by Ruth Eastham
As they hurried on, Jack thought of something the monk had said to Tor, something Petter had said in the kafé. The god of hanged men … sacrificial hangings … a favourite way to worship Odin. He shuddered as he remembered the tree of dangling bodies carved on the standing stone.
Fireworks exploded nearby and there were shouts and laughter and scars of light streaked across the sky. Jack and Skuli used the distraction to slip away.
They ran up the lane and reached the church, panting. The pale gold sun lit the carvings on the door. Dragons prowled through tangled stems and twisted faces stared out from the shadows.
Sno pressed round Jack’s legs. “Stay, Sno!” Jack hissed. He took hold of the heavy ring handle. “Once we’re in,” he said to Skuli, “you get out of sight. If something goes wrong…” – he swallowed and pressed a hand to his pocket, feeling the fake arrowhead there – “just be ready in case we need the runes.”
Skuli shook his head. “I meant to tell you. I checked them when we saw those kids.” He pulled up his sleeve and showed Jack an arm.
And Jack saw now how faded the ravens’ marks were; nothing more than faint scabby lines. The protection runes were as good as gone.
He took a breath, then slowly turned the metal handle and eased the door open.
20
THE STAVE CHURCH
Full long let he look about him
For little he knows where a foe may lurk,
And sit in the seats within.
The Hávamál
Cold air brushed Jack’s cheek as he stepped into the church. There was the smell of damp wood and dead candle wax. His shadow stretched down the aisle from the open door. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Skuli slip into a dark space between the benches.
Jack walked up the aisle. Light slanted in from small windows high up the walls and lay in pools along the strip of blood-red carpet. Wooden beams emerged from the tops of the soaring wooden pillars; ornately carved balconies towered in stacks towards the roof. Eyes watched him from long-dead faces; faded paintings inside mottled gold frames. There was a distant bang as a firework exploded somewhere outside, muffled by the church’s thick timber walls, then the only sound was his shallow breathing and his slow footsteps.
Jack reached the centre of the church. Still there was no one, nothing. Was he too late? As he took a breath, a sick feeling was drawn up from his belly to his throat. Ahead of him in the murk he made out the altar: a wooden slab table carved with ornate crosses and some kind of coiled dragon. His body tensed as a tremor rumbled through the soles of his shoes. A prayer book toppled from a bench on to the floor and he heard the dull clang of the bell high in the church tower.
The silence returned, pressing in on Jack, slowing his progress even more. He passed the benches nearest the altar and stopped. Shivers rippled over his skin and it took him a few seconds to realize what he was looking at, wrapped in white cloth and laid out on the long wooden seats. Three bodies.
He remembered the people killed in the plague of air. They had been brought here. Shoulders hunched, he stared at the corpses, feeling his confidence trickling away. Where was Emma? What if it was obvious the arrowhead was a fake?
“Do you have it?”
Jack felt his flesh crawl. Vekell’s voice echoed eerily towards him from the direction of the altar.
“Where’s Emma?” Jack spoke loudly, pushing the fear away. He stepped forward but still couldn’t make out Vekell. “I want to see Emma first.”
Vekell appeared to one side of the altar, his shadowy face unreadable. He pulled Emma into view and she gasped as she saw Jack.
“What are you doing here?”
Jack saw that her hands and arms were bound, her legs tied with twisted loops knotted round one side of the altar. There was a bruise across her face.
“You shouldn’t have come! You have to burn the arrowhead!” She struggled against her ropes.
Jack said nothing. He resisted the urge to dive forward, punch Vekell and untie Emma. She was OK, he told himself. She was alive. He took a small step forward.
“Stop!” said Vekell. Jack saw metal glint by Emma’s throat. “Show it to me.”
Slowly Jack opened his fingers and let Vekell see the arrowhead in his palm. Emma gave a choked cry. “Jack! What are you doing?”
“Throw it to me.”
