The Lost Gods

by Francesca Simon

  The silence in the room felt like it would last until the Wolf swallowed the sun. The Goddess sighed loudly. Thor fiddled with his hammer.

  ‘Do you want us to go?’ said Freya.

  Veronica steepled her manicured fingers, then tugged on her hair. To Freya’s surprise, she suddenly smiled broadly.

  ‘Well, that’s a bit different,’ said Veronica. ‘Makes a nice change from the usual client come to sell a story about her dates with some married footballer.’ She paused for a long moment. ‘Just thinking out loud here,’ she added. ‘So you’re Gods, and you’ve lost your super-powers, huh,’ she clucked sympathetically. ‘That’s a bummer. That must be tough. You’re top dog, and then suddenly you’re not.

  ‘You’ve still got name recognition, which is a big help, so no need to build you up from scratch. But your brand is old and tired. Let’s face it, you’ve been around, like, forever, and it’s still the same old, same old. I mean, look at you, Woden. That hat! That cloak!’

  ‘What’s wrong with my hat and cloak?’ said Woden. He bristled. ‘That’s how I am recognised.’

  ‘Yeah, before maybe, but this is now,’ said Veronica. ‘Fashion is seasonal. You can’t just keep one look, you’ll bore everyone to death.’ She stood up and started pacing behind her desk. ‘We’d need to jazz you up, make you relevant, help you reconnect to the public, get those Fanes packed and the sacrificial fires burning, so to speak.’

  ‘So you’ll help them?’ squeaked Freya.

  ‘Sure,’ said Veronica.

  She took all her clients at face value. I’m a star-maker, Veronica thought. And a star-breaker, she didn’t add. If these people, or Gods, or whatever, wanted to be famous, and had the money to pay for her services, why not? Why the Hel not?

  ‘I’m not cheap,’ she said. ‘In fact, it will cost you £30,000 down plus £2,000 a week.’ She glanced up to see how they took this. Money always shook down the no-hopers and the practical jokers from the fame tree.

  Woden took off a glowing gold armband and held it up. Eight more heavy gold bands dropped from it and clinked into his hand in a golden waterfall. He spun them over to Veronica.

  She picked one up and her manicured hand quivered under the unexpected weight.

  ‘O-kay, that’s a nice touch,’ she beamed. She’d get her jeweller to make sure the gold was genuine later. ‘Unorthodox, but I like your style, Wo … may I call you Woden?’

  ‘I have many names, and that one will do as well as any other,’ said Woden.

  ‘Let’s consider your situation,’ said Veronica. ‘Gods want to be worshipped. We want to worship Gods. The only question is, which Gods? You could say, who gets our vote?’

  ‘What do you mean, which Gods?’ said Woden. He glared at her. ‘We are your Gods.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Veronica. ‘Of course. Believe me, I’m at my local Fane most Sundays. Home-baked cakes made by my PA for you every February Feast Day. And Harvest festival. I never pass one of your altars without leaving an offering. Remember that lovely fruit basket? And the spring veg? That was from me.’

  Whatever happened to her being a hatch/match/dispatch sort of Wodenist, thought Freya.

  ‘I hate vegetables,’ snapped the Goddess. ‘Can we get back to how you’re going to make us mighty again?’

  Veronica smiled at her new clients.

  ‘Look, you’re popular. Sort of. Well, all right. Just not as much. In fact, not much at all to be honest. You’ve been away a long time and once you vanish from the public eye, other gods step up to take your place. If you snooze, you lose.’

  ‘We were NOT snoozing!’ hissed Thor. ‘We were dying.’

  ‘So long as WE are worshipped with fervour, and our rites observed,’ said Woden, ‘the false gods are of no importance.’

  ‘Just so long as we’re number one,’ said Thor.

  ‘Obviously,’ added Freyja.

  ‘Of course,’ said Veronica. ‘I only deal with the A-list.’ All right, she had a small number of D-list celebs temporarily on her books, but they were the cannon fodder which constantly needed renewing after they had their 15-minute flight of fame and then crashed charred back to earth, to watch their identikit replacements take wing for their equally brief moment in the limelight.

