Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper (25 page)

She turned on the spot, planning to grab Arthur and drag him if necessary, but Joe was already there. He hitched his arms under the boy, cradling him like a baby, and then they both turned and followed the others, who were sprinting for cover behind a small hillock in front of them. The approaching plane started firing as they scrambled over the uneven terrain, sending a barrage of bullets into the ground behind them.

Ash didn't need to turn to know who the pilot was.

They were up and over the mound of earth just as the plane spat out one last
rat-a-tat
and swooped upwards. They could hear the god howling with laughter as he passed overhead. They went sliding down the far side of the hillock and into a trench that was partially sheltered by a wooden roof protruding from the side. Two inches of brown water sat at the bottom of the ditch. It was so icy that they shuddered the instant they hit it, but nevertheless they all hunched low and close together to get as much cover as possible. Ash took a chance and peered out from under the overhang to steal a look at the plane as it turned.

It was like something from those World War II films that her dad insisted on watching every Sunday afternoon. It had a pair of slim wings and a propeller on the nose that cut through the air. The single pilot could be seen through the cockpit dome: Loki, in full World War II pilot gear, including a leather helmet, large goggles and a brightly coloured, jaunty-looking silk scarf wrapped around his neck. He had even grown a twirling moustache that ended on either side of his nose in a question mark. An oversized machine gun protruded from each wing of the plane.

As Loki turned the aircraft around for a second onslaught, Arthur groaned in Joe's arms.

She turned to him. ‘You're awake!'

‘What happened?' he managed to croak out.

‘Long story short, we're in the middle of a battlefield and Loki's firing at us from what appears to be a World War II Spitfire.'

‘Just another day at the office then,' he murmured. When he saw who was holding him, he gave his father a tight embrace.

‘I'll get us out of this,' he whispered.

Joe seemed uncertain. ‘OK,' he said, ‘but who are you?'

Although he understood that Joe couldn't know who he was, this remark stung more than Arthur had expected. He quickly wriggled out of Joe's grasp and turned to Ash, hiding his devastated expression from his father.

‘Is Hel here?' he asked. ‘If I can get to Hel, I think I can bring an end to this.'

‘Well, I have good news and bad news for you then. The good news is she's here. The bad news is she's halfway across the battlefield.' She hooked a thumb out of the trench in the direction she'd seen the woman. By the rising sound of Loki's engine, he was closing in quickly for another assault.

Arthur looked in the direction of the sound and then urgently back to Ash.

‘You have to distract him,' he said. ‘All of you. Keep his attention on you. I need to reach Hel.'

‘Arthur, you can't–'

‘I have to, Ash. It's the only way we can stop Loki. I'm sure of it.' He looked at the others – and at Joe in particular. ‘You don't know me. You once did, just not any more. But you have to trust me. Distract Loki. Do whatever it takes. Just buy me enough time to get to her. And then hopefully this will all be over.'

‘I say we just hide here,' said Mr Barry quietly. ‘Wait out the storm.'

‘No,' said Joe, staring at Arthur. ‘I trust this boy. We should help him. We need a distraction but we don't have any weapons and we barely have any cover.'

Ex dug his hand into the soggy earth and came back out with a fistful of muck. He felt the heft of it in his palm and showed the rest of them. Then he nodded in the direction of the plane. The others looked dubiously at him, but since no one offered any better ideas, the kids followed his lead, then the parents and finally Fenrir.

The plane was almost upon them once more.

Joe, holding his own pile of mud, nodded at the boy he didn't know was his son. As Arthur nodded back, he was sure he saw a glimmer of recognition in his father's eyes.

Loki chose that exact second to open fire on the trench. Even from the depths of the ditch, they could all feel the vibration of the hundreds of bullets gouging into the earth and they crouched even lower into the sludge, hoping that the wooden roof would protect them. The plane swooped low over the trench with the machine guns aiming two lines of shots at them.

As it passed over them Joe was first on his feet. He raced to the top of the hillock, swung back his arm like a pitcher in a baseball game and launched the mud pie at the fast-retreating plane as hard as he could. The clump of brown goo fell well short, but this didn't stop the rest of them joining in.