Jack felt hot prickles in his chest. “Step away from Emma first,” he heard himself say. “Slide the axe towards me.”
A thin smile appeared on Vekell’s face, like he saw right through Jack, like he totally knew how feeble he was feeling, but he moved away from Emma and slung the axe along the floor.
Somehow Jack managed not to flinch. There was a jarring clang as it slid to a stop beside him.
“Now,” said Vekell. A cold impatience in his voice amplified across the high wooden beams of the church. “Throw what you have to me.”
He’s going to know. Jack’s breathing sped up. The runes were all reversed! He imagined Skuli making his way through the church, slipping soundlessly between the benches. Jack pressed down on the axe with a foot. If things turned nasty, would he be willing to use it?
“Throw it to me!” demanded Vekell.
“No, Jack,” Emma shouted. “You can’t!”
Jack tossed the arrowhead and Vekell caught it in his fist and lowered his head to study it.
He’s bound to guess. Did we really think we could fool him?
Vekell’s forehead creased as he turned the arrowhead over.
Slowly Jack lowered his arm, fingertips twitching, reaching for the axe. Be ready.
Emma’s voice became a thin wail that seemed to spiral up the height of the church. “Jack, what have you done?” It was so full of despair that even Vekell looked up from the gold a moment. And in that tiny instant Jack saw – or thought he saw – close to the glass of a high window, the fleeting shape of a raven…
Vekell’s face relaxed. He closed his fist round the arrowhead. Then he swept past Jack down the aisle, his fur cloak brushing Jack’s face as he went past. Out of the church the man went, like they no longer existed.
Jack launched himself up the steps of the altar with the axe, pulling at Emma’s ropes, jabbing with the axe blade to try and sever the fibres without cutting her.
Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke. “You should have had the funeral without me. Now we’re all dead. Everyone!”
Skuli appeared beside them and held out his hand to Emma. Before she had time to react, he pressed the arrowhead against a piece of rope and it fell away instantly.
“What?” She stared in disbelief. “But how…”
“We made a copy,” said Skuli quietly, continuing the cutting.
Emma gave a cracked laugh. “We still have it! We can still do this! I thought…” Her hands came free and she rubbed at the red lines on her wrists. Her voice wobbled with emotion. “I thought you should have carried on without me.”
Jack looked at her, then looked away. His throat went tight so the words came out all gruff. “Did you think we could?”
Emma pulled them into an awkward hug, then quickly brushed a tear from her face. “Get the rest of these ropes off me, then!” she said with a half smile. “What’s with the Viking outfits?”
“We’ve got some clothes for you too,” said Jack, and Skuli held up a baggy tunic. “The kids are searching for us. And there’s no more protection runes.”
Emma’s smile faded. “There was a big gang of kids at the end of Church Lane when I was coming up here. That’s why I followed Plan B and went straight to the museum.”
“You keep the arrowhead for now, Skuli.” Jack put down the axe and used his teeth to untie the last of the knots. Emma wriggled her legs free, then pulled the tunic over her head. Together they ran down the aisle.
“We got to the museum and then …
Jack frowned as they reached the door. “We left it open.” He fumbled around in the shadows for the handle and lifted the heavy ring of metal. It didn’t turn. He tried forcing it the other way, then rattled it in confusion.
“What’s going on?” said Emma, having a go and then giving the door a hard kick.
Jack pressed an ear to the wood. “Shhh!”
On the other side he heard a sound like liquid being splashed. A pungent smell wafted through the keyhole. Petrol?
Jack rammed against the door with his shoulder. Skuli and Emma joined in, but it still didn’t budge. Jack stared through the keyhole again. He saw a small flare of fire, Vekell’s face caught briefly in its light, then the wood went warm against his hand.
He drew back in shock as black smoke seeped from the thin gap at the bottom of the door. Dark patches appeared on the surface. Flames curled under the door, climbing quickly round the frame, making the wood fizz and spit. The carved lattice over the door caught and the fire fanned up the wall. For a few seconds, the speed of its spreading seemed to mesmerize Jack. He stood watching the bank of flames rise and come nearer, listening to the creaking whine of ancient timber heating and splitting.
