The Book of Doom

HE THING THAT had until just a few moments ago been Angelo, vomited Hellfire in the Allfather’s face. The flames licked hungrily across the old god’s weathered skin, turning his eyepatch black and melting the snow that had been balanced on his head.

Although he was several metres away, the heat forced Zac to draw back. Odin growled with pain, but otherwise didn’t flinch. He raised the axe before him, using the flat of the blade to block the worst of the fire.

Angelo’s tail flicked around like a striking cobra and his clawed fingers curled into fists as, step by agonising step, Odin advanced.

Zac kept his distance and just watched. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he had absolutely no idea what to do. He’d spent a lifetime thinking on his feet, finding solutions to problems before they even happened. Now, though, standing in a mythical land, watching a Norse god fight a transforming angel-demon, he was fresh out of ideas.

As he drew close to the demon, Odin swung the axe in an upwards curve. The blade clipped the brute on the chin, snapping his head back and making him shriek and howl furiously.

The Vikings cheered, but Odin’s brow knotted when he saw the blade hadn’t cut through the scaly skin. He swung again, hacking this time at the demon’s barrel-like ribcage. The blow struck like a battering ram smashing against rock. The Angelo-thing staggered, but the axe had failed to draw blood once again.

“What manner of creature art thou?” Odin wondered, before four jagged knuckles crunched into his nose, splattering it across his face. With a roar as savage as any the demon had made, Odin hurled himself forward, letting the axe fall to the floor.

The demon lashed out with its arms and tail. It opened its mouth to cough up more flame, but Odin’s hands clamped round its jaws, pinning them shut.

“Let’s see you do your fire trick now, Dragon!” cried the Allfather. Fury was etched into every line of his face, but there was something else there too, beneath the blood and the beard – a bloodthirsty joy. The Allfather was loving every minute of this.

Thrashing wildly, the monster stumbled, a fireball stuck somewhere near the back of his throat. Zac moved quickly from their path, as god and demon crashed towards the wall, then carried on crashing right through it.

There was a hiss of steam as the demon’s fiery hide hit the snow, and then both combatants were sliding down the hill, each raining blows on the other as they ploughed a trench through the melting slush.

Zac rushed to the hole in the wall and looked out. Angelo and Odin were twenty metres away already, and they were still picking up speed. He looked ahead of them, down the slope. There, just beyond where it levelled out, Asgard dropped sharply off into nothingness. They were hurtling towards the edge, and they didn’t even realise.

“Angelo, look out!” he shouted, but they were too far away to hear, and there was no saying the demon could even understand a word he was saying.

There was a soft whoosh and Herya appeared beside him. “We have to get out of here,” she said.

“Stopped dropping shields on me now, have you?” asked Zac, still watching Odin and Angelo sliding down the hill.

Herya caught him by the arm and pulled him away from the wall. “I was saving you from the demon’s fire.”

Zac’s feet splashed through the puddle of melted gold. “OK, I’ll give you that one.”

She bundled him towards the second shield, which sat like a wide plate on the flagstone floor. “This one’s for our escape.”

“Escape?” said Zac, then he realised that Jurgen and the other Vikings were closing in round them, weapons drawn. They looked far from happy. “Oh, yeah. Escape.”

“There will be no escape for you,” Jurgen growled.

“We were having a lovely time until you showed up,” snarled another of the warriors.

Jurgen glared at Herya. “And as for you, Valkyrie, stand with us or face the—”

“Oh, shut up, Jurgen,” Herya said. She shoved Zac into the bowl of the shield. “And just so you know, when I spilled that drink on you earlier? So not an accident.”

Zac looked beyond the edge of the shield to the deep trench in the snow. It was already refreezing, the sides now smooth and slick like polished glass. The shield scraped across the flagstones as Herya heaved it over towards the hole in the wall. Zac finally understood her plan. He gripped the shield’s edge as Herya shoved the makeshift sledge on to the polished ice.

