Whetstone dragged Lotta out of the way as Ivor the Nose Grinder marched towards the dragon, with Awfulrick and his band of Vikings looming threateningly behind him. ‘I’ve had enough of this!’ he yelled. He hadn’t managed to scrape all the dragon dribble off his helmet, and several droplets clung to the horns, wobbling dangerously as he walked.
‘You can all get off my land! Can’t you read? Dragons! Cups! Minstrels! Weird bird-things that turn into people! You can all GET OUT!’ He stomped up to the dragon and thumped it on the ear with his sword. The dragon woke up with a snort and peeled one eye open. Nidhogg obviously recognized the tiny Viking; he sniggered and blew out a delicate stream of fire to tickle Ivor on the backside.
‘Argh!’ Ivor clasped his burning bottom. He scuttled back towards Awfulrick and the rest of the Vikings, who had reached the edge of the field. Oresmiter pushed him into a patch of wet mud, splattering several nearby warriors. Ivor sank gratefully in the mud as steam rose around him.
Whetstone swallowed, pulling his muddy hood up over his head; the last thing he needed was for Awfulrick to recognize him.
Dozens of Vikings in full battledress fanned out to surround the by now very angry dragon. A dragon who didn’t like being woken up by a group of men in pointy helmets who were trying to poke him with swords.
‘What in the Nine Worlds is going on?’ Lotta panted, trying not to put any weight on her bad foot as they hobbled away from the Vikings and dragon. ‘And where did Loki go?’
In a panic, Whetstone twisted his head about, searching for Loki’s golden hair and patched cloak. But the man had disappeared.
In the distance, a rainbow twinkled. ‘He must’ve used the Bifrost Bridge to go back to Asgard,’ said Lotta.
‘He wouldn’t go – he hasn’t got the cup yet.’
Taking his chance while Nidhogg was distracted with the arrival of the Vikings, Whetstone helped Lotta hide behind a patch of brambles a short distance away. He dropped down next to her and lay on his stomach.
Whetstone carefully parted the brambles to peer through. A glint of gold poked out from the mud. ‘The cup is still down there,’ he said, pointing. ‘In between the dragon’s feet.’
Lotta swivelled round to lie down beside him. ‘My sword is there too – Scold will go nuts if I lose it.’
‘She’s the least of your problems now.’ Whetstone leaned on his elbow to look at her. ‘What happened? You said you made a deal with Odin?’
Lotta pulled a twig out of her hair. ‘You have to get rid of the dragon. That will prove you’re a Hero – and if you’re a Hero, I haven’t broken any rules.’
‘I’m not dead though.’
‘You haven’t survived this yet.’ Lotta grinned.
‘What about Loki – could he still have you banished?’
‘Odin is in charge of the Valkyries, not Loki. He can’t banish me without Odin’s say-so, and now Odin knows the truth, he can’t manipulate me any more. I just need to turn you into a Hero, and I’m done.’
In front of them, the dragon spat fire and beat his wings, accidentally knocking over a group of Vikings who had been sneaking up on it from behind. A prickle of sweat broke out between Whetstone’s shoulder blades. A second group narrowly avoided being set on fire as Nidhogg turned to see what was happening near his tail. Whetstone swallowed. ‘Get rid of the dragon, yeah. Any idea how?’
‘C’mon, it can’t be that bad. You already got out from under his tail.’
‘That was Light Finger – I mean Loki. Loki is Light Finger. He helped me, but it was all a trick – he’s been planning this my whole life.’
Lotta leaned up on her elbow. ‘He needs you to talk to the cup for him. Frigg told me that’s the only way he can find out what he wants to know.’
‘But what does he want to know?’
Lotta poked him on the forehead. ‘Think! It must be something he knows is in your future.’
‘There’s nothing in my future.’ Whetstone huffed. ‘I’m no one, just an orphan from Drott who grew up with a wolf-obsessed crazy lady.’
‘Not just an orphan – you were found. It must have something to do with what happened to your parents!’
Whetstone felt like a hole had opened up inside his stomach.
Awfulrick’s voice boomed over the field, ‘SO WHAT WE’RE GOING TO DO IS – ATTACK IT ONE AT A TIME!’
