Free Odin Blew Up My TV! by Robert J. Harris

Andrews Bay then dive back down with a colossal splash. The chariot swung round and swooped over the arching West Port – all that remained of the town’s medieval walls.
    Lewis stared out beyond the boundaries of the town and saw that the farmlands of Fife had been replaced by a far-flung wilderness of dark trees, broken here and there by stony ridges and gleaming lakes. To the far west rose a lofty snow-capped peak. Lewis recognised it as the mountain that had appeared on the screen at the museum.
    Just then there came a piercing screech and they saw Loki’s giant hawk plunging out of the clouds towards them.
    “That dirty great budgie!” Greg exclaimed.
    “It is Falkior, the hunting bird of Loki,” said Sigurda grimly. She drew her sword. “Brace yourselves for battle.”
    The bird of prey sped towards them, its wicked claws extended to attack. Sigurda directed her mount sharply downward and the hawk shot over their heads in a rush of air.
    Rimfaxi flew on, drawing the chariot out over thewooded landscape of Vanaheim. Vast crags of grey rock thrust upward like grasping fingers and the stallion climbed desperately to avoid the obstacles.
    Suddenly the chariot wheels glanced off a rocky pinnacle and the three passengers were jolted off their feet.
    With a cry of alarm Dave the Lobster lost his grip and toppled over the side.
    “Dave!” Lewis yelled, stretching a helpless hand towards the marine biologist as he plummeted to earth. Right below them was a small lake where Dave splashed down before disappearing behind tall trees.
    “Will he be okay?” Susie asked anxiously.
    “I’m sure he can swim,” said Lewis. “Like a lobster probably.”
    “Look, if we carry out this mission,” said Greg, “Odin will rescue the fish guy from wherever he ends up. Right, Sigurda?”
    “You speak the truth, Ringwearer. We cannot stop to help your friend now, but we shall return this way. If he acts with valour, he will come to no harm.”
    They were all struck dumb by the sight of the huge hawk Falkior rushing at them again. This time it struck home, gashing the stallion’s right wing in a spray of blood. With a curse, Sigurda stabbed her sword at the bird but caught only empty air as it wheeled away.
    Falkior let out a squawk of triumph and glided over the treetops, seeking an angle from which to resume its attack.
    Sigurda patted the horse’s neck. “You will pay for that, Falkior, blood for blood!” she swore.
    Now the great hawk came at them head-on. Sigurda steered her brave mount directly at the enemy, then, at the last instant, pulled back on the reins to climb above the swooping bird. She threw herself out of the saddle, one hand gripping tightly to the shaggy mane, and swung under the great horse’s neck. With her other arm she swept her sword downward and slashed it across Falkior’s back as it passed below. The bird of prey let out a screech of agony as Sigurda swung herself around to the other side of her mount and back up into the saddle.
    With a bloody gash down its back, Falkior beat a rapid retreat to St Andrews.
    The three youngsters gave a cheer.
    “Sigurda, that was amazing!” Susie enthused.
    “Our victory has come at a price,” said Sigurda, casting a pitying eye over Rimfaxi’s bloodied wing. The horse was losing height as the deep wound drained the strength from his mighty body. Sigurda struggled to keep him on a straight course, her eyes scanning the forest below for a safe spot to set down.
    Lewis, Greg and Susie clung desperately to the sides of the chariot as they spiralled steeply downward and the forest rushed up to meet them.
    “Crash landing!” Greg exclaimed. 

11. T HE I RONWOOD
    They ploughed down through a dense covering of leaves and branches to hit the ground with a jarring crash. The chariot broke apart, spilling the three passengers out onto the mossy ground. Startled birds flew off in every direction, squawking in panic.
    Only when his dizziness had passed did Lewis