Odin Blew Up My TV!

by Robert J. Harris

  “Some game, eh, Lewis?” said Greg. “They should show it on Match of the Day.”

  Greg accepted a flagon of ale from Gruklob and took a gulp that nearly choked him.

  “It’s like drinking dishwater!” he croaked, spitting out the foul mouthful.

  “Come on,” said Lewis. He pulled the red rag loose of the rod and tossed it aside. “While they’re partying they won’t notice us sneaking off.”

  They had no problem clambering over the flimsy fence, and dashed off through the woodland, elated with their success.

  When they reached a clearing they paused to examine their prize.

  “Not much to look at, is it?” said Greg. “It looks like an ordinary piece of wood.”

  “Maybe you need to switch it on,” said Lewis, taking a firm grip on the rod. As his ring pressed against it, rows of runes lit up all down its length – symbols from the ancient Viking alphabet, signifying the power of the gods.

  “That’s more like it,” said Greg. “Now we’ve got magic.”

  “I can feel it pulling me,” said Lewis. “Just like the rings did.”

  “Of course,” said Greg. “It’s going to lead us to the next piece of the staff.”

  “Let’s go then,” said Lewis, hanging onto the rod and leading the way.

  Gradually the power of the staff drew them along until they reached a grassy glade.

  “What’s going on?” asked Greg. “Why have we stopped?”

  “It’s not tugging any more,” said Lewis. “I’m just getting a weird tingling sensation all down my arm.”

  “Say, do you feel the ground shaking?” asked Greg.

  At that exact moment the earth gave way beneath them and they tumbled down into darkness.

  17. GHOSTBASHERS

  Screeches and howls echoed throughout the derelict castle as Sigurda and Susie slowly climbed the stairs. Susie felt her skin crawl and it took all her nerve to keep going. Maybe these ghosts would turn out to be a trick pulled by some old janitor with hidden speakers and holographic projections. But she knew this wasn’t a cartoon. These truly were spirits from the land of the dead.

  “No wonder the folk that used to live here flitted some place else,” she said.

  A diaphanous shape, wavering like a reflection in water, swept down the steps towards them. Sigurda stiffened and Susie pulled away. The edge of a fluttering sleeve touched Susie’s bare arm as the apparition passed. Her whole body shook as though a bucket of ice water had been dashed over her.

  “Eeugh!” she cried. “That was nasty!”

  The ghost floated on down the stairs and disappeared through an archway.

  “They carry with them the deathly chill of the shadowy realm from which they have escaped,” said Sigurda. It was impossible to imagine the Valkyrie being afraid, but Susie could tell she was definitely on edge.

  “I would rather face a more fleshly foe,” Sigurda said through gritted teeth, “no matter how large or ferocious. My well-forged steel is of little avail against phantoms.”

  “Yes, you might as well poke a stick at them for all the good it will do,” Susie agreed. “But they can’t really hurt us, can they? I mean they’re not even solid. It’s like they’re made of smoke or gas or something.”

  “The wind that gusts down from the icy north is as insubstantial as they,” said Sigurda, “yet it can freeze the blood in your veins.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard about people dying from cold,” said Susie. “Brrr… I don’t fancy that much.”

  At the top of the stairs they found a long hall stretching before them, the floor covered with the disintegrated remains of an ancient carpet. Here and there the floor had given way and they had to make their way carefully around the yawning holes. Above them parts of the roof had fallen in, admitting thin streamers of sunlight.

  All down one wall were carvings of giants, trolls, dwarfs and men, joined in battle, with axes falling on heads and arrows whizzing through the air. The opposite wall was carved with scenes of the sea, ships at full sail and serpents rising up from the depths with jaws wide open to devour the unsuspecting sailors. Interrupting the carvings were several open archways on both walls, leading to side passages that disappeared into a far-off gloom.