“We need to find another way out!” he shouted, and they ran back through the church to the side door, the three of them wrenching the handle, hammering and kicking at it.
Jack looked back at the entrance and saw only fire. At least Sno should have had the sense to get away, right? Two of the wooden pillars were sheer flame. A blazing line moved like a crack along the wall and a bench caught light.
“I’m pretty sure this is the only other exit!” gasped Skuli. He threw himself against it.
Emma dragged a bench towards them. “Use this to try and break the door down!”
They hoisted the bench up. “One, two, three!” cried Jack, and they heaved it forward. Again. Again. But the ramming hardly dented the surface. The heavy door was locked tight.
“The axe!” There was the sound of shattering glass as a window exploded. Jack’s face prickled even at that distance, and the acrid smell hit the back of his throat, making his eyes stream. The smoke was already at waist height and rising. No time!
They abandoned the door and ran through an archway into a side alcove, but all they found were priests’ clothes, hanging from metal rails like headless people.
“Here, look!” Skuli tugged at a black curtain, revealing a low doorway. Behind it Jack saw triangular lines of wooden steps zigzagging up and up a narrow shaft, then disappearing into shadow.
“The bell tower,” wheezed Skuli, his face glazed with sweat. “I went up there once. There are windows at the top that open onto the roof, but—”
From behind them came the roaring hiss of flames and the thud of tumbling beams. Sparks sprayed through the air, sizzling holes in the fabric of the curtain. There was no time to think as they tore through the low door and pelted up the steps. No time to talk things through. No way back. No way to realize they were climbing straight into a death trap.
21
NO ESCAPE
The fire raged,
The earth was rocked.
Völsunga Saga
Jack sprang upwards, feeling the vibration in the staircase as the others pounded after him. His hand skimmed the rusty railing, hardly touching the flimsy metal. Glancing down, he saw smoke rising in a dense column.
“Faster!” he yelled to the others. What had Skuli said? Windows at the top that open on to the roof.
The tower narrowed, the stairs becoming shorter and steeper as they got higher. Finally they reached a narrow balcony. There were no more steps, only wooden struts fixed in a spiral above them.
“See the windows?”
Skuli pointed and Jack spotted circles of glass overhead like gaping mouths.
“We’ll have to climb up to them. You first, Emma.” Jack hoisted her up, then Skuli. “Go! ”
Smoke surged up over Jack as he searched for footholds, using the angled planks as a freakish ladder. A strut snapped and his foot dangled helplessly. He’d bitten his tongue and he tasted blood between his teeth. He thought of Tor as he kicked about and finally found a grip. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up, moving as fast as his throbbing muscles would let him. Faster than they would let him.
But the slip had lost him precious seconds. A dense smell of burning stung his throat, and it was painful when he swallowed. He saw the bell above him. Wisps of smoke slithered up its black surface and gushed out through an opening. Jack struggled to see. His eyes watered painfully. Sweat slid down his face, stinging his lids. There was a rising draught of heat. He could hear crashing sounds below, a tearing growl, and now there were spiky flames beneath him, reaching up through the smoke.
“Skuli?” he called, breaking into a fit of coughing. “Emma?” He couldn’t see them. He struggled for breath in the toxic air. If he made it to a window without falling, what then? Did it really open on to the roof? And even if it did… He wedged himself between two struts, desperation growing.
Another tremor started. Jack’s Viking helmet slipped from his head, and he watched it plunge down the shaft. He gripped the shuddering wood strips tight, his arms and legs burning with the effort.
The bell rang. An explosion of sound vibrated right through Jack as he clung there, wincing at the noise, trying not to think about the tower collapsing; trying not to think about falling into that pit of flames at the bottom of the shaft.
