The Extremely Epic Viking Tale of Yondersaay (11 page)

Ruairi and Dani waited patiently. Ruairi cleared his throat quietly.

Granny glared at them over her spectacles. “My dears, you’re possibly a little young, but when you get to my age, you will understand that the details of a good breakfast will be of the utmost importance in any tale. Where was I? Oh, yes. The expedition squad set out toward the Beach of Bewilderment and crossed the River Gargle at Tidal-Pool Bridge.” Granny hoisted Ruairi’s backpack onto her back and waded across the living room carpet as though she was hiking across sand on a windy day.

“They scaled the peaks of Mount Violaceous on the west side”—Granny climbed up onto a chair, tottered for a minute, and launched herself into the air and landed heavily on another chair—“pausing only for Old Mrs. MacAvinney’s delicious packed lunch—crusty bread, thick slices of cheese oozing out—” Granny climbed up on the table by the window, clinging to the curtains like they were a rope. She leaned backward, picked up a sandwich, and took a bite.

“Granny! Be careful! Please!” Ruairi said, running to stand under her with his arms out wide so he could catch her if she fell.

“What happened next, Granny?” Dani was still sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

“They scaled the peaks of Volcano Mount Violaceous.” Granny jumped off the table, did a tumble and roll, bounced up, and started to climb the brick fireplace. Ruairi ran and put cushions on the floor underneath her.

“All the while suppressing little butterflies of fear that perhaps old Violaceous was just taking a break and that lava and ash would suddenly spew from the top of the mountain and engulf them in terrifying flames, leaving them either dead or worse. But the little butterflies of fear were all for nothing. It never happened. In fact, nothing happened at all. When they got to the top of the mountain and peered over and looked in, they got the surprise of their lives.” Granny jumped back down to the floor.

“The islanders couldn’t think of a single historical event that matched this strange occurrence.” Granny went to the bookcase and pulled down a dozen books. She put on her reading glasses and leafed through all the books around about her. “The pig farmer, who was also the local geologist, had to call to mind everything he’d ever learned about rocks and volcanoes, but even he couldn’t come up with an answer. In the end, they decided it was a mystery. Though they had a theory.” Granny came over and sat down on the sofa.

“It looked as though, during the night of Christmas Eve, while everyone was sleeping, dreaming of the presents they would get when they woke up and the wonderful things they would eat on Christmas Day, a sliver of a glacier had been swept south from the North Pole. It slid over the earth as they all slept, swooshed up the side of Mount Violaceous, and fell into the hole at the top of the mountain. It careened into the throat of the volcano and came to rest on top, blocking it up, cooling it off, and sealing in all the fire and ash.” Granny paused, ate, and looked at Dani and Ruairi.

“Wow,” said Ruairi.

“No one knows how or why the glacier decided to glide into our volcano or even how it got there so quickly. Of course, you know that on Yondersaay, to say ‘to move at a glacial pace’ means to go as fast as humanly possible.”

“So, there was no more volcano?” Ruairi asked.

“Well, that’s what it looked like. And slowly, what we see out the window, the thing that dominates every view on the island, came to be known as Fenrir’s Seat. But that’s another story for another day.” Granny Miller took a bite of her last sandwich.

“I’m still not quite getting the connection, Granny. What exactly does this have to do with the fire brigade?” Dani asked.

“Volcanoes don’t just go away,” Mum said.

“Exactly right, Mum,” Granny said when she’d finished eating. “And the island council were worried that all the ash spewing and lava rumblings were still going on, building up just under the surface of the glacier. The islanders met, debated, took a vote, and decided that the fire brigade should get ready and train just in case one day the volcano blew up underneath the glacier.

“The island geologist reckoned that if the volcano came to life again and erupted, the cap of ice would start melting slowly from the underside, but there would still be a plug of ice sealing the mountain and slowing down the fire. Fire needs oxygen, and none could get in through the thick layers of the tightly packed ice and water. The glacier would stop Mount Violaceous and keep Fenrir in his seat. Everyone at the meeting breathed a sigh of relief.

