Sky Wolves (29 page)

‘And cut ’em and spin ’em,’ put in Aunty Lilith, who was using the enormous horn as an ear trumpet, so that she could hear.

‘Yes, well – that’s the point,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘In return for us looking after Yggdrasil here, Odin accepted that the fate of gods and men rested with us. We were left in charge of the Thread of Destiny.’

‘Women’s work, he said,’ sighed Aunty Dot, and Aunty Lilith snorted. ‘Typical man,’ she said.

‘Actually, none of us
likes
spinning,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘I always wanted to try woodwork.’

‘A bit of pottery’d be nice,’ said Aunty Lilith wistfully.

‘We just got a bit bored,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘Two million years of spinning and weaving was definitely enough.’

‘So you took to climbing the tree,’ said Aunty Lilith.

‘That’s right,’ agreed Aunty Dot.

Aunty Joan said, ‘As soon as she learned that each branch ended in a different world, there was no stopping her. She was always the adventurous one. And once or twice she talked us into going with her. Which is how we first came into your world.’

‘But -’ said Sam, but Aunty Joan lifted a hand to stop him.

‘When we went exploring with Aunty Dot,’ she said, ‘yours was the first world we came to where we didn’t have much to do. You may think that your world has troubles of its own, and indeed it has, but it’s a holiday camp compared to the others. Look at the Nordic world – all bloodbaths and valkyries. And look at the Greek myths! But in your world
there was much more freedom – everyone getting on with his or her own thing. No one knew about us, or expected us to weave their destinies. We came and went as we pleased. They’d forgotten about us, you see. That’s the thing about your world, Sam – it’s a place where people forget. Different gods and religions come and go. Some of them set up home here and no one even notices. We loved it. We bought a nice little house and planned our retirement. We even fostered a little girl – your mother, Sam. And we took up knitting, just as a change from all the spinning and weaving.’

‘I signed up for that pottery course,’ put in Aunty Lilith. ‘And the line-dancing.’

‘And Aunty Dot took to looking after dogs, which was her real passion. Then one day we sent Aunty Dot to the shop for more wool, for our knitting, and she forgot all about it. We sent her out again and she bought the wool, but she must have got them mixed up and
she gave us the wrong wool by mistake.
’

Aunty Joan gazed meaningfully at Sam, but he didn’t catch on.

‘Unfortunately,’ Aunty Dot said, ‘it was the wool we used for your jumper, Sam.’

Sam stared at her as the penny finally dropped.

‘You mean?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said Aunty Dot, nodding slowly. ‘Your jumper is knitted with the Thread of Destiny, so the fates of three different worlds have become horribly tangled. Just the three of them, thankfully – if we’d carried on knitting, who knows what might have happened to the other six. Anyway, that’s when Jenny managed to catch the dart that should have slain Baldur.’

‘Horribly tangled’s right,’ said Sam, looking down at the monstrous yellow mess. ‘You might not be very good at spinning and weaving, but you’re
terrible
at knitting!’

‘Well – we’re still learning the art,’ said Aunty Joan defensively.

But Sam was looking at his jumper with new respect.

‘Do you mean to say,’ he said, ‘that this jumper’s knitted out of – fate?’

‘We do,’ said the aunts.

‘Cool!’ said Sam. ‘What happens if I pull this bit here?’

‘No – don’t do that!’ they chorused in alarm. ‘You might cause a war – or an earthquake!’

‘Cool!’ said Sam again, but he stopped pulling the thread.

‘Actually, we do have to unravel the thread,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘But very carefully – one stitch at a time. We don’t want to send all the worlds into shock.’

‘What worlds?’ said Sam, still confused about this.

‘There are nine of them altogether, Sam,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘You hear about them in mythology. The world of ancient Greece, the Old Norse world, Egypt and Babylon, the Aztec and Inuit worlds -’

‘That odd little world that none of us understands,’ put in Aunty Lilith.

‘Then there’s your world, of course,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘And the underworld, which seems to be a kind of mishmash of all the worst aspects of the other worlds. But every aeon or so, all the worlds are supposed to renew themselves. Which is where Baldur comes in.’

‘Who?’ said Sam.

Between them, the aunts explained that Baldur was the son of Odin, and Ragnarok was the doom of the gods, the last battle at the end of the world, when the forces of chaos and destruction were unleashed.

‘But so long as Baldur dies,’ said Aunty Dot, ‘the world can renew itself, and the golden age begin.’

