by Ruth Eastham
Jack watched, stomach churning. Hardly thinking what he was doing, his hand curled around the arrowhead and lifted it out.
He felt Skuli hold his sleeve; saw his look of alarm.
Sno flattened himself against the ground with a growling rumbling whine and Jack quickly tied the lead through a wooden strut of the pier. “You stay here too, Skuli,” he mouthed. “Be ready to run.” He stepped forward, holding the arrowhead like a weapon, feeling the dangerous power of it in his hand.
The kids turned to look as Jack approached, sticks in hands. A strange quiet rippled through the group, the cat forgotten. All of them mesmerized by the light reflected off the arrowhead blade.
Jack’s mouth was dry. He remembered yesterday in the woods, the way Lukas had been ready to slam that rock at his skull.
“I’ve come to cut the cat down,” Jack said, as steadily as he could.
No reply. Nobody moved.
Light from the arrowhead played over Lukas’s face. His mouth gaped open slightly, his blue lips making a circle.
“I’ve come to cut the cat down,” Jack said again, more loudly. He went towards the animal, angling the blade to cut its bonds.
“You’re dead, Tomassen,” Lukas muttered, but kept his distance. “Dead like your daddy.”
There were snorts of laughter. A burning sensation flared up in Jack’s chest. Don’t react. Free the cat. Then get Skuli and Sno out. Get yourself out.
Jack lifted the arrowhead to the cord and was through it instantly. The cat was strangely calm as he cradled it and sliced the remaining knots. He lowered the furry bundle to the ground. It stumbled up and then shot away into the bushes.
Jack straightened slowly, watching the kids all the time, pressing the arrowhead back into his pocket.
A little smile played on Lukas’s lips. He took a wavering step closer.
The kids were spreading out, forming a circle round Jack and Skuli.
“We’re going to leave now,” said Jack evenly.
Lukas ignored him. “Yesterday you pushed me over, Jack Tomassen,” he mocked. “You made me hurt myself.” The other kids moved forward too, as if they were attached with invisible ropes. “It’s vengeance time.”
Then Lukas came at him with a cry; but it was Emma who sprang to try and grab the arrowhead first. Jack spun to one side and she screamed out as the blade slashed across her fingers. She crouched, cradling her hand as it gushed with blood.
Lukas lunged again. His skull slammed Jack’s chest and knocked him backwards off the pier. Jack skidded along the stony ground, lacerating the skin along his leg. Blood from his opened-up head wound trickled into one eye. His ears buzzed with a chanting chorus. “Kill! Kill!”
He saw a fuzzy Sno going crazy, and Skuli crouched, fumbling to undo the lead.
Lukas grasped Jack’s neck, lifting him and pinning him against the wooden planks of the boat shed, then he thudded his back against a window, shattering the glass.
The kids hooted. Only Emma stayed silent.
Now Lukas had him on the floor in a headlock. Jack punched, but Lukas tightened his grip, hitting Jack’s jaw hard with his knuckles. He felt Lukas’s fingers in his pocket, trying to wrestle the arrowhead out, grunting as it cut him.
No way! Jack wrenched up his knees with a shout and heaved his boots forward, knocking Lukas away.
But the boy was looming over Jack again in a moment, giving him a kick in the chest. Another kick to his side and Jack rolled across the ground, his lungs heaving. The heavy boot swung back for another go and Jack twisted with a yell to grab it, pulling as hard as he could. Lukas crashed down. The shouts grew louder.
Skuli gave up on untying Sno’s lead. He charged at Lukas, but a kid sprang forward giving him a thump that sent him sprawling, and the mob of kids closed round like quicksand, pinning him to the ground.
“Skuli!” Jack struggled to get to his feet and help his friend, but kids were on his legs, his arms, a gritty shoe sole against his throat. He saw Emma, looking down at him, her hands limp at her sides.
“This isn’t you,” Jack wheezed at them. “Just let us go.”
Lukas spat some blood on to the ground. He was smiling. He had hold of something. A queasy panic swirled in Jack’s insides. It was a length of thick rope. Rope knotted in a noose.
“This isn’t you, Lukas,” Jack said again. “You have to stop.”
There was the smallest pause, the tiniest flicker of hesitation in Lukas’s face, then his eyes were glazed and hard again. He tugged the rope to test the tension. “Who first – you or the Troll?”
Jack’s eyes searched the surrounding buildings desperately, the closed doors, the shuttered windows.
A voice rang out. A voice to make people listen. “Leave them alone.”
Everyone stopped to look.
“Leave – Jack – and – Skuli – alone!” Emma shouted again.
A crisp packet skittered over the pebbles and into the water. Fat drops of rain peppered the surface like bullets.
“So, Tomassen,” Lukas swapped the noose from one hand to the other, swaggering nearer. “Is Ugly Eagels your girlfriend now?”
“Stop this, Lukas,” Jack said quietly. “This isn’t—”
“I asked if Ugly Eagels was your girlfriend!” he spat.
“No,” said Emma. “I’m yours!” And she rushed forward and kicked Lukas hard, sweeping his legs from under him, making him crash to the ground with a grunt.
