The Adventures of Cat Skard

by Hart, Joan

  The girls had tried to keep up but every now and then they’d had to be roughly picked up and piggybacked by the men. Cat and Sharon dropped down gratefully alongside Amanda. Even Kiert had tumbled down alongside them, breathing heavily.

  “We cannot rest. We must move on. It is not much further. Come.” The girls opened their mouths to protest, but closed them again as they saw the serious look on the Viking warrior’s face. Once more they trailed into the dark woodland. An hour past. The party slowed as another opening appeared before them. In the shadows of the late afternoon they could make out the dark, solid shape of a wooden hut, and the sound of a trickling stream came from nearby. The girls began to relax. The sounds of the men’s swords being drawn alerted them again. As they stood, bright amber lights appeared in the shadows around the hut. They reminded Cat of the solar garden lights at home. As she watched the lights seemed to draw nearer. Hairs rose vertically on the back of her neck and on her arms. Out of the blurred shadows came wolves – huge grey and menacing.

  The men held up their shields, forming a protective wall around the children, swords at the ready as the wolves slowly began to circle the party. Minutes passed as men and animals tested each other trying to get an advantage. Inside the ‘wall’ the children also drew their swords, though Cat wasn’t all that convinced about their fighting skills. As she watched the wolves slowly begin to advance, she could see bright pink gums below snarling lips. Sharp white teeth glinted and all the while the eyes glowed amber.

  Then suddenly they were on the men. Swords swung this way and that in broad strokes, bodies of animals being tossed away only to be replaced by the next ferocious animal. For an instant, a hole appeared in the human wall and before it could be closed four wolves leapt through. Slowly they padded towards the children. Kiert sprang forward swinging his sword and shouting loudly. Terrified and trembling, the three girls joined him. They stood, backs together, facing the animals with swords held in front of them. The wolves, sure of themselves, padded forward, standing just out of reach of the swords. Then they attacked. The children stood their ground, swinging their swords as best they could. They failed to kill any animals, but nevertheless managed to keep them at bay. Cat’s wrist and arm ached, for the sword was heavy and she was not used to such physical effort.

  Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the attack stopped. The wolves stood, still out of reach, panting heavily, saliva hanging in strings from their muzzles, their shaggy sides heaving in and out. The sounds of fighting had ceased. All that could be heard was the heavy breathing of man and animals.

  From out of the gloom came THE most enormous wolf the children had ever seen. It seemed to be as huge as a male lion, indeed the fur around its neck stuck out like a mane, framing the huge head with its evil amber eyes and wickedly sharp, equally large teeth. Paws as big as dinner plates silently brought the animal towards them.

  “Fenrir.” The name was murmured as the wolf passed through the wall of men and paced around the children, stopping in front of Cat. She looked, mesmerized, into the eyes.

  “I know of your quest Cat Skard.” The words formed in Cat’s head, though she knew the wolf had not physically spoken.

  “There have been many sagas told since the dawn of time but without the magic of the ring they have been altered in the telling. Some, like the Skard in your group, regret this but others find enjoyment in such changes. Loki, for instance, is now seen as an entertaining, if mischievous god by those who read about his deeds. He has lost his evil persona and now has more power than he ever had before.

  We know you and your friends intend to return to the original events so that you may return the sacred amulet to Sigurd and use the magic of the ring to bring the stories gloriously unaltered to your time. This cannot be allowed. We will lose too much power.”

  The wolf broke off to pace around the children, again gazing deep into their eyes.

  “Mmn, dangerous yet brave for ones so young. And you with your magic and your ring are the most dangerous to us. You will not succeed.”

  The sentence finished with a snarl, then back through the men he padded while the remaining wolves moved to attack positions again.

  “G.G... Get r... ready,” Amanda whispered, her knuckles white where she held the sword tightly.

  “No. Wait.”

