Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper (2 page)

‘We should go to the cinema tomorrow.'

‘Is there anything good on?'

‘There's that new one about the gangster who moves to a small town. It's meant to be OK.'

‘Ugh, no. How about the new one in the “Blue Moon” series? It's got vampires.'

‘And also romance. And that Robert Mattinson guy. So, no thanks!'

‘We can decide when we get there. I'll ask my mum to drive us into Tralee. You up for it, Arthur?'

Arthur Quinn was in another world, kicking an empty Coke can in front of him as he shuffled along the pavement heading home from school. He should have been as excited as his friends for the weekend ahead, but he just couldn't get that ‘Friday feeling'. His brown hair, naturally shaggy, was starting to become unruly again after a tight haircut only a month previously. Freckles covered his nose and high cheekbones. His right eye was a deep blue, punctuated by flecks of apple green, while his left eye was covered in a dark leather eye-patch. It was permanently bloodshot now and the once-blue iris had turned an ugly crimson. A line of scar-tissue peeked out from either side of the patch, tracing where a chunk of rock from an exploding tower had taken the vision there. The can tumbled off the path and kept rolling along the rain gutter.

‘Arthur?'

‘Hmm?' He picked the can off the road and dropped it into a nearby bin, then turned to his friends. Paul, Louise and Dave were all staring at him quizzically. ‘Sorry, did you say something?'

‘I asked if you wanted to come to the cinema tomorrow,' Paul repeated irritably. He was tall and lanky, in the middle of his first teenage growth spurt. The eldest of the group, he'd just turned thirteen a few weeks earlier, although Arthur hadn't been around to join in the celebrations. He'd still been living in Dublin then. Last October, Arthur's father, Joe, had been offered a job in the capital city, working on the excavation for the upcoming Dublin Metro train. When the work had been postponed indefinitely a month ago, Joe had made the decision to move home to Kerry. They'd been back in the quiet village of Farranfore less than a week, but already Arthur was missing his Dublin friends. It wasn't that he didn't like Paul, Louise or Dave. On the contrary, he still valued their friendship greatly. But he and his Dublin mates had been through so much together in such a short time. Only they could really understand how he felt now and the fears that he had.

‘Oh. Uh … no thanks.'

‘Oh come on, Arthur! It'll be fun,' Louise urged. She was almost as tall as Paul, with black hair and olive skin that were a result of genes from her Italian mother.

‘It's been a long week and I just want to rest,' Arthur lied. Granted, it had been a long week, but he didn't feel like resting. He'd had enough of that in the hospital after the explosion. He'd caused the explosion himself, three weeks ago, in order to stop the evil trickster god Loki's latest plan. Arthur had had to do it and he still believed that losing the sight in one eye was a better option than what the god had had in mind for him. Loki had been trying to transform everyone in Ireland into wolves, an unstoppable army to help him conquer the world.

A millennium before, the trickster god had created three terrible children with the ultimate aim of destroying the world. The other gods were enraged by his actions and bound him under Dublin for eternity, disposing of his children in various ways. However, when construction on the Metro began, Loki was freed and set about finding and releasing his evil brood. Arthur – with the help of his friends and an army of dead Vikings that had been buried to guard it – managed to defeat and kill the first child, the World Serpent. Then Loki went to find his second child – a wolf-man called Fenrir. Fenrir was supposed to have created an army of wolves for Loki to enslave humanity with, but, after spending a thousand years living in this world, he had grown to respect – and even like – the human race. He had disobeyed the Father of Lies' orders and went as far as hiding Loki's third child in case the god returned. Only Fenrir knew the whereabouts of Loki's daughter – Hell's Keeper, as she was known.

But after the explosion at the tower, Fenrir had gone missing …

The only thing Arthur wanted to do this weekend was chat to his Dublin friends online. He was desperately looking forward to finding out if they'd had any luck in finding Fenrir with Ash's GPS since he'd left them the Sunday before.

‘Don't worry, Mad-Eye Moody,' said Dave. ‘We won't go to a 3D film!' He pointed to Arthur's eye-patch and burst out laughing. Despite the dull pain he still felt there, Arthur couldn't help but join in. Dave was short for his age. Actually, if he had been nine, he would still have been short for his age. He was tubby, moved slowly and had greasy hair. In other words, perfect fodder for bullies. His one saving grace – and the one thing that kept bullies at bay – was the witty one-liners he was known for.

A car-horn honked. Arthur looked around to see his dad behind the wheel, waving to him.

‘See you three Monday,' Arthur shouted to them as he ran to the car. He was secretly pleased that his dad had shown up when he did; it meant that he wouldn't have to field any more questions about why he didn't want to go to the cinema. He guessed his old friends wouldn't be too impressed that he was blowing them off for his new friends in Dublin. Buckling himself into the passenger seat, he said hi to Joe.

‘Good day at school?' Joe enquired as they drove through the quiet market town. His hair was starting to thin and he was going grey at the temples, but apart from that, and the bags that sometimes appeared under his eyes, he showed no other signs of aging. Upon quitting the job in Dublin, he'd been fortunate enough to return to his previous career as a freelance engineering consultant. The work wasn't as regular as in the city – which meant that he had much more time to do errands and hang out with Arthur.