  Veronica looked at the Gods appraisingly. ‘I’ll be honest. You aren’t in the best shape,’ she said. ‘Woden’s only got one eye. Thor needs a haircut and a trainer badly. You all need your teeth fixed and whitened. And Freyja, a little too heavy round the hips if we’re going to promote you as a new It girl supermodel.’

  ‘My body is perfect,’ said Freyja.

  I’ll sort her out later, thought Veronica. A few rejections from model agencies and she’ll be dieting sharpish. She pushed her frozen face into a smile again.

  ‘So, reputation. Once we’ve reintroduced you to the world I can get the media on your side, polish up your image, and we can hush up any old skeletons in the cupboard – let’s face it, everyone’s got something they’d rather not have splashed all over people’s cornflakes.’

  Freyja’s hand went to her necklace.

  Thor furrowed his brow. ‘Cornflakes?’

  ‘A breakfast food for weaklings,’ said Woden.

  The phone rang.

  ‘Hold my calls,’ yelled Veronica.

  ‘And obviously you all need new clothes. We’ll get in a stylist immediately. No one will take you seriously in those old-fashioned robes and tunics. You look like something off the farm.’

  ‘We have not changed our style of dress for millennia,’ said Thor. ‘We are Gods, we are eternal.’

  ‘Well, that may go down well in Asgard, but here in Midgard we like our celebrities to keep up with fashion. And the tunic and boot look went out with the Vikings. You need to look contemporary, you need to look with it.

  ‘Download Woden. Access Thor. Yeah, I like that,’ said Veronica, mostly to herself. ‘We’ll set up a Facebook page for you ASAP. You need a Gods app,’ she added. ‘The only way is Asgard. Gods ahoy. Toga Titans. I’m just thinking out loud here,’ she muttered. ‘The other problem is, I’ll be honest, none of you look like Gods.’ She thought of all the paintings of the glorious Gods in the National Gallery, the gorgeous, heroic deities striding majestically around their sparkling palaces, full of mighty power. Not this ramshackle trio standing before her.

  ‘But we are Gods,’ snapped Freyja.

  ‘But you don’t look like Gods, which is what matters,’ said Veronica. ‘Your styling is terrible. I mean, really, honey, that way too bling necklace? Pl-eeeze. Thor, that cloak is very last century. And Woden, that hat needs an update … maybe a baseball cap would make you more accessible.’

  Woden grabbed his blue, wide-brimmed hat as if he feared that Veronica was going to yank it off his head. Suddenly he filled the office with his presence.

  ‘I am the All-Father,’ hissed Woden. ‘I do not wish to be … accessible. Without mystery, what am I?’

  ‘No, no, I get your point, yes absolutely,’ said Veronica, shrinking back a little into her swivel chair. ‘But you’re gonna have to trust me here if you’re hungry for fame.’

  There was a long pause. Veronica felt for a moment like an eagle was sizing her up for a snack.

  ‘We’re hungry,’ said Woden.

  ‘Then you’ll have to listen to me and do as I say,’ said Veronica.

  Freya saw the Gods bristle. Veronica is lucky she hasn’t been turned into a boar or something, thought Freya.

  ‘Advice given by others is often ill-counsel,’ muttered Thor.

  ‘Do you want to be famous again, or don’t you?’ said Veronica. ‘Because if you don’t there are plenty of others who do. It’s up to you. You have to really, really want it.’

  The Gods murmured. Then Woden nodded.

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Okay. Once you’re famous again, you start promoting the Gods. Where you lead, your fans will follow. We’ll have you top of the pops and on the covers of FAME and ICE
and HURLYBURLY and OH YEAH and WHIRLIGIG in no time. Plus you’ll need to tweet.’

  ‘Tweet?’ said Woden.

  ‘Talk to your fans. You know, tell them what you had for breakfast, your thoughts on the events of the day, a bit of Asgard gossip.’

  ‘I do not eat, I keep my own counsel, and—’ began Woden.

  ‘We do not talk to men!’ bellowed Thor. ‘We are Gods. We proclaim, they obey, and that’s how it is. We created them.’

  ‘I created people,’ said Woden, glaring at Thor.

  ‘They need to get their fame back fast,’ said Freya. ‘It’s really important. All our lives are at stake,’ she repeated.

  Yeah yeah, thought Veronica.

