Chapter Twenty

The upstairs corridor was longer and narrower than the downstairs one, forcing them to walk in single file. The rugs were as lush as everywhere else in the Áras, the walls painted pristinely white and the ceiling a complex mass of stucco curlicues. Doors lined either side of the hallway, all covered in an ivory gloss that matched the walls. Arthur went first, keeping his eye fixed on the door dead ahead. It was just like all the others save for the brass plaque hanging on it that read in flowing calligraphy ‘Throne Room’.

They’d left Drysi in the golden room on the ground level, still in shock over Loki’s trick. Ash was leaning on her staff for support – almost totally stripped of wood by now. The cut over Arthur’s eye-patch had stopped bleeding, but a large purple and green bruise was flourishing around it. He stopped a stride away from the door and turned to Ash. She put her free hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He looked at the door again and could see his reflection in the plaque. His face was drawn and even more exhausted-looking than he felt.

He turned to her and raised his eyebrows weakly, too tired to speak.

She smiled feebly back and shrugged: as good a ‘let’s go’ as he was likely to get.

Arthur gripped the handle and turned.

He had expected a room around the same size as the one where they’d left Drysi. But this was not what he was met with.

Inside was a cavernous hall with a vaulted ceiling that reached so high he felt a wave of vertigo just gazing up at it. Brass chandeliers hung down, filled with candles burning with huge flames. The walls were sandstone, windowless but with long tapestries adorning them at every available spot. They depicted Loki in a variety of heroic poses: riding the Jormungand, battling a giantess, wrestling a bear, standing topless at the edge of the Grand Canyon with the sunlight gleaming behind him and a plaid bandana tied on his head. The floor was covered in a mosaic of tiny marble tiles, arranged to portray Loki’s massive grinning face.

The hall had been alive with noise when Arthur had pushed the door open but now, as they stood on the threshold, the silence was so sudden and so thick he would be able to hear a pin drop.

Members of the Wolfsguard stood on either side inside the door and one slammed it shut as soon as Arthur and Ash stepped into the room then returned to his position. But it was the other occupants of the room that had Arthur and Ash staring. To the left was a gigantic domed cage hanging between the chandeliers. It was like an oversized birdcage, complete with a pan of water, a tubular feeder full of seeds and nuts and a hanging iron bar for the birds to roost on. As soon as Arthur and Ash had appeared in the doorway, the gigantic birds had flown off the roost and flocked to the base of the cage, squawking agitatedly at Arthur and Ash. These weren’t ordinary parrots or budgies, however. They were Loki’s prisoners. Arthur spotted his dad there, with a bright yellow beak replacing the lower part of his face, wings for arms and claws for feet. Everything else – the torso, the legs, the clothes and, worst of all, the eyes – were Joe’s. Ash’s family were there too and the Lavender siblings and even Fenrir – all transformed into man-sized birds. Arthur heard Ash gasp next to him.

‘Dad …?’ he croaked. The birds all cawed piercingly in response.

‘Silence!’ ordered a hundred voices together.

The hall was laid out for a banquet, with several large round tables arranged throughout the room. Each table was covered with a white tablecloth, golden cutlery and candelabras. A wild boar, spitted and roasted with an apple wedged in its mouth, was on the centre of each table. The diners were sitting on gilt-covered chairs, watching Arthur and Ash carefully. There were men and women, boys and girls, all of them in their finest garments and all of them with Loki’s sneering face.

The birds quietened when the hundred Lokis shouted.

Beyond the banquet, next to a golden throne near the opposite wall, was Hel. Her arms and legs were splayed and she hovered a few feet above the ground, held suspended in a spherical, glowing green vortex. Her eyes were shut and Arthur knew by looking at her that she was unconscious; Drysi had told them the truth. Despite her resting state, there was no softness in her features; her face was still the twisted and craggy thing he’d seen in the graveyard.

I have to get to her, he thought. That’s what I have to do.

‘Hello, Arthur,’ said the hundred Lokis in one voice. ‘What a pleasant surprise!’

Arthur didn’t respond. He walked forward, heading straight for Hel.

‘Arthur, wait!’ called Ash, running after him.

‘It’s OK,’ he whispered to her. ‘You stay here.’

‘But the Lokis–’

‘They’re just tricks, illusions.’

He turned and kept walking in the direction of the banquet.

‘Don’t we scare you, Arthur?’ the voices said together.

‘Not any more.’ He weaved between the tables. The Lokis looked up at him with those grinning expressions.