‘But Baldur didn’t die,’ said Jenny.

She lay with her head between her paws, feeling all the old pain at the mention of her master’s name.

‘No,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘And that was our fault too. We were in your world, Sam, knitting your jumper with what we thought was ordinary wool, while the game of the gods was taking place. Loki shaped the mistletoe into a dart and gave it to Baldur’s blind brother, Hod, to throw. It should have killed him, but instead Jenny here jumped up, caught it and ran off with it.’

‘I must’ve dropped a stitch,’ said Aunty Lilith.

‘So while Ragnarok was set in motion,’ said Aunty Joan.

And the end of the world was nigh,’ boomed Aunty Lilith.

‘There was no chance of it all renewing itself,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘And then Jenny here leapt into the void and emerged in your world, still carrying the mistletoe dart, and Fenrir of course followed her, because he’d worked out that if he had the mistletoe dart, then the world would never renew itself and Ragnarok would never end. Worse than that, the forces of chaos would spread throughout the nine worlds and Fenrir, as Hound of Ragnarok, would have total rule and never be chained again. Do you see?’

‘Er – no,’ said Sam, sounding rather dazed.

Aunty Dot patted his hand.

‘No,’ she said. ‘It is rather a lot to take in. Even we didn’t work it all out until the Fimbulwinter began. And it doesn’t matter now, because Jenny here got the dart to Baldur just in time, and he died as he was supposed to, and now – well – here you are!’

‘But what have I got to do with it?’ asked Sam, looking more confused than ever.

‘And what about Boris and Checkers, and Gentleman Jim and Pico, and Flo?’ asked Jenny.

The aunts exchanged significant glances once more.

‘Ah,’ said Aunty Joan.

‘Well,’ said Aunty Lilith.

‘Yes,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘They’re part of the bigger picture, you see. There was only one dog in all the worlds who could defeat Fenrir and that was my darling Berry. Boris and Checkers went to fetch him, and they did their job the best way they could. Meanwhile, Gentleman Jim and Pico went to fetch Orion the hunter’s soul back from the underworld.’

‘Yes – but why?’ asked Jenny.

‘Well, Orion shines above all the worlds and has had a very bad influence on each of them,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘He made a boast, remember, that he could hunt and kill any animal on the face of the earth. Because of his influence, mankind has believed it can lay waste the animal kingdom, creating a world in which humans rule and there is no place for other beasts. Things have got terribly out of balance. We don’t want that to happen again when the new golden age begins. So we thought it would be much better if Orion repented, for the killing as well as the
boasting, and then he could blow his horn, sounding a whole new note for the new era.’

‘We’re tired of this endless cycle of birth and destruction and death,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘We don’t want it all to just happen over and over again. The human race has to learn. And it needs to learn from animals. And where better to start than with dogs?’

Aunty Joan nodded. ‘Dogs exist in a special relationship with man. Civilization as you know it would not exist without dogs guarding and hunting and fighting man’s battles. So in this new world,’ she said, ‘we want a different star to guide it. Sirius, in fact. The Dog Star.’

‘And once that’s happened,’ said Aunty Lilith, ‘we can go into retirement!’

‘I can go back to dog-walking,’ said Aunty Dot.

‘I can try woodwork,’ said Aunty Joan.

‘And I can take up line-dancing again,’ said Aunty Lilith. ‘And pottery!’

Sam stared at his aunts and shook his head. ‘I still don’t get it,’ he said. ‘Where do I come into all this?’

‘Well, we weren’t sure at first,’ said Aunty Dot. ‘But when I saw you emerging from the abyss – suddenly I knew!’

‘Knew what?’ asked Sam.

‘The world needed a new Baldur – a new Shining Boy! And so Jenny brought you from the underworld, to replace the world we knew!’

Jenny barked in astonishment.

‘No way!’ said Sam. ‘How?’

‘Because of the Jumper of Fate,’ said Aunty Dot, and the aunts all beamed at one another.

‘I said everything would turn out all right in the end,’
said Aunty Lilith, who had, in fact, said nothing of the sort.

But Sam was shaking his head.

‘Just hold on a minute,’ he said. ‘I’m not Baldur – I’m Sam. I’m not the son of Odin, or anything mythological like that – I’m just me – and I live with my mum!’

‘That’s all right, Sam,’ said Aunty Dot kindly. ‘Don’t try too hard to understand. In this new world, all we need is a new balance between humans and the rest of the animal race. And we need dogs to lead the way. Which will all happen,’ she said, ‘once you’ve created the world anew.’

