Arthur Quinn and Hell's Keeper Read Free

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–
    â€˜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