Suddenly, one of the Loki-women in front of him stood up. It was strange to see the Father of Lies in a billowing ball-gown – a sight that would have sent Arthur into a fit of laughter under normal circumstances – but he had no time to appreciate the get-up before being punched backwards. He soared onto the nearest table. The boar toppled away from him and onto the tiled floor. The Lokis around the table all stood up and grabbed for Arthur, twenty hands all reaching forward to pull him apart.

Two hundred clawing fingers scrabbling at him.

And all the voices repeating his name as one.

‘Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.’

Before their fingers could even reach his neck, he had the pendant out. He flung it at the nearest Loki face and, with a blinding flash of green, they were all gone.

Arthur climbed down from the table, retrieved the pendant and looked around. Only one Loki remained – the real one. He was sitting on the throne next to Hel’s weird vortex, his fingers tapping impatiently on the golden wolf armrests. He was wearing the pinstriped suit he’d been so fond of in Arthur’s world and a golden antler-shaped crown, with emerald gems embedded all over. He watched Arthur closely, a wry smile fixed on his face.

Slowly, deliberately Loki started clapping his hands. The sound echoed against the stone walls. He stepped off the throne and walked in Arthur’s direction.

‘I feel like I should congratulate you,’ he said.

‘For what?’ Arthur took a step back, bristling.

‘For still being alive, to begin with, and for making it here … to this reality. I don’t know how you managed it, but you did. Who helped you?’

‘Nobody.’

‘Somebody did. Somebody gave the world the dream about Hel to help you. Didn’t work, though, did it? You didn’t find her soon enough. And then somebody brought you back to reality, despite Hel’s best efforts. As you can see, it took quite a lot out of her. Somebody’s been helping you all along. So I’ll ask you again. Who?’

The Norns! Arthur realised suddenly. They must have planted the dream. He kept his facial features even, hoping he wouldn’t give anything away to Loki.

‘Not going to tell me?’ he said when he saw Arthur’s fixed expression. ‘No matter. As you will see I kept an insurance policy for just this sort of eventuality.’

With one loud clap, there was another blinding flash of green. When Arthur could see again, the prisoners were no longer in the cage, nor were they still bird-people. But they weren’t normal either – their mouths had been sealed shut. Where their lips should have been was just smooth flesh, as if they had never had mouths to begin with. They were all in stocks, bent over with their heads and hands poking through the tight holes. They tried to pull themselves back out but a padlock on each stock held them firmly in place. Above them, a giant curved blade swung over and back from the ceiling. With each swing, it descended an inch closer to their necks.

‘No!’ screamed Ash, rushing to pull at the padlocks. ‘Let them go! Let them go!’

‘I might set them free if Arthur tells me who’s been helping him,’ said Loki, keeping his eyes trained on him.

Arthur whipped around to face him. ‘Fight me,’ he fumed.

‘What?’ For the first time, Loki seemed genuinely surprised.

‘I said fight me. If you beat me, I’ll tell you who’s been helping me. But you have to free them first.’

‘Why should I?’

‘Because they’re worth nothing to you. What you really want to know is who’s been helping me. If you know that, you can stop them and then you’ll have won. For good. But if you kill our families, you’ll never find out. Never!’

‘Arthur, no!’ Ash shouted.

Loki stared at Arthur as if considering his offer and all the while the pendulum-blade continued to fall. In a few more minutes it would slice through the prisoners’ necks.

Arthur ignored Ash and said to Loki, ‘It’ll be a fair fight. At least on my part.’ He held up the hammer and pendant in one hand and then threw them behind him. They landed next to the pair of guards.

‘Heh,’ said Loki. ‘I like the odds. Guards, take those things out of my sight!’

As the guards did his bidding, Ash ran to Arthur and grabbed him by the shoulders.

‘Arthur, he’ll kill you!’

‘Trust me, Ash, just trust me.’

‘But–’

She was cut off when he gave her the smallest of winks.

Arthur looked past her at Loki. ‘You have to free them first. That’s part of the deal.’

The god rolled his eyes. ‘Fine!’ He unhooked a full hoop of keys from his belt and flung them at Ash. They slipped out of her grip as she tried to catch them, but she hurriedly snatched them from the floor and ran back to the stocks.

‘I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, Arthur,’ said Loki.

‘You’re not the only one,’ Arthur replied. And without another second passing, without another swing of the pendulum, without another beat of his heart, the boy ran at the god.

The edge of the blade glinted on each rotation as it swung ever closer to the prisoners’ fragile necks. Ash ran right to the nearest stock, which held a man she didn’t recognise. His hairline was receding but he had the same jawline as Arthur so she guessed this must be his dad, Joe. She rattled the hoop of keys, looking through them, trying to work out which was the right one for this padlock. There were dozens of keys, of various lengths, colours and designs. Joe thrust his head about in the stock as much as he could, his eyes wide, and grunted in the back of his throat as if to get her attention. She looked at him quizzically as he nodded in the direction of the padlock and then back at the keys.

