed to hack into a security database that had access to all exterior CCTV cameras in the country. They took turns staring at chunks of grainy footage from the day of the explosion, hoping to catch a glimpse of the wolf-man and where he’d disappeared to. All to no avail.
By Monday morning, Arthur was feeling downbeat and distraught, and his right eye was tired from the hours spent examining the pixellated videos. He went to school to find the whole place abuzz with excited chatter about the Dream. Paul, Louise and Dave were eager to hear his take on it. After discussing it at length with Ash and the others, he didn’t feel like rehashing it all again so he just gave them brief one-word answers. They soon realised he didn’t want to talk and left him with his thoughts. He barely even noticed when they kept their distance for the rest of the week.
He walked home by himself every day. He’d begun the week by half-running home, hoping that some news of Fenrir awaited him there. By the end of the week – and with no further developments – he just strolled home slowly. Alone and dejected.
On Friday, as he left school behind him for the weekend, Arthur visited his mother.
Although he hadn’t been to the cemetery in months, he could still find the way to his mother’s grave without any trouble. The route would always be imprinted on his mind and he manoeuvred through the narrow, grassy pathways with ease. The grave itself had crisp, white gravel scattered over the top and a low limestone edging around it. A red lantern sat in the centre of the grave. The tiny LED bulb inside it was glowing faintly. Thanks to the small solar panel attached to the top, it would stay lit for years. The gravestone was black marble with green veins creeping through its pristine surface. It reflected the rolling clouds from the sky above. His mother’s name was chiselled out in neat Roman text: ‘Rhona Hilda Quinn, Beloved Mother and Wife’. Below that were her dates of birth and of death, and above these, in an oval frame embedded in the stone, was a portrait of her from a few years ago. Her eyes were a pale green and she had fair, strawberry-blonde hair which curled inward at the jawline, framing her face nicely. Like Arthur, she had high cheekbones and her skin was sprinkled with freckles.
‘Hi, Mum,’ he said to the open air. This was the first time he’d attempted to talk to her. After the funeral, Joe had suggested that Arthur speak or pray to his mother. It would help the healing process, he’d said. But Arthur had always felt too stupid talking like that. She was gone and she couldn’t hear him, end of. But now it didn’t feel as uncomfortable as he’d anticipated. In fact, it kind of felt right.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you sooner,’ he went on. ‘We moved back a couple of weeks ago. I know it’s no excuse but I’ve been busy.’
Some crows cawed overhead, drawing his attention. When they passed, he turned back to the grave.
‘I guess, wherever you are, you’ve seen what’s happened to me. Loki and everything. You probably know where Fenrir is now, right?’
He didn’t expect an answer but part of him still hoped for one.
‘Help me, Mum. Help me find him. Please.’
The wind picked up, stirring some fallen leaves across the grave. Apart from that, all was silent. Without another word, Arthur turned and left.
The moon was full in the black sky on the night Loki and Drysi finally left the Conifrey holiday home behind them. On their way out the door, the girl took one last glance at the restrained family in the living room. They were all gagged once more and looked to her with pleading eyes. It had been just over a week since they’d been taken hostage, but it felt like so much longer. Drysi had fed them once a day on dry ham sandwiches and water, and their faces were drawn and haggard from hunger and exhaustion.
‘Should we let them go?’ she asked Loki as he strode out t
he door.
‘Of course not,’ he spat.
Drysi couldn’t help but flinch. The bite in his words said she should have known better.
Loki, who had been standing on the threshold and gazing at the white disc of the moon, turned back to her. ‘Apologies,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have been so sharp. But think, my child: we don’t want them running to the police now, do we?’
‘No, Wolf-father,’ she said in a low voice, still hurting from the way he had spoken.
The sky was clear and she could see stars and constellations twinkling above. There was a security light that they usually switched on to see in the dark. There was no need of it tonight, however. The moon lit up everything around her. The Conifrey family car was still parked where they’d left it a week ago. Drysi could even make out the crags and craters on the moon’s broad face.