  As they walked down the hall, ghosts emerged from the empty archways and swooped about them before vanishing back into the darkness. One of them hovered above the dusty floor for a few seconds then flew straight at Susie. She slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream as the ghastly face leered at her, its horrid breath like an arctic blast. With a giggling laugh the apparition fluttered off and disappeared.

  Susie lowered her hand and took a deep breath. “I wish Greg was here to say something funny,” she gasped.

  The prompting of the ring led her to a door in the far corner of the great hall. This opened onto a spiral stairway that twisted upward out of sight.

  “This must be one of the towers,” said Sigurda. “Let us ascend.”

  Some of the stones beneath their feet felt loose and Susie was half afraid that the whole stairway would collapse and bury them.

  “The staff piece couldn’t just be hanging by the front door, could it,” she muttered. “No, that would be too easy.”

  “Take heart, Susie,” Sigurda encouraged her. “We are nearly at the end of our quest.”

  “The ring is tingling like mad,” said Susie as they reached a door at the top of the tower. “The staff must be in there.”

  Eager to get off the unsteady steps, she pulled at the door and it creaked open to reveal the room beyond. Most of the roof was gone, leaving it exposed to the sky. The floor was covered in cracks and looked like it might cave in at any moment.

  But that wasn’t the worst of it.

  “Oh no!” Susie gasped.

  A crowd of phantoms, too numerous to count, swarmed the chamber. They melted into each other and separated again, their pale, drawn faces distorting like images in a broken mirror.

  Sigurda peered into the room, trying to see through the misty forms of the ghosts to the far side. “There is a hollow in the far wall,” she said. “I can see the staff piece rests there.”

  “You’ve got good eyesight,” said Susie. “It’s like staring into a fog.”

  All at once the ghosts fixed the two intruders with a hostile glare that made Susie think of the phrase, ‘If looks could kill’. From their quivering lips came a horrendous howl that echoed off the walls.

  “Ow! What a row!” Susie cried, reeling back and clamping her hands over her ears.

  “The magical energy of the staff has drawn them here and they throng about it like moths round a flame,” said Sigurda.

  “Bad luck for us,” said Susie. “I don’t suppose they’d leave if we told them there was a Halloween party downstairs.”

  As if in answer to the suggestion, the ghosts glared at them and redoubled their eerie din.

  “We must attempt to retrieve the staff,” said Sigurda, “whatever the cost.”

  “Hang on, Sigurda,” said Susie, placing a cautious hand on the Valkyrie’s arm. “We’ll never get through that lot without freezing to death.”

  “You speak in sooth,” Sigurda agreed ruefully. “Before we reach the staff the blood will likely freeze in our veins and we will fall dead upon the floor.” She stared grimly at the mob of ghosts. “Still, if that is our fate…”

  “Look, Sigurda, do you want to die or do you want to get the staff?” Susie asked pointedly.

  Sigurda pondered the question for a moment. “It would not be a glorious death,” she concluded.

  “No, it wouldn’t,” said Susie.

  Sigurda shook her sword in agitation. “So what are we to do? What course is there to follow?”

  “Methinks, Sigurda, that we verily need to use our brains,” said Susie, “like Lewis would do if he was here.” She rubbed her nose hard, as if that might stir up some ideas. “It seems to me, if they can freeze us to death like you say, why do they waste their time making
faces and shrieking just to scare us?”

  “I know not. It is the way of their kind.”

  Susie could feel an idea forming in her mind. “Think about it then. Since they feel really, really cold to us, maybe to them we’re really, really hot.”

  “Such a thought had never occurred to me,” said Sigurda, “but it carries the ring of truth.”

  “Sure, maybe touching us burns them, and that’s why they never get too close.”

  “We might destroy some of them with our touch even as we succumb to their deathly chill, but how will that advance our quest?”

  “If I’m right, they’ve as much reason to keep clear of us as we have to stay away from them. Sigurda, you said they were the spirits of… who again?”

  “Those who died without honour,” Sigurda answered with a sneer. “Base cowards and craven fools who ran from battle and hid from every danger.”

