Chapter Eight

In a time before history was written down, in Asgard, the realm of the gods, it is said that the great wolf Hati pursues the moon across the shifting night sky. If this is so, then the chase goes on now, as the sun has fallen behind the horizon for the day and the moon has taken its place high over the land.

Loki, the Father of Lies, stands on a hilltop staring up at the great celestial body. In Asgard, the moon shines larger and brighter and fuller than in any of the other worlds and he can see the pits and cracks and mountains on its face clearly. And, moments later, he watches something fall from the moon to Asgard. It soars across the sky – a falling rock with a tail of flame trailing behind it. He looks on as it plummets to the ground and feels the impact shudder through his legs, even from this distance.

The Trickster God smiles and spreads out his arms. The black cloak he is wearing falls in thick folds, then, with a flash of vivid emerald light, transforms into wings. He looks at his arms, now covered in expansive green feathers, and laughs. He flaps the colossal wings once, twice and with that is in the sky, flying over the mystical land.

Below him forests spread out as far as the eye can see. There are trees as tiny and fragile as a single hair on the back of his hand and trees as tall and monstrous and sturdy as Odin All-Father’s great dining hall. There are trees of wood so dark and dense that the inhabitants of Asgard are always in danger of wandering too close and being absorbed into their endless blackness, and there are trees of timber so light that they are invisible to the eye and you would not be aware of them until you bumped into them. There are trees that grow so fast that you can hear them groaning, trees that walk and move and run, and trees that need centuries to take root. There are trees that aren’t even made of wood: they are formed from iron and steel, marble and stone, flesh and bone. There are some trees that are even created from dreams and nightmares or hopes and fears – psychedelic, shifting things that most dread to look upon. This, then, is Asgard.

Twelve gods and twelve goddesses call the realm their home. At the head of their society is their ruler, Odin All-Father. Although he has but one eye, he can see all. Or almost all, Loki snickers to himself, batting his gigantic wings. He, the god of mischief, is a joke to the other gods, as demonstrated the previous night. In Odin’s hall they had all laughed as a giantess had sewn Loki’s mouth closed and he’d sworn it would be the last time they shamed him. As the sun rose on a new day, Loki had put his plan for revenge into action. He had created the Jormungand, the serpent that would destroy the world. Since then, the Jormungand had travelled to Midgard, the realm of Man, and the gods, roused into action, still have not found Loki. And now he will create his second child, the next stage in his brilliant scheme.

There is a clearing where the rock fell to earth, the trees burned away by the force of the collision and the earth scorched black all around. He extends his wings as wide as possible and soars gracefully into the centre of the clearing. As his feet alight on the ground once more, there is a flash of green light and his wings transform back into a pair of strong arms, the black cloak hanging from them.

Loki looks up at the moon. It is hanging directly above him, the white light falling into the clearing and illuminating his way. He walks towards the centre and can feel the heat scorching through his boar-leather soles. There is a small mound in the middle of the clearing, little more than an anthill. The point of impact. And there, on the top of the mound, is the thing that fell.

At first glance, it is just a white pebble. But Loki knows it is so much more. Even from here, standing a few feet away, he can feel great heat radiating from it. It is smoothly curved and white hot from breaking through the atmosphere. The Father of Lies yearns to touch it, to feel its power. He reaches forward and picks it up, gripping it tightly.

He smells the acrid stench of the flesh of his palm burning and singeing as he holds it. He keeps his hand like that for as long as he can, relishing the pain and savouring the power. Then he loosens his grip slightly between his index finger and thumb. He blows into the hollow he has created. Icy air escapes from his lungs and envelopes the moonstone. It cracks and hisses and whistles sharply as it cools. The burning sensation is gone now, but the pain remains.

He opens his hand. His palm is red raw; the skin has burned off it completely, exposing strips of blood and muscle. It is not pretty to look upon and the pain is inching further up his arm but he doesn’t mind. His attention is focused on the small pebble.

Now that it has cooled down, it no longer appears white but is transparent, like a piece of glass. He takes it in his other hand – with a flash of green light, his burned hand repairs itself – and examines it more closely. The pebble isn’t fully clear: pale swirls of green and pink dance in the glass and motes of moon-dust glitter throughout. It is a perfect circle, with a smooth convex curve on each side, and the moon itself is magnified behind it as Loki holds it up to the light.

‘A piece of the moon,’ he says to no one but himself. ‘Did the Moon-wolf Hati bite you off?’ Hmm. Hati’s Bite. A suitable name.

He can’t take his eyes off it. Such a small and pretty trinket and yet so powerful, so dangerous. The destruction it has caused in this clearing will be a drop in the ocean compared to what he will do with it. It is just what he needs.

A noise unexpectedly breaks through his train of thought. It is a whining sound, coming from the edge of the clearing, shrill and piercing like the cry of an animal in pain. Loki turns towards the noise and squints at the source through the darkness.

