Skull of Oghren

by Tuomas Vainio

  Little by little the old stone corridors give way for more refined architecture, to the deep red walls and golden garnishes. Carpets of elaborate design depicting ancient runes, statues to remember champions and masters of the city, and so Surtur finds himself standing in the middle of the great hall. A tall muscular man in the middle of the magisters and their apprentices. He feels that almost forgotten sensation of cold sweat on his back, even if his outward appearance reveals nothing of it. They all know him, they all know how the undefeated became defeated. They have lost enemies, allies, friends, and lovers to bring him back. And Surtur feels how he has lost the support of his own family, and the connections they upheld for him.

  A woman dares to approach Surtur. A woman with fire red hair in somewhat revealing robe taking his time to make his approach almost sensual in nature. 'Ah, dear Surtur, it has been far too long since we last discussed.'

  It is Magister Marjoline Pellernier. A woman of once noble origin, one of Surtur's most persistent rivals and occasional love interest. It is obvious for Surtur that their meeting was not by chance, she intended to meet him to make sure everyone understood her dominance within the current Council of Magisters. She leans in to whisper into Surtur's ear, but she does not have the chance to utter the words, not before her body is wrapped within a whip of flames coming out of Surtur's burning hand. 'Ah, indeed dear Magister Marjoline Pellernier, and I am truly sorry for my sudden reaction, but you almost stepped on my toes with those sharp heels of yours.'

  The people blink before they slowly turn away and wander off one by one. Magister Pellernier does not smile as she frees herself from Surtur's grasp with a gesture of her own. She whips her hand as if to discard an unwanted coat. 'I hoped you would be far more understanding... You are going to make it very difficult for your new apprentices.'

  Dryly he respons; 'You should know, I only pick the best.'

  'We shall see, we shall see.'

  Finally, she too leaves and Surtur stands alone under the great dome. He knows what will naturally follow for standing up with no faction to back him up. The attempts on his life, the constant challenges, if not outright hired assassins. He begins to laugh by himself, his gaze runs upwards on the decorated walls, until he is staring right at the painted dome. At the painting of the greatest heroes and legends of the city itself, at the picture of himself as nothing but a fourteen year old boy on the corpse of red scaled dragon Nivkhaak. The same shade of red all magisters have worn ever since.

  At the end of his burst of laughter, he simply points his index finger up and utters the words; 'You are all welcome to try.' He knows that there are no magisters hiding behind pillars, or stairs nor veils of invisibility, but those words needed to be said. After all, he has not forgotten how he has always overcome challenges and grown stronger from it. And perhaps it is the time for a long due reminder.

  Chapter 6:

  Pan and Loge sit opposite to each other at the kitchen table. The old rat hums happily in between while tossing tiny chunks of cheese to his little mouth. Neither of the children ask of the wound and dried blood on the rat's belly.

  'The breakfast is good.' Loge begins.

  'It is just porridge.' Says Pan while nudging the light brown substance on his wooden bowl.

  'Do you want some sugar, butter, jam to it? The other kids have lefts us bunch.'

  'No thanks.' Pan just piles the porridge to form something of a crude tower. 'You want hear why the old rat is so happy?'

  'Why?'

  'Well, he went sneaking about in the dead of night and apparently we have to destroy the Skull of Oghren. The horse-boiled Skull of Oghren, in three months time no less, or the Rat-Kings will have us all killed.'

  The rat bursts into laughter. 'And it is all brilliant, how hard could smashing one skull be?' The old rat grins sheepishly, trying to get Pan motivated.

  The two kids stare at the rat, at each other, until Loge finally answers; 'How about just impossible because it is indestructible?'

  And Pan continues; 'Not to mention how do we even get inside the tower it is kept, let alone smash it to bits?'

  The old rat just chuckles. 'That is the beauty of it all, no one expects us to succeed, no one even expects anyone to try. As for smashing it, well, it seems a lot of talented kids frequent this house. Perhaps one or two could produce a hammer just to get the feat done. A little enchanted hammer.' Albezjer points his nose up, opens his mouth wide open and catches a tiny chunk of cheese.

