The Monstrous Child (17 page)

39

I'M A MONSTER

LAY BACK AND
closed my eyes. I felt her staring at me, at my legs, so I yanked the curtains closed, shutting her out.

Bye-bye, hero. In the distance, I could hear Garm howling. What, he's only just realised there's an intruder around? Stupid dog.

My serving woman, Ganglot, waited silently by the threshold. Slowly she started to point to the exit.

And then, suddenly, I didn't want Freya to leave. I felt so lonely I didn't think I could bear it.

Maybe I'd keep her just a little bit longer.

‘Wait,' I said, poking my hand through the tattered bed curtains.

Freya froze.

I beckoned to her again. I suddenly saw my cracked, curved nails, more like a wolf's than a god's.

I curled up my hand.

‘Stay for a moment,' I said. ‘Nice to look at someone who's still got skin on their face. Makes a change.'

Freya hesitated. Then, carefully, she sat on the edge of my bed. A shower of dust and worse billowed into the choking air.

Slowly I reached over and picked up the empty dish lying on the rancid blanket.

‘See this plate?' I said. ‘I named it Hunger. My knife is called Starving. I'm the only one who can eat around here, so I thought that would be fitting. My goblet is
called Thirst. Bit of a joke, really, because I can wait all day for it to be filled …'

Freya shrugged.

‘Do you like my bed hangings?' I said. I was trying to think of things to talk about, but I am not practised at this. I was starting to regret calling her back. A hero she might well be, but what was that to me?

Freya shrugged again. Clearly, she wasn't feeling very talkative.

‘I went through so many names for them,' I said. I fingered what remained of the black-and-silver fabric, covered in a cheery scene of decomposing corpses dangling from gibbets. ‘Rickets. Glittering Pain. Shining Harm. Shimmering Torment. They've been Glimmering Misfortune now for ages. I might rename them again in the next hundred years or so.'

‘That'll be fun,' said Freya.

I looked at her with ice-dead eyes.

‘Are you laughing at me?'

‘No,' said Freya. ‘I like naming things too. I even
named all my stuffed toys when I was little. I called my dog Bel Gazou.'

‘I called mine Garm,' I said. ‘That means rag. He's huge and ugly. Everything here is ugly.'

‘You're not ugly,' said Freya.

I snorted.

‘Not ugly? Are you blind? I'm a monster.'

The young girl shook her head.

‘You know,' said Freya, ‘if you tied back your hair, you'd look quite pretty.'

‘Pretty?' I said. ‘What's pretty?'

‘It means … you look good,' said Freya.

I stared at her. ‘How would I know?'

‘Look,' Freya fumbled with her unruly curls and took off the tortoise-shell clip. ‘May I touch your hair?'

I started as if Freya had asked if she could brand me.

‘You want to … touch me?' I said.

‘Well, your hair … I was going to …' Freya stopped in confusion. Maybe she thought she'd drop dead if she touched me. Maybe she would.

‘We both have Medusa hair,' said Freya.

‘Who's Medusa?' I said. I didn't think there was anyone named Medusa down here.

‘A monster from the Greek myths,' said Freya. ‘She turned people to stone if they looked at her. She had snakes for hair.'

Great. The M word again. I saw Freya bring her hand to her mouth as she realised what she'd said.

I spat. ‘A monster? People always like monsters in stories.'

‘I thought you'd be old and ugly,' said Freya.

‘I am old and ugly,' I said. ‘I'm a rotting corpse.'

‘Not all of you,' said Freya. ‘When you tie back those curls you'll look quite pretty.'

Freya fumbled in her pocket. She pulled out some bits of rubbish, a feather, some nuts, and then a shiny, round silver box, brighter than anything I had ever seen before.

Freya gazed at the burnished little pot wistfully for a moment.

‘Put this on,' said Freya.

I raised myself onto my elbow.

‘What is it?' I asked. ‘A jewel? Magic?'

‘It's called lip gloss,' said Freya. ‘It will make your mouth shine.' She opened the round pot and handed me the gloss. I held it up to the candle, marvelling how the light bounced off the polished surface.

‘I like shine,' I said. Then I gasped.

‘There's – there's someone in here,' I whispered, pointing to a face in the tiny round glass.

‘That's you,' said Freya.