Loki looked down at her. ‘Excellent. Let’s go.’ He took hold of the wheelchair’s handles and pushed. He hadn’t been very talkative since the Conifreys had had the Dream. In fact, he’d been positively grumpy. If he wasn’t glued to the calendar, counting off the days, he was glued to the portable TV in the kitchen, watching the news about the Dream. He seemed worried about the whole affair but Drysi couldn’t understand why. It was only a dream. As he wheeled her away from the bungalow and over the hill behind it, she decided it was time to broach the subject.
‘Wolf-father?’
‘Yes?’
‘About the Dream?’
‘Yes?’
‘Have you … thought more about it?’ She knew he had but didn’t want to show him she knew he was bothered by it. It was always a bad idea to make Loki angry.
‘Of course.’
‘And?’
‘And …’ He stopped pushing her suddenly. She strained her neck around to get a better look at him. He was staring at the moon once more. The light cast half of his face in whiteness and the other half in shadow. ‘And,’ he continued eventually, ‘I think that someone is helping Arthur.’
‘The gods?’
‘Someone.’ The way in which he said it told her he was done talking about the Dream. He started off again, pushing the wheelchair down into the wide valley away from the holiday home. Luckily for them both, the ground wasn’t too rocky and the grass was short and dry, so it didn’t get caught in the wheels. It had probably been trimmed back by some of the sheep that Drysi had seen wandering over from a neighbouring farmer’s meadow.
They reached the bottom of the hill and all was bright and airy there. No trees or houses shaded the light of the moon, which seemed even larger in the sky at this point, more intimidating.
‘This will do,’ said Loki.
‘Here?’ Drysi said, looking around her at the wide meadow. She turned to Loki hopefully. ‘Will we really find my father?’
‘Do you doubt me?’
‘No, Wolf-father, of course not! But I was wondering … how will we find him?’
‘The moon links you all. All the wolves. You were born in the light of the moon. And you especially, Drysi, have a close bond with your father.’
‘He’s a traitor,’ Drysi reminded him.
‘I don’t mean that kind of bond. I mean a sort of telepathic bond.’ He leaned down closer so he was face to face with her. ‘You just need to harness it.’
With that, he gripped the girl by the shoulders and lifted her out of the wheelchair. She felt safe in his arms, clutched tightly in his grasp. He carried her away from the chair like that, with her legs hanging down below her. It was an awkward way to lift someone, but it did not bother the god. He moved her gracefully and with ease. Then he laid her on the ground.
The grass was cold beneath her back and she tried to sit up, but Loki pushed her back calmly.
‘Lie down,’ he said. ‘Relax.’
‘What should I–’
‘Shh.’ He bit his fingertip, bringing blood instantly. Drysi had seen him do this countless times since they’d been in the house, so she wasn’t shocked. What did surprise her was when he leant down and traced the blood on her forehead. He drew an oval with a circle inside it, a third eye right above her other two.
‘Close your eyes and think of Fenrir,’ he whispered.
Drysi did as he said and pictured her father in her mind. She saw him as she had seen him for the first time. When she was just a little girl, running through the fields. She hadn’t been scared when the great man with the bushy black hair and beard had called to her. She’d gone willingly to him. And then he had turned her into this wolf-girl.
She saw the thousand years she and Fenrir had spent together, recruiting more wolves as time passed. She saw him tell her about Loki and the wonderful power that he held. She saw Fenrir changing, becoming more human, more forgiving and empathetic, more loving. She saw him grow to like the humans. She saw her father decide not to make an army for Loki. And finally she saw him rescue her from a collapsed tower, saving her life.
‘Open your eye.’ Loki’s voice sounded far away.
Drysi’s eyes blinked open. The moon was brighter than she imagined and she had to squint up at Loki.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I told you to open your eye.’
‘They are open.’
‘Open this one.’ He tapped the middle of her forehead where he’d scrawled with blood.
‘But how?’