Arthur took his chance and scaled the side of the trench, heading in the direction that Ash had indicated. Glancing around quickly, he saw the full expanse of the battlefield for the first time – and Hel's floating green vortex in the distance. He raced off across the field, praying the distraction would work.

Loki hadn't noticed the mud pies, but the movement of his targets had attracted his attention as he turned the plane as sharply as possible to come around for another assault. He threw the plane forward, more bloodthirsty than ever.

While the others reached for more fistfuls of mud, Fenrir felt the weight of the stone he had found. It was about the size of a golf ball, jagged on one side, smooth on the other. He had dug his fist deep in the mud to find such a treasure and he hadn't thrown it on the first strike, waiting instead for just the right moment. And it was coming – any second now. The wolf-man squeezed the moisture out of the mud in his fingers and compacted the sticky mess into a more solid ball. A thousand years of hunting as both man and wolf had sharpened Fenrir's instincts and reflexes to fine points. He knew exactly when to loose an arrow or spear, as he knew when to pounce. And, feeling the rough edge of the rock, he knew that the moment to attack was rapidly approaching. Loki drove the plane even lower and it was now soaring no more than twenty feet above the ground towards them. The god's cockiness would be his undoing, thought Fenrir.

And …

Now!

Fenrir's stone left his hand in a blur. It hit the cockpit glass head on, shattering the windscreen. Loki, taken by surprise, threw the plane into a sudden climb. The aircraft then dived into a loop-the-loop and it was here – while momentarily upside-down – that the god spotted the tiny figure of the boy racing across the battlefield.

Loki gave an angry hiss and swooped the plane after Arthur.

Bullets bit at the boy's ankles as he ran, churning through the marshy earth.

The plane sped up, finding fuel in Loki's magic.

Hel, as peaceful as ever, hung in the air.

And then–

Arthur tripped.

His foot caught on a dead tree root that was hidden under the mud.

He went down.

Close to Hel.

But not close enough.

The shooting suddenly stopped and the noise of the plane disappeared. Loki's laugh filled the battlefield as he strolled towards Arthur. The boy turned from the sound and looked up at Hel. He'd landed mere feet from the vortex but didn't have the strength to move towards it now. The woman still had her eyes shut and her face was still contorted evilly.

‘Mum,' he rasped with the little breath he had left in his body. ‘Mum … help me. Please, Mum, it's Arthur.
Please
.'

And he remembered being the little boy who fell off his bike.

And he remembered calling his mammy for help.

And he remembered her coming to his aid and comforting him, caring for him, wrapping him in her arms and promising she would always look after him, always keep him safe.

‘Help me, Mummy!' mocked Loki, picking Arthur up off the ground. ‘You think she can help you? She couldn't even help herself! She's no match for my Hel. She–'

‘Loki,' said a voice. Arthur and Loki turned their heads together. The vortex was gone and the woman was standing on the battlefield now, facing them, her eyelids open. Her skin was smooth and beautiful, her eyes caring, her lips carrying the echo of a smile.

‘Hel,' uttered Loki. ‘You've come back to me.'

‘I am not Hel,' the woman said. Her voice had a deep, magical resonance to it, as if they were hearing it from another world. ‘I am Rhona Hilda Quinn, wife of Joe, mother of Arthur. I am the baby that you took, the child you infected, the girl saved by Fenrir. I am not Hel.'

Loki dropped Arthur and stepped towards the woman.

‘Hel,' he said, hands stretched out peacefully towards her. ‘My daughter. You are in there still. Come out to me. You are more powerful than the vessel.'

Arthur watched in horror as his mother's face twisted into Hel's contorted and diseased features.

‘Father,' she said, ‘I have returned.'

‘Finish him then,' Loki said, a smile forming on his face. He waved an arm in the direction of the freed prisoners, who were now running towards them across the battlefield. ‘Finish them all this time!'

Hel raised a finger and pointed to where Arthur was huddling on the ground. His lip started to quiver as he stared at his mother, a sure sign that tears were on their way. Hel's hand started to tremble and suddenly her face softened once more as Rhona took over. The pointed finger shot towards Loki.