‘Oh, right,’ said Sam, who had obviously decided that his aunts were all barking mad. ‘So long as that’s all I’ve got to do. But in case you’ve not noticed, I’m just a boy. I don’t create worlds – I simply live in them.’

‘Look around you, Sam,’ said Aunty Joan gently.

Sam looked. Then he rubbed his eyes and looked again.

The desolate wastes of the city had disappeared. All around him the world had already begun to renew itself. Blackened trees were bursting into leaf once more, grass was spreading along the pavements, smoke was clearing and birds were beginning to sing. A fresh wind blew and small clouds chased one another across the sky. Everything seemed fresh and clean, as if newly rinsed. It was hard to believe in Ragnarok and the forces of chaos.

‘How did that happen?’ said Sam.

The aunts just smiled at him.

‘It all seems new,’ he said, looking round at the brilliant green of the grass.

‘That’s because it’s the morning of the world,’ said Aunty Joan. ‘It’s time for everything to begin again.’

‘All you have to do,’ said Aunty Lilith, plucking the great horn from her ear, ‘is to blow this horn.’

‘What?’ said Sam. ‘Like Orion?’

‘This is the Gjallarhorn, Sam,’ said Aunty Dot reverently, as she helped Aunty Lilith to pass it to him. ‘Older even than Orion’s horn. It is the horn of Ragnarok. But it is also the horn that the gods used to drink from the well of knowledge and wisdom.’

‘But Aunty Lilith’s just had it down her ear.’

‘Yes,’ said Aunty Dot, wiping the mouthpiece hastily on her sleeve. ‘Even so, it is the horn we need to blow knowledge and wisdom back into the world. And you have to do it, Sam – because you are the Shining Boy.’

Sam gave up trying to understand. He took the horn from Aunty Dot and held it gingerly. But as he did so he suddenly felt that he did understand after all and, in fact, that he always had.

‘So if I blow this horn –’ he said.

‘Then the world will rebuild itself – in a new and wiser way,’ said Aunty Dot.

‘Can I wish for something?’ he said, turning the great horn over in his hands.

The aunts looked anxiously at one another.

‘Well – yes,’ said Aunty Dot.

‘But be careful what you wish for,’ said Aunty Joan.

‘Because it will come true,’ said Aunty Lilith.

Sam thought hard. He thought of every exciting computer game he had ever played and how he’d wished, sometimes, that his life could be more like that. Then he thought about all the fantasy films he’d watched and the books he’d read that had dragons and knights and giants
in them. Then he thought about his home and his mum. He wiped the mouthpiece of the horn carefully with his sleeve, because it had just been in Aunty Lilith’s ear, and took a deep breath.

‘I wish,’ he said, and the aunts all craned forward.

‘Yes?’ said Aunty Joan and Aunty Dot, while Aunty Lilith said, ‘What’s he saying?’

‘I wish,’ said Sam, ‘that everything could be like it was before. Only better. For humans
and
animals.’

Then he raised the horn to his lips and blew.

Gentleman Jim woke from a terrible dream in which he had been hit by a flying pig. He seemed to be alone on the croft.

‘That’s funny,’ he said to himself. ‘Must’ve been something I ate.’

And he got up without any of the old problems in his back legs and trotted off towards home.

Maureen was waiting for him by the garden gate. He hung back for a moment when he saw her, but she ran towards him with her arms outstretched.

‘Oh, Gentleman Jim!’ she cried. ‘There you are! We’ve been so worried about you!’ And she flung her arms around him, knelt down in the muddy grass and buried her face in his neck.

Gentleman Jim stood stiffly, bemused by all this attention. But when she lifted her face up and called for Gordon, he set off at a loping run towards his old master, leaping into his arms just as Gordon appeared.

Gordon collapsed backwards, hugging Gentleman Jim, who licked his face all over.

‘Oh, Gentleman Jim – where have you been!’ Gordon exclaimed. ‘Oh, I’ve missed you so much!’

‘I’m going to cook you a whole pan full of your favourite pet mince!’ Maureen said, beaming.

And she did! Gentleman Jim stood in the kitchen while she boiled it up, thinking that something, somewhere, was
not quite right,
but he couldn’t remember what. And soon the delicious smell of tripe and offal and the remains of long-dead animals filled his nostrils, driving all other thoughts away. He lifted his nose and gave vent to his feelings in a long, baying howl. Gordon and Maureen laughed in delight.