Whetstone and Lotta peered back through the brambles as the Vikings gave a loud cheer and stampeded away from Nidhogg.
‘IT’S MORE SPORTING THIS WAY,’ the Viking Chief continued. ‘AFTER ALL, THERE IS ONLY ONE DRAGON!’ The Viking horde cheered again and started lining up one behind the other, the ones at the back taking the opportunity to wipe down their helmets and sharpen their weapons.
Whetstone shook his head, trying to clear away the swell of unfamiliar emotions. He swallowed. ‘They’re going to get killed. They should have just left it alone. It was asleep.’
A man with tufty pigtails charged at the dragon, his sword held high. ‘ArArArArGHHHH!’
Whetstone and Lotta winced as Nidhogg swiped forward with his front foot, sending the man flying across the field. A cloud of arrows filled the sky from the Viking line; Nidhogg incinerated them with a single burst of flame. Ash rained down on the pair hiding under the bush.
Lotta sat up suddenly. ‘What is he doing here?’
The back of his neck prickled, and with a sinking feeling Whetstone realized Lotta wasn’t watching the Vikings, she was looking at something over his shoulder. He twisted around. ‘Vali!’
Vali’s face looked even more sickly now – he seemed hollow. His arm shot out and grabbed Whetstone’s elbow, dragging the boy to his feet.
‘Let go.’ Whetstone yanked at Vali’s hand – it was freezing cold, like a fistful of icicles.
‘I suppose you think you’re better than me,’ Vali spat. A trickle of sweat ran down the side of his white face. ‘But you’re not. Your pathetic quest is going to fail.’ The boy squeezed Whetstone’s arm painfully.
Lotta scrambled to her knees. ‘What are you even doing here? You should be in Asgard.’
Vali glared at her. ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Keep me out of the way.’ He dragged Whetstone closer.
Lotta lunged sideways to avoid being skewered as a smoking spear thudded into the ground next to Vali’s foot.
Whetstone tried to pull the older boy away. ‘We have to move. We’re going to get killed!’
A knife appeared in Vali’s free hand. ‘No, just you.’ He slashed forward, his eyes cold with hatred. Whetstone dodged sideways trying to avoid the blade, but Vali tightened his grip on Whetstone’s cloak, dragging him back. ‘Father was wrong – there’s nothing special about you. He wasted all those years watching you when he could have … spent them with Mum and me.’
Whetstone choked as the fabric tightened around his throat. Stars flashed in front of his eyes as he dropped to his knees. He could just make out Lotta’s face as she started to crawl towards him, her brown eyes wide.
Vali hissed into his ear. ‘Say goodbye, Whetstone. This is the last Valkyrie you’re ever going to see.’
Darkness crept into the edges of Whetstone’s vision. Flashes of memories appeared before his eyes: the Angry Bogey’s wolf kennels; the lights glinting off Awfulrick’s magic cup; the glowing people in Asgard …
Then the pressure around his throat lifted as his cloak was released. Whetstone sprawled on to the ground, wheezing. He heard Lotta gasp.
Light-headed, Whetstone turned to look behind him. Vali lay on the ground. Standing over Vali, holding his staff in both hands, was Loki.
Whetstone gazed from one face to another, stunned. Up close, Vali looked worse than ever, his face almost waxy, but then his eyes fluttered open.
‘Surprised to see me, Father? I had to use the Bifrost Bridge to get here, so it took me a while to catch up.’
Loki snorted. ‘Couldn’t stay away, could you? You’ve already made a mess of searching for the cup. I’ve just been to look through that stinking farm myself.’
Vali clambered to his feet, rubbing his head. Loki and Vali eyed each other with cold, burning hatred.
Lotta reached out and grabbed Whetstone’s sleeve, muttering, ‘Let’s get out of here.’
He nodded, forcing himself to concentrate. He looked around, searching for Awfulrick. The last thing he wanted to do was run away from Loki and into Awfulrick.
The Vikings had stopped for a breather. They were sitting on the grass and heather in small huddles, tending to their burns and scorches with a pale yellow ointment.