‘No,' exclaimed Rhona. ‘He's … he's …' she stuttered, her face twisting and smoothing, her skin undulating, the muscles forming and reforming. Arthur was disturbed as he watched her transform from Hel to Rhona and back again, over and over.

Hel and Rhona; Rhona and Hel.

The face was good one second and evil the next.

His mother and his destroyer.

And all the while a tormented sound burst forth from the woman's throat.

Until …

Finally …

The face settled.

And Hel turned to Arthur.

She smiled wickedly then pointed her finger at him.

He closed his good eye in resignation. He'd lost. They'd lost. Time to die.

‘I love you, Mum,' Arthur whispered, bracing himself for whatever was going to come.

Whatever blackness, whatever void, whatever end.

But nothing happened.

‘
No!
' cried Loki. Arthur's eye shot open again. Rhona was pointing at the god now, her expression filled with determination.

‘Mum?' Arthur scrambled to his feet.

‘It's me, Arthur. It's really me.' She kept her eyes focused on Loki as she spoke. ‘I'm pushing Hel out of my life for good. But before I lose her powers, I have one thing left to do.'

Arthur looked from his mother to Loki and knew straight away what she meant.

‘You can't kill him!' he cried. ‘The Norns said! It's a terrible thing! If you kill him, part of you will be gone! You could die!'

‘But if I don't, we all will.'

‘Listen to the boy, He– … Rhona,' said Loki, suddenly nervous.

‘Mum, don't do it! Please!'

‘I'm doing it for you, Arthur.' She glanced at him briefly, keeping her finger pointed at the Father of Lies. ‘I love you, son.'

He saw it in her eyes then. The green energy building, about to blow Loki out of existence. He wanted to let it happen; he wanted to see Loki meet justice finally. But he couldn't. He remembered what the Norns had said and he couldn't bear to be without his mother again. Once was enough to lose her.

Arthur ran at Loki, summoning a strength he didn't know he had. In the distance, he heard Ash call his name and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the green pulse burst out of his mother's fingertip, shooting right at Loki.

Arthur slammed into the god just as the lightning bolt crashed against his chest, wrapping his arms around him, clasping his wrist against Loki tightly. With a surge of brightness, they were gone.

Both of them.

In Asgard, the realm of the gods, the whole world is still. Silence has spread across the land. Birds wait in their nests, foxes huddle in their dens, gods cower in their halls. The wind and storms that have besieged them all for months, rattling their bones, pulling trees from their roots and tearing Asgard apart, have finally come to a sudden and shocking end. Some of the older gods who have held witness at similar – although not as devastating – tempests insist that this calmness is merely the eye of the storm. They are certain, they tell the younger gods, whose egos are not so large as to ignore the advice, that this peace can be broken. It is held in a delicate balance, like the weighting of a scale, and a tip in either direction could end the squall forever or plunge them into a deeper, harsher storm that will rip creation apart in minutes. And though it is not always in the habit of gods to be correct – especially the gods of Asgard, who most frequently think with their bellies and their warring fists – this time they are right. The calm is a sign that the tempest will either end or flourish. It all depends on the actions in the next few minutes of two figures lying by the Well of Urd.

Arthur Quinn sits up first. He can feel the dull throb of wounds and aches all over but he ignores them, pushing them to the back of his mind. There are more pressing matters at hand than a bleeding forehead. He can feel the craggy ground of Asgard under his fingertips and hears the pounding sound of the waterfall rushing into the nearby well. He looks over and sees the Father of Lies lying by his side, half propped up against a boulder, eyes shut, tongue lolling out. Arthur's own hand is next to his. The stray end of Gleipnir flutters in a non-existent breeze and touches off the god's fingers. A single flake of snow drifts down onto the ground by their hands. It worked, Arthur thinks to himself, pulling the hand away. Just by touching the ribbon, Loki was saved, as Arthur had been saved before.

He gets to his feet, sliding slightly on the dusty ground. He steadies himself against the boulder and looks around, then walks a few steps towards the pool. Though the water still falls into the well, there is no sign of the Norns. More snow falls, alighting on the ground and on his shoulders. It is only when he notices the flakes settling on the water that he realises it's not snow. A fleck lands on the tip of his nose and he picks it off with a fingertip. It is a pale steely colour and doesn't melt to his touch like it should. He rubs it between two fingers and watches as it smudges them with dirt. It's ash.