  A clear command from Cat. She took one hand away from the hilt of her sword and plunged it into her pocket. She pulled out a long silken thread. The children held their breath as they watched the dainty thread rise gently into the air, hang there momentarily before darting between the wolves’ legs, tying them tightly together. Straining hard and snarling and snapping, the animals were unable to move. The children made the most of the situation, rapidly moving away while the Viking warriors dispatched the snarling beasts.

  Tiredly, the party moved towards the security of the hut, sheathing their swords as they went.

  “Who... Who was that?” stammered Sharon, dragging her feet the last few yards to safety.

  “That was Fenrir. You need him neither as friend nor as enemy. He is one of three children to the God Loki, himself an evil, treacherous one.”

  Once inside, the hut doors were barred, guards sat on duty and the fires were lit. Soon the flames burned brightly, meat roasted and all was cosy. The enormity of the past struggle had left the children shaky and tired, and in the warmth of the fire they dozed while the warriors cleaned and sharpened weapons.

  The noise of wooden bowls being banged and the smell of food brought Sharon out of her dream state. Through partly opened eyes, she watched in disbelief as knives, spoons, bowls and food flew across the room to settle on the table. Slowly she pushed herself up onto jelly legs, and then wobbled towards a bench. As she sat, horns of wine flew past and meat turned in the flame by invisible hands.

  The Viking Skard came to sit beside her.

  “You look bemused.”

  “Right!” Sharon shook her head; not the most intelligent of replies but at the moment it was all she could manage.

  “When the warm air blown from the land of the fire giants met the cold pouring off Niflheim, the first giant was formed, and from his flesh came elves and dwarfs. The Lias Alfar – the white elves – lived in Alfhelm under the rule of Freya; the Svart Alfar – the dark elves – lived under the rule of Wayland. Lias Alfar help in domestic chores and they are here now working for us.”

  “What do they look like?” Sharon perked up, interest overcoming the tiredness she still felt.

  “When they feel safe and know you better you will see them, especially you who so resemble Freya,” assured the Skard, patting her hand before joining his fellow Vikings. By now the volume of talking had increased and raucous laughter had begun to filter into the conversations. Sharon, watching them, put it down to the number of horns of wine they were consuming. The noise penetrated into the other children’s sleep, for all three stirred and began the waking process. Slowly they emerged from their cloaks and came to sit alongside Sharon at the table.

  “I’m starving.” Amanda grabbed a lump of bread and meat, stuffing as much of it into her mouth as she could.

  “You’re always starving,” said Cat, but she too grabbed a hefty lump of crusty bread and began to devour it greedily. All around the table chunks of meat, bread and thick fish soup disappeared as quickly as it had been spirited up. The children ate steadily, sipping watered down wine, pulling faces at its taste but enjoying its warmth as it chased the food down.

  Loud belching filled the room as men finished their meals and sat back relaxing. Kiert followed suit, a small but definitely noisy belch issuing from his mouth. The men cheered. The girls disapproved. As unseen hands cleared the table, fists pounded the wooden surface.

  “Skard, a story before turning in.”

  The children settled themselves; they were beginning to enjoy these sagas.

&n
bsp; “Odin was the chief of the Aesir, God of war and intelligence. He was handsome even though he had only one eye, for the other one he had sacrificed to gain his wisdom. He spoke with ease and liked to express himself in verse as laid down by the Skards. He had the power to change himself into whatever shape he wished. Odin held court in a vast hall glittering with gold, which was called ‘Valhalla’. Here he summoned to his presence the heroes who had fallen on the fields of battle. Spears formed the framework of the chamber. Gleaming shields covered the roof. Breastplates lay on the benches. In the evening, the hall was lit by the flash of swords, which reflected the huge fires burning in the midst of the tables.

  “On Odin’s shoulders perched two crows; their names were ‘Hugin’ and ‘Munin’. Every morning Odin sent them far and wide to question the living and the dead, and return before breakfast to bring their master news of the great, wide world.