The clanging slowed. Jack levered himself up, his vision blurred in the suffocating smoke, his breathing quick and shallow. His lungs felt like they were turning to cement. He reached up and his fingers curled over a jutting ledge. He gritted his teeth and forced his other hand up to grip it. He prised himself up with his elbows.
Then all at once hands were pulling him. He was hoisted up and then slipped forward on his stomach.
There was a shock of fresher air. He gulped oxygen into his body. A breeze cooled his face as he rested it against a steeply sloping roof. He saw wood tiles stretching away, the ground a long way down, and beyond them black clouds billowing over the carved crosses and dragon heads. Skuli and Emma sat slumped and panting.
Jack lurched to his feet. “Go on!” he wheezed at them. “Get up!” He gripped Emma’s hand to pull her to her feet. “We have to get off this roof!”
Taking scuttling sideways steps, he set off. Heat radiated through the tiles. Not too fast, he warned himself, steadying his feet against the gradient. You’ll be straight over the edge!
But now he saw metallic ribbons of fire stretching across nearby sections of the church roofs. One of them collapsed, giving way to leaping clusters of flame. Thick smoke poured from the bell tower. Gleaming ash spun through the air, raining down on to them. The burning church, a beacon on the hill. You’d see it for miles. Jack thought about the kids and swallowed. Sno will have got away, right?
The sun was approaching the horizon, its gold light merging with the sparks and floating embers, and that strange bank of cloud was still oozing round the peak of the mountain. It seemed denser now, threads of coloured light sparking through. What was that? Jack wondered.
The roof ended and they wobbled on the brink. Jack looked down. It was still a long way to the ground; too far to jump, not without doing serious damage. So much for the useless ravens. Where were they when you needed them? He pressed one foot experimentally on the guttering, but its brittle rusted joints snapped and a whole section came away.
Jack licked his cracked lips, his chest heaving. So shinning down the drainpipe wasn’t an option… What now? Jump and hope they didn’t break too many bones? The bottom of his boots felt tacky against the wood beam that bordered the roof. The smell of melting rubber mixed with the bitter fumes of the fire. His fingers raked his hair. Soon there wouldn’t be any other option; no other choice but to jump, fall.
Emma’s eyes sca
nned round wildly and she tugged at Jack’s arm. “The flag pole?”
Skuli shook his head. “Too far.”
But Jack stared across at the smooth tapering rod with rope twanging against it. The flag twitched at the top, the emblem of Isdal peppered with burn marks from the hot ash; its blue sea background; its gold sun; its two black birds with spread wings. “So there you are, ravens,” he muttered.
He leaned out as far as he dared, almost touching the edge of the flag. Almost. And with a bit of a run-up, a lucky grab on the rope… Jack measured the distance mentally. If he could do it, the others would know to follow and he could try and get a hold of them when they jumped and…
A section of roof nearer to them collapsed with a roar, and Skuli gave a cry.
A silly, nervy commentary started running through Jack’s mind. He couldn’t stop it. And so we come to the final penalty of this gruelling shoot-out. He went back up the roof as far as he dared. There was no time to wonder if the pole would take his weight; one thing he knew for sure was that the roof wouldn’t do so much longer.
If Tomassen can save this, the title of world champions will be theirs. If not…
He turned. Tomassen’s in the box, never once taking his eyes off the ball … as the striker SHOOTS…
He ran full pelt down the roof, forcing out a bellowing cry to drive himself on.
Tomassen dives…
He got to the edge and vaulted forward, and then he was reaching with arms stretched. Reaching … Further, further…
Time slowed down. Jack arched over the gap of air. His body extended as if it was about to snap. There was the brief feeling of flying, then the tug of gravity. His fingers strained and clutched for the flag rope.
His chest smacked the pole, crushing the air out of his lungs. White light burst across his skull. His insides were being rattled, like coins in a moneybox. But he was on the flag pole! His arms and legs wrapped tightly round it, his heart thumping against the slippery painted surface, the rope balled round his fist.
