Lotta’s first journey into the world of Midgard had started out well enough. Following the sound of Scold’s battle cries, the trainees on their flying warhorses soared out through the gates of Asgard, just like proper Valkyries.
They looped around the top of Yggdrasil’s trunk, enormous leaves fluttering in the breeze as they descended. Lotta spotted signposts hanging in the branches: one showed the way to the temples of Vanaheim, and below that another sign pointed towards the Elves in Alfheim. Under a domed sky Midgard lay directly beneath them, perched between the trunk and a sturdy branch. It was beautiful, if you didn’t mind heights.
A few hours later they crossed into Midgard, a storm began, and everything went wrong. It turns out that despite Thighbiter’s tough attitude, in reality the horse had a serious problem with thunder.
They dropped further and further behind the others, but Lotta didn’t dare call out. Valkyries were supposed to be excellent horse riders. It was one of the things they were tested on, and Lotta was already on her last warning. She couldn’t give Scold any more reasons to fail her. If Lotta couldn’t be a Valkyrie, she didn’t know what she would do.
Lotta had been born in a battle to the far south of Krud, in a land where tall palm trees cast shade on to the dusty desert, and stone buildings with curved arches nestled against rocky outcrops. She may not be naturally talented at transformation, or horse riding, or … fighting, but she was a Valkyrie and she was determined to show everyone she could do anything the others could. Even if that meant riding her bad-tempered horse through a storm.
Grey, choppy water surged under Thighbiter’s hooves. Lotta bent low over the horse’s neck. ‘Come on, Thighbiter – just a bit further. If we don’t keep up, they’ll get to the battle and head back to Asgard without us.’ Lotta wasn’t sure how long collecting fallen warriors would take, but she doubted Scold would want to hang about.
Thighbiter snorted in agreement, but seconds later a CRASH and a blinding flash of light made the horse panic and lunge for the ground.
Thighbiter landed with a splash, spliSH, GURGLE, squish. Lotta clutched the horse’s neck to stop herself from falling. The invisibility gauntlet on her wrist clicked in a broken-sounding way, and both she and Thighbiter popped back into sight.
‘Trust me to get a dodgy one.’ Lotta sat up, twisting the central band and trying to get it to work. She and the warhorse flickered but stayed resolutely visible.
Pushing her helmet up from over her eyes, Lotta looked around. They had landed in a damp brown scrubby patch of land next to the cliffs. Big rocks and brambles were dotted all around. No arrows, swords, enormous hairy men or hungry ravens, though. In fact, there was no sign of a battle anywhere. Lotta’s heart sank. ‘We must be miles off course.’ She wiped rain off her face.
The sea pounded against rocks somewhere in the murk, and in the distance sat a group of squat Viking buildings. A large boulder stood alone in the middle of the field. Thighbiter squelched towards it. Lotta read:
Ivor the Nose Grinder
Gerroff my land!
Travelling minstrels will
be force-fed cabbage
till they burst!
‘Good thing I’m not musical.’
Thighbiter tossed his mane in agreement, intentionally showering her with raindrops. Lotta grimaced, feeling the water seep through her black curls and drip down her neck. She slid down from the saddle, landing with a squelch. Hooking Thighbiter’s reins over his head, she led him towards the nearest building. With any luck someone there would be able to tell her where the nearest battle was and they could get back on track.
Lotta slowed down as they approached the farm. She glanced uneasily at Thighbiter’s head and body armour. It had been made by the finest Dwarf craftsmen out of leather and iron. It was beautiful, elaborate and very scary to look at, covered in spikes and pictures of snarling faces. In Asgard it looked magnificent, but down here in the human world it looked a bit … out of place. Lotta rubbed her neck. Maybe walking into a Viking home with a heavily armoured horse wasn’t such a good idea – people would be bound to ask questions.
Lotta loitered behind one of the buildings, debating whether to leave Thighbiter somewhere and go in by herself. If she took off her helmet, she might pass for a Viking, or a lost traveller, someone human at least. She absolutely had to find out where Scold and the others were. A whinny came from a nearby building. Lotta peeked inside and found a stable. Perfect.
It took a moment for Lotta’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was good to be out of the rain, and now that all four hooves were back on the ground, Thighbiter seemed to be recovering his old bad attitude. He leered at a squat pony who was chewing hay nearby.
Lotta spotted an empty stall at the end of the row and led Thighbiter towards it. Her Valkyrie shield glowed faintly, giving them just enough light to see by. The other horses whinnied and snickered at their strange appearance.
‘Excuse me,’ she muttered to herself. ‘You don’t happen to know if there’s a battle anywhere around here, do you? No, I can’t say that.’
Thighbiter gave a snort, which sounded exactly like a laugh.
She stepped into the empty stall. ‘Be quiet – this is all your fault.’ The straw looked thick and lumpy. Her foot brushed against something. Funny, she thought, poking at the straw with her boot. That almost looks like … a leg.
Lotta stopped. She knelt down and brushed the straw away. It was a leg. And a foot … and a body. Lotta pushed more straw away, following an arm up to a shoulder, then to a head. It belonged to a boy with dirty blond hair and ragged clothing. Lotta’s nose wrinkled. When did he last have a wash? And what in all of Midgard is he doing asleep buried in straw?
Lotta poked him with the metal toecap of her boot. ‘Oi, are you OK?’
The boy didn’t answer.
Rummaging in the straw, Lotta found one of the boy’s hands and lifted it. It felt cold and clammy and had very grubby fingernails. Lotta let go and his arm dropped heavily back down with a SMACK. The boy’s head lolled to one side and his eyes remained closed.
