Odin Blew Up My TV! (9 page)

The pig clearly had no intention of being caught. It rushed this way and that, darting between the legs of its pursuers, while they crashed into each other and splashed down in the mud.

“I’ll bet that pig’s been specially trained,” said Greg as he and Lewis wound their way through the chaos, avoiding rocks, potholes and trolls.

“If you were being chased by a mob of big ugly trolls,” said Lewis, “you wouldn’t need to be trained to run away.”

“Good point, Lewis. And if it’s not trained, we should be able to outsmart it.”

“Pigs are actually quite intelligent animals,” said Lewis.

“You mean like the one that built a house out of bricks so the wolf couldn’t blow it down?” said Greg scornfully. “That was just a story.” Greg ran off, whooping, and swerved round a troll who tripped and fell right in front of him.

Lewis lost track of Greg as the troll rolled between them. He jumped on top of a flat stone and tried to catch his breath. Surveying the field, he saw the pig racing about, squeaking excitedly and trailing a posse of thundering
trolls in its wake. He wondered if there was any way he and Greg could tilt this daft game in favour of their blue team. If there was any strategy to this sport, it wasn’t obvious.

The trolls crashed into each other at random, flattening their teammates as often as their opponents. Their only hope of victory seemed to be falling on top of the pig by sheer luck. Whenever they did try to pounce on it, the pig dodged and left the hunters rolling in the muck.

The Very Old Troll stamped about the field waving his fist in the air and cheering on both teams. An air of authority seemed to surround him like an invisible shield, protecting him from the collisions going on all around him.

Lewis had no such protection, but being so much smaller than the trolls, they barely noticed him as he wove his way around the pitch. Even so, he took a few bruising knocks along the way. Desperate to escape the madness, he spotted a hollow log in the centre of the field and made straight for it. He dived inside and lay there, panting for breath.

A few moments of relief followed and Lewis considered hiding out there until the game was over. “If Susie were here, she’d catch that pig quick as a flash,” he grumbled to himself. “Instead it’s me tripping over my own feet and falling in the mud.”

Then Greg’s face appeared, peering into the log.

“Come on, Lewis! We’ll never get our hands on the red team’s flag this way.”

“Couldn’t we just steal it and run away?” Lewis suggested feebly.

“I’ll bet the penalty for cheating is pretty severe,” said Greg, “like being chucked into a pit of crocodiles or something. We’d better win it fair and square.”

Lewis sighed. Much as he wanted to stay in hiding, he knew that Susie and Sigurda were counting on them. The fate of St Andrews and everyone in it depended on them getting the staff and freeing Odin.

He scrambled out to join his brother and wished he hadn’t. The field was like a stormy sea rising and falling, with gangs of trolls crashing to the ground then jumping up again for a fresh round of mayhem.

Greg grabbed Lewis by the arm and hauled him along. “Look, there’s the pig running around that bush,” he said. “You stay here and I’ll chase it towards you.”

“What am I supposed to do when it gets here?” Lewis asked.

“Grab it round the neck and wrestle it to the ground, obviously,” Greg replied.

“Obviously,” Lewis muttered glumly as his brother raced off.

Greg caught up with the pig, waving his arms and yelling to drive it back to his brother. When Lewis saw the animal rushing towards him, he took a step backwards and fell right into a big, muddy hole.

“Yuggh!” he howled as his backside sank into the mud. “This is the worst!”

He was struggling to his feet when the pig came flying off the edge of the hole and landed right on top of him. Lewis was flattened as it walloped the breath out of him.

“Oh, you stupid beast!” he gasped, trying to push it off.

Suddenly he was aware that the pig was poking its snout into his pocket and snuffling excitedly.

“Here, get off!” Lewis exclaimed.

He shoved it back with one hand and reached the other into his pocket. He pulled out the apple from Idunna’s orchard. With a delighted squeal, the pig jumped at it and took a bite.

“Now you cut that out!” Lewis warned, shoving the apple behind his back out of reach.

The pig guzzled down its piece of fruit then tried to get around Lewis for another bite.

Greg appeared, standing over the hole with a big grin on his face. “Great plan, Lewis!” said Greg. “You’ve got him hooked like a fish!”

“Get me out of here!” said Lewis, wriggling out from under the snuffling pig. Greg pulled him out of the hole and the pig scrambled up after him, trying desperately for another bite of apple. Lewis kept it out of reach, realising the chance they now had.

“We can win this!” he told Greg. “Where’s the flag?”

“That way,” said Greg. He pointed and ran for the circle at the end of the field.

Lewis raced after, waving the apple above his head. He
was aware of the tingling from his ring getting stronger the closer he came to the flag. “Come on, piggy! Come and get it!” he called.

The pig’s eyes lit up as it dashed after him, snorting greedily. With the hungry animal in hot pursuit, the brothers wove their way through the bedlam.

A pair of trolls were wrestling on the ground right in their path. Greg leapt over them and Lewis swerved around them with the pig on his heels.

As soon as he reached the end of the field, Lewis threw himself down inside the circle of stones. The pig jumped on top of him. It pressed its snout into his hand and forced the apple loose.

Greg bounded onto the pig’s back and pulled the apple loose of its eager jaws. With an angry snort the pig reared up and threw him to the ground.

“Don’t let it have the apple,” Lewis gasped, scrambling to his feet.

“I won’t,” said Greg with determination. “As long as we’ve got the apple he’ll stay inside the circle.”

The pig jumped on top of Greg and made a fresh assault on the delicious fruit.

Suddenly Lewis saw one of the red team thundering towards them, his arms outstretched to sweep up the pig. Before the opposing player could grab it, Gruklob came flying out of nowhere. He shoulder-charged the red troll and
sent him sprawling face first into a pool of mud.

“The flag, Lewis!” Greg gasped as the pig managed to clamp its jaws around the apple. “Get the flag!”

Lewis scrambled to his feet, grabbed the flag, and pulled it out of the ground. As he waved it above his head, the entire blue team gathered around him and let out a raucous cheer.

The pig burped and squatted on the grass with a blissful smile on its snout.

“Hey, it’s scoffed the whole thing!” Lewis moaned.

“It doesn’t matter now,” said Greg, clambering to his feet. He laid a congratulatory hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We won.
You
won!”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I,” said Lewis. He couldn’t help feeling a glow of triumph. Maybe sports weren’t so bad after all.

The rain shower had passed and the sun came out, as if to celebrate.

The Very Old Troll patted both boys on the back hard enough to leave a bruise. “Punies win for blue!” he declared, to a huge cheer from all the trolls, who seemed to have forgotten they were on opposite teams only a minute ago.

Barrels of ale were rolled out and tankards made from rams’ horns were passed around. The trolls filled their tankards and toasted each other, then they toasted the white-haired referee, then the pig, then Greg and Lewis, then the trees, and even the mud. Spudlug poured some ale into a bowl and set it down in front of the pig, which guzzled it down thirstily.

“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.

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.