by Ruth Eastham
At last they stumbled through the narrow doorway of the boat gallery. A cold breeze stung Jack’s face. The huge doors at the end of the room were hanging off their hinges, gaping open to the sea. The dragon boat glowed gold from the low sun streaming in. It was still sitting in its metal cradle. At least that was something.
“No need to worry about smashing the glass to get it out, after all,” Jack said with a tight smile.
“And Tor?” said Emma anxiously. “Can I see him?”
Jack rushed to the boat, and there was the body, lying as if newly asleep, untouched by the earthquakes. He sank over the edge of the hull with relief.
He heard Emma catch her breath beside him. “He really is so like you, Jack.” She fingered her archery bow and arrows in the hull, unable to take her eyes away from Tor’s face.
“I really thought the quake would have done more harm,” said Skuli. “Might the ravens have helped? Protected him or something? The rest of the room’s pretty messed up.”
Jack shrugged impatiently. “Well, they weren’t giving us much help, so you might be right.” But there was no time to think about those ravens now. The sun’s light reflected in the water, as if the bay was full of lava, and Jack’s heart raced as he checked his watch.
Fifteen minutes.
He inspected the pair of lighters; and the firelighters, all neatly laid out along the hull. The runes on his arms prickled and he rubbed hard at the sore skin. He saw that the wheels of the boat cradle were still sitting on their rails. Quickly he checked along their length, the three of them stooping hurriedly to clear the debris. “The metal’s got warped in places,” Jack said. “See that?” Sliding the boat straight out and into the water wasn’t going to be that simple any more.
He stood beneath the rope dangling from a pulley in the cracked ceiling. “All grab this! Pull on three! One … two … three … pull!”
Jack felt the resistance of the wheels against the rails as they heaved on the rope. The pulleys above them jerked tight. There was the squeal of metal against metal. “Pull!”
“More!” Skuli grunted beside him. Jack’s feet scrambled against the floor. But the boat didn’t budge.
Thirteen minutes.
Emma was staring out at the bay. She took a slight step forward. Jack wiped his face with his arm. “What is it?”
“I thought I heard something.” She pointed vaguely at the sky. “Out there.”
Jack glanced up nervously. The air was quiet. Too quiet. Not even the sound of lapping waves. Above them were the same weird metallic clouds he’d seen over the mountain, but spreading across the sky now, fusing with the dense gold of the approaching sunset.
Jack straightened and shielded his eyes as he spotted something. Two birds circling. The ravens! With slow beats of their wings, they glided down, then rose again and continued to loop.
Jack tightened his grip on the rope, wrapping it a couple of times round his wrist. “Try again!” he ordered, his voice thick. “Pull harder!”
The sun was a molten disc now, boring into their eyes so they could hardly see. Once it was touching the horizon, how long did they have until it began to climb again? Three minutes, maybe four? That was all. That would be the moment, the zero moment, with the sun refusing to set; day refusing to give in to night.
Sweat ran down Jack’s face and neck. His fingernails dug into his palms. After everything they’d been through! They’d got this far; they’d got so close! He wasn’t going to give in. He’d made a promise to Skuli that he’d help him put things right! They had to save the town!
He sprang over to the boat and gripped the edge of the hull. “Pull!” he shouted at his friends, and as they strained back with the rope, he pushed, ramming and rocking his whole body against the solid wooden hull. Pain shot along his shoulders and back. His feet scrambled against the floor, leg muscles burning…
Eleven minutes.
And then, just when Jack thought he couldn’t push any more, ever so slightly, the boat shifted.
“Yes!” Emma cried out. “Keep it going!”
“More!” panted Skuli, his face red and glistening.
“Come on!” Jack shouted. The boat was starting to slide. It was moving! Gravity was taking over. If they could get it as far as the door…
Ten minutes.
“Nearly,” said Skuli, his voice slurred with effort.
The dragon boat picked up speed. Shadows slithered over the coiled snakes along the dragon’s neck; its eyes sparked and its sharp teeth glinted. Our glorious chieftain, the runes inside the open mouth shouted in Jack’s mind. Vekell the Great.