Arthur's mother had always liked the freedom the job had given Joe. It meant that they could book weekends away at short notice or that she could rely on him to pick up Arthur from school. But then, less than a year earlier, she'd suddenly become sick. She'd deteriorated very quickly, getting weaker with each passing day. Arthur still missed her and thought of her constantly. He reached for the golden ribbon tied around his right wrist. It had been hers and she'd worn it always, so when she died he had taken it as a constant reminder of her.

They passed through the quiet village and into the countryside. It was an overcast February day outside, mild and dry for this time of year. As they waited at a crossroads for a tractor to turn, Arthur gazed with fascination at a robin by the ditch in the road. It was pecking at a scrap of sandwich someone – probably a farmer – had dropped earlier. Just then, a crow swooped down out of nowhere. It grabbed the crust in its strong beak and soared away, leaving the robin hungry. Joe pulled away before Arthur had a chance to throw out some of his leftovers from lunch.

Their house was a large two-storey building covered in a sandstone facing. Each of the four front-facing rooms had a bay window. There was an expansive lawn in the front – always kept neatly mowed and with a cosy rockery in one corner – and a long, unkempt field in the back. Joe kept meaning to get some animals to keep in the meadow – a couple of goats or sheep, he used to say – but he never got around to it.

He parked and unlocked the front door. Arthur dropped his schoolbag on the hardwood floor and loped upstairs.

‘Dinner in an hour!' Joe shouted after him as he bounded into his bedroom and collapsed on the bed. He sighed and looked around the room, thinking of Ash and the others in Dublin.

This is home, this is home, he kept telling himself. But then, why didn't it feel like it?

In a time before the writing of history, in Asgard, the realm of the gods, the great rainbow Bifrost is a bridge between the worlds. Seven colours shimmer and shift across the magical structure. It changes position – travelling to where a god most needs use of the bridge – and leads from any point in Asgard to any point in Midgard, the world of man.

The sun is at its highest point in the clear azure sky. It is noon and, though the air is hot, Loki feels comfortable in his heavy brown tunic. Such is the magic of the place. Bifrost rises before him then dips over a hillside and into Midgard. He sits on a boulder, watching the fluctuating colours and resting before his journey. He has a small feast laid out before him on the rocky terrain, comprising seven types of cheese, nine wines from the nine worlds and more meat, mead, bread, pâté and sweets than one could count. He is filling his belly now with a swan leg, savouring the rich flavour as meat juices seep down his bearded chin. He smirks as he chews, thinking of all he has achieved in such a short time.

Two days ago, the gods shamed him. They sat and laughed as an ugly giantess abused him, stitching his mouth shut. He stormed out of Odin All-Father's great dining hall then, vowing vengeance on them all. He rose the following morning and created the World Serpent, sending it to the world of man to wreak devastation. Next, he transformed an injured and pitiful beast into the Fenris Wolf – a wolf who could change himself into a man – and charged him with building an army of men with similar powers, with which he would rule. And now, finally, he will create his third – and most powerful – child.

He glugs some mead and throws the now-empty horn aside. It cracks in two and golden, syrupy droplets spill out. He stands, stretching his back and neck with a crack, then turns towards Bifrost. Suddenly he breaks into a run, faster than any man's legs could carry him. He sprints up the bridge and, even though it appears to be nothing more than a translucent rainbow, his footing is solid.

As he reaches the apex of Bifrost, he leaps into the air, landing on his backside with a thump. Then he slides down the other side of the bridge, arms splayed out joyously and screaming ‘
Wheee!
' all the way down. The sky grows darker as he descends, until his feet land in Midgard. It is night in this part of the world of man and the village he has arrived in is totally silent. All are asleep here, for which Loki is thankful. If anyone had been awake and seen the rainbow in the middle of the night, they might have raised their weapons against him. And though he could easily have dealt with them, he doesn't want the inconvenience.

The village is called Roskilde and many worshippers of the gods reside here. What a suitable place to steal from Odin, Loki thinks as he walks between the low huts. They are constructed from wood, with straw and earth roofs. A narrow hole has been left in the centre of each roof to allow smoke from the cooking fire within to escape. His footfalls make no sound on the twigs or pebbles scattered about and, apart from some heavy snoring from a few huts, the only sound to be heard is the light lapping of the nearby river and a couple of longboats knocking gently against the wooden quay.

He stands stock-still in the centre of the village, closes his eyes and listens. Slowly he turns his head, searching for a particular sound. And then–

‘There!' he hisses to himself, following the direction of the noise. It had been a whimper, tinny and in the distance, but distinct nonetheless. A baby's whimper.

He arrives at the hut where the sound came from, and enters noiselessly. Although it is pitch black inside, he can see perfectly. A man and woman sleep soundly on one bed-roll. Straw has been gathered in a pile for the mattress with some deerhide laid over it. The couple are snuggled together underneath a warm bearskin. Loki looks down at them pitilessly. They don't even stir at his arrival in their house, but continue to dream peacefully.

The baby lies next to them. She is wrapped first in tight swaddling and then in another piece of the velvety bearskin. The fur blanket is so thick around the babe that she has no need of bed-roll straw like her parents. Her eyes are wide open, staring up at Loki, and she whimpers again – this time Loki can sense her fear – spittle bubbling out at the side of her lips. It's intoxicating. She's clearly terrified, more scared than she's ever been in her short life, too frightened to cry for her mother and father. A third whimpering sound is all she can manage.