  “Well, if that’s right,” said Susie, “then surely they must be more scared of us than we are of them.”

  Sigurda’s brow furrowed in thought. “There is wisdom in what you say, Susie. You and I are the ones with courage while they are the most spineless of beings.”

  “Right,” said Susie with a grin, “so instead of letting them scare us, why don’t we give them a fleg for a change?”

  Sigurda matched Susie’s grin with one of her own as she turned to face the howling mob of spectres. “Yes, we shall show them our mettle and see whether they stand their ground.”

  Susie fell into a skating crouch, as though she were out on the ice with her team, the Fife Flames, driving the puck towards the opposing goal with her Bearlander carbon and fibreglass AX3 hockey stick. She eyed the ghosts as though they were a line of defenders and the competitive fire blazed inside her.

  “Fife Flames!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “We own the ice!”

  Sigurda raised her sword high above her head. “For the honour of Asgard!” she roared.

  As their voices echoed around the room the screeches of the ghosts dwindled to whispers. The whole mob shrank back and cringed before the two warriors.

  “Valkyries attack!” cried Sigurda.

  “Let’s have you then!” yelled Susie.

  Together they charged, roaring their battle cries.

  A squeal of terror broke from the quivering phantoms and they scattered in panic. Some slipped down cracks in the floor, some flew headlong out the windows, while others shot straight up through the gaping roof. In a matter of seconds every one of them had disappeared, leaving Susie and Sigurda side by side in the middle of the room.

  Susie punched the air and yelled, “Kaboom!” which was how she always celebrated a goal. “Fife Flames one hundred – Scaredy-cat Ghosts nil!”

  “They have fled, leaving us masters of the field,” Sigurda agreed, surveying the room with satisfaction. “As when spearmen on foot, facing the charge of a mounted warrior, fling aside their weapons and flee in panic, leaving behind their honour along with their spears.”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself,” laughed Susie. “Ghostbashers – that’s us!”

  Sigurda sheathed her sword and grabbed the plain piece of wood that was nestled in the alcove. Susie saw it was about as long as her arm and looked surprisingly ordinary.

  “The first part of the quest is completed,” said Sigurda. “Now we must resume our journey.”

  ***

  When they returned to the boat, Skarabeg scowled at them.

  “Yes, it’s us,” Susie announced cheerfully. “Sorry we didn’t get eaten by anything.”

  “The day’s not over yet,” Skarabeg retorted sullenly.

  The passengers barely had time to settle into the boat before Skarabeg hauled on the oars and pulled away from the island.

  “Hey, Sigurda, something funny’s happened,” said Susie. “I don’t feel the ring pulling me any more.”

  “Is it not drawing you on to another piece of the staff?” said Sigurda.

  “No, it’s not. So how are we going to find our way?” Susie wondered. “Here, maybe you should let me see that stick.”

  Sigurda passed over the staff and Susie took it in her right hand. As soon as the ring on her finger pressed against the wood, a series of runes lit up down its whole length.

  At the same time the boat jerked violently and went into a spin.

  “Here, what’s going on?” Skarabeg protested. He dug his oars into the water in a futile attempt to stop the rotation.

  “Your ring has reawakened the dormant energies within the staff!” declared Sigurda.

  “It looks like the Force is with us, Sigurda!” Susie exclaimed gleefully.

  The spinning of the boat was starting to make her feel queasy when suddenly it shot off in a straight line across the lake, as though driven by an invisible engine.

  “Here, you stop this right now!” howled Skarabeg. “I do the steering around here.”

  “Sorry, Skarabeg,” said Susie. “It looks like we’re going for a ride.”

  “The pieces of the staff are being drawn together by the magical energies contained within them,” Sigurda surmised.

  “I’d better keep a tight hold then,” said Susie, gripping the stick firmly.

  Skarabeg continued his complaints as they were carried into a river that flowed westward out of the lake. The steep banks flew by rapidly as the boat skipped over the water.

  “Whee!” Susie cried. “This is like being in a speedboat!”

