The Lost Gods (9 page)

‘Let us now recite the Wodenic Creed together,' continued the Priest. Freya saw him catch the eye of the security guards at the exits.

The Throng chanted:

I believe in the All-Father, creator of heaven and earth; and in Thor his son, Frigg his wife, and Freyja, Frey, Njord, Heimdall, Baldr, Tyr, and
the All-Mighty Immortals. I believe they alone are the true Gods. I believe that Tyr sacrificed his right hand to keep the world safe from the Wolf. I believe that Woden hung for nine nights on the sacred tree, Yggdrasil. Long may they reign over us, until the Wolf swallows the sun. Amen.

The organ struck up a solemn melody, and the Throng stood for the final prayers and hymns.

‘Stop! This is a travesty! Call this worship?' bellowed Thor. He jumped up and stood on the pew, red-faced and furious. ‘What an insult!' His voice boomed and echoed around the Temple, ringing out over the organ, which tried to drown him out with a vociferous cadenza. Woden leapt to his feet and strode down the aisle towards the priest. ‘I am Woden! The All-Father! May you be people without luck! May you never enter Valhalla! The trolls take you all! Where are the sacrifices? Where are the offerings? Where are the two-day feasts? Call
this caterwauling the worship of the Gods who made you? You ungrateful sacks of wood! You hags, you pisshorns! ON YOUR KNEES! WE ARE THE LORDS YOUR GODS!'

Freya shrank into her seat.

‘I'm going to have to ask you all to leave now, sir,' said a Fane official.

‘This is
my
Temple, how dare you ask me to leave?' said Woden. ‘Don't you know who I am?'

‘You're a very rude man,' shouted the old lady in the front.

‘Disgraceful,' muttered another elderly lady.

‘Come on, we should go,' hissed Freya. She was hot and embarrassed. If she'd had her falcon skin with her she'd have taken flight. How did he expect people to worship him if he called them pisshorns?

‘Say the word, and I'll kill them all,' growled Snot.

‘No!' said Freya. ‘You won't help our cause by killing people in your temple.'

‘Master, we should go,' said Alfi.

‘You can punish these people later,' said Roskva.

The Gods stormed out of the temple, ranting.

‘Those weren't worshippers,' said Woden. ‘They were gawpers. Sightseers. Their paltry prayers were without fervour. I felt nothing. Nothing! Not an ounce of extra strength.'

‘That's why,' said Freya, feeling more and more like a cheerleader rallying her dispirited team, ‘we are going out right now to get worshippers. I know we can do this. Follow me.'

A few hours later Freya stood on Oxford Street outside the Bond Street Tube shops. The intense rain had turned into a thundery storm, flooding the street. The soaked Gods clustered under a jeweller's awning, where diamonds and sapphires twinkled behind thick glass. The jewels dispelled for a moment their grumpiness. Roskva and Alfi watched the milling crowds nervously. Snot stood with his right hand gripping the hilt of his concealed sword.

‘I want that one,' said the Goddess, eyeing a heavy diamond and gold bracelet. She raised her arm to smash in the window.

‘NO!' yelled Freya. ‘You can't just snatch stuff here.'

‘I want and I don't see why I shouldn't get,' said Freyja. ‘What's the point of being a Goddess if you can't get what you want when you want it?'

‘We can raid later,' said Woden. ‘Keep your mind on our great task.'

The Goddess scowled, but said nothing.

Freya held a microphone, one of Clare's that she used for Fane socials and the annual square dance. She glanced at her uneasy companions, so strange and foreign-looking in their tunics and cloaks with brooches and gold armbands and flowing hair. ‘Great costumes,' muttered one girl as she passed them, shoulders braced against the wind and rain, her umbrella blown inside out.

Well the Hari Krishnas looked even weirder in their orange robes prancing around with tambourines and chanting, thought Freya, so hopefully the Gods won't stick out too much.
Just enough to make an impact.

‘We tried announcing our return on the bridge, you know,' said Woden. ‘And we got trampled for our pains.'

‘Yes but this time we are urging people to worship you by telling them why they should,' said Freya. ‘Trust me,' she added, with a confidence she didn't feel.

All six held cardboard placards. Freya had worked hard on her slogans before setting out. She'd considered ‘The Gods love you,' but since they didn't, not really, she'd decided it would be better to write more truthful sayings, like ‘The Gods give victory'; ‘Pray to Woden and triumph over your enemies'; or ‘Without Woden we're snowed in!' That was catchy – and true. But she needed to exhort people to action so she'd printed on hers: COME BACK TO THE GODS on the front and A PRAYER A DAY KEEPS THE FROST GIANTS AWAY on the back.

Thor carried THOR GIVES YOU MORE.

Woden had BE A WINNER WITH WODEN.

Freyja, looking sulky, held up LUCK AND LOVE WITH FREYJA.

Roskva's read PRAY TO FREY HE'LL SAVE THE DAY.

Alfi's said GODS ARE GREAT.

Snot's proclaimed WORSHIP WODEN OR I'LL KILL YOU.

Actually, that's what he'd wanted her to write for him. Freya had written instead: ‘Worship Woden – or else …' Snot stood scowling, brandishing his sign more like a spear than a placard. His gnarled skin, tree bark arms and grey wolf's bristle would be enough to scare anyone off, thought Freya uneasily.

‘Now what?' said Roskva.

‘We walk up and down the street, and let all the people passing by see our messages,' said Freya. ‘We also stop people and tell the truth about the frost giants.'

‘And this is going to bring mortals back to us?' said Thor.

‘Yes,' said Freya.