“Hold tight!” she said, jumping in behind him.

“Yeah,” he replied, as the front of the shield began to dip and the back rose up into the air. “I kind of worked that one out for myself.”

There was a bellowed, “Stop them!” from the hole in the wall as the slow-witted Vikings realised what was going on. But there was no stopping them now. As gravity took hold and friction gave up, the shield began to hurtle headlong down the hill.

A blizzard hit Zac in the face. The icy winds tore at him, forcing him to screw up his eyes until they were almost closed. The snow swished past beneath the shield as it raced like a toboggan along the trench cut by Angelo and Odin.

“They’re getting away!” said one of the Vikings as they watched the shield slice down the hillside.

“Not for long,” said Jurgen. He crammed two thick fingers in his mouth and whistled. Eight winged shapes clambered from the shadows by the ceiling and plunged screeching from the rafters. “Right, then,” said Jurgen as the Valkyries alighted around him. “Think they can ruin our party, do they?”

Zac ducked his head and gulped down a breath. The wind was impossibly cold. It snapped at his skin like a thousand biting insects, making his eyes water and his face go numb.

“I’m free. I don’t believe it – I’m free!” Herya said, but the whistling of the wind stole her words away.

“What?” Zac asked, straining his ears.

“Nothing,” Herya said, raising her voice to be heard above the storm. “Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh? What do you mean, uh-oh?”

“We’ve got company,” she said as eight winged figures swooped across the sky behind them.

Zac squinted ahead through the snowstorm. He could see the writhing shapes of Angelo and Odin, still locked in battle, still unaware of the drop into nothingness that lay ahead of them. The sound of each thunderous punch and kick rolled across Asgard. It was surely only a matter of time before the other gods emerged from their palaces to find out what all the racket was about. Zac tried not to think what would happen then.

“Go right!” Herya barked, snapping him back to the present.

“What? Why?”

“Stop asking questions and go right!”

Zac threw his weight sharply to one side. He heard a short, sharp scream, followed by a crunch. He risked a glance back and saw a Viking lying face down on the hard-packed snow, unmoving.

“What the Hell—” he began, before a cry of “Geronimo!” and a loud whumpf cut him off. Another Viking plopped into a soft snowdrift just off to the left of the trench.

Zac looked up and saw the eight Valkyries cutting through the sky above them. Six of them carried Vikings, who dangled from the Valkyries’ grip, wildly waggling their weapons at the world below.

As Zac watched, one of the Valkyries dropped the man she was carrying. He screamed as he fell, only stopping when he smacked down on to the compacted snow, just a dozen or so metres ahead of them.

“Hold on!” Zac warned, leaning sharply left. Herya gave a yelp of shock as she was thrown off balance. Not looking back, Zac reached round and grabbed her leg, steadying her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t mention it.”

They swept past the groaning Viking and Zac snatched up the Norseman’s sword. It clattered into the bowl of the shield between him and Herya.

“Might come in handy,” he explained, biting his lip and leaning his weight towards the front of the shield. It immediately sped up until the snow around them became a streak of blurry white.

They were drawing closer to the god and the demon, but they in turn were now only thirty or forty metres from the edge. The slope was levelling off, slowing their descent, but there was no way they were going to stop in time.

“How dare you!” screeched one of the Valkyries above. “How dare you defy the ruler of the gods!”

“Just the Norse gods, actuall-eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” said the Viking she was carrying, and then he hit the ice in front of the shield with a thud. There was no way to avoid him. Both Zac and Herya heard a faint crunch as they slid over the top of him.

“Ooh, that had to hurt,” Zac winced. He very deliberately didn’t look back.

“Four more coming in low,” Herya warned. There was a splat from somewhere back up the slope. “Make that three.”

“We’re almost there!” Zac shouted. Over the sounds of the storm he could hear Odin’s voice now, cursing and swearing as he wrestled with his ‘dragon’. The hissing and screeching he could also hear was Angelo, Zac guessed. Only something truly demonic could make those sounds.