A bird sang, its voice sounding curiously out of place. Nidhogg lifted his great scaly head to follow the sound and incinerated the bird.
As smoking feathers drifted across the field, Nidhogg took another great breath and surrounded himself with a wall of fire. Whetstone scrambled to his feet, pulling Lotta up beside him. She leaned heavily on his arm, using him as a crutch.
‘It’s over,’ Vali spat at Loki. ‘I released the two Valkyries you trapped …’
Lotta growled low in her throat.
‘… I’ve had enough of you vanishing and leaving me and Mum – it’s humiliating. Everyone knows about you and Angrboda.’ With a bang and a flash of green light, Vali flew backwards, landing on his back a few paces away.
Whetstone’s head snapped round, all thoughts of leaving forgotten. ‘The Angry Bogey?’ he rasped, the words burning in his throat.
Vali lifted himself on his elbow. ‘He’s not special – you should’ve left him to die, not taken him to that woman!’
‘You took me to the Angry Bogey – I mean Angrboda?’ Whetstone corrected himself at Loki’s expression.
‘Oh yes, he’s been looking after you!’ Vali spat.
‘So this is something to do with my parents!’
Vali laughed, a sickly sort of noise.
Loki fixed his eyes on Vali. ‘I needed Angrboda to keep an eye on him for me, until he was old enough to be any use. We knew he would be the key to finding the rest of the Skera Harp.’
‘Wait – the Skera Harp?’ Lotta asked. ‘That harp we saw in the tree?’
‘Oh dear, Father. Your top-secret hiding place isn’t so top secret after all.’ Vali smirked, rolling on to his back and staring up at the sky.
‘What does the harp have to do with my parents?’ Whetstone gulped. ‘They weren’t minstrels, were they?’
‘The harp, your parents, they’re all tangled up together. And Father thinks you –’ Vali pointed at Whetstone – ‘are the only one to untangle it.’
Whetstone fought to keep his face blank as hope surged in his chest. His parents were connected with the harp, and he had found the harp, so maybe he could find them too? Then a vision of the harp tumbling down Yggdrasil flashed though his mind and his hopes fell with it.
Lotta hobbled forward. ‘But if the harp is so important, why have you been trying to get the cup all this time?’
‘The harp’s not complete,’ Vali answered, still staring upward. ‘It’s useless without the strings.’
Lotta tipped her head. ‘So the cup knows where the strings are? But why do you think it will tell Whetstone? We never even saw the harp before today.’
‘Because the strings aren’t the only things that are missing,’ Loki replied. He turned to the boy. ‘Are they, Whetstone?’
Whetstone looked up.
‘Once upon a time,’ Vali began in a sing-song voice, ‘two Dwarves built a magical harp.’
‘You need to stop talking.’ Loki aimed a kick at his son. Vali rolled away.
‘The frame was made from the wood of Yggdrasil itself,’ Vali recited. ‘The strings were said to come from impossible things: the footfalls of a cat, the roots of a mountain and—’
‘Since you seem determined to tell them,’ Loki interrupted, ‘we should start from the beginning.’
Loki grabbed Whetstone by the back of his tunic, dragging him off his feet. Producing a cloud of sparks with his free hand, Loki cast them into the air. A dark tunnel opened where they fell. Loki stepped into the tunnel, pulling a stunned Whetstone after him, and Lotta, snatching Whetstone’s hand at the last moment, was yanked into the tunnel with them.
The world changed. Gone was the field outside Krud, Vali, and even the dragon. Instead, Whetstone found himself in a dark and dripping cave. Lotta banged into his shoulder.
‘What’s she doing here?’ Loki snarled.
Lotta brushed down her armour. ‘I hitched a lift.’ She tested her ankle carefully. ‘Ha! You fixed my foot!’
Whetstone stared at the cave in shock. ‘Is this where my parents are?’
‘Be quiet!’ Loki rubbed his temples. ‘You’re in my memories.’
Lotta wrinkled her nose. ‘Yuck.’
‘Welcome to the world of the Dwarves.’ Loki glared at Lotta. ‘We’re deep in the caves of Svartalfheim.’ He turned to Whetstone. ‘You’re privileged – the first human ever to see this.’ He pushed Whetstone forward. ‘Go on.’