A prickle ran up Lotta’s spine. She stumbled out of the stall, bumping into Thighbiter, who snorted at her as she pulled him towards the open door. ‘I think we should get out of here,’ she muttered.
In the doorway, Thighbiter twitched his ears and gave a whinny of recognition. Lotta tipped her head backwards to gaze up at the sky. Flickering on the edge of her vision was a collection of riders on flying horses. The pounding of their hooves blending in with the thunder. Lotta could just make out the mighty horns of Scold’s helmet, followed by a flash of silver, which she was sure was one of the twin’s hair.
Lotta’s heart dropped. ‘They’re on their way back to Asgard. I can’t believe I missed my first battle.’ She slumped against the doorway, accidentally getting one of the spikes on her helmet stuck in the splintery wood. ‘Once Scold realizes we’re not there and haven’t brought back a fallen warrior, that’ll be it. I’ll be stuck as a Class Three Valkyrie forever.’
Thighbiter pawed at the ground, keen to join the others.
‘Oh, so now you fancy a bit of flying, do you?’ Lotta grumbled, trying to pull her helmet free. Thighbiter looked a bit ashamed.
Lotta gave up on her helmet and leaned back against the horse’s warm body. ‘It’s no use. Even if we could catch up, we don’t have anyone to bring back … from … the battle …’
In unison, the horse and wannabe Valkyrie turned their heads to look back into the straw-filled darkness behind them.
Ten minutes later, horse and rider were pounding through the sky, faster than they’d ever flown, and catching up with the crowd of Valkyries ahead. Thighbiter’s legs pumped and thrashed, charging out through the edge of Midgard’s domed sky and following Yggdrasil’s trunk upward past the branches that led to the other worlds.
Lotta bent low over the horse’s neck, urging him onward. In front of her, resting awkwardly across the saddle, was the unmoving form of the boy. Lotta crossed her fingers, hoping that whatever had happened to him had been Heroic.
Asgard appeared ahead of them, rising like an island out of the topmost branches of the world tree. A bronze sky hung above the city, and tall white walls stretched as far as the eye could see, towering out of lush grass. A warning was chiselled into the enormous walls. It read:
FROST GIANTS KEEP OUT
Beneath it and in different handwriting, someone else had carved:
Loki smels of poOo
Just outside the walls the air shimmered as Scold popped back into full vision, her horse prancing on the grass. With a series of clicks, the rest of the trainees reappeared. They clustered around Scold, horses snorting and steaming. Lotta and Thighbiter snuck into position at the back and tried to look as if they had been there all along. A bead of sweat trickled behind Lotta’s ear as she tried to control her breathing.
After a quick squint at the trainees, Scold reached into her pocket and produced the heavy key to unlock the gates.
Flay scowled at Lotta from beneath her helmet. She went to toss a plait over her shoulder, but her fingers closed around a short tuft instead. Her mouth curled into a snarl.
Flee noticed and glanced behind her at the boy lying across Lotta’s saddle. She nudged her sister. ‘Look at the state of him – he’s not even wearing any armour,’ she said with a snigger.
Lotta’s brown skin felt hot and prickly; she flicked the corner of the boy’s cloak over his face.
‘Very well done, ladies,’ called Scold. ‘All that is left to do is to deliver your Heroes and warriors to the hall of Valhalla.’ She gestured at the massive wooden building looming through the gates.
The trainee Valkyries formed into a line, Lotta and Thighbiter lingering at the back. Lotta’s heart thudded painfully. All she had to do was get the boy past Scold and they would be safe.
She watched Flay trot confidently towards the gates, a warrior slumped easily over her saddle. He was enormous, with a scratchy red beard and blue battle tattoos. Scold gave a nod and Flay smiled. Next came Flee, her warrior almost as large and hairy. She was followed by the other trainees. A small girl struggled to keep her warrior on her horse – he kept slipping to one side, forcing her to hold on tightly to the back of his tunic.
Then it was Lotta’s turn. Pushing her shoulders back and her chin up, she urged Thighbiter into a careful trot.
‘Wait!’
Lotta’s heart sped up into a whirr. Scold approached, looking curiously at the bundle lying over Thighbiter’s saddle. Reaching out one tanned hand, she twitched the cloak aside, revealing the boy’s face.
‘He’s a bit young, isn’t he?’
Lotta clamped her lips together and smiled. She didn’t trust herself to speak. A second bead of sweat crept out from under her helmet.
Scold peered closely at the boy. Then, to Lotta’s amazement, she nodded, and Thighbiter trotted onward. Lotta breathed out and her fingers – which had been gripping the reins so tightly her knuckles cracked – relaxed.
Unfortunately, just when everything seemed to be going right, the bundle on Lotta’s saddle gave a great snore. ‘NWAA-ARR!’
Lotta jumped in shock; even Thighbiter wobbled a bit.
Scold’s head shot round. ‘What was that?’
‘GWARGH, HARK, hack, hack.’ Lotta faked a coughing fit. She clutched her chest in explanation. The boy twitched against her leg, and Lotta urged Thighbiter into a faster trot. Under Scold’s beady eyes they passed through the great gates and into Asgard.
Lotta thought she might pass out with terror. If Scold found out she had brought a living human into the world of the Gods, she would be in the worst trouble ever. Her mess-up in Valhalla with the Saga of Svenson the Selfish would be nothing compared to this. She had been so sure he was dead. He was cold, he was still. He was … waking up!
Her hands slipped on the reins as she looked around in panic, but nobody paid any attention. The real fallen warriors were beginning to change. Their bodies gaining the magical blue glow that marked them out as the guests of Odin. Lotta’s thoughts spun. She couldn’t take him to Valhalla – it was obvious that he was still alive. She needed a hiding place … and quick.