“Run!” Jack grabbed Emma’s outstretched hand and they dragged Skuli up from the kids’ surprised, slack grips. With a swipe of the arrowhead he’d cut Sno free.
“Run!” Jack cried out. “Run!”
13
REFUGE
The wall on the outside is higher than a man, but … he made it much deeper to prevent the eyes and thoughts from wandering.
The Life and Miracles of Saint Cuthbert, Bede
“Lock the door! Bolt it! Quick! Get that chest of drawers across it!”
Jack, Emma and Skuli crouched in Skuli’s basement flat, staring up at the thin rectangle of window at street level. Feet ran past. Stopped. They heard snatches of conversation through the glass. My mum and dad are out of it… All the adults are… No one to boss us around… Do what we like!
The kids ran on, feet slapping the puddles.
Why aren’t we affected by the illness? wondered Jack. He touched his head, wincing. Why aren’t we acting like the other kids?
Outside was murky like twilight, even though it was the middle of the day. But if it hadn’t been for the weird darkness, he thought, they’d never have got away.
“Have they gone, do you think?” wheezed Skuli. His eyes were wide and scared in the gloom. He pulled down the blind and drew a heavy curtain across, then limped over to try the light switch. “Still no power.” He lit three tall candles in holders round the room, and they sat on the sofa huddled close inside the triangle of light, listening to the sounds of lashing rain and dripping water.
Jack flexed his bruised fingers. He stared round Skuli’s large sitting room, trying to block the fight from his mind. There was a gloomy corridor at the far end, a wide bench along the wall, tools hanging over it. “Got to sit tight a while longer, I reckon,” he said huskily. “Get the ballad, Skuli.”
“What’s going on?” said Emma as Skuli scrambled up and started rummaging in a cupboard on the other side of the room. “What happened to me back there? What they did to that cat—” Her voice broke off.
Jack stroked Sno, burying his fingers in the soft, white fur. He and Skuli looked at each other.
“I could feel myself wanting to join in.”
Emma bit her nails. “Getting cut, it kind of shocked me out of it.” She turned her hand over, frowning. “It hardly shows up now.”
Her face was pale as she looked up at Jack. “I
heard kids talking. You and Skuli are at the top of some kind of hit list.” She pushed her wet plait behind her back. “I’ll be on it too now. Oh god! Those kids looked like they were really going to…”
“They were,” said Jack. He saw Lukas again, with the rope, his thick fingers testing the tension in the noose. “But that’s the least of our worries.”
“It’s like they’ve changed into other people,” she whispered. “What’s got into them?”
“We should tell her about the plagues, Jack,” Skuli said, still searching the cupboard. “She needs to know everything if she’s going to help us. She’s not affected like the others. Look at her mouth. She doesn’t have the … you know, the mark!”
“Plagues?” Emma touched at her face. “What are you two going on about?”’
Jack gave a quick nod. He turned to Emma. Where did he start? He decided to plunge straight in.
“We found a dead boy.”
Emma bit her lip. “The kids didn’t … kill him, did they?”
“He was already dead,” Skuli said from inside the cupboard. “Had been for quite some time.”
“How long?”
“Just a thousand years or so,” said Jack.
Emma let out a short laugh. Then her eyes widened as what he’d said registered.
He showed her the runes in Skuli’s notepad. He told her about Tor and the arrowhead and the plagues; about the standing stone; his visions; how it was too late to put the arrowhead back.
“Oh god,” Emma said quietly when he’d finished. “The Festival of the Midnight Sun. The longest day; the shortest night. The least evil time of the year. Oh god, but that’s midnight tonight!”
She was pacing in agitated excitement now. “And there were all those deaths on the news, did you see it? All caused by freak gales and stuff. It’s not just happening here, it’s spreading everywhere!”
“The world is always supposed to be ending,” Jack said dryly. “Only this time it’s for real.”
“There must be someone who can help us,” said Emma.
“Who?” said Jack. “All the adults are sick, and we’re completely cut off.”
They sat in silence, letting the reality sink in.
“Will my parents be OK?” said Emma, tugging at her plait.
“No,” said Jack bluntly. “Nobody will be. Not unless we find a way to send the arrowhead back to wherever it came from.”
“Seek another way to send the arrowhead back,” muttered Emma, reading from the notepad. “Flames over water. A midnight sun.”
“Found it,” said Skuli, coming back with a book. The brown leather cover was hanging off and the front page tore as he tried to turn it. “You can still read most of it. There’s lots of pictures with the verses in between.” He tapped the first page. “The Ancient Ballad of Isdal.”
“Careful!” said Jack. “You’ll put your finger through it!” He took the book and laid it gently across his knees, Emma and Skuli sitting either side and craning over his shoulder. “Tenth Century,” he read, heart thudding. “Excerpt from. Origin unknown.”
The Ancient Ballad of Isdal
“In ancient times in a far-off land
Where battles were lost and won,
The Norse gods gathered in a mighty hall
And our story is begun.
A glowing hall protected by
A flawless roof of gold,
Leaves of gleaming arrowheads,
A glory to behold.”