Ahead of him the corridor twisted and turned. With no other options, Whetstone crept forward, the low ceiling scraping his head, his eyes struggling to see in the dim light, Lotta’s boots bumping into his heels.
A clanging reached his ears. Eventually a red light appeared, spilling into the corridor and making the damp walls shimmer. The scent of sulphur burned Whetstone’s nose, reminding him unpleasantly of the dragon.
‘Twelve years ago, I heard that the Dwarves were working on something new,’ Loki’s voice echoed behind them. ‘A harp with extraordinary magical powers.’
Whetstone stepped through an arch; the ceiling rose and a large cavern opened up in front of him. His breath came more easily.
Loki stopped in the archway. ‘So I decided to come and see the harp for myself.’
The sound of metal striking metal echoed, making Whetstone’s ears ring. Through clouds of steam and showers of red sparks, Whetstone could just make out a low structure. A forge.
‘Don’t worry,’ Loki called. ‘They can’t see us. It’s not real.’
Whetstone ran his hand over a nearby boulder. Strands of something green stuck to his fingers. He wiped his hand on his trousers – it felt real enough.
A bright light cut through the smoke, burning Whetstone’s eyes. The light faded, revealing two short, dark-skinned men, both with enormous beards and pointed ears. One held out an enormous pair of tongs to his companion, who pulled on a thick pair of leather gloves and plucked something from the end of the tongs. The two men bent their heads together to examine the object. They spoke in a rasping language Whetstone didn’t recognize. One of the Dwarves held the object up; it was a silver string, glowing in the dim light.
‘A harp string,’ Lotta breathed.
As she spoke, the Dwarf with the gloves turned to the workbench behind him, on which stood a magnificent wooden harp. The same harp they had found in Yggdrasil, but unbroken. Two silver strings were already fastened to its polished body. The Dwarf fumbled in his thick gloves to attach the third.
‘When played separately, each of the strings has a different power. When played together, they are more powerful still,’ Loki explained.
Whetstone crossed his arms. ‘I still don’t see what this has to do with me or my parents.’
‘You will. Now, watch. This is the good bit.’
A large black horsefly flew low over Whetstone’s head, making him duck. It entered the room, buzzing around the two Dwarves, distracting them. The Dwarf holding the tongs swiped forward, trying to swat the fly, muttering all the time in his rasping language. Loki laughed from his position in the doorway, as instead of hitting the fly, the Dwarf smacked his companion in the face with the tongs, knocking him into the workbench. The harp slid along the surface of the bench, before crashing to the floor.
With a flash of green light, the fly transformed into the tall, handsome form of Loki. He scooped up the harp with a cold laugh.
‘But why?’ Lotta asked. ‘You can do magic already – why bother with the harp?’
‘That harp has a very particular gift,’ the man began. He was interrupted as, with a roar, the Dwarves realized what Loki was up to. They made a grab for him and the harp, barrelling all three of them to the floor. There was a sickening crunch as the wooden frame split apart.. The man fought his way free and, with a tumble of feathers, he transformed into a falcon, which leaped into the air, clutching the silver strings and broken shards of wood in his claws. Loki the falcon shot over the Dwarves’ heads and out into the dim tunnels, the Dwarves chasing after him.
Whetstone looked at the real Loki. ‘Where did you go?’
Loki smiled. He opened his hand. Green light shone from the sparks in his palm, casting strange shadows on to his face. He poured the sparks into the air. The Dwarves’ cave vanished. Whetstone stumbled into Lotta as a wide sandy beach appeared around them. A forest of dark pines crept in behind.
‘Midgard.’
Whetstone’s pulse thudded loudly in his ears. He looked around, desperate to take it all in. A smallish wooden house stood off to one side. A woman sang from inside the house, words that were both familiar and strange. Whetstone staggered forward, Lotta following.
‘Is that your home? It’s … nice,’ she offered.
In front of them a man strained to pull in a fishing net. He paused, bending forward to extract a feathery tangle from the net. A large bird and several shining strings flashed in his hands. Whetstone headed towards him, his feet feeling like they were dragging through treacle. Every crunch of the sand echoed loudly in his ears, the scent of pine stinging his nose.