  Loge sports a little smile. 'I guess it could do no harm to try... as long as we are ready to flee this city.'

  The rat's reply is just brimming with confidence; 'If we succeed, we won't have to.' And with a sudden realisation of their mortality; 'And do not worry, I'll have an escape plan ready for the worst case scenario. But trust me, I've rarely had to flee the city.'

  The old rat does his best to smile, but the two siblings do remain somewhat sketchy of the whole premise. Suspicious of their chances to ever succeed in the task, even if they had all the time in the world. But then, just then Loge begins to smile as well. She wryly utters the words; 'Well, we did slay Surtur once already, the un-killable Magister.'

  Pan just sponges his face against the palm of his hands. 'Fine... We'll try smashing that stupid skull.'

  ***

  The other kids have been arriving to their secret house of mysteries one by one. Whenever they can sneak past, or get away. Thus most of them are sitting in the kitchen and waiting for the rest to finally show up. Loge and Pan sit on the stairs leading up.

  The siblings Pallene, Mimas, and Enceladus are playing by the fireplace. Pallene commands surges of wind towards the ashes, and the younger siblings Mimas and Enceladus do their best to catch the loose ash with their almost invisible barriers. They giggle and laugh as bubbles containing the ash float slowly around them. How those dance and combine together with the smallest of gestures by Pallene until there is but one bubble left and its shoved back into the cold furnace. Not long after they start their game again. It is a way for them to build up their own mental endurance, strengthen their determination and confidence, and gain finesse.

  A little further away, Atlas is slowly carrying various boxes full of bottles and other containers for Yarnsaxa. He has just managed to get them through the window, and he brought them to the house on her request. She needs the many bottles and empty jars to contain whatever substances she manages to create through transformation. After all, most of the jars found inside the house had already been filled. Thus she happily waves towards the big boy, and helps him carry some of the boxes past Pan and Loge that remain perched on the stairs.

  And indeed, there are many rooms in the five floors above ground. More than one for each child, and the one Yarnsaxa has claimed for herself has been transformed to be her storeroom for hundreds of jars and bottles. Some sealed and some not. Matter and substances in hundreds of shapes and hues adorn the walls and shelves. Everything that the room had before has been cleared and piled on the outside, and to some extent moved to other rooms.

  Yarnsaxa runs her fingers against the glued pieces of paper markings on the jars and bottles. Pieces of paper with notations for what the substance in the jar was and what it was transformed into. It is her collection of trophies. Atlas leaves the boxes and crates in the middle of the room, and they turn to head back down only to spot little Bergelmir smiling at them. It seems he had tailed them the entire time unnoticed. The three turn to head down, and grab hold of Hip who had lurked up earlier to study some tomes on his own.

  As the four get past Loge and Pan sitting where they last saw them, the sealed door leading to the streets proper explodes open. It almost tears itself off the hinge but almost miraculously manages to hang on. What storms in is furious Pandora, her clothes partly torn, face bruised and bloodied, with her hair in such a state her own mother would faint from the sight. The twins Hati and Narvi limp after her carrying the unconscious body of Dione.

  The other kids rush towards
them. They leave the bubbles of ash fall freely onto the kitchen floor. They dash down the remaining stairs. But before they can do anything, with a forceful jerk of her hand, Pandora slams the door shut. The door frame creaks and bends in protest, but can only submit. Thus, she lets out a sigh of relief. 'Those yellow-blooded fat-tongued donkey-ass...' She shouts as loud as she can.

  Loge cuts her short by adding; 'Boys of the nearest Butcher's to Baker's block?' Atlas smiles uncomfortably as he knows most of those lads, friends of his big brothers.

  'YES!' Snaps back Pandora, and they all gain a moment to relax. A chance to inspect the unconscious Dione. As they look at her, they notice how she seems unscathed compared to the three others who had met and brawled with the gang of Baker's to Butcher's boys. As the kids stare at her silently, her left eye slowly opens, and she makes the smile all children make when caught doing something they should not have.