“They were just about to move to ‘other business,’ when little Albert MacAvinney, Lewis MacAvinney’s granddad, tentatively raised his hand. The mayor called for silence, and everyone turned and looked at the little boy sitting between his grandparents at the back of the hall. ‘Yes, little Albert MacAvinney. What is it?’

“‘The caves,’ little Albert MacAvinney said. ‘Air will get in through the caves.’

“And he was dead right. There’s a veritable labyrinth of caves in and around and under Fenrir’s Seat, with hundreds of openings all over the mountain. Some begin under the sea; some open at the top of the cliffs and work their way down. They meet and mingle out of sight, deep underground. Some lead directly to the belly of the mountain, some to dead ends, and some tunnels lead you to a maze.”

“Is that what that big cave at the Beach of Bewilderment is?” Dani said. “The one just over the sand dunes as you come from the beach toward the mountain? Is there a tunnel leading into the volcano there too?”

“Yes, Dani,” Granny said. “If you crawl right to the back, there’s a hole, a tunnel.”

“Can we go and have a look at it? Can we?”

“We’re probably not allowed to. That would be dangerous,” Ruairi said.

“Yes, indeed, Ruairi,” Granny said. “No one’s allowed to go wandering around in those tunnels. Besides, I have a feeling it’s all blocked up.”

“Oh well,” Ruairi said.

“I’m sure we can unblock it,” Dani mumbled to herself.

“Listen to Granny, Dani,” Mum said. “You must never wander around in any of these caves—either of you. It’s too dangerous. You may find yourself hopelessly lost, unable to find your way out.” Mum looked back to Granny, who continued.

“All eyes turned to little Albert MacAvinney. ‘Although it would be very difficult,’ he said, ‘maybe even impossible to block off all the cave openings from the
out
side, it may be possible to block them off from the
in
side. If the belly of the mountain is filling with water,’ little Albert continued, ‘someone in the water would be able to see where the tunnels ended. They would be able to see bubbles coming into the melting water and feeding the fire and block off the tunnels. “Everyone in the town hall agreed that little Albert MacAvinney was exceptionally clever. Old Mrs. MacAvinney, little Albert’s grandmother, beamed with pride.

“Hence the fire brigade scuba squad!”

“Sometimes,” Mum said, “you can see the firemen in the lake or the swimming pool in their fireman’s helmets and fireman’s boots and scuba gear doing drills with their hoses, practicing putting out underwater fires. Or carrying massive boulders from one side of the swimming pool to the other—that’s when they’re practicing blocking up the tunnels and keeping out the bubbles. And, at other times, you see some of them with giant bubble blowers under the water testing other firemen to see if they can spot the bubbles. They often do it all blindfolded, getting ready for the day when Fenrir’s Seat becomes Volcano Mount Violaceous once more.

“So they were the obvious choice,” Mum continued, “when it emerged that the tarantulafish were mucking about on the ferry route again, to scuba on down there, dismantle the web, and create a clear passage.

“But you can’t force them to go,” Granny said.

“Why not?” Dani asked.

“It’s their job. You just said so.” Ruairi was getting suspicious again.

“Ah, you see, actually, it’s not their job really,” said Mum. “It’s just an extra thing they do. The few house fires, chimney fires, oil spills, and road traffic accidents on the island don’t warrant a full-time fire service. The firemen and firewomen are also the local farmers and the butcher, the baker, the cobblers, and a couple of university students. And now the draper is saying he’s not terrified of the tarantulafish, not absolutely terrified out of his skin of them at all—it’s just that the run up to Christmas is his busiest time of year, and he can’t leave the shop. And Mr. Lachlann who owns The Bewildered Inn overheard him say that and spread the word so nearly everyone else is saying the same—they’re not scared of the tarantulafish, not a bit scared. It’s just that Christmas is such a busy time of the year. They can’t close their shops. The customers would be up in arms!

“It’s not a very busy time of year for the cobbler. But he has a migraine. So he’s out too. There’s nothing to be done about it,” Granny said with finality.

“I’m not buying a word of this,” Dani said.

“You’re not?” Ruairi whispered to her. And then he said, louder, “No, me neither. We’re not buying a word of this!”