‘I took a wrong turn when I left Svartalfheim.’ Loki grimaced. ‘I should have made it all the way back up to Asgard. Travelling between the worlds is hard enough when you’re human – it’s even more difficult when you’re a bird.’
Lotta snorted.
The fisherman carefully untangled the falcon and laid it down on the beach. He held up the strings, which blazed in the sunlight.
Whetstone had almost reached the man; the world seemed to slow down. He tried to breathe around the hard lump in his chest. He reached out a hand to touch him on the shoulder. ‘Dad?’
The world around them froze and turned grey. Whetstone took another step and found himself falling. He landed face first back in the mud of Krud. With an ‘Oof!’ Lotta landed beside him. The sound of the dragon beating his wings filled the air.
Vali was lying where they had left him. He pushed himself up. ‘What did you show them?’
Whetstone scrambled up. ‘That was my dad – take me back!’
Loki grabbed Whetstone’s arm to steady him, but the boy yanked himself away, rounding on Loki. ‘It was you! You broke up my family. I could’ve had a normal mum and dad instead of that … that …’ His fingers opened and closed in frustration.
Loki edged closer. ‘There are things you have to understand about the harp, Whetstone.’
Blood fizzed in Whetstone’s veins – he had been so close to his home, his family. He shrugged off Loki’s arm. ‘I don’t care about the stupid harp, just bring my parents back!’
Lotta got to her feet. ‘Tell us, what happened after Whetstone’s dad found the strings?’
‘The Dwarves knew Father had taken the harp and they wanted to stop him from using it,’ Vali explained. ‘So after he stole it, they cursed it.’
Loki aimed another kick at his son, catching him on the knee. Vali fell back, groaning. Loki turned back to Whetstone with a smile. ‘Vali is right – the Dwarves put a curse on the harp, but it didn’t take hold immediately. I woke up on the beach and went to your parents’ hut to get the strings back.’
Whetstone glared at the Trickster, forcing himself to pay attention to Loki’s words. Anger, hope and sorrow for all that he had missed swirled together, making his chest feel tight. He didn’t know whether he wanted to cry or to kick something. ‘What did you do to them?’
‘I didn’t do anything. I watched as your father gave your mother one of the harp strings … She looked so pleased,’ he said, his face a picture of sympathy. ‘I can’t imagine she was used to such finery, judging by the state of their cottage.’
Whetstone glowered, his fingernails digging into his palms.
‘But then she started fading away. She was gone – who knows where. Your father didn’t last much longer – another of the strings was still sitting on his palm as he vanished. You were left with the third, tied round your wrist like a bracelet.’
‘Where did they go?’ Lotta asked. ‘And why was Whetstone left behind?’
‘That is a question only the cup can answer,’ Loki replied.
‘So that’s what you’re up to!’ Lotta pointed her finger at Loki. ‘Frigg told me her cup wouldn’t speak to you. She said you would have to find someone whose fate was linked to ask it questions instead. That’s Whetstone, isn’t it? You need him to speak to the cup for you. You think that his fate is to find his parents – and where his parents are, the strings are too!’
Loki gave a pained smile. ‘What a clever little Valkyrie.’
‘But why has it taken you so long to find them?’ Lotta asked. ‘Midgard isn’t that big.’
‘Because they’re not on Midgard,’ Vali called. The others wheeled around to face him. Vali looked sicker than ever; he clutched his knee. ‘The Dwarves didn’t know where Father had taken the harp, so they decided to separate the strings, making the harp useless. The strings were sent to three different worlds, and as Whetstone’s parents were holding them, they went too. We know one of the worlds was Midgard because he –’ Vali waggled a finger at Whetstone – ‘stayed behind. But his parents could be in Asgard, Vanaheim, Alfheim, Svartalfheim – maybe not Svartalfheim … They could be anywhere. Anywhere but here.’
Whetstone’s eyes opened wide in shock. Then his brow creased. ‘That’s … impossible.’
Lotta looked at him sideways. ‘That’s why you’re all by yourself,’ she said quietly. Whetstone remembered her fear that she would be exiled to Midgard, cursed and alone. He tried to smile reassuringly at her.