  ‘Then we need to get at least one of you on FAME: Make Me a Star,’ said Veronica. ‘That’s the quickest way to go from zero to hero. Fast fame is what I do best.’ Gimme everything, look at me, worship me, love me, fame. Keeping it is another matter, she didn’t add.

  ‘So,’ said Veronica, ‘any of you got any talents?’

  ‘Talents?’ said Woden.

  ‘You know, can you do anything special?’

  Woden looked, thought Freya, as if Veronica was a piece of rotting herring he had just stepped on.

  ‘I wave my spear, and people die,’ said Woden. ‘I can raise the dead. I can see into—’

  ‘Umm, I don’t think dead raising would go down too well on Make Me a Star,’ interrupted Veronica hastily. ‘Death not a big winner either. What else?’

  ‘I defend this ungrateful world against giants and monsters,’ said Thor.

  Veronica frowned. ‘A little abstract, not sure we can import a monster for you to slaughter. Perhaps a bit too bloody for family viewing.’

  ‘I can eat and drink more than any person living,’ boomed Thor.

  Veronica considered this. ‘Speed eating is more of an American thing,’ she said. ‘Let’s hold that in reserve. Plus I’m not sure you’d be worshipped for that, except by food manufacturers.’

  ‘You can wrestle, Lord,’ said Freya. ‘No human could touch you for strength, even now. And you’re fast.’

  Veronica appraised Thor carefully. ‘Hmmm. I have a little idea about what we can do with you …’

  ‘I can make anyone I choose fall in love with me,’ said Freyja.

  Veronica looked rapt. ‘Wow, just think if you could market that,’ she said. ‘Love potions that really worked. Oh wow, I’d sign up in a sec.’

  The Goddess surveyed Veronica with her cat’s eyes and tossed her golden curls.

  ‘I said I could make anyone fall in love with me,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Unfortunately, that won’t make you too popular with women,’ said Veronica. ‘And we want to make you famous and worshipped by everyone again, right?’

  Freyja stamped her foot. The floor shook as if a herd of buffalo had just rampaged across. Veronica jumped.

  ‘If you only knew how bored I am,’ said Freyja. ‘How much I hate it here.’

  What a spoilt brat, thought Freya.

  ‘Thank you for sharing,’ said Veronica. Honestly, what she had to put up with from her clients. ‘We might be able to do something with you as a model,’ she said. ‘But you’ll need to work on your attitude.’ And your fat hips, she didn’t say.

  Ha, thought Freya. The Goddess scowled and eyed Veronica’s silver stilettos.

  ‘I can recite poetry, the greatest imaginable,’ said Woden. ‘With words I can weave my own fame.’

  Veronica wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Poetry? I don’t think so. We want you to win Make Me a Star, not be the designated weirdo loser. How about … dancing with a dog? Or drumming? Or magic? That’s always popular. Maybe a novelty act with you in spangles, singing and juggling. We’ll come up with a signature move, making a “W” over your head sort of thing.’

  Freya saw Woden stiffen. His face darkened.

  ‘I am Woden!’ he bellowed. ‘I created this world. I am not dancing. Or performing with a dog. Anyway, I hate dogs. I want to be worshipped, not laughed at.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Veronica. ‘Let’s try the poetry angle. Maybe something modern, something rappy … it could work – we’ll sort it.’

  The Gods looked at one another.

  ‘What implacable fate ordains must come to pass,’ said Woden. ‘The time for blood-wet spears will soon be upon us. We must be strong.’

  ‘Won’t they have to audition?’ asked Freya. Somehow she couldn’t see the Gods standing in long queues for hours waiting for their moment before the judges.

  Veronica laughed. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, auditions are for plebs. I can get you straight on the programme.’

  She picked up her mobile. ‘I’ll just ring the producer.’

  Freya listened as Veronica chatted merrily on the phone. The Goddess stood, stretched, and then knelt down casually as if she’d dropped something. Freya caught a glimpse of silver tucked inside her tunic. It was the flash of a woman’s stiletto heel.

  Freyja had pinched Veronica’s shoes from under her desk.

  ‘What?’ said the Goddess, seeing Freya looking wide-eyed at her.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Freya.

  ‘Right, all sorted,’ said Veronica, clicking her phone off.

  ‘When do we tell the world that, you know, Woden and Thor and Freyja are Woden and Thor and Freyja?’ said Freya.