  'I am a girl!' She tries to protest to Pandora, as she throws a brand new litany of insults right at her.

  The twins wipe their bloodied noses, and seem somewhat happy about not having to carry and worry about Dione any more. And as they had ran carrying her for a few blocks, the twins slowly nudge further and further away in search of some water to drink as the other children focus on what remains as mostly one sided exchange between Pandora and Dione.

  As Pandora finally finishes her whole litany and vocabulary of insults at poor Dione, she suddenly turns her accusing finger at Pan, and declares that it was all his fault.

  'Me?' The one eyed boy utters baffled.

  'Yes, you! You have not been in the streets to protect your, our turf. It has been too long since you have worn that mask and put some fear of turf respect in their bones! They think they can just claim the whole district as their own turf! Nuh-uh.'

  Pan tries to turn Loge for support, but she simply nods her head to Pandora and says; 'True, it has been far too long since you have enforced our turf.'

  'Me?' Pan tries to protests once more, but the other kids are nodding in agreement against him. With a small whimper of relief Dione takes her chance to sneak to the twins to give her thanks while the focus of the groups remains shifted towards Pan. She and the twins eventually start to discuss on how they could best fix the door frame and door after Pandora's burst of fury.

  As for the other kids, Pandora is on full steam to incite them to go back out and exact vengeance onto the far more numerous and few years older gang of boys. Hip interjects the best places to catch them unaware in reasonably small groups so that they could be handle with sticks and stones.

  They are riled up and almost ready to open to door to go out, when the old rat releases a sound much louder than what one would expect from tiny old rat. He lies on the kitchen table, and encourages them to think again. He reminds them of their secret house, how they used the front door to enter. What the people think if someone clever enough saw them burst out out of thing air? What if he points his hand, and other start to look as well. Will the illusion hiding the house last? Thus he encourages them to stay, to have their vengeance on the theft of turf on some other day. After all, he has a proposition to all of them. The old rat's grin is almost to his ears when he utters the words; 'Would you like to smash the Skull of Oghren?'

  It takes a moment for the other eleven youths to grasp what exactly the rat proposed to them, and when they do, they all burst into laughter. All of them have heard the nursery rhymes about the mighty Skull of Oghren. How heroes and villains alike all came undone before its bony might. How a giant once threw Oghren himself head first to a mountain, and the mountain splintered in two. How Surtur himself had brought forth furies of fire and thunder strong enough to destroy whole armies, and there was not a scratch left on the skull afterwards. How strongest men and women had shaped weapons and struck it with all their might, only to have their own tools and bones break.

  Of those eleven youths, even with the joyous laughter, of his peers, Hip takes the rat's word into his heart. He had never thought of trying to break the Skull of Oghren, to try something where everyone else had failed at. Instinctively, jolts of electricity begin to bounce between his fingers. He thinks how could any skull withstand the fury of a thunderbolt. He almost shouts out the words; 'Let us do it.' The other children around him end their giggles and laughter as they turn to look at him. Hip feels a piece in his throat, but he manages to swallow it, and he repeats the words; 'Let us do it. What do we have to loose? In fact to continue getting better, we need a goal to work towards. So let us smash the Skull of Oghren!'

  His words begin to gain root, but after some consideration Atlas speaks out and asks the most dreaded question know to man; 'How?'

  Hip stumbles and mutters. He looses the hold of his thunder, and although his mind races to find the answer to the question, he cannot find the words to utter out, and so his eyes turn towards the rat who first proposed the whole feat of skill.

  'It starts with a hammer. Then you build a new hammer. Something stronger, better, and harder. You use it to smash the first, and then you build another, and another, and another. You will build hammers until the skull can be smashed to bits and pieces.'

  'Ah, so something for Hati and Narvi.' Atlas retorts.

  The rat shakes his head. 'Wrong. There is something you all need to do. A legendary artefact cannot be destroyed by just simple means of transmutation and enchanting.' Yarnsaxa's eyes beam up as the old rat says; 'The material of the hammer, it could be anything, not just steel.' The rat's glaring stare first turns to Mimas and Enceladus; 'Spirits of beast could be bound to strengthen it.' Then to the oldest sibling Pallene; 'It could be carried with wind so it is light enough for even a child to swing it.'