  “With Odin in Valhalla lived our supernatural women, our Valkyries. One day a Valkyrie called Brynhild incurred the wrath of Odin, for on her way from Valhalla she landed on the earth and in human form bathed in a shady pool. A king happened to see her and, approaching the pool, seized Brynhild’s clothing. From then on she was in his power. He demanded her help in a war he was waging against an old adversary, and she had no alternative but to agree.

  “Angry Odin pricked Brynhild with a magic thorn which sent her into a deep sleep. He enclosed her in a circle of flame. She could no longer return to Valhalla; she was condemned to live an earthly life. The only man who could marry her would be the fearless hero who dared ride his horse through the flames. That hero was our Sigurd.”

  The Skard finished his short story to loud banging on the tables, to which the children joined in. They had enjoyed the tale and were finding out more and more about Sigurd.

  The group broke up, guards changed, and then the men and children settled themselves for what they hoped would be a good night’s sleep. As she was dozing off, Sharon became aware of cloaks being pulled over her and her friends.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and just before sleep closed her eyes she saw them, tiny elves looking like beautiful young children.

  “Good night, Freya Sweoster,”[1] they called, and Sharon slept soundly.

  1 Sweoster = sister

  The Mighty Thor

  After an early breakfast of cheese and cold meats the children were ready to go on. The men too were in a positive mood after the night’s rest and were anxious to continue their journey. The air was sharp in the dawn light, with pockets of swirling mist within the trees. Breath hung like smoke in front of them; the cold of the morning giving more purpose to their quest as they moved rapidly to keep warm.

  An hour into the journey found the scenery changing, the darkness of the forest being replaced by more open, rolling countryside abundant in wildlife and flowers. In the distance the air shimmered like a mirage. The further they walked, the nearer the shimmer came until sparkling in front of them lay the still, blue waters of a lake. The sun, stronger now, began to heat up the travellers who, one by one, took off their cloaks and bathed in the warmth.

  “This is beautiful!” breathed Sharon, her arm sweeping around in an arc to emphasize her point, head tilted towards the sun.

  “This is the beginning of the land of the Vanir,” murmured the nearest warrior.

  “The gods provide good pastures, sunlight and life-giving rain. We are blessed to enjoy such an abundance of gifts.”

  The darkness of the last few days melted away in the serene and tranquil surroundings. They spent a few moments drinking in the view, feeling stronger, and then together the band moved off. A gentle breeze caressed their faces as the group continued on their way. Even Kiert had to admit that there was a certain light-heartedness in the warriors’ attitudes. They followed the shore of the lake to its feeder stream, and then struck out following that. The trickling water over the stones had an almost soporific effect, slowing their progress considerably. They camped for the night, posting guards and, after a hasty meal, settled down for the night.

  This routine continued into the next day; however towards the evening the air became heavy and sticky. Huge cumulonimbus clouds began to tower into the sky, their edges silver and gold as the sun disappeared behind them. All was still; even the incessant chattering of the birds had stopped. Then in the distance they heard thunder.

  “Do you hear that?” Amanda turned towards her friends.

  “Don’t worry,” said Sharon, knowing the problem Amanda had with thunderstorms, “I’m sure it’ll blow over. It sounds very far away.”

  “Oh, it won’t blow over.” Sharon looked towards the voice. The Storyteller was making his way towards them. “It is coming this way.”

  Sure enough, the rumblings became louder and the clouds massed themselves into huge anvil-shaped columns. Forks of lightning appeared at the base of one of the columns. The girls crowded together, hoping their closeness would reassure Amanda. The Storyteller put his arms around the girls’ shoulders.

  “Watch that huge cloud – the one with the lightning.” The girls watched, fascinated. Even Amanda forgot her fear as the cloud began to change shape. As they watched, two huge goats materialized, pulling an enormous chariot, thunder coming from the wheels as it drove with great speed across the sky. Standing right on the back of the chariot was a giant of a man, holding the reins and urging the animals on. The strength of the man was obvious, his eyes blazed and his red hair streamed behind him in the wind.