‘I’m trying my best,’ she said.

He shook his head as if to indicate that wasn’t what he was trying to say. He squinted furiously at the lock, forcing Ash to take a close look. It was a thick and heavy brass construction with the keyhole in the front. After examining it for a few seconds, she came to understand what Joe was trying to say. If the padlock was old and brass, then the key probably matched it.

Ash looked at the hoop again and counted eight tarnished brass keys just like the lock. She chose one at random and tried twisting it in the hole. She was met with resistance. Keeping one finger wrapped around that key so she wouldn’t lose track, she tried the next brass one. Again, the same tight resistance. She held onto it, put the third key in the hole and turned. The padlock clicked open. She knocked it to the ground. Joe immediately pushed upwards and the top fell sideways. As soon as he stepped away from the stocks, the flesh above his chin split open into a mouth once more. One down, seven to go. Ash moved to the next stock and started the process all over again.

As he ran at Loki, Arthur grabbed for the nearest thing at hand: a dinner plate from one of the tables. The meal was half eaten and most of the food was still stuck to it as he Frisbeed it right at the Father of Lies’ face. Loki put an arm up and the plate exploded against his elbow, throwing some brown-coloured sauce into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. When he had scraped it away he looked around, but Arthur was nowhere to be seen. He was about to call out to him when he noticed the boy’s legs disappearing under one of the tables beside him.

Arthur didn’t know if his plan would work. He wasn’t even sure it was a proper plan. There was certainly no strategy involved, despite the confidence he’d shown only seconds before. His goal was simple – to reach Hel. If he managed that, then he might be able to wake her up. Or, rather, he hoped he’d be able to wake his mother up. She was the only one with the power to make things right again.

Suddenly Loki was standing over him. He had the table in one hand, lifting it high. Arthur saw the fingers let go just in time to roll out of the way, as the table smashed back down onto the hard tiles, its legs collapsing and its top crashing to the floor, sending splinters and cutlery flying everywhere. The god threw back his head and laughed crazily, while Arthur threw himself under another table.

‘Oh, I am having fun,’ said Loki, gleefully eyeing his prey. ‘Ready for round two?’

Ash was reaching the halfway point. After freeing Joe, she got Stace out, who held her in a tight embrace. Following a few too many seconds of it, Ash pushed her away and moved on to the next stock. The first key she tried on the next padlock turned instantly and a tall, powerful-looking man with bushy black hair and a beard reared out of his stocks. He was probably Fenrir, Ash guessed, remembering the story Arthur had told her about the other reality. Next to him was the only girl she didn’t recognise, but she knew her name – Ellie Lavender.

Those already freed went to work on the rest of the stocks, pushing and pulling at the padlocks, trying to break them. But Ash knew it wouldn’t be as easy as that; Loki’s magic would ensure that only her keys could free them. The pendulous blade was dangerously close now and Ash could see dark smudges of dried blood on its edge. Finally, with a click, Ellie’s lock opened and Ash moved on to her mom, keeping one finger on the used keys as ever.

With a flick of Loki’s wrist, the second table was flung aside. But Arthur was already moving. While Loki was throwing the table, Arthur grabbed the edge of a tablecloth from the nearby wreckage and hurled it over the god. He tackled Loki and the two of them sprawled to the floor. As the god roared with frustration and tried to wrestle the tablecloth away, Arthur had already pushed himself to his feet and fixed his attention back on Hel. He turned towards the throne once more, but found himself tugged back violently as Loki shot an arm out from under the tablecloth, grabbing his ankle. Losing his footing, Arthur fell forward towards the hard floor and only avoided serious head trauma by throwing out his hands at the last instant. He struggled to break the god’s grip, kicking desperately while using his arms to try and scrabble forwards. But the tablecloth was melting from the god and he was able to reach out and grab Arthur with both arms now. He flipped the boy over and pulled him so close to his face that Arthur could smell boar meat on his breath.

‘Oh, Arthur, don’t you know we’re not playing “chase”,’ he spat. ‘We’re playing “pummel-Arthur-Quinn-to-a-bloody-pulp”!’

The last prisoner in the line of stocks was Max. By the time Ash reached him, the blade was so low she had to duck for fear it would cut her and she could feel the disturbance of it in the air. She’d been ignoring the noise of Loki and Arthur’s battle as much as possible, concentrating instead on freeing the prisoners. But then, without warning, a single agonising, piercing scream broke through her focus. The keys slipped from her hand and clattered onto the tiles.