‘Me?' I said. ‘
Me?
' I gazed at my reflection, myself and not myself. It can't be … I look … I look …' I raised my hands to my face and touched it, staring at myself in the mirror. For the first time, I saw my pink cheeks and ice eyes, my curly silver hair.

‘This is a great wonder, to see yourself so clearly.' I stuck out my tongue. The girl in the glass mirrored me. She really, truly, was me. I wasn't some ironwood hag. I wasn't troll spawn.

‘Dip your finger in the gloss and smear it on your lips,' said Freya.

I almost dropped the looking glass.

‘You first,' I hissed. ‘I don't want to be poisoned.'

Freya smeared her finger with pink gloss and rubbed it on her mouth. I copied her. Then I looked at myself and smiled. Now my lips matched my cheeks.

Freya was right. I did not look monstrous.

‘A new you,' said Freya.

She would want it back. My fingers gripped the pot. I longed for this magic more than any gift.

‘Keep it,' said Freya.

I could not stop gazing at my face. I dipped my fingers in the pot and smeared the gloss on my cheeks.

‘I'm sorry,' said Freya. ‘It must be horrible being here.'

‘It is,' I said. ‘It's Hel.'

I gazed at the lip gloss. I decided in that moment.

40

SICKBED

GREAT GIFT LIKE
this deserves recompense,’ I said. ‘Ganglot. Fetch the
eski
under my bed.’

We sat in silence, waiting the long while for my servant to complete her task.

Freya took the wooden box from Ganglot and opened it. Her hands were shaking. Perhaps she thought I’d handed her a box of entrails, or a septic toe …

Then she saw the nut. She gripped the
eski
tightly and swallowed. Then she turned to me and the joy on her face exploded around me. I have never been looked at like that. No one sees me and feels joy. That look I also tucked away, to feel its spark forever.

‘I’m doing this for you,’ I said. ‘Not for them. I hate the gods. I’ll always hate them. But my revenge can wait until the Axe Age and the Wind Age and the Wolf Age at the bitter End of Days.’

‘I’ll build a shrine to you,’ said Freya.

‘That will be a first,’ I said. ‘Don’t think you’ll get too many worshippers.’

‘Goodbye,’ said Freya. ‘Thank you. I’ll never forget you.’

‘Stay,’ I said. ‘You’ll never make it back to Asgard alive. You’re already ivory up to your neck. Here you can live forever. Just think, mortal Freya, life everlasting. Your friends and family will all be here to join you soon enough.’

Freya hesitated.

‘This place isn’t so bad once you get used to it,’ I said, slowly sitting up. ‘Everyone’s here, you know. All the greats. You can meet anyone you like. There’s no pain. No suffering.’

I was offering her immortality – of a sort.

‘I can’t,’ said Freya. ‘I have to try.’

What was I thinking? Of course she wouldn’t want to stay.

‘Go, then,’ I said. ‘See if I care.’

Freya slipped through the bed hangings onto the threshold and went back into the hall. There was the mad flutter of wings, a snarl of rage, then thundering hooves.

I heard my father bellow, ‘I’ll soon be picking apart your carrion!’

He continued cursing as the sound of wings grew fainter and fainter. The bird girl had escaped.

Of course I regretted it immediately. Why did I do it? I held vengeance in my power. All I had to do was to let Freya leave empty-handed. Soon the gods would have been dead and gone. The vengeance I had waited for so
long was shimmering and winking at me.

Why did I give Freya the nut? I’ve asked myself this question over and over.

Because she gave me a gift unlike any other? Because she didn’t see a monster?

Or was it to spite my father, whom I never saw again, though I heard his screams when the gods finally caught and bound him.

Maybe.

Maybe it was because I saw myself for the first time.

Maybe because I saw myself in her?

There is nothing else now but the waiting. Nothing else. I will decay here in the darkness through the slow
tick tock
to Ragnarok and the fated ending.

My saga is drawing to a close. I am locking my word hoard. Mortals, read the Testament of Hel I have set down. Tell it to your children, and your children’s children.

I blow out the candle, close my eyes, lie back on my bed, and I wait for the Axe Age and the Sword Age. The
Wind Age and the Wolf Age.

I’m glad that one day Fenrir will swallow the sun and sprinkle the heavens with blood. I’m glad he’ll kill Odin. I’m glad Jor will kill Thor.

Till then I’ll rot on my putrid bed, till the bitter stars drop from the sky and the waters once again swallow the earth.