With the beast’s black coat, Loki has trouble spotting it at first, but then he notices a shape. ‘Oh,’ he says with glee when he sees what it is. ‘Fortune favours me tonight.’

It is a wolf, lying on its side under a half-fallen tree. Its head rolls around and it is whining, clearly hurt. Loki walks towards it to get a closer look. The fur on one side of its body has been burned away, presumably scorched by the impact of Hati’s Bite. Bare skin and muscle are exposed underneath and he can see the animal’s ribs shuddering up and down with each laboured breath.

Loki kneels by the wolf and slides his arms underneath it. At first the beast growls at him but then whimpers when Loki lifts it off the ground. Its head lolls to one side; it is too weak to lift it.

‘Fortune favours you, too,’ Loki tells the wolf as he carries it back into the centre of the clearing. ‘I will make you better. Better and stronger and more powerful than you have ever been. You will walk on two feet and you will make me an army.’ He crouches down, laying the beast on top of the small mound. Its back twists awkwardly over the bump. ‘I will give you a piece of my power. For you are my second child, my Fenris Wolf.’

With that, he points Hati’s Bite at the moon. Rays of moonlight fall through the glass, contracting into a single beam of white. Loki murmurs words constructed from the ancient and primordial language of runes and tilts the piece of moonstone, focusing the light beam over the wolf’s face and into one fearful eye.

There is a sudden and blinding flash of light.

‘Argh!’

Arthur sat bolt upright in bed, drenched in sweat. He’d finally had it! The dream he’d been expecting and dreading ever since his pendant had glowed a few days ago – he’d finally had it. He felt a dull, throbbing pain in his right hand. He looked down at it, holding it palm-up. It looked fine, but the memory of soreness was still there. He recalled with great discomfort that Loki had burned his own right hand in the dream. Whatever was wrong with Arthur’s hand, the pain was gradually fading, so he put it out of his mind.

A pale white light flowed in through the curtains of his bedroom. Some of the glass had been smashed while Arthur had been away. He assumed correctly that it was a result of the hammer breaking through, while Joe thought it had been some neighbours’ kids and a misplaced football. Either way, the hole was now patched with a sheet of cardboard; Joe had promised to get it fixed on Monday. Arthur glanced at the phone on his bedside locker. It was still dead from the frozen lake. He’d tried the trick of holding it under a hair-dryer but to no avail. He got up, walked barefoot across a chilly floor to his desk and switched on his laptop. By the time it had finally booted up, it was 7.21. Far too early to be up on a Saturday morning. However, he knew that there was no chance of getting back to sleep again after that dream.

When they’d arrived home the day before, Joe had still been at work so Arthur had spent most of the evening in the Barry house, playing with Ice. Joe came knocking around seven and, after simultaneously commending Arthur for rescuing Ash and reprimanding him for putting his own life at risk, he took him to a local pizzeria for dinner.

Arthur sat down at his desk, his cold toes curling under the chair, and logged on to Skype. The instant-messenger service popped up on the screen, telling him that Ash was online. That didn’t mean much as Ash usually left her laptop on overnight anyway, downloading the latest updates for all her favourite pieces of software. And Ash had a lot of favourite pieces of software.

However, it was worth a try, so he double-clicked on her name. The tone of a phone played through the speakers. It rang six or seven times and Arthur was just about to hang up when–

‘Morning,’ Ash croaked and a dark and grainy image of her face filled the screen. ‘It’s very early, Arthur. What’s up?’

‘Sorry,’ he said, tilting his own webcam so she could see him better. ‘I know it’s early but can I call over? I have something to tell you.’

‘What is it?’ She rubbed her eyes, still not awake enough to look concerned.

‘I had one of the dreams.’

Those words managed to shake her awake and she looked at him on the screen with wide, worried eyes.

‘You’d better come over, then.’

Ash was still in her peach-coloured pyjamas and dressing gown when Arthur arrived at her door a few minutes later. Ice was at her feet, wagging her tail merrily at him.

‘Have you eaten yet?’ she asked, leading him into the kitchen. The house was quiet; all the other Barrys were sensible enough to still be in their cosy beds. Even from downstairs, he could hear Granny Barry’s ragged snores from the spare room.

‘No, I wanted to tell you right away.’

She opened a cabinet over the sink and pulled out a box of cereal. ‘Fancy some?’ He nodded and she started collecting bowls, spoons and milk.

‘Listen, Ash …’ he started as she worked.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Wait till we’re finished eating.’

‘Why?’

‘Because the longer I put off hearing about the dream, the longer I can imagine he’s not back.’ She sat down and poured herself a heaped bowl of Cornflakes, splashing milk liberally over them. Arthur watched in silence as she started to eat, then sat down across from her and copied her.

