The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,19
laugh!” he boomed, reverting back to character. “Ale it is!”
He pushed the tankard closer to the boy’s hand. Zac pushed it back. “Water will be fine.”
Odin frowned and gave his beard a stroke. Up close, the Allfather didn’t quite look real. His scaled-up size and the way he exaggerated his movements gave him the appearance of an animatronic puppet from a low-budget children’s movie.
“Water,” the Allfather mumbled. He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if tasting it. “Water. Very well.”
He gave two claps of his hands. Something large immediately dropped from the ceiling and landed beside him. Zac twisted in his chair, tensed, ready to fight, but instead of coming face to face with another Viking, he found himself looking at a tall, slender figure in a black leather bodice and matching leather trousers.
She was a girl, if you ignored the wings. Around his age, he’d say, although he’d been several centuries out with Angelo, so he wasn’t committing to anything at this point.
Her hair was long and dark, tied back behind her head in a functional ponytail. The girl’s white feathery wings folded in against her back with a sound like rustling velvet. She focused her gaze on Odin, not so much as glancing in Zac’s direction.
The girl’s mouth smiled, but her eyes weren’t really in on it. “Yes, Allfather? How may I be of service?”
“Ah, young Herya,” he boomed. “Meet Zac. Zac, Herya here is a—”
“Valkyrie,” said Zac. “You retrieve the souls of Vikings killed in battle and bring them to Valhalla.”
Odin clapped Zac on the back. It was like being slammed across the spine with a shovel. “Very good, Zac! Ye are not as dim as I first suspected!”
“I read a lot.”
“Herya, fetch our guest some...” Odin turned back to Zac. “What was it again?”
“Water.”
“Water,” Odin repeated. He gave a bemused chuckle. “Drinkable water. What will they think of next?”
“Will that be all?”
Odin looked along the table. “Who’s for another round?”
The Vikings’ cheers almost lifted the roof. Shouts came from all corners of the table at once.
“Down here, love.”
“A few more flagons at this end, sweetheart.”
“Ale! And be quick about it!”
Herya reached into her pocket and produced a small notepad and pencil. “All right, keep your helmets on,” she said, fixing her smile in place. Zac watched her hurry along the table, scribbling furiously as drunken orders boomed at her from all directions.
Odin saw Zac watching her. “Terrible shame,” he said. “Poor girl. Born too late.”
“Too late?”
“Didn’t arrive into the world until after the age of true Vikings had passed.” The Allfather shook his head sadly. “Never got the opportunity to soar above the battlefield. Never got to carry the fallen back here to Valhalla. Never got to fulfil her destiny.”
“Oh. Right. Not a happy Valkyrie, then?”
“Quite the opposite,” Odin said. “What could be more fulfilling than an eternity of service in the Great Hall, Valhalla?”
Zac looked along the table to where Herya was frantically scrawling orders in her notepad. “Yeah. What could be better than that?” With a flap of wings, the Valkyrie flew up towards the roof once again. Zac watched her clamber between the rows of circular golden shields that lined the rafters, before she slipped out of sight behind them.
“So, Zac, what bringst thou to Valhalla?”
“I’m looking for a book.”
“A what?”
“A book,” Zac said. “It was stolen. I’m trying to get it back.”
“A book?” Odin frowned. “What, one of them jobbies with the squiggly lines and whatnot?”
“Writing,” Zac nodded. “Yes, one of those.”
The Allfather gave a snort. “Good luck finding one around here.”
“I know where it is, I’m just not sure how to get to it. I was hoping—”
An impromptu song explaining why you should never become romantically involved with a giantess erupted around the table. Odin’s face lit up with glee and the room shook as he lent his voice to the choir. It reminded Zac less of a sing-song, and more of an ugly mob at a football match, chanting about the less desirable qualities of the opposing team.
The roar was so loud Zac failed to hear the footsteps on the floor behind him. He jumped as another dented tankard was set down in front of him.
“There,” Herya said, shouting to make herself heard over the din. She balanced a tray on one hand. A dozen or more tankards were stacked on top of it. “Water.”
“Thanks,” Zac said.
“Second verse, same as the first!” bellowed Odin, and the song rose further in volume. “Oh, a giantess don’t look the best,