The Lost Gods

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Authors: Francesca Simon

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The Lost Gods

by the same author

The Sleeping Army

T
HE
H
ORRID
H
ENRY SERIES

Helping Hercules

Don't Cook Cinderella

The Parent Swap Shop

Spider School

The Topsy-Turvies

Moo Baa Baa Quack

Miaow Miaow Bow Wow

Café At the Edge of the Moon

What's That Noise?

Papa Forgot

But What Does the Hippopotamus Say?

Do You Speak English, Moon?

FRANCESCA SIMON

The Lost Gods

For Martin

First published in 2013

by Faber and Faber Limited

Bloomsbury House,

74–77 Great Russell Street,

London
WC1B 3DA

and

Profile Books Ltd

3A
Exmouth House

Pine Street

London
EC1R 0JH

Typeset by Faber and Faber

Printed in England by Clays, Bungay, Suffolk

All rights reserved

© Francesca Simon, 2013

Illustrations © Adam Stower, 2013

The right of Francesca Simon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

A CIP record for this book
is available from the British Library

ISBN
978–1–846–68565–1

2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1

Being famous has taken the place of going
to heaven in modern society. That's the
place where your dreams will come true.

Jarvis Cocker

NOTE

The Lost Gods
is set in modern Britain but in a world where Christianity never existed, so people still worship the old Viking and Anglo-Saxon Gods. Time dates from the birth of Woden 5,000 years ago.

Contents

Part 1 The Gods Descend

Behold Your Gods, Mortals!

Meanwhile

What Would Woden Say?

Eager for Fame

What Bad Fate Was Hers?

Next Time You Create a World, Do It Better

It's Wodenic to Welcome Strangers

Pizza

The God of the Bitten Apple

Your Gods Need You!

Meanwhile

A Display for Heroes

Something Awful

Part 2 The Fame-Maker

Dr Frankenstein

The Only Way Is Asgard

Meanwhile

Let's Party

Bring Me an Ox

Where Did You Find This Guy?

Beautiful Beyond the Dreams of Mortals

Oh, to Be Famous

Two Minutes to Change Your Life

Meanwhile

Part 3 Celebrity Gods

Die for Me

Meanwhile

Bright Fame

Defame

Meanwhile

Gods Can Do What They Like

Meanwhile

The Gods' Delusion

Meanwhile

Part 4 The Frost Giants

The Sleeping Army

Meanwhile

Earthquake

Our Gods

Hurricane

Battle-Bright Warriors

A Radiant Bride

The Horse Might Talk

The Wolf Way

Four Walk-In Wardrobes

Do the Gods Exist?

Three Months Later

Acknowledgements

PART 1
THE GODS DESCEND

The bright, unbearable reality
when gods appear on earth
not in disguise but as themselves.

Homer

Behold Your Gods, Mortals!

Two men and a woman stood in the middle of the Millennium Bridge in the Thorsday morning rush hour, forcing the hordes of rushing London commuters to dodge round them. One wore a long blue cloak, and hid his grim face beneath a broad-brimmed hat, pulled low over his missing eye. Anyone glancing up would have noticed two magnificent ravens circling above him with easy, dipping swirls.

The other man, tall, red-bearded and muscular, dwarfed him, while the woman stood a bit apart, tossing her golden curls and scowling at the crowds pushing past her. Her nostrils
quivered, as if she'd sniffed an offensive smell. The exquisite gold necklace draping her delicate neck caught the sunlight, writhing and weaving in shimmering patterns over her face.

A teenage girl in stripy apple-green tights, a woollen scarf and Doc Marten boots jostled her with her backpack. The woman recoiled as if she'd been electrocuted.

‘It is time to reveal ourselves,' said the one-eyed man. His rich, deep voice vibrated with emotion. ‘We have waited an eternity for this moment.'

‘Behold your Gods, mortals!' thundered red beard.

‘Bow down and worship!' commanded the golden-haired woman.

‘Move, you nutters,' muttered a workman hurrying past.

‘We have returned!' boomed the man in the blue hat. ‘It is I, Woden, the Father of Battles, God of Inspiration, Giver of Victory, Waker of the Dead. Tremble in awe, mortals, and
worship us! ON YOUR KNEES!'

‘Oh Gods, the hippie brigade on a Thorsday morning, I can't face it,' groaned a smartly dressed woman clutching two mobiles.

‘BOW! WE ARE YOUR GODS!' roared Thor. ‘We command you to bow!'

Two girls jogging by began to giggle.

‘Move, you're blocking the bridge,' scowled a man, shoving through them.

‘Weirdos,' snapped another.

‘Gods, I hate street theatre.'

‘Go home.'

‘Bloody foreigners.'

The three Gods looked at one another. Thor's mouth gaped open.

‘You are talking to Thor, the Thunder God, you worthless pieces of driftwood!' he bellowed. ‘Hold your tongues, or my hammer will shut your mouths!'

Everyone hurried by a little faster, in case the madness was contagious.

‘What's going on?' asked Thor. He looked
suddenly shrunken. ‘Why aren't they obeying? Why are they …
ignoring
us?'

‘Why don't you look where you're going, you fat cow,' snarled a girl as she collided with the gawking, golden-haired woman.

Freyja jerked her beautiful head.

‘Fat cow?' she gasped. ‘
Fat cow?
I am Freyja, the immortal Goddess of Love and the Battle-Dead.' Her body shook with rage. ‘How dare you,' she hissed. ‘I'll teach you to call me fat cow, you ugly hag. I'll turn you into a pig.' She began to mutter under her breath. ‘You'll smell worse than Ulf the Unwashed.'

‘I'll split open their ungrateful heads!' bellowed Thor. ‘I can bring down this bridge with one blow of my axe.'

‘If only,' muttered Freyja.

‘Patience,' said Woden.

‘Then
you
do something!' screeched Freyja. ‘Show them who's boss.'

Woden drew himself up to his full majestic height. His face was cold with fury and his
single eye burned. Should he smite them all? Cause the River Thames to jump its banks and sweep away this ungrateful city? Whip up the northern winds and blow down these huge halls that mortals had built to challenge the Gods during their long absence? Who did these thralls think they were, anyway? They needed to be taught a lesson.

‘Pestilence and panic overtake you all!' roared Woden. ‘May this bridge crumble to rubble. May you run crazed like ants escaping boiling water. May frogs fall from the sky. May you all hurl yourselves into the river and drown!'

He closed his eye and intoned a charm.

For a moment, the teeming crowds froze. Then a frog dropped from the sky and plopped onto Freyja's head.

She squealed and flailed and hurled the frog smack into the face of a passer-by, who reeled and knocked her down. She clutched Woden's tunic as she fell, tripping him and sending him crashing into Thor, as oblivious commuters,
jabbering into their phones, stumbled over them.

The Gods lay prone. Freyja lifted her dishevelled head, her golden curls matted, her robes torn, her necklace glinting in broken pieces around her. She screamed and scrambled about collecting the scattered jewels. Beside her Thor groaned. Slowly Woden picked up his crumpled blue hat and placed it back on his bruised head. He was breathing hard, as if he had just run a marathon.

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