Arthur looks at the sky as it rains ash over Asgard. The dark clouds are still there, though the ash isn't falling from them. It's fluttering down from the tree at the top of the cliff, Yggdrasill. There isn't much left of the tree now. The half that survived the lightning strike is black with disease and rot. Small flames burn along the split and the branches have almost totally disintegrated. All that is left of Yggdrasill is half the trunk, and even that is crumbling and decomposing into ash and embers.

‘
Arrrw?
' asks a moan from behind him. He turns in time to see Loki's eyes open. They look about him, at first with confusion but then with growing relief. They find Arthur on the barren landscape and fix on him.

‘I'm back here?' he says, taking in his surroundings, his voice hoarse and croaking. ‘No matter. I'll summon Bifrost in a minute to take me back to Midgard.' He looks at Arthur. ‘You saved me.'

‘No,' says Arthur. ‘I saved her.'

Loki plants an arm around the boulder and pulls himself to his feet. He is momentarily shaky and leans back against the rock to steady himself.

‘Hmm,' he says as a grin reaches from one ear to the other. ‘You did, didn't you? But how, pray tell, did you manage that?'

Arthur holds up his wrist for Loki to see. There is no breeze to pick up the ribbon yet Loki sees it glimmering in the dull light.

‘Is that Gleipnir?' he asks.

Arthur nods, keeping silent.

‘Ah. I should have noticed it. I would have worked it out if I had.'

‘You were too wrapped up in your own plans.'

‘Ha! I suppose that is the problem with gods. Too wrapped up in ourselves to notice the rest of you. But you're not like the rest, are you, Arthur? You're not like the rest of mankind at all.'

Arthur doesn't reply. He slides his hands behind his back, and a finger and thumb start to work at the knot on the ribbon, loosening it. Loki pushes himself away from the rock and begins to pace.

‘The last time I was here,' he starts, ‘the gods betrayed me. They laughed at me. Like I was the trick and not the trickster. And then, when they discovered my plan for revenge, they banished me from this place. From my home. They bound me under the earth for what they thought was eternity – all that time spent in agonising torture. But they should have known that even that wasn't enough to stop me. Revenge is a very powerful motivator, Arthur. If you learn nothing else, learn that.'

As he paces, he gets closer to Arthur.

‘But you, Arthur. You succeeded where the gods failed. Time and time again. You killed the Jormungand when they could only stun it. You found Fenrir after he escaped. You stopped a war. And even now, even though you shouldn't exist, you're still here! Standing before me. Nothing can stop you. But, as you've no doubt realised, nothing can stop me either.'

Loki comes to a standstill mere feet from the boy.

‘Of course, it's to be expected, really. You are my grandson, technically. So I have a proposal for you. I haven't been a good grandfather to you. I haven't given you sticky Werther's Originals from my pocket and I haven't told you naughty jokes when your parents weren't listening and I haven't done all the other cutesy things granddads do in adverts on television.

‘But despite all that I feel we have a bond, Arthur. True, I may not show it much – or at all. But I do care for you. I love you, as much as a god can love his meddling part-human grandchild. I know that really you're just going through a rebellious phase. Hormones are raging, you're probably finding hair in strange places and you just want a parental figure to act out against. Well, let me tell you something, Arthur. That doesn't have to be me.'

Arthur continues to listen, still fiddling with the knot of the ribbon out of sight.

‘You are such a clever boy, Arthur. You tricked me. You even tricked your own mother into not destroying me. We could be great allies, Arthur. You and me. So what do you say? Huh? Let's join forces. Together we'll control all of creation. Together we'll do wondrous things. Together we'll be unstoppable. Totally unstoppable.'

‘There's one problem, though,' Arthur speaks for the first time.

‘Oh? And what's that?'

‘You'd be unstoppably evil.'

Loki throws his head back and Arthur watches his pointed Adam's apple bob up and down as the god cackles loudly. Loki looks back at him, tears of joy streaming down his face.

‘I take it that's a no then?' he asks between chuckles.

‘That's a no,' Arthur confirms. He manages to get the ribbon off his wrist for the first time in almost a year. He palms it in his right hand, holding tight.