  Veronica flapped her hands. ‘First let’s restore their fame. No point in leaking everything at once, gotta build them back up first. Save that for a big news flash later when the time is right.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Freya.

  This job was going to be tough enough without babysitting a kid, thought Veronica. She smiled at Freya.

  ‘Well, thank you Freya, for passing your friends on to me,’ she said. ‘I can handle things for our future superstars from here. Off you go.’

  Freya beamed.

  Oh yes, she thought. No more lies and skipping school and having eyes in the back of her head in case the Gods did something awful. Why hadn’t she called Veronica sooner? She’d been an idiot to think she could manage by herself.

  She grabbed her coat. Wouldn’t it be great just to do her history homework in front of the telly and ring Emily to find out all the gossip she’d missed? Just to be ordinary for a while, and try to forget about rampaging frost giants and fretful Gods. That is, as ordinary as someone whose mum had just morphed into … Freya stopped herself from completing her thought just in time.

  ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ asked Woden.

  ‘Home,’ said Freya. ‘You don’t need me any more.’

  ‘We go nowhere and do nothing without the Hornblower,’ said Woden.

  Freya’s shoulders slumped.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Veronica.

  ‘Freya stays with us,’ said Woden.

  Veronica looked at Freya carefully. Why should the Gods care about such an ordinary schoolgirl? Was there more to her than met the eye? Nah, she thought.

  ‘You must really like her,’ she said brightly.

  Freya grimaced. They didn’t like her. They just wanted to use her until they’d finished with her.

  ‘We’ll need a consent form from her parent or guardian,’ said Veronica.

  Woden waved his hand. ‘We are her guardians. Now swear a ring-oath that you will do all that you have sworn to make us famous again,’ he said.

  The edge in his gravelly voice made Veronica’s skin prickle.

  ‘Is that really necessary?’ she asked.

  Woden held out his hand, with its heavily carved thick gold ring.

  ‘Swear.’

  Veronica hadn’t sworn a ring-oath in years. What I do for my clients, she thought, as she placed her hand on the ring.

  ‘I swear by the rivers that run through the Underworld,’ she intoned. ‘May terrible fate-bonds attach to me if I tear this oath. Wretched is the pledge-criminal.’

  The Gods nodded.

  ‘Now can I make a few more calls?’ said
Veronica. ‘You did say you were in a rush. Then we’ll find somewhere suitable for you all to stay. I’m thinking the Ritz. Let’s start as we mean to continue.’

  The Gods looked at Freya.

  ‘The Ritz?’ said Thor.

  ‘The Ritz hotel?’ said Freya. ‘Wow.’ Her heart leapt. They’d be out of her house. Out of Clare’s sight.

  Was good luck finally on her side?

  ‘Is that a palace?’ asked the Goddess eagerly.

  ‘As good as,’ said Veronica.

  She considered the strange people in her office, and the fierce girl who seemed both captain and captive. Were they really the Gods, down on their luck and hoping for a comeback? Here in Midgard to reconnect with their fans – whoops, worshippers, she corrected herself. Or were they just crazy wannabes?

  Veronica didn’t know. Or care, really. They were interesting, they were different, and most important they could pay handsomely for her services. Either way, she was a winner.

  Meanwhile

  Slowly, slowly, centimetre by centimetre, from the deepest blue depths of the ice, sea-grey bodies clawed their way up to the splintering surface. The melting ice sheets heaved and buckled, crackling and growling, as crevasses opened up across the frozen plains stretching beyond the great cliffs.

  Let’s Party

  The sound of blasting music hit Freya as she walked down her road. She’d sneak into her house, grab a few things and the precious eski, and move to the Ritz with the Gods.

  Meanwhile, she was worried about her mother, though there was every chance the apple had worn off. She’d only taken one bite after all. Freya prayed she’d find one of Clare’s bossy notes on the kitchen table, with instructions for dinner, then she’d leave one in return telling her mum … she was moving to the Ritz?

  I must be losing my mind, thought Freya. Mum would never, ever agree. I’ll just have to tell another lie, she thought. What’s one more after so many?

  My Gods, who could be having such a noisy party, she wondered. Clare would be straight on the phone to the council the moment she got home from work.

  Then Freya realised the noise was coming from her house.