For the next few minutes, they didn’t speak. The only sound in the kitchen was the crunching of cereal and Ice’s paws and wheels rolling on the tiled floor. The tension didn’t break until Ash slurped the last of the milk from her bowl and put it aside.

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Tell me.’

He told her. He told her about Loki’s flight through Asgard, about the moonstone and the clearing, and lastly he told her about the Fenris Wolf. As he recounted the story, he paced the room, looking anywhere but at Ash. He studied the floor, the ceiling, the plates in the open dishwasher.

And most of all, he studied Ice. She sat in front of him, looking at him with her big black eyes and with her ears cocked as if listening to his tale. The more he watched her, the more he was filled with a sense of unease about the pup. The way she was looking at him seemed to be intense, intelligent, almost human.

When he was done, all Ash could manage was, ‘Wow.’

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘But that’s not the worst part of it.’

‘What’s the worst part?’

Before the pup had time to react, Arthur picked her up and dropped her out into the hallway, shutting the door between them. He urgently turned back to Ash, who had a confused look on her face.

‘Why did you–’ she started.

‘Listen, Ash,’ he leaned over the breakfast table, whispering frantically, ‘just as I was telling the story, I realised something. Have you ever noticed how Ice looks just like a wolf cub?’

Ice was scratching the door, whining to get in.

‘What?’

‘Think about it. The long snout, the pointy ears. What dog looks like that? She looks just like a younger version of the wolf in my dream.’

‘Arthur don’t be ridic–’

‘Look at how we found her! On the ice. How did she get out there by herself? She could barely crawl to you, let alone make it that far out.’

‘It’s like Cousin Maggie said: someone put her there to die.’

‘No, don’t you see? She was there deliberately waiting for us.’

The scratching had become increasingly fevered. Ash looked at Arthur, the accusation hanging in the air between them.

‘You think … you think that my puppy was trying to kill us?’ She raised her eyebrows as she said it and he could see she was sceptical.

Arthur let out the breath he’d been holding and said, ‘Look, I know it sounds crazy, but if you’d had my dream you’d be suspicious too.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Ash asked. ‘How do we prove or disprove your theory?’

‘I don’t know,’ he replied.

‘Wait! I have an idea!’ Ash tapped Arthur’s chest. ‘Loki can’t touch the pendant without it hurting him,’ she reminded him. ‘Surely the same would apply to this child of his, this Fenris Wolf.’

Arthur thought it over before nodding. ‘You could be right.’

Ash got up, walked to the door and opened it. Ice practically fell into the room. Ash smiled for a second as the cute pup licked her ankles innocently then picked her up and carried her to Arthur.

He took the pendant from around his neck and dangled it over the little pup in Ash’s arms. She gawked up at it, the bronze disc reflected in her dark eyes.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘Here goes.’ He lowered the pendant until it hung just above Ice’s fur. He hesitated, bracing himself in case of the blast that had happened every time Loki had touched the pendant, then placed it against Ice’s back.

Nothing happened.

The dog twisted in Ash’s arms and snapped at the pendant as if she thought Arthur was teasing her with it, but he snatched it away before she could catch it.

‘Well, that answers that,’ said Ash with a relieved smile. She nuzzled her face into Ice’s fur before setting her back down.

‘I’m not sure it answers anything,’ Arthur warned.

‘What do you mean?’ Ice looked from one friend to the other, wagging her tail excitedly.

‘We don’t really know if the pendant would have any effect on the wolf. I had no chance to try it against the World Serpent,’ Arthur said. ‘We can’t let ourselves be fooled again.’

‘Be fooled? What do you mean? Look at her, Arthur. She’s tiny and helpless – do you think she’s faking the problem with her legs? How could she possibly hurt us?’

‘Listen–’

‘No! You listen to me.’ She was suddenly furious, more so than Arthur had ever seen her, and he decided it would be prudent to stay quiet. ‘You’re obviously scared of Ice. I know she almost got us drowned, but it wasn’t her fault. It was mine. Clearly that wasn’t a real Loki dream you had; it was just an ordinary nightmare. A bad nightmare – like Max has been having.’

‘Yeah … OK, maybe you’re right,’ Arthur admitted, putting the pendant back around his neck. An awkward silence ensued and then, ‘Well, I suppose I should go home. You probably want to get a little more sleep.’

‘Yeah, I’m still pretty tired, actually.’

They didn’t say anything else to each other as Arthur let himself out. On the walk back to his house, he wondered about his dream. He wasn’t at all convinced by Ash’s idea that it was a simple nightmare. He was sure that it had been a vision and that Loki’s second child was a wolf, so he had a bad feeling and really didn’t know what to think about Ice. Despite the lack of reaction to the pendant, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they shouldn’t trust the little dog. He’d been tricked once before and it had almost cost him, Ash and Max their lives. Even if he couldn’t convince Ash, he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.