‘Well, if you won't join me, you're against me. And I'm afraid, grandson or not, I'll have to put an end to your interfering. It's time to do things the old-fashioned way.' He clenches his hands by his sides, blue veins popping up along the skin, and takes a step towards Arthur. ‘With my fists.'

Before Arthur can react, Loki hits him a blow that sends him spinning backwards. He tumbles to the ground and grinds to a halt on his front against the lip of the well. The little ring of stones around the edge of the water barely reaches as high as his shins. Loki leaps onto his back: a dead weight that forces something to snap excruciatingly loudly inside Arthur's body. For one terrible moment, as the pain washes through his back and chest, he is certain that his spine has been broken. But when he discovers that he can still move his legs and torso, he throws himself on his side, dislodging the god. Staggering away, he realises that the ache is pulsing from his left ribs.

Arthur is stumbling across the barren landscape when he hears Loki's rollicking laugh coming from behind him. Feet pound across the stony surface before a shoulder knocks into Arthur's spine. He cries out in agony and tumbles to the ground before he can so much as cushion the blow with his hands. His head slams into the rocky ground and the world spins.

The gash over his eye – which had partly scabbed over – gushes blood once more with the impact. He can feel the heat of the blood running down his face, over the eye-patch, and he can taste the metallic flavour on his lips.

Suddenly he is on his back and Loki is looming over him with a wicked sneer fixed on his face.

‘No more talking,' he says through the smile. ‘No more pleading. No one is here to save you.' He drops to his knees, one leg on either side of Arthur's chest. Loki wraps the long, bony fingers of each hand around Arthur's neck. ‘This isn't as much fun as torturing you. But at least it's quick.'

The gripping fingers tighten around Arthur's throat, vice-like.

Arthur gasps as the flow of oxygen to his lungs is cut off.

He can't catch a breath.

Loki pushes his head back.

His neck is being slowly crushed and he can't catch a breath.

Ash, he's thinking. Dad, Mum, everyone.

He can't breathe. He can't breathe. He can't breathe.

And he's reaching up his hand.

His nose whistles as it tries to suck in oxygen.

And it's not enough.

It's not enough.

Ash, Dad, Mum, everyone.

Blackness darts around the side of his vision.

And Loki is smiling.

He's grinning.

He's laughing.

He's happier than he's ever been before.

He's finally squeezing the life out of Arthur.

And Arthur can feel it leaving him.

Ash, Dad, Mum, everyone.

And all Arthur can do is reach up his hand.

And he keeps reaching.

And he touches Loki's wrist.

And Arthur Quinn is about to die.

And.

And–

Water. There is water washing over him. It's so cold that it's almost burning; so cold and so unexpected that the shock causes Loki's hands to release his throat. Arthur sucks in a great gasp of air. He can breathe, he can breathe!

Loki rises to his feet and turns to look at the well. Arthur also lifts his head.
This simple act sends pain shooting through his body. His ribs are still tender, his throat hurts with every breath and the fresh blood on his forehead continues to pulse out of him. But when he sees what Loki is looking at, he can't help but smile.

The Norns are standing in the well, staring right at Loki. Water is drying on the stones around him from where a wave has crashed over the rim of the well.

‘You!' Loki is saying. ‘It was you three. You have been helping him all along, haven't you?'

The Norns say nothing.

‘
Answer me!
You have to answer me! You helped him, didn't you?' shouts Loki striding towards the rim of the well.

‘We merely guided him,' says Urd, standing between her sisters.

‘You can't do that!' Loki sounds like a petulant child to Arthur, who pulls himself into a sitting position. Every part of him still hurts, but he has to do it. He has to get moving. He looks at the ribbon still in his hand and he knows what to do.

‘You can't do that!' Loki says again. ‘You can't interfere in the deeds of gods and men.'

‘We protect the tree,' says Verdandi. ‘That is our most important purpose.'

Arthur is on his feet and he's shuffling towards the boulders by the well. He's keeping his footsteps light, keeping his breaths shallow, keeping his one eye fixed on Loki's back. He reaches the rocks by the side of the well. Loki is still too focused on the Norns to notice him.