“Left, left, left!” Herya cried. They both leaned left just as Jurgen hit the ground beside them. He landed on his feet, skidded frantically for a few wild-eyed moments, then his legs went in opposite directions and he did the splits on the ice.

“Right, right, right!” They leaned again, narrowly avoiding a seventh Viking bomb. His fingers clawed for the edge of the shield, but they were sliding too fast for him to hold on.

“One more,” Herya said.

Zac gave a curt nod, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. They were barely fifteen metres from Angelo and Odin now, and they in turn were barely fifteen metres from the drop.

“Here he comes,” Herya warned. Her eyes followed the falling Viking as he plunged harmlessly into a snowbank several metres to the left. “Aaaand there he goes.”

Herya turned. “Right, I think we’re in the clear,” she said, and then something hit the back of the shield and the world gave a sharp, sudden lurch. Zac’s chin smashed against the ice as the shield flipped over. The ice hit him like a wall of raw cold, frost biting him as he slid head first down the slope.

He clawed at the polished ice, trying to get a grip to slow his descent, but his fingers found no purchase on the slippery surface. Behind him, also sliding, Herya was pinned beneath her mother. The older Valkyrie was shouting, screaming, but Zac couldn’t hear her over the howling of the wind and the high-speed thudding of his own racing heart.

Odin and Angelo were nowhere to be seen. All that lay ahead now was the edge, and beyond that, the abyss. Too fast. He was going too fast. The sword slid by him. One chance, only one chance.

He stretched out and found the sword’s handle. The edge was five metres away now. Four. Three. Gritting his teeth, he drove the blade into the ice.

At once, he began to slow down. Those behind him didn’t. Herya crashed into him, her momentum carrying them all the way to the edge of the drop. There was a panicked fluttering of wings and Herya’s mother flew clear, just as the bottom dropped out of the world and Zac felt his legs sliding off into nothingness.

With a sharp jerk, the sword stopped. A grunt burst from Zac’s lips as every muscle in his arms stretched to tearing point. The pain was like fire. It burned through him, making his head go light. But he hung on, his frostbitten hands locked round the handle of the sword.

There was a weight on his legs, pulling him down. Craning his neck, he was able to see Herya clinging to his feet. Beneath her was nothing but grey mist, lit up every few seconds by a crackle of lightning.

He was about to tell her to let go and fly them to safety when he saw her left wing. It drooped at an awkward angle, the white feathers dark with blood. An ornate-handled knife was embedded into the wing just by her shoulder. There was no way she was flying anywhere.

She looked up and met Zac’s gaze. “I know,” she said. “Worst. Mother. Ever.”

“Ah, young Zac. Fancy seeing thee here.”

Zac looked to his right. Just a few metres along the cliff face, Odin was clinging by his fingertips. The Allfather’s face was a rash of bruises. His white beard was matted with blood, and one of the horns on his helmet was pointing the wrong way. He grinned broadly, and appeared to be missing some teeth.

“I hoped we might have the opportunity to hang out together,” the Allfather said, then he hurled back his head and laughed long and hard at his own joke.

“Where’s Angelo?” Zac demanded. His arms were shaking now, both from the cold and the effort of holding on to the sword.

“The dragon? Gone. Down there,” Odin said, nodding into the cloudy abyss. “Unfortunate, really. I would have enjoyed seeing his head on a spike. Not in a nasty way, you understand? All in good fun.”

There was a commotion up on the ledge above them. Four Valkyries touched down by Odin’s hands. They took hold of his arms, two to each one, and dragged him back up on to solid ground.

“My thanks, ladies,” the Allfather said. “Thy loyalty is commendable.” He glared down past Zac to where Herya dangled. “A shame the same cannot be said for all thine number.”

“I do not know what has come over her, Allfather,” said Herya’s mother, stepping up to join Odin at the edge of the cliff. They were both standing close to the sword. Worryingly close for Zac’s liking. “She always was... headstrong, even for a Valkyrie.”

