LITMIR.BIZ

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eye in black marker pen. It was surprisingly effective.

      The man’s beard was Father-Christmas white. His long hair hung in pigtails, dangling down over the top of the metal breastplate that was strapped across his chest. Unlike Michael’s armour, this stuff had been well used, and was now dented in more places than it was smooth.

      Both the real eye and the hand-drawn one glared at Zac and Angelo as, somewhere in the beard, the man’s mouth began to speak.

      “Who dares enter the Hall of Valhalla?” he demanded. It was a strong, commanding voice. The type of voice that could rouse sea serpents from the deep, and make avalanches change their minds and head back uphill.

      “It’s Valhalla,” Angelo whispered.

      “Yes, I heard,” replied Zac below his breath.

      “Where dead Vikings go.”

      “I can see that.”

      “Thou art trespassers in this place,” boomed the one-eyed man. “In the name of Asgard I shall pierce your innards with mine axe and rend your guts asunder! Then I shall summon my wolves to feast upon your quivering innards, unless thou reveal to us who thou art.”

      Zac smiled broadly. “Hi, I’m Zac. This is my... colleague, Angelo.”

      Angelo poked his head out from behind Zac’s back and gave a shy wave. “Hello.”

      The giant glared at them, but looked a little surprised that, despite his threats, they hadn’t made any effort to run away.

      Zac fixed him with a cool glare. “And you are?”

      There was a muttering then that rippled through the hall. At the far end of the table, the man’s face turned a blustery shade of red.

      “Dost thou not know?” he growled.

      “Nope,” Zac said. He took a step towards the table. A hundred hands reached for a hundred swords. “Should I?”

      “Impudent dog!” spat a Viking who was sitting halfway along the table. He rose to his feet and slammed one fist angrily down on the tabletop.

      After a moment, when he realised Zac hadn’t flinched, and that no one else was paying him the slightest bit of attention, he quietly sat down again.

      “I am the Allfather,” the one-eyed man boomed. “Lord of the Aesir, Ruler of the Gods—”

      “Um... just the Norse Gods, sir,” said a helpful Viking who sat a few seats along the table. “We wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes by claiming you were ruler of all gods. Remember what happened last time? With the Romans?”

      “SILENCE!” boomed the Allfather. The sheer force of his voice toppled tankards all along the table and forced Zac to take a pace backwards.

      “S-sorry, sir, I was only trying to—”

      “Wilt thou shut up!”

      “Shutting up now, sir.”

      The Allfather squeezed the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb and muttered below his breath. Only after that did he look back at Zac.

      “Now. Where was I?”

      “Lord of the Aesir, Ruler of the Gods,” Zac reminded him.

      “Norse Gods,” said a voice quietly.

      The Allfather’s glare was one of pure malice. “I swear,” he told the interfering Viking, “another word and I will punch thine mouth loose.”

      Nobody, least of all the man who was the focus of the Allfather’s gaze, uttered a word.

      Only when he was absolutely certain the Viking wasn’t about to speak again did the Allfather turn back to Zac.

      “Right,” he said, a little flustered. “So... Where was...? Yes. Allfather, Lord of the Aesir, Ruler of the Norse Gods, if thou wants to get picky about it. I am the all-powerful Odin!”

      A chorus of cheers went up around the hall. “Hail, Odin, Master of the Runes!”

      “Odin?” said Zac.

      “Hail, Odin, patron to the skalds!” went the cry.

      “Yes,” said the Allfather. “Odin.”

      “Hail, Odin, sole creator of magical songs!”

      “For the love of Thor, will ye shut up!” Odin bellowed. “Thou doesn’t have to go through all that every time someone says ‘Odin’.”

      “Hail, Odin, delighter of—”

      “Cut it out! I’m warning thee.” Odin’s aged brow furrowed. “Warning thou... Warning ye...?” Odin threw up his arms and sighed. “Oh, who actually talks like that anyway? It’s ridiculous.”

      The Ruler of the (specifically Norse) Gods turned back to Zac. “So, yes. In answer to your question, I am – and I don’t want to hear another bloody word out of anyone here – Odin.”

      Around the hall there was the sound of a hundred Vikings chewing their bottom lips. Zac took another step closer.

      “Never heard of you.”

      The assembled audience gasped as one. Those hands already gripping sword handles gripped them tighter.

      “What are you doing?” Angelo whimpered. “Don’t upset him. Look at the size of him!”

      “Relax. I’ve got a plan,” Zac whispered.

      “Have you?”

      “Well, no, not really,” Zac admitted. “But I’m sure something’s going to pop right in there any minute now.”

      There wasn’t the explosion of temper from Odin that Zac had expected. The Allfather simply stared for a long time, as if trying to get to grips with the idea that someone didn’t know who he was.

      “Haven’t you?” he asked at last.

      Zac shook his head. “Nope. Should I have?”

      “Of course you should!” boomed Odin. Then a flicker of doubt crossed his broad face. “Well, I mean... I suppose it has been a long time. And Baldr knows, things have changed over the years.” Slowly, he lowered himself back down into his chair. “Maybe... maybe people don’t know who I am any more. Maybe it’s—”

      “Wait,” said Zac. “Did you say Odin? The Odin?”

      Odin’s eyebrows rose hopefully. “Yes.”

      “Lord of the Aesir? Ruler of the Norse Gods?”

      “Yes,” nodded the Allfather, suddenly perking right up. “Yes!”

      “Father of...”

      “Thor,” whispered Angelo.

      “I know. Father of Thor?”

      Odin was standing again. He nodded encouragingly. “Yes. Yes. Go on. Go on!”

      “Of course I’ve heard of you! Everyone’s heard of Odin. I thought you said you were Wodin to begin with. My mistake. Sorry about that.”

      The Allfather laughed loudly enough to shake the rafters. “Aha! I knew you would know of me! Apology accepted, mortal,” he said. He raised his hands and the assembled Vikings cheered on cue.

      “Come. Sit by my side,” insisted the Allfather. “Stop a while in the Great Hall, Valhalla, and share what tales you know of Odin, Ruler of the Gods!”

      “Just, uh, just the Norse Gods, sir.”

      Odin sighed. “Right, that’s it. Get out.”

      “What? But, but, Allfather...”

      “I’ve warned you already. Out!”

      Zac

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