“That’s Valhalla!” breathed Emma as they looked at the faded picture. “Where all Norse warriors were supposed to go if they died bravely in battle.”
“See the gold arrowheads in the ceiling?” exclaimed Skuli.
Jack went on reading.
“But in this hall of warriors
One held a traitor’s mark,
And from the roof a gold leaf stole
And escaped o’er Bifrost’s arc.
“Weird,” broke off Jack. “That’s the second time the arrowheads have been called leaves.”
He read on.
“How the gods in the hall lament
Thief and arrowhead,
The great god Odin fury filled
Cursed Midgard where he’d fled.
“And so four deadly plagues were sent,
Air, Water, Earth and Fire,
And the gold it must be buried deep
Else will all life expire.”
Emma shivered and they huddled closer. “Those gales we had, and all the damage they did… And this rain that’s started… What does the ‘buried deep’ part mean, do you think?”
“The arrowhead was buried in the ice cave,” said Jack slowly. “Maybe that somehow trapped its power; stopped the plagues from starting.”
“That fits,” said Emma. “But, listen! If a way to trap the arrowhead’s power is to bury it down deep, why can’t we do that again? I know the glacier’s melting, but why can’t we find another place to put it?”
“How deep would it have to go?” Skuli twisted the sleeve of his coat. “The ground round here is pretty much solid rock once you start digging – it’d take way too long!”
Emma frowned. “I guess you’re right. But there are so many golden arrowheads in Valhalla! Why would just one of them be so massively important to Odin?”
Jack tapped the next page of the ballad. “Listen to this…
“Oh Yggdrasil, oh tree of life
Your first leaf it did fall,
The winter of the gods began
In Valhalla’s holy hall.
“Yggdrasil?” said Jack.
“Don’t you get it?” said Skuli excitedly. “The Vikings thought there was this enormous tree, as big as the universe, with branches and roots stretching through nine different worlds. Asgard is the world where the gods are, and Midgard is where humans live.”
“I know all that,” said Jack. “But the ballad’s saying that the arrowhead is one of the leaves of this tree thing, so—?”
“Yggdrasil’s not just any old tree!” interrupted Emma. “It’s the tree of life itself!” She craned over the book. “Listen to the next verse:
“And Ragnorak will come at last
And end the Norse gods’ reign,
And all the leaves of Yggdrasil
Will fall as golden rain.”
Emma let out a low whistle. “So according to this, taking the arrowhead did more than just get Odin mad. It set off the beginning of the end! The end of the world… All the worlds! No wonder Odin has to have it back.” Skuli gave an uncomfortable laugh. “But this is all just supposed to be a myth, right? Odin, I mean? And Ragnorak?”
Ragnorak. The end of the world. Jack turned the page. His fingers tightened on the edge of the paper. The pictures of the plagues – they were so like the ones carved on the standing stone. And the blank panel? The one for the plague of fire? His fingers scrambled to turn over. Would this book show the missing picture?
But the next page was missing. All that was left was a ragged edge.
“Read the next bit of the ballad, Jack,” urged Emma. “Go on.”
“So will the arrowhead bring four plagues
And feed men’s worst desires
For by plague fire can the gold return
To Asgard’s hallowed shire.”
Jack paused. “What are ‘men’s worst desires’, do you think?”
Emma shrugged. “The worst sides of their natures, maybe?”
“Remember how nasty your gran was in the kafé?” said Skuli.
“I’ve never seen her like that before.” Jack grimaced. “And Petter didn’t seem to care about people being killed either.” He read on quickly:
“But a single other way there is
To set the cursed gold free,
On a death boat under midnight sun
Through the toil of warriors three.”
Jack heard Skuli gasp. “Death boat?”
Seek another way to send the arrowhead back. Those were the words Tor had carved in the ice; what he’d written on Jack’s window.
Flames over water… Jack’s skin prickled. A midnight sun. It was all starting to make sense at last. And from Skuli and Emma’s expressions, he could tell they were getting it as well.
“There surely be another way
To send the arrowhead home,
Carried by warrior true of heart
On a blazing death boat lone.”
Jack gave a short, disbelieving laugh. Sno caught his mood and leapt about, growling and barking.
“The warrior true of heart; I guess that’s Tor,” said Emma shakily. “But a Viking funeral? By tonight?”
”We need a boat,” said Jack, nodding. “We need to get Tor inside, holding the arrowhead, and have the whole thing launched on the bay and burning under the midnight sun.”
“Nothing too major then,” said Emma.
“But we have to do it somehow!” said Skuli.
“Else will all life expire,” muttered Jack grimly. He thought about that last blank panel on the standing stone and swallowed. He looked back at the ballad.
“When fire, water, air, earth unite
In the light of a midnight sun,
The curse is broke; the gold is freed
The evil is undone.
Daemon birds, a spell shall weave
To—”
He stopped and looked up the stairs to the front door. There was a tapping sound. Sno padded to the bottom step and growled, low and hostile, from deep inside his throat.
The candlewicks flared, sending shadows leaping up the walls. There was the smell of melting wax and smoke.