Odin nodded sagely. “She is a disappointment.”

“No,” spat the older Valkyrie. “She is a disgrace.”

Zac’s muscles screamed at him as he tried to pull himself and Herya back up. But the cold was too biting and the pain was too great, and it was all he could do just to hold on.

“H-help us up,” he pleaded. “We’re going to fall.”

Odin squatted down. He examined the sword, then he turned to Zac and smiled kindly. “That’s right, young Zac,” he said. “Thou art.”

Still smiling, the Allfather tapped a finger against the ground. The sword shuddered, then sliced through the last few centimetres of ice. Zac felt his stomach do a flip and then he, the sword and Herya were sucked down into the swirling mists of the abyss.





AC WAS LYING on something. It was sharp and uncomfortable and was digging into his back. His eyes were closed and they were in no mood for opening just yet. His ears were probably working, but all they could hear was silence, so he couldn’t be sure. His nose was definitely functioning, though. A cold swirl of decay and damp seeped up each nostril and whispered dark thoughts into his brain. They told him many things had died in this place, and that he would almost certainly be next, so it was probably best just to lie still and wait for it all to be over.

The sharp thing in his back begged to differ.

“Get off,” it said, and Zac realised he was lying on Herya. More specifically, he was lying on her legs with the toe of her boot poking into his spine. The sudden kick she gave him was enough to jump-start his sleeping body. He rose quickly. His eyes opened. He could still see nothing.

To call the fog thick would be to do it a disservice. It looked almost solid, as if it had been painted on to the air in layers of white and grey.

“Where are we?” he asked. He heard Herya stand up somewhere nearby.

“The Nether Lands,” she said grimly.

“The Netherlands?” Zac asked. “What, as in... beside Belgium?”

“No, not the Netherlands,” she said. Her voice sounded muffled by the mist. “The Nether Lands. The void between the Afterworlds.” Although he couldn’t see her, Zac heard Herya shudder. Her voice became little more than a whisper. “The realm of the lost gods.”

“Right. And I’m guessing that’s not somewhere we want to be?”

“No,” she said. “And yes. We can get to Argus from here. If we can find the way. And if we can avoid being eaten.”

“Eaten?”

“There are other lost things in the Nether Lands,” she explained. “Not just gods.”

As if on cue, something howled in the distance. Zac turned to look in the direction of the sound, but all he saw were shades of grey.

“Great,” he said quietly.

The fog around them was briefly lit up by a flicker of lightning. For a split second he saw Herya silhouetted in the mist. “How did we survive the fall?” he asked.

“Nothing dies in the Nether Lands,” she said.

“But you just said we might get eaten.”

“Yes,” she replied.

It took a moment for Zac to realise her meaning. “Oh,” was all he said.

“There are worse things than death.”

Zac nodded. “Yeah. So everyone keeps telling me.”

The howl came again, closer this time. A second later, another one answered.

“We should go,” Herya said. “The things down here may not need to see us to find us.”

“I should try to find Angelo,” Zac sighed. “If he fell, he should be around here somewhere.”

“Hello,” said Angelo brightly. Zac and Herya both screamed in fright, then immediately pretended they hadn’t.

“Where the Hell did you come from?” Zac demanded. He was grateful for the fog so no one could see that all the colour had drained from his face.

“Over there,” Angelo replied. “Or was it over there? I’m not sure. Is it really foggy, or is it just me?”

“It’s foggy.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. I was worried I’d gone blind. Phew!”

There was another crackle of lightning and Zac saw Angelo’s outline through the mist. He was boy-sized again, and he no longer had a tail. Both good signs, but Zac wanted to be sure.

“Are you... OK?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t you worry, I’m fine,” Angelo said cheerfully. Zac jumped as the boy’s slender arms wrapped round him in a hug. “But thanks for asking. I knew you cared really,” Angelo said. “By the way,” he added, “is anyone else naked?”