“Look, darlings. Let’s not let it ruin our holiday,” Mum said. “Dad’ll get here if and when he can. I just want to prepare you in case he can’t make it. You need to be grown-up about it.”

“Okay,” Ruairi mumbled.

“If you want us to be so grown-up about it,” Dani shot back at her mother, “why tell us all that nonsense about tarantulafish and underwater volcanoes? That’s not very grown-up!”

“Grown-up it may not be, Dani,” Granny said over her glasses, “but it’s the truth, the absolute truth, and nothing short of it.”

“Whatever,” Dani said.

“Come on now, kids,” Mum said, “Let’s just concentrate on having the best holiday ever,” she said as cheerfully as possible. She went into the kitchen and made hot chocolate with roasted marshmallows while Granny, Ruairi, and Dani quietly unpacked the decorations.

Ruairi decided that Mum and Granny were probably as disappointed as he and Dani were about Dad and that there was no point in being huffy with them. There was nothing anyone could do. He would just have to hope the weather changed and Dad got to Yondersaay in time for Christmas.

When the decorations were unpacked, and they were set to trim the tree, Granny continued with her story of King Dudo the Mightily Impressive.

“Where were we? Ah, yes, the jarl had brought King Dudo to the foot of an oak tree in the Crimson Forest. The tree moved forward and down as though taking a bow, and said, ‘I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, your kingship.’

“King Dudo stared at the tree, his jaw hanging down. Recovering himself, he said ‘The pleasure is mine.’ Rarelief the Splendiferous grinned from ear-branch to ear-branch. King Dudo even thought he saw Rarelief blush, but it was very hard to tell—his face was made of bark. The tall, skinny oak tree bent a branch down. King Dudo took hold of a twig, and they shook hands.

“King Dudo settled himself on a knobbly root at the base of Rarelief the Splendiferous’s trunk.

“‘I’ll leave the two of you to it,” Jarl Olaf said, swinging his arms and retreating slowly. ‘My liege, Rarelief here will tell you all you need to know about this island, its history, and its many secrets. He was here before any of us were born, and he will be here long after we have all returned to the earth and will give you an objective answer to any question you may ask.’ And with that, Jarl Olaf Barelegs the Balding on Top shuffled off, and King Dudo and Rarelief the Splendiferous were alone.

“Rarelief recounted the history of the island to King Dudo. Within that history was Rarelief himself. He was a tiny sapling when Odin, the majestic father of all Vikings, decided that of all the Viking lands, Yondersaay was the most perfect place to prepare for Valhalla. Odin made the island his home for a short while to explore the landscape and to get to know the people. He bestowed upon the island many of his own powers. He made it his treasure trove—the place where he and his hundreds of thousands of followers, over many generations, could amass their personal fortunes and weaponries ahead of their final battle.

“He enshrouded the island in a mysterious invisibility and bestowed upon it many secret gifts, all of which Rarelief the Splendiferous relayed in detail to King Dudo.”

“What were they, Granny? Will you tell us?” Ruairi asked.

“Ruairi, darling, I’m afraid some are so secret that even I don’t know about them. I can tell you about some of the enchantments that Odin bestowed upon the island, and I can also tell you a little bit about each of the Gifts of Odin, but not more than that, I’m afraid. Like I said, the island is shrouded in mystery.” With that, Granny, at the top of a twenty-foot stepladder balanced precariously against the tree, let a flutter of silky silver tinsel icicles float down to land evenly on the branches.

“Odin was a great and powerful god who had battled many great and powerful gods during his hundreds of years in existence. A Nordic god of old, he wasn’t perhaps quite as all-powerful or all-knowing as you might think. Like people, all gods were not created equal. Some were braver than others, some were stronger, and some were craftier. Odin had accumulated the most amazing objects you’ll hear of—some through force of war and combat, and some came to him as gifts and offerings. I will briefly tell you about one treasure.” Granny slowly climbed down the twenty-foot stepladder. She approached the little table by the fireplace where Mum had piled mounds of mince pies and slices of Christmas cake and stacks of fluffy white marshmallows for the hungry tree trimmers.