Chris Blake - Viking Raiders

The three travellers hurtled through the tunnels of time, twisting and turning through the ages, as though they were on the scariest roller coaster in the world. They shot out of the end and flew through the air. One by one, they landed on the ground with a thunk , thunk , flump .

Tom was shaking so hard from the cold that he felt his chattering teeth might fall out. “I’m f-freezing,” he said. “Where on earth are we?”

Standing up and stretching, he looked about. They had landed on a riverbank that was covered with frost. Alongside them, a wide river flowed fast. Its choppy waters glittered in the winter sunshine.

“I d-don’t know,” Isis said, blowing on her hands. “But I th-think my f-fingers might f-fall off.”

Tom glanced over at Isis. Apart from the sweeps of black kohl round her eyes and the beaded black plaits that made her look unmistakeably like an Ancient Egyptian princess, she was back to being a normal ten-year-old girl again. And Cleo was back to being a cat, covered in stripy fur.

Tom peered down at himself. “We’re wearing trousers and tunics, like we did in King Arthur’s time,” he said. “But these cloaks are made from animal skins.” He pulled his heavy, furry cloak round him more tightly to keep out the cold. “And this doesn’t look like England.”

To their left, Tom spied a dense forest of fir trees. It stretched right down to the river in a dark line. A big, brown moose with enormous antlers emerged from the forest and walked down to the water on its long legs.

Isis pointed to a ship that was moored just beyond where the moose was drinking. “What kind of a boat is that?” she asked.

Tom frowned. The vessel seemed familiar. It was very long and quite narrow. In the middle was a single, thick mast to which was attached a giant, square sail. Oars stuck out on both sides, like legs on a giant centipede. At the back of the ship was a curly tail. But at the front…

“Look at that!” Tom said to Isis. “See the dragon’s head carved at the front of the ship? I recognise that style from the Viking room in Dad’s museum. It’s a longship.”

“That’s great, but where and when are we, Professor Smartypants?” Isis asked, wrapping a shivering Cleo under her cloak.

Tom beamed. “Moose. Pine forests. Freezing weather! I think we’re in Scandinavia,” he said. “We’ve landed in the time of the Vikings.” As he rubbed his hands together to warm them up, he caught sight of a pile of weapons and armour in the longship. The axes and swords glinted at him dangerously.

“What are Vikings?” Isis asked, jogging on the spot, her frozen breath looking like puffs of smoke.

Tom thought back to everything he’d read about the Vikings in his encyclopedia. “Vikings were warriors that were brilliant at sailing. They conquered the sea in those amazing longships. The men were called things like Ulf and Olaf and Magnus.” He decided not to mention the part about Vikings being murderous, axe-wielding giants, who went on the rampage in search of gold.

Isis tutted. “I’ve never heard such silly names in my life. Ulf! It sounds like a small, barking dog.”

“I think it means ‘wolf’,” Tom said.

“Never mind. Anyway, we’ve got to find the amulet for the big old wolf himself,” Isis said. “Come on. Let’s see if my magic ring will tell us where Anubis has hidden it.”

Isis wore a gold scarab-shaped ring with an image of a goddess sitting on a chair. The goddess, also called Isis, was the protector of children and the dead. Isis had worn the ring when she was alive, and had even been buried in it. It had helped them out on their quests before.

“Where is my amulet, oh, beautiful and clever goddess?” Isis asked the ring now.

Silvery letters wafted up out of the scarab, into the air. They arranged themselves in sentences, which Tom read aloud.

“Fly abroad, across stormy seas

On a dragon’s back, long and thin.

Fighting, looting, as you please

’Tis treasure you need to win.

If Vikings die, they are not pained,

Their souls for Valhalla yearn!

When flaming arrow on boat is trained

Be sure that jewel won’t burn.”

Tom stuck his tongue in his cheek and frowned. “Right,” he said to Isis. “Maybe the dragon’s back means the longship.” He pointed over to the boat’s carved front.

Isis nodded and stroked a purring Cleo. “Yes. It seems pretty obvious that the riddle is talking about a journey over the sea.”

“Perhaps we’ll be going somewhere in that boat,” Tom suggested.

Just as he opened his mouth to ask Isis if she knew what Valhalla was, they heard shouting and loud voices coming their way.

Tom looked round and spotted a group of tall, terrifying men. They wore helmets and fur cloaks. At their sides, they carried the longest broadswords he had ever seen. They were running, like a herd of angry moose, down to the longship. The only obstacle that stood between them and their vessel… were Tom, Isis and Cleo.

“Are those the Vikings you were talking about?” Isis asked quietly.

“Yes,” Tom said, gulping. “I’m afraid so. They tried to look as fearsome as possible in the hope that their enemies would keel over with fear just at the sight of them.”

“Well, that little trick won’t work on me,” Isis said. But Tom could tell from the quiver in her voice that she didn’t feel as brave as she was pretending to be.

Cleo yowled when she saw the strangers and darted into the folds of Isis’s cloak.

At the head of the group, Tom noticed a Viking who was as tall and broad as a door – a hulking, muscle-bound man compared to the others. Bright-red hair hung down his back in wild, matted clumps. His bearded, ruddy face was covered in freckles. In his huge hand he swung a gleaming axe.

“Do you think that axe is meant for us?” Isis asked.

The red-headed giant thundered towards them. His steely gaze was fixed on Tom.

“We’re about to find out,” Tom said, trembling like a jelly. “Please don’t kill us!” he shouted, holding his hands above his head in surrender, as the stranger came to a stop and loomed over him. Hardly daring to look into the Viking’s fearsome face, Tom stared at the man’s boots instead. He had the most enormous feet.

Tom hoped the Viking had understood his plea for mercy. Everywhere else that Anubis had sent them, he and Isis had magically been understood. He just had to hope that his English words had come out in Old Norse.

Beside Tom, Isis skipped backwards and forward. Her fists were balled, but next to the huge Viking, she looked like a chick trying to pick a fight with a cockerel. “Come on, then, you big red hairball!” she shouted up at him. “You don’t mess with a princess!”

Cleo hissed and swiped a claw at the Viking. The little cat’s stripy fur was standing on end. Tom admired his friends’ courage.

“I am Erik the Red!” the man said in a voice so deep it seemed to come from his toes. He grabbed Isis by her cloak and held her up so that her fists punched helplessly at thin air. “And I’m going to knock your brains out for skulking about near my boat.”