  Amanda knew her mouth was open but couldn’t seem to do a thing about it. The chariot slowed, the lightning stopped, thunder died away and calm fell once more. The man stepped down and strode towards them. Warriors greeted him like a long lost friend and the children realized that here was the mighty Thor. A smile split the serious red-whiskered face.

  “Skard! Good to see you again. How goes it with you?”

  “Well, Thor. These are your adventurers.”

  The four children were thrust forward. Kiert, chest puffed out, raised his sword in salute. The girls, unsure, stood meekly by.

  “Well Cat Skard, you have great deeds to do. Are you prepared?”

  Cat nodded. It was the only thing she felt she could do; but it was enough, for a satisfied Thor moved onto Sharon.

  “So like Freya. May your wisdom keep us safe.” Then Thor passed on to Amanda.

  “Ha!” He clapped her on the back and, unprepared for such force, Amanda was propelled several feet before gaining control. “Red-haired one, you have the fiery Thor in you. We will do well. Tomorrow we will travel together back to the time of Sigurd. The way will be difficult and we will be followed by evil; there are many who do not want us to succeed. But tonight we will prepare for battle and then feast!”

  Swords were honed, shields and helmets polished and ash spears tipped with iron. The children, anxious to show that their preparations were also in full swing, sent Kiert with their swords to the warriors for honing whilst they checked the talismans. After a brief discussion they decided that it would be of more use to divide them; for if they were separated then at least each one would have something to help them. Amanda took the necklace, Sharon the ash twig and the magic runes formula stayed with Cat.

  “We need to have a plan,” said Cat. “We need to go over what we know about the Sigurd story so far and work out what to do once we’ve managed to go back to the beginning of the saga.”

  One by one the children put their ideas together.

  “We must make sure this is an epic saga which records the deeds of its hero,” Cat said after listening to all the ideas, “and it has to be alive and exciting when you read it or hear about it.”

  The others agreed. With their heads together, the children worked diligently for some time, missing the preparations for feasting. They became aware of these by the smell of roasting meat. Mo
ving in towards the huge fire they saw chunks of meat sizzling in the flames. Thor had obviously come prepared for he had also brought mead, and he and the other warriors were well into celebrating.

  Chunks of meat skewered onto daggers and horns of watered down mead were passed to the children. They hadn’t realized just how hungry they were and set to with relish. It wasn’t until Sharon was through her third huge chunk of meat that she became aware that only one goat was tethered near the chariot. ONE goat! She looked at the carcass left by the fire, then to the last little piece of meat left on her dagger. She swallowed hard. Leaning over, she wiped her sticky mouth then whispered to Amanda:

  “We’ve eaten one of Thor’s goats.”

  “Oops!” Amanda giggled.

  “What do you mean, ‘Oops’? How is Thor going to get his chariot going?”

  “We’ll push! Don’t worry about it.”

  Sharon shrugged her shoulders. OK then – if no one else cared then why should she? Sleep came quickly to the whole company and so did the following morning. Warriors’ heads were thick after the feasting and drinking so it took some time to get it together. Eventually all were ready and the party set out, led by Thor in his chariot.

  “There’s TWO now!” hissed Sharon to Amanda as they began their journey.

  “What?”

  “Two. There’s two now!”

  “Two? Two what?”

  “Two goats – there’s two goats now!”

  “There always was,” said Amanda, puzzled.

  “No. We ate one last night!”

  Amanda shook her head. “You’re going doolally, you know that?” But Sharon was sure of what she saw. Kiert came alongside.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Oh, Sharon’s lost it. She reckons we ate one of Thor’s goats last night.”

  “We did.”

  Amanda stood stock-still. Thor’s chariot rumbled to a halt.

  “What’s wrong, my fiery one?” Thor jumped down alongside the bemused Amanda.