Loki reached out and squeezed Whetstone’s shoulder. ‘I felt guilty about what happened to your parents …’
Vali snorted a laugh.
‘… so I’ve been keeping an eye on you over the years.’ Loki smiled sympathetically. ‘It was never my intention for your parents to get involved. They were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But now you can help me get them back.’
The boy stared at his feet for a moment, trying to steady his thoughts. ‘But that’s not what you said earlier. You wanted me to ask the cup a question, then to run away.’ He looked up at Loki. ‘You don’t want to help me to find them – you just want the harp.’
Loki smiled, his scars twisting his lips into strange shapes. ‘You really are very clever, Whetstone. It was all a test to make sure you were up to it. It’s not going to be an easy task, tracking them down, but Angrboda assured me you were ready.’
Whetstone closed his eyes at the memory of his life with the Angry Bogey. He forced himself to take a deep breath. He clenched his fists to stop his hands from shaking. ‘You gave me to her.’
Loki stepped towards Whetstone. ‘I saved your life. You were only a baby. Without me, you would have died alone in that fisherman’s hut.’
‘And because of you, I lost my parents.’
‘And with me, you can get them back.’
Whetstone took a few steps away. He had gone so long without parents that he had almost forgotten that they must have existed, but deep down, he’d always hoped there was someone out there looking for him, wondering if he was OK. New emotions surged in his chest, making his heart thump painfully. Maybe this was the answer, and Loki was right. If his parents really were trapped in different worlds, it might be possible to get them back. He glanced at Lotta, who was watching him with wide brown eyes. Travelling between worlds sounded impossible, but he had already visited Asgard today … ‘All right – how?’
Lotta sucked in a breath.
‘All we have to do is repair the harp.’
Whetstone’s head spun. They had dropped the harp down Yggdrasil and it had probably been burned to a crisp by now.
‘I have repaired the wooden frame – that’s what you found in the tree. We just need the strings.’
Lotta tossed her dark head. ‘Yeah, the harp in the tree. Well, we – sort of – knocked it down. It’s probably in Niflheim now. That’s what woke up –’ she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder – ‘him.’
Loki crossed his arms. ‘I know. That’s why I bit you – to try and stop you from touching it.’
‘He was the spider,’ Whetstone explained to Lotta’s raised eyebrows. Behind them Vali began to laugh.
Loki ignored him. ‘It would take more than Nidhogg to destroy the harp frame – it’s made from Yggdrasil’s wood. We just have to go to Niflheim to retrieve it.’
‘So you broke it when you took if from the Dwarves, but it will survive Niflheim? You’re nuts, Loki,’ Lotta scoffed.
‘Dragon fire won’t harm it, otherwise Yggdrasil would’ve burned long ago.’
Despite Lotta’s doubts, hope bubbled in Whetstone’s chest.
Vali dusted himself off. ‘Of course, Father hasn’t told you what the harp does.’
Loki spun towards his son, snarling.
‘Listen to me – you can’t help him.’ Vali’s eyes were fixed on Whetstone. ‘Played together, the strings have the power to cut holes in the walls between the Nine Worlds. That’s what its name means – Skera, “to cut”. I think the Dwarves were jealous. They wanted to impress Odin, to prove that they could travel between the worlds, just like the Gods can.’
Lotta gasped. ‘Open the walls? Are you mad?’
‘Get away from the boy, Vali,’ Loki snapped. ‘He’s going to help me now.’
‘Father’s going to use you, just like he used me.’ Vali grabbed Whetstone’s arm, his fingers digging in like claws. ‘I thought if I helped him, he would see what he’s been missing. That all this chasing after the harp wasn’t worth it. He’s been looking for the strings for twelve years. He tried the Norns, the runes, even the Well of Mimir, but nothing could tell him where the strings were.’ He peered into Whetstone’s stunned face. ‘Don’t give him the riddle, Whetstone. Your parents are probably dead by now – living humans won’t last long against a Giant or a dragon.’
‘What are you saying, boy?’ Loki roared.