‘Concentrate.’
‘I’m trying–’
‘Open it!’
Drysi bent all her will on the eye Loki had drawn on her forehead and suddenly she felt a strange sensation. It wasn’t as if she could see through this third eye – it certainly wasn’t like looking – but rather as if the whole world had opened up before her. She could feel the world and she could sense its inhabitants.
And all she had to do was focus on her target – just sniff him out like stalking prey on one of her hunts – and she would find him.
‘Father …’ she uttered.
Beep, beep, beep.
‘Ugh,’ moaned Ash, turning over in her bed to knock off the alarm. It couldn’t be Monday morning already. She forced her eyelids to open as much as they could and took in the time on the bedside clock: 7.30 – time to get up.
She rolled onto her back and braced herself for the day and week ahead. They’d spent all weekend like they had the previous one: scouring the Internet and CCTV footage for any sign of Fenrir. And all weekend they’d come up with nothing. Absolutely nothing. So far they’d spent two weekends in a row, and any spare time they found in between, working on the secret project. She wondered how much longer they could go on like this with no results.
With a sigh, she threw the duvet back and climbed out of bed. Her laptop was on, the fan whirring away. Since the hunt for Fenrir had begun, she hadn’t switched it off once. She had a program constantly running in the background, searching for her webcam’s signal. She knew the battery she’d put in it wouldn’t die for up to two years, so as soon as the webcam came into contact with any Wi-Fi signal her program would pick it up. Of course, like the CCTV videos, this had provided zero results.
She headed for the bathroom, but Stace had beaten her to it and she could hear her showering inside. Her older sister had a habit of taking too long in the bathroom, especially if she was in the middle of a nice hot shower. Ash banged her fist on the door.
‘Stace!’ she called. ‘Hurry up!’
‘All right, all right! I’ll be out in a minute!’ a voice replied through the sound of the rushing water.
Ash sighed again and went back to her bedroom. She was usually a morning person and eager to get the day started. But today, after the disappointing weekend, she just wasn’t in a good mood.
She took a quick glance at the laptop – still nothing. Not that she expected it to be any different. Then she looked out the window. The red Toyota was still parked on the street outside – as it had been parked on and off for the past couple of weeks. She couldn’t see the occupant from this vantage point but knew who it was nonetheless
.
Detective Morrissey. He was a Garda who’d been investigating some of the destruction caused by Loki, and Ash had first noticed his car the day after Arthur left for Kerry. When he was still there on the second day, she’d decided to investigate further.
‘Detective Morrissey?’ she had said, tapping on his window as she went to school.
The man had rolled down the window and smiled wryly at her. ‘Good morning, Ashling.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m on surveillance.’
‘Surveillance?’ Ash peered at the estate around her. ‘Surveillance of who?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’ Ash was taken aback. ‘Why?’
‘Simply put, I don’t believe the story you or any of your friends spun me after the museum raid. I think you had something to do with it. Or, at the very least, you know who was behind it. Plus, the anonymous tip that led us to the stolen artefacts seemed to be in a child’s voice – and it took us to the same lake that you almost drowned in a few months ago. Then there was the suspicious injury to Arthur Quinn around the same time. Something just doesn’t quite add up about you all.’
‘You can’t just sit here, though,’ she said, ‘spying on me!’
‘Oh, I can, Ashling. Because I’m pretty certain that if I’m patient you’ll slip up and take me right to the mastermind.’
Since then, he’d been keeping Ash’s estate under tight surveillance – his own secret project. He parked in the street during his off-time, watching her and her friends’ comings and goings. Sometimes he even followed their bus to school and waited until they disappeared inside before driving off. She, Max and the Lavenders had decided not to mention the Garda’s presence to Arthur. It couldn’t do any good and would just make him worry. Anyway, he was powerless to change the situation. Ash wished they could just tell the Garda the truth, but she agreed with Arthur. The less people who knew about Loki, the better. She just hoped that Morrissey would give up soon and leave them alone.