  'Colder things are easier to break.' Adds Atlas.

  Hyperion continues; 'The hammer could crack with the might of thunder.'

  The twins point to Loge and claim in unison; 'You could keep the furnace hot enough to produce purest steel!'

  Encouraged Loge continues; 'Dione's shadowy tendrils could sneak us to it!' Dione waves her hand in exaggerated protest to no avail.

  And to top it all, the little Bergelmir states with pride; 'And I could turn the hammer invisible!'

  The others fall silent. They loose some of the enthusiasm that was building up, but with a thought or few they figure invisibility could come handy when trying to sneak the hammer to the skull. Hip cannot help but to ask the rat; 'How can we even get our hands on the skull?'

  The rat smiles. 'Leave that to me. Just let me take care of that.' The old rat looks at the gathered children. A ragtag group, but perhaps the total sum would be higher than the single worth of its members. The rat watches how they spur to action, how they rush up stairs to try out what they can do. For them it is but a game to break a legend. The rat quietly sneaks down the table and goes on his way.

  Yet Pan does not quite get the chance to follow follow rest up the stairs. Pandora stops him in his tracks by grabbing and yanking Pan's cloak. As the boy lies on his back at the foot of the stairs, Pandora leans down with both determination and bruises on her face. 'Go get your mask and slingshot, we are going to drive those boys from our turf.'

  'Shouldn't you rest first, do it later?' Pan tries to ask with an awkward smile on his face, but Pandora just shakes her head in disapproval. She tells him to get ready and meet at the corner of the flower shop.

  Thus Pan gets up and reluctantly climbs up the stairs. As he walks the other kids are too busy rushing from room to room to gather ingredients and materials along with times. They are too busy in their brand new game to notice him beyond passing in the corner of their eyes. Pan climbs to the very attic he has claimed as his own room.

  Once in, he kneels before the cupboard stored in the corner, and pulls out the bottom drawer to reveal an old wooden fox mask with long ears resting over a folded black cloak with a slingshot and a bag next to it. The mask is what he wore when he and Loge first met Pandora. When Loge asked him to help the girl brawling against the boys.


  Pan's hand runs along the mask as he gazes how the artisan had sought to craft great detail into the mask, even though age has already showed its claw marks. Most of the paint has chiselled off long ago, the left ear is missing a piece at the tip, and the wood itself has splintered here and there. It almost seems like a miracle of its own right that it does not shatter on touch alone.

  The boy rests the mask on his face, it is slightly too big, but he ties the leather straps on the back of his head to hold the mask in place. His view behind it is limited, but not too much. The few perks of having only one eye left. He then removes his patch-work cloak and dons the black costume cloak that came with the mask. It is too big for him as it will lag and drag on the floor and dirt alike, but it is part of the costume. And finally, he reaches out to the slingshot and the pouch of round enough pebbles. The Demon Fox is ready as Pan groans to himself.

  The boy opens his window, and squeezes out to the roof. The Sun is glaring. He takes a deep breath, he feels the surge of Sun light on his skin. He breathes in and out, he seeks out a rhythm. It is not going to be like slow and careful sneaking through the sewers, he needs to move, he needs keep moving no matter what. He needs to fly across the city and its streets.

  Just one more inhale, it is just one more exhale, and Pan's mind is ready. He is ready to do what the old rat had him do day in and day out for months. He is ready to run on the roofs of the city. He is ready to cross the streets on the laundry ropes and to jump past any and all obstacles. Even when wearing the needlessly long black cloak.

  He walks to the corner of his own roof, and slides down along the drainage pipe. Pan gazes before him at the path of red bricks. His too long black cloak waves and flaps behind him as his feet punish the roof tiles. The ropes over the streets bend as he balances his steps without stopping for a moment, occasionally knocking down few shirts and trousers - but by the time someone decides to look up - he has already vanished over the next roof. He jumps over the tiny gabs between the buildings and makes his way through his neighbourhood.