Abruptly Vali released Whetstone and wheeled around to face his father. ‘The truth! You don’t want to help him find his parents and fix this. You just want the power the harp can give you.’
Loki faltered in shock at the anger in his son’s voice. Awfulrick and the Vikings turned to see what the commotion was, a few of them standing up to get a better look.
Vali threw open his arms. ‘Just imagine what it would be like with nothing to separate the worlds. Frost Giants finally invading Asgard. Dwarves ravaging the Elves’ gold mines. Dragons burning everything on Midgard.’ He pointed a finger. ‘And Father in charge of it all.’
Whetstone went cold.
‘Why can’t you see what you already have: me, and Mum and our home?’ A trickle of spit flew out of Vali’s mouth. ‘Why isn’t that enough? You keep chasing after power, but what difference would it actually make?’ Loki turned his head away, and Vali limped a few steps forward, closing the gap between them. ‘Just – stop.’
Loki half turned back towards his son and raised one hand. For a moment Whetstone thought he was going to say something to comfort Vali, but instead a crackle of green light shot towards the boy, knocking him sideways.
Vali stumbled, then stopped, his feet suddenly too heavy to move. He stared down as his legs began to turn grey and cold. He struggled to raise a foot but couldn’t. Vali looked up, his face frozen in shock as his legs, then body, hardened like a statue.
‘He’s turning to – stone?’ Whetstone spluttered as Vali lost the use of his arms. Loki glowered at his son, his eyes glittering.
Lotta put her hands over her mouth, streaking mud on to her face.
Vali managed to raise his head, the skin on his neck and face darkening and becoming solid. He opened his mouth to speak. ‘I—’
Daylight flickered, like something passing in front of the sun. In the place where Vali had once stood, there was a boy-sized boulder, nothing more.
Lotta stared wide-eyed at the place where Vali had been. Behind her, one of the Vikings let out a low whistle and shook his head. Whetstone felt Lotta’s fingers slide into his palm.
Loki turned back to the boy. ‘The cup has the riddle. It knows where your parents are, but thanks to Frigg’s magic, it will only tell you,’ he purred. ‘Think about it, Whetstone. Don’t you want to find out what happened to them? With my help, you can put your family back together.’
Whetstone hesitated, his eyes darting from side to side. More and more Vikings were approaching now, drawn by the spectacle of Loki’s magic. He and Lotta were gradually being surrounded by a heavily armoured circle.
Loki peered into the boy’s face. ‘All I want in exchange are the harp strings. I’d be doing you a favour really. It’s the strings that are keeping you apart. Let me deal with them, and you can all be together again.’
Lotta squeezed his hand. ‘You don’t have to do this by yourself,’ she murmured. ‘We’ll get the cup together.’
Whetstone squeezed Lotta’s fingers in return, then glared at the handsome man with the twisted lips. ‘I wouldn’t trust you with a teaspoon, let alone a magic harp that could fill Midgard with monsters. I’d rather fight a dragon than help you.’
Loki’s expression turned sour.
‘I don’t need to fix the harp to find my parents; I just need the cup. I don’t want to be part of your schemes, no matter how much Fortune and Glory you promise. I wouldn’t get it anyway – look at what you just did to Vali.’
‘WHERE IS THE CUP?’ Green sparks flashed between Loki’s fingers.
Whetstone swallowed. Lotta shifted beside him. They couldn’t give in, no matter what Loki did. He had to get the cup and get rid of the dragon. Whetstone braced himself for Loki’s attack.
Even the surrounding Vikings seemed to hold their breath, their armour clinking gently in the silence as everyone waited to see what would happen.
‘OI!’ a voice called out. The Vikings turned as Awfulrick strode past Loki, his eyes fixed on Nidhogg. He pointed a sausagey finger at a golden object poking out of the mud in between the dragon’s feet. ‘THAT’S MY CUP!’
All heads swung in the direction of the dragon, who puffed out his neck fins at the attention.
Awfulrick spun back around, small dark eyes glinting in his red face. ‘BY ODIN’S TOENAILS, THAT’S THE THIEF!’ he bellowed, pointing at Whetstone. ‘ORESMITER! GRAB HIM AND DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!’