‘How long do I have to stand here?' asked Thor. Rain dripped down his face and beard. ‘This is worse than fighting any giant.'

‘Good luck, everyone,' said Freya. ‘Go up to as many people as possible and spread the word.'

The Goddess tossed her head and winked at a handsome young man sauntering by, chatting on his mobile. He stopped dead when the Goddess caught his eye. Soon he was joined by a cluster of men flocking round her.

‘Hi, I'm Alfi, and I want to talk to you about the Gods,' said Alfi.

‘Can I talk to you about the Gods?' said Roskva.

‘No,' said a woman lugging heavy shopping bags.

‘I need to talk to you about the Gods,' said Freya.

‘Worship the Gods or I'll KILL you!' roared Snot.

No one stopped.

‘The world will end unless we all start worshipping the gods NOW!' shouted Roskva into the microphone. ‘Stop bartering, you trolls, and listen. The frost giants are coming!'

‘Why aren't you worshipping the Gods, you conceited scum?' bellowed Thor, fixing people with his blazing eyes.

The shoppers bustled by as fast as possible and ducked into the Tube station.

‘The Gods alone stand between us and the frost giants. Don't cast Woden's wise words to the winds,' yelled Alfi.

‘The Gods, may their names live forever, have given us so many gifts,' shouted Freya. ‘But in your strivings for wealth and fame, never forget Tyr, who gave his right hand to the Wolf for the greater good of all and saved us from certain destruction. We must all strive to be worthy of a God's sacrifice. Mighty Thor protects us. Glorious Frey and his sister Freyja give us prosperity. Woden gives us—'

Woden yanked the microphone from her.

‘We created you from pieces of driftwood,' he boomed, his voice drowning out the din of traffic and hurrying feet. ‘Then we gave you luck, to keep you hopeful when life gets tough
and
the chance to win the fame, which alone outlives death.' Woden's voice rose and his face reddened. ‘So now it's your turn to thank us with your worship, you ungrateful herrings. If you don't, may fire play over your possessions and may it burn your backs!'

‘I don't think cursing people is the right way to win them over,' said Freya.

‘It's time to thank the Gods for all their gifts by worshipping them,' she shouted.

‘The frost giants are coming and we need the Gods to protect us!' yelled Alfi.

I'm pretty good at this, thought Freya. She'd never realised how all those endless sermons she'd listened to over the years had sunk in.

‘Cattle die, kinsmen die. The self must also die. But glory never dies. Come back to the
Gods!' she hollered into the crowd.

‘I don't think anyone is listening,' said Roskva.

‘Shut up and listen, you scum,' roared Thor, snatching up a passer-by and holding him in the air by his jacket, ‘Or my hammer will shut your mouth. I'll hurl you all into Hel so no one will ever have to look at your ugly faces again!'

The man began to kick and scream. Thor dropped him suddenly, and he ran.

‘May your end be horrible. May you never enter Valhalla,' shouted Thor after him.

Freya watched the crowds scurrying away from the furious Gods. A bus hurtled through a massive puddle in the flooded street, drenching them with water.

Slowly she lowered her sodden placard.

‘I'm sorry, this isn't working,' said Freya.

Buried deep inside a glacier, jagged and raw where chunks had crashed into the curdling sea, was the outline of an ice-locked giant.

Freya slumped on the sofa. The Gods slumped with her. Wet clothes steamed on every radiator and sodden boots and shoes lined the hallway. Clare, fortunately, was out at a Fane Council meeting, so wouldn't see everyone eating fish and chips on the sofa. They'd have to take some gold to a pawnbroker tomorrow, thought Freya, and get more cash, because they were eating Clare out of house and home. She'd given Freya several meaningful looks when she'd opened the fridge this morning and found it empty. She was already asking when the guests were leaving and when Freya would be returning to school.

Freya's legs ached from parading up and down Oxford Street. Her arms ached from holding up the placards. Her heart ached because her fate was so bad.

All her plans had failed. How the Gods thought shouting and shoving and sneering would get them worshipped she had no idea. The truth was, the Gods were much more appealing the less you knew them. Tears pricked her eyes. Her task was hopeless.

‘I told you this was foolish, asking a mortal to guide us,' said the Goddess, picking a piece of battered cod out of her teeth. ‘We might as well have asked a sardine.'

‘Then what's your counsel?' snapped Woden. His grim face looked dark as flax.

The Goddess scowled at him.

‘Return to Asgard and fight the frost giants,' said Freyja.

‘Then we will all die,' said Woden. ‘And a corpse is no use to anyone.'

Suddenly Woden shivered.

‘The fabric of the worlds is tearing,' he said.

Everyone stopped talking. The Goddess went pale. Thor gripped his hammer.

Woden beckoned to Roskva and Alfi. ‘Journey back to Asgard and look over the worlds from my High Seat,' he ordered. ‘Return and tell me when the frost giants have broken free.'

Alfi and Roskva nodded and went upstairs to collect their things.

‘They're
my
servants, you know,' said Thor. ‘What am I supposed to do without them?'

Woden glared at him.

‘We don't have time for this,' said Woden. ‘The world is unravelling, and you talk to me about slaves?'

Thor glowered and clicked on the TV.

The thunderous noise of a screaming arena crowd poured out, as five floppy-haired boys danced and sang to a packed audience.

‘You make my heart go boom boom boom!' sang the boy band, prancing around the stage in leather jackets and dark jeans. The crowd
screamed and punched the air. Lights flashed and whirled across the stage, arcing and crossing above the singers and platinum-haired backing dancers twirling around them. An avalanche of squealing girls hurled themselves at the stage, hands outstretched to their idols.