Sno gave a whimper. He darted round Jack’s feet, looking up at the prow, his ears pricked.
The boat got faster. “Get ready!” shouted Jack, breaking into a run.
The dragon boat slid down the sloping bank and into the water with an explosion of spray. As it came loose from the cradle, it levelled itself, then floated on the water, sail flapping loose. It drifted a little way, then the single thick rope holding it went taut, and there it stayed, gently rising and falling with the waves from the bay.
“Result!” screamed Emma, and Skuli gave a shouting laugh.
Jack felt his face crack into a grin, but there was no time for celebrations. Nine minutes. He sprang on to the boat and crouched over Tor’s body. He took a long, deep breath. It was time to put the arrowhead where Skuli had first found it. Time to return the arrowhead to Tor so he could carry it back to Odin.
Skuli gave a shout and, startled, Jack looked up at where he was pointing. The Brennbjerg mountain. The dense column of smoke rising from its peak. There was a burst of fiery sparks and, a fraction of a second later, the explosion shockwave pulsed out with an ear-splitting crack.
“The plague of fire!” Emma shouted, and they stared, hypnotized as metallic fountains arched over the mountain.
Eight minutes.
Jack tore his gaze away and knelt to press the arrowhead into Tor’s hand. Somewhere close, a raven screeched. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed a lighter, tossing the other to Emma as she clambered onto the boat. Lava broke over the lip of the mountaintop and started to ooze down the slopes in a molten sheet. Globules exploded from the crater, raining down like fiery leaves.
He tried to steady himself on the rocking deck, rushing to light the first bundle of kindling.
And suddenly there was a figure standing on the rocks beside the boat.
24
DEATH BOAT
No keenest blade … could harm or hurt…
He was safe, by his spells, from sword of battle.
Beowulf
Vekell held up the fake arrowhead and flung it at the water; then he looked at Jack. Beyond, the mountain erupted in molten jets. “I will return Odin’s real gold to him and win the gods’ favour,” he snarled.
So that was it, thought Jack. Vekell wanted glory for himself. But it wouldn’t work. It wasn’t right! Carried by warrior true of heart, that’s what the ballad said. Vekell wasn’t true of heart! Tor was the one who’d shown true courage. He was the only one who could take the arrowhead.
The lava reached the mountain’s lower slopes, a glowing river of rolling folds and sparks. It razed through a stretch of forest; trees burst into flame. Jack smelled the fumes. The smothering lava swept downwards, heading for the town.
Seven minutes.
Vekell drew a sword.
Sno sprang at the man, barking, but was knocked aside with a savage punch and lay still.
Jack gave a cry and Vekell’s eyes fixed on him, pointing the tip of the blade. “Give me the arrowhead.”
He can’t see inside the boat from where he’s standing, Jack told himself. Think! Think!
“I’ve got it,” blurted Skuli, and in an instant Vekell swivelled towards him.
Jack heaved a shield from the d
eck and with a grunt of effort jumped from the boat as Vekell lunged at Skuli, the heavy metal disc glancing the man’s back. Vekell stumbled to one side and Skuli rolled hard against the rocks, clutching his shoulder.
Vekell reeled round, sword edge shoving hard against the shield, making Jack smack to the ground, then continued to advance towards Skuli.
“I’ve got the arrowhead,” Skuli said again defiantly, but this time his voice wavered. He limped backwards, gripping his shoulder.
Skuli! Jack got up, gasping for breath through his swollen mouth. He tried to reach his friend, but suddenly the ravens were in the way, huge wings spread and flapping, pushing him back towards the boat.
There was a swiping sound. An arrow rushing through the air. Vekell’s sword was knocked from him and came to rest on the water’s edge. He stood there, rocking slightly, caught off balance.
“Emma,” whispered Jack, as he tried to crawl from beneath the ravens’ whirling feathers.
Emma’s face was ghostly pale, her fingers trembling as she worked to set her next arrow. “We’ll distract him,” she hissed. “Go, Jack!”
Vekell was stepping over to retrieve his sword.
“Jack!” Emma slotted the arrow onto her bow and pulled the string taut. “Go!”