Zac leaped back as if he’d been electrocuted. He tried to push Angelo away without actually touching him, which proved to be just as difficult as it sounded. “Get off,” he said. Reluctantly, Angelo stopped hugging him.

“It’s funny. One minute I’m being strangled by Odin, the next I’m here. Where is here, by the way?”

“The Nether Lands,” said Herya.

“What?” asked Angelo. “Beside Belgi—”

“No,” said Zac before Herya could open her mouth. “A different one. And what do you mean? Are you saying you don’t remember what happened in Valhalla?”

“Not really,” replied Angelo. “I remember them trying to cut my head off. That’s not something you forget in a hurry, let me tell you.”

“Then what?”

Angelo thought. “Not much. I remember they grabbed you. I remember... I remember Odin picking me up, and not being able to breathe, and my head going all tingly and then... And then I woke up here.”

“What about the bit in between?” Herya asked.

Angelo didn’t reply.

“Well?” the Valkyrie pressed.

“Um, sorry,” said Angelo. “It’s just, you see, I’ve got no clothes on. And you’re, you know, a girl. And so, thinking about it, I probably shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“You are very modest for a demon.”

Angelo snorted. “Demon?” he laughed. “I’m not a demon. Demons are big horrible ugly monsters. I’m an angel. A bit like you, but, you know? Proper.”

“Half angel,” Zac reminded him. “Half angel and half...” He left the sentence hanging.

“Well, human, obviously!”

There was stillness in the fog.

“Obviously,” said Zac, after a while.

“He doesn’t know,” Herya realised.

“Know what?” asked Angelo. “What don’t I know?”

A howl interrupted them. It sounded closer than ever, but it bounced around inside the mist, making it impossible to tell which direction it was coming from.

“Nothing,” said Zac, remembering Angelo’s earlier rant about how horrible all demon-kind was. “Doesn’t matter. We need to move.”

“Right you are. Should I put my trousers back on, do you think? They’ve got a bit stretched and ripped somehow, but they’re not too bad. Maybe I can sort of tie the torn bits together so they stay up.”

“Yes,” said Zac. “Trousers. Definitely trousers.”

There was a soft rustling of fabric. “I’m not very good at knots,” Angelo said. “Can you help me?”

“Definitely not,” Zac replied. “Figure it out.” He turned to where he guessed Herya stood. “You said Argus is here somewhere.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You did; you said—”

“I said we could get to Argus from here,” the Valkyrie clarified. “The Nether Lands connect all the Afterworlds, including the one where we’ll find Argus.”

“In that case, Angelo can take us to wherever he is. He can move between dimensions or... whatever they are. It’ll mean holding his hands, but he’s wearing trousers now at least.”

“No, he can’t. Not here. There are many ways into the Nether Lands, but only one way out. A portal.”

“Where is it?”

“The portal can be found right at the top of the Mountain of Eternal Torment, in the Cavern of the Endless Damned.”

Zac winced. “Oh, great. Really?”

“No, not really. Just kidding,” said Herya. “It’s in the middle somewhere. At the lowest point. The Nether Lands is like a big bowl with the portal at the bottom.”

Zac scuffed a foot across the ground. It sloped slightly downward in one direction. “Right. Then we go this way.” He reached out into the fog. “Grab my hand. Then we can all stick together.”

“Yeah, in your dreams, mortal,” said Herya. “I’ll take the demon’s hand and the demon can take yours.”

“Angel, not demon,” Angelo laughed. “You’re such a Mrs Mix-up!”

“OK, fine, whatever,” Zac sighed. He fumbled around until he found Angelo’s left hand. Herya was already holding on to the right.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Angelo said, his broad smile wasted in the fog. “This is really nice. Three friends, just hanging out, holding hands.”

“Just what I always wanted,” said Zac. Then they all set off down the slope into the deepest depths of the Nether Lands.