  Up ahead the river divided and the boat swerved into the right fork.

  “Here, is that a rock face up ahead?” said Susie. They were being carried unstoppably towards a solid cliff.

  “No, no, no!” Skarabeg squealed. “You’re going to wreck my boat!”

  “Fear not,” said Sigurda. “I spy a cave.”

  “You’re right,” said Susie. “The river flows right into it.”

  They flew directly into the mouth of a tunnel and downward into pitch darkness.

  18. DEEPER AND DOWN

  After only a short fall, Lewis and Greg landed in a soft pile of the earth that had given way beneath them.

  Greg spat dirt out of his mouth. “Well, that was unexpected.”

  Lewis got up and brushed soil from his trousers. He bent down and poked around in the dislodged dirt until he found the rod, which had slipped from his fingers. He could barely see it in the faint light trickling down from above.

  Greg got to his feet and gazed around him. They were in a narrow tunnel that ran in both directions. There was barely enough room for them to stand upright.

  “Should we try to climb back up?” he wondered, glancing up at the hole above their heads.

  “No, I think we’re supposed to be here,” said Lewis. “I think the rod made that hole open up.”

  “That’s a fly trick, I must say,” said Greg.

  “It’s pulling that way,” said Lewis, pointing down the tunnel.

  Greg squinted. “I can see a light. Let’s go.”

  The tunnel slanted steeply downward and they soon discovered the source of the faint light. Set into the walls at irregular intervals were rocks the size of footballs that glowed with a bright orange radiance.

  “Don’t touch it!” Lewis warned as Greg stretched a hand towards one of them.

  “Relax,” said Greg, rubbing his fingers over the glowing rock. “It’s not even warm. Funny that, eh?”

  “Listen, do you hear something?” said Lewis.

  From up ahead came the rumble and whirr of machinery.

  “Sounds like the noises the rides make at the fair,” said Greg, “but without all the laughing and screaming.”

  They carried on until the passage came to an end. Cutting across it was a larger tunnel. In the floor a pair of deep grooves stretched off to the left and right. Clumps of glowing rock illuminated the passage in both directions.

  “Which way now?” Greg asked.

  Before Lewis could answer there came a rattling rumble from the left.
Without a word they both pulled back into the shadows and watched as a crazy contraption came hurtling past as fast as a speeding bicycle.

  It was a cart with four metal wheels that slotted into the grooves in the floor. Standing in the cart were two small bearded men, each holding the end of a handle that they were pumping up and down. This seesaw motion seemed to be powering the wheels. With a rattle and a rush the machine flew past and disappeared down the tunnel.

  “Who were those guys?” Greg wondered.

  “I would guess that they’re dwarfs,” said Lewis. “From what I’ve read, they live underground, mining ore and forging things out of metal.”

  “I suppose we should go the same way,” said Greg.

  “That’s what the rod says,” answered Lewis.

  “Keep your ears peeled for any more of those carriages,” Greg warned. “I don’t want to get squashed.”

  As they walked on, other grooved tunnels cut across this one, all of them echoing with the distant clatter of metal wheels. The passage widened into a circular space, with a large hole in the roof overhead. In the middle of the floor was a deep shaft plunging straight down into darkness, with only a narrow ledge running round the edge. Lewis and Greg shuffled carefully around, their backs pressed to the wall.

  “Health-and-safety people would have nightmares about this place,” said Lewis, who had at one time considered health and safety as a career.

  Even as he spoke there was a rumbling up above and a wooden platform came hurtling down. It shot past them at an alarming speed and they saw three dwarfs clinging to the sides as the platform vanished into the gloom below.

  “That is the most dangerous lift I’ve ever seen,” said Lewis.

  “This is a busy place,” said Greg, “like a cross between a factory and a fairground.”

  Once they had made their way around the open lift shaft, they headed along another passage until they eventually emerged into a vast cavern as big as a football stadium. They walked cautiously along a ledge that was set halfway up the cavern wall.