Jack stumbled to his feet, the ravens parting to make way for him.
Four minutes.
The sun was almost setting; a hovering blurred gold circle.
Jack jumped back on to the dragon boat and sprang over to Tor, to the bundles of kindling, fumbling with his lighter to get a flame.
The time must be now, the air seemed to whisper. The reek of lighter fuel filled his throat. Voices echoed across the water. Light the boat!
Three minutes.
Vekell was on his feet. Jack saw him make a run at Emma and she fell back hard, then scooped up his sword and strode towards Skuli. “The arrowhead!”
“Skuli!” panted Emma, trying to get back to her bow. Jack heard the sob in her voice as Vekell brought his sword towards Skuli’s throat.
Jack gritted his teeth and looked away. What had Skuli said that time? Sacrifice one to save all.
He snatched the arrowhead from Tor’s hands and held the gold high.
“Vekell!” he shouted, his bruised face throbbing. “I, Tor, will be the one to return the arrowhead!”
He sliced down through the mooring rope; the strands fell away instantly, and he felt the tide tug the boat and the wind swirl inside the sail.
Vekell turned; slammed his sword into his scabbard. He charged towards the moving hull and made a staggering leap.
There was a splash and a jolt as Vekell latched on to the side of the hull. The boat lurched as he dragged himself aboard.
Jack pushed the arrowhead into his pocket and tried the lighter again. And once the boat was lit? There’d be no way back, except through the freezing water. He’d swim for it; he’d have to. He clicked the button, but there was nothing. He tried again, then shook the canister in a panic. There was plenty of gas, so what was the problem? Too damp to spark? He pressed harder. Vekell’s wide shoulders came level with the top of the hull and he swung himself forward. Come on! Still nothing. Jack scanned the deck desperately for the second lighter, but there was no sign. Did Emma still have it?
Ravens circled overhead. The lava was flowing faster than ever down the mountainside. All that fire there and nothing here! Jack gave a desperate laugh as he tried with the lighter again and again. It was almost funny.
Jack felt the current catch, and the boat gathered speed, heading out into open water. He heard the helpless shouts of Skuli and Emma on the bank. He tried the lighter again. “Come on!” he pleaded.
Vekell landed heavily on the deck and slid out his sword.
There was a streak of movement and another of Emma’s arrows whizzed wide of the boat. How many more did she have? Jack calculated. He felt his heartbeat in his throat. There’d been five. That left just two.
“The arrowhead!” Vekell came at him with the blade and Jack hurled himself across the deck as the metal sliced past. It smashed against the dragon’s neck, sending up an explosion of jagged splinters. The lighter spun away from Jack’s hand. At last a blue flame quivered on the end, but as he dived to grab it, it shot overboard, vanishing under the water.
Jack twisted to dodge Vekell’s blows. Now there was no way to light the boat! No way to stop the plague of fire. It had all been for nothing.
Jack threw himself to one side as the sword jabbed forward, with such force that it embedded itself into the wood of the hull, Vekell grappling to release it.
Jack crouched beside Tor. He stared into his green eyes, and the dead boy’s green eyes stared back at him. And in that moment, Jack decided. Vekell wasn’t going to get the arrowhead. Not after everything Jack had been through; that Tor had been through. At least he could fight to stop that!
Jack pressed the arrowhead into Tor’s hands, closing the boy’s fingers round it: gold on skin.
Then, with Vekell still trying to free his sword, Jack sprang at him, fastening on to the man’s back, punching, gouging. Vekell gripped his shoulders, wrenching him to the ground; then a hand clamped on his throat, lifting him into the air.
Jack lashed out with his legs and fists. He couldn’t draw breath. His head went light. Vaguely, he saw the ravens spiral overhead, and he didn’t understand why they stayed like that, just watching, waiting. Why won’t you help me?
Vekell had hold of something; the anchor chain? Its pitted surface scraped Jack’s skin as it was wound round his neck.
Jack pulled at the metal links, gasping. Somewhere from across the water came shouting. Emma? Skuli? He saw a streak of light in the sky. An arrow? Jack’s eyes widened as he watched it coming. The chain slackened a little, as Vekell must have seen it too. The flight was on fire! Clever Emma! Clever Skuli! Aim for the sail!