‘No!’ she cried in anguish, picking them back up. She couldn’t remember which keys she’d used. There had only been one more brass key, which would surely have opened Max’s padlock. But now she had to go through all eight again. And the blade was swinging so low that the very swish of it was deafening and the hair on Max’s head stirred as it passed.

Suddenly Fenrir stepped to the side of the stocks, reached up and grabbed the blade in two massive fists as it reached the end of its arc. Using all his strength he managed to force the blade to a stop as it descended – but only just – and the steel sliced through the flesh of his palm as he held it steady. Ash looked up at him gratefully – any extra seconds would help – but his face was red with exertion and she could see the blade shuddering in his grasp as if it was desperate to continue its pendulous plummet. She realised he couldn’t hold it for long.

She turned back to the lock. They were almost out of time.

Loki smacked one hand hard across Arthur’s cheek, his needle-sharp nails tearing deep into the flesh. Not only could Arthur feel the slivers of skin ripping: he could hear them. The sound was almost as bad as the pain itself, and he screamed in agony. He didn’t want to do it, didn’t want to show any weakness in front of Loki, didn’t want to give him the pleasure. But he couldn’t help it. The scream burst from his lungs involuntarily.

The Father of Lies laughed. ‘Now, this game is way more fun!’

He stood and flung the boy high into the air. Arthur felt like a rag doll being tossed about and he could almost touch one of the chandeliers before he started to fall, hurtling back towards the hard floor, spinning dizzyingly. The tiles rose to meet him rapidly and he could see his terrible fate coming; he’d smash into the ground and either be instantly paralysed or instantly dead. Then, as he plummeted down, Loki casually pulled back his arm and thrust it forward, catching Arthur in the stomach and sending him soaring across the hall.

The last key! Ash had tried all the others before she heard the reassuring click of the lock. Fenrir was gritting his teeth as he strained to keep the blade in place and a trickle of dark blood ran down between his fingers. The blade was so low that they couldn’t throw the top part of the stocks open fully, but she managed to lift it part way and Max squeezed his head and hands through the gap. As soon as he fell free, landing on his backside with a thump, the stocks and the blade disappeared with a green flash.

Ash turned in time to see Loki approaching Arthur. The boy was slumped against the side wall, his eyelids fluttering rapidly as if caught in a dream – or a nightmare. Without giving it a moment’s thought, she rushed into the narrowing gap between her friend and the god, and faced Loki.

He stopped and smirked maliciously at her.

‘Do you really think you can save him, Ash?’

‘Not alone, she can’t.’

Whoever had spoken laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked around to see Joe standing there, glaring at Loki. Max appeared to take her left hand and Ellie took her right. Then Ex, Stace, Fenrir and her parents clustered in behind her, hiding Arthur from the Father of Lies.

Loki’s grin grew wider.

‘All right,’ he said, taking a step back. ‘We’ll do it your way.’ He clapped his hands.

Instantly, the throne room vanished. The walls, the tiled floor, the chandeliers, the banquet tables, even the massive throne itself, all crumbled and floated away like ash. They were standing in the middle of a battlefield. Grey, churned earth stretched away in every direction with rubble, broken weapons and discarded army uniforms strewn all over. There were blackened and burnt trees in one direction, rolling mounds of mud in another. The sky was a matching charcoal, black clouds on the horizon threatening rain. There was no sign of life anywhere, no buildings peppering the landscape, no soldiers to fight whatever war had wrought such destruction.

Except that we’re the soldiers, thought Ash, as she looked around. We’re the ones who have to fight.

Even the atmosphere was lifeless; there was a church-like silence, waiting to be broken at any second. Hel was still floating in her vortex, a few hundred yards away.

‘He’s gone,’ murmured Ellie.

Instinctively, Ash whipped around to check on Arthur, but he was still there and still unconscious. Ellie hadn’t meant him. She had meant Loki. Loki was gone.

As if on cue, they heard a buzzing in the distance. It was barely audible at first but deep enough for Ash to identify it as an engine. She’d come to recognise the sound after months of keeping her ears pricked for similar noises in the flooded Dublin. It was an engine. And it was getting closer.

‘There,’ said the tall boy, who had to be Ex Lavender, pointing a long finger towards the horizon.

A dark smudge hovered over the battlefield, getting nearer and larger with each passing second.

‘Run,’ said Ash, her voice lower than she intended.

‘What?’ someone asked; her mother, she thought.

‘I said run!’

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.