But the arrow lost height too fast and fell short of the boat and was gone, the flame blotted out instantly by the water.
The chain tightened. “Skuli,” Jack murmured. “Emma.” Then there was no more breath to speak. He was slipping; falling out of consciousness as he was lifted level with the dragon’s mouth; held up against its teeth and snaking tongue and runes. Vekell the Great… Vekell the Great… His arms and legs went slack; his eyelids closed.
“Fight gone out of you, little brother?” Jack felt Vekell’s words on his face as he spoke. He heard that familiar mocking lilt.
And suddenly, fleetingly, Jack was seeing as Tor again. He was on the dragon boat as it neared the monastery, dawn light catching on swords and domed helmets. But there was just him now, him and Vekell. Tor and Vekell.
“Only a warrior could take Odin’s arrowhead back to him.” Vekell’s mouth was by his ear. “But you always were weak, little Tor. You always were a coward.”
Coward? From somewhere deep inside him some last thing snapped, reacted. He saw Tor: making his promise to the dying monk; choosing to fall instead of giving Vekell the arrowhead; sacrificing himself to stop the plagues Tor in the ice cave, horribly wounded, alone and dying, carving his warning. Coward? Jack’s eyes quivered open. Tor had given up the one thing he had left to give.
Was that the sacrifice Odin wanted?
Jack’s blood pulsed faster, a clotting knot of anger. He closed his hand around the arrowhead. He didn’t feel pain any more, only the pressure of his rage like a valve about to crack.
Is this what you want? his mind shouted.
Jack stabbed with the arrowhead. He felt the point meet flesh. The chain went loose and he slammed down against the wooden deck.
Warrior, the ravens murmured. Feathers brushed Jack’s face. Warrior of true heart. The dragon’s head swung into focus, and as the lava fumed and sparked beyond, it was as if the fanged mouth was spewing fire.
Jack never saw Emma shoot that f
inal arrow.
He never even heard it coming.
He only saw it moving through the sky as he stared up, chest heaving, cradling the gold. For those few strange seconds he was mesmerized as he watched it arch in front of the erupting mountain, leaving a brilliant trail that lingered in the air. On it swept, over the water towards the boat, reaching its highest point then starting a long, curved descent.
Jack saw the arrow strike the sail and the fabric catch. He saw Vekell stagger from the heat, bleeding at the shoulder. He saw the fire drip like molten lava on to the prow, setting light to the oily bundles of kindling.
Fire swept up the inside of the hull. Petals along the hull crinkled and pine branches flared. Flames spiralled up the mast and climbed the dragon’s neck.
“Jump, Jack!” Skuli bellowed across the water.
But Vekell had seen the arrowhead now, and he sprang towards Tor to snatch it, not seeing the length of anchor chain coiled across the deck. Jack saw him trip and sprawl, one leg snared, wrenching the chain, making the anchor unhook from its snake-shaped clasp on the side of the hull, making the heavy iron plunge into the deep, deep water.
Vekell crashed on to his chest, then his body was being dragged backwards as the anchor chain followed. His fingers clawed the deck as he was pulled towards the burning edge of the boat. As Jack stumbled up he felt Vekell’s hand grip his ankle, tight like talons, making him slam again on to his back, sliding after Vekell.
Jack kicked and writhed against the man’s impossible grip. He felt the heat increase. His arms swept in frantic arcs, fingers desperate to get a hold on something, anything.
A tree branch; fallen from the hull; one end in flames. Back curved painfully, Jack swiped it up, then down…
Right down on to Vekell’s hand, fire on skin. Jack felt the fingers spring open; his leg released.
Jack scrambled back from the heat, coughing, eyes streaming.
He could only watch as Vekell was pulled over the edge of the hull, through the flames and into the water, disappearing below the waves. There was a hot slap of ashy air and Jack shook himself back into action. He saw the sun touching the horizon; the lava reaching for the buildings at the edge of the town. He laid his hands on Tor’s one last time, feeling the pure gold spearhead there, exquisitely sharp.
