Viking Boy Read Online Free PDF Page A

stood at the far end, a flat-topped rock stained with the blood of sacrifices. In his mind Gunnar could see the bleating lamb, the knife flashing and the blood pulsing out, while the people of his steading looked on and chanted prayers.
    Now some of those people were dead and the future for the rest was bleak, unless he could do something about it. A prayer on its own might not be enough, not without an offering of some kind, and Gunnar had no lamb or goat to sacrifice on the altar. Other kinds of offering were sometimes made, things that were important to someone or had a value, however small. From his pocket, Gunnar pulled the only thing he had brought with him – Father’s amulet.
    It was a simple image of Thor’s hammer carved in black stone, his last link with Father and home, with the life Skuli had stolen. He laid it on the altar.
    “Hear me, great Odin,” he said softly. “I beg for your help in the task that lies before me. But most of all I ask you this – how can I get to Valhalla?”
    “Well, the usual way is to die in battle with a sword in your hand,” said a quiet, deep voice behind him. “But you look a little young for that.”
    Gunnar turned round. An old man stood in the doorway. He was tall, his face powerful and striking. His beard was white, and he wore the clothes of a traveller – a hat with a wide brim that dipped over one eye, a black cloak and tunic, thick trousers and strong boots. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and he carried a wooden staff.
    “You look tired and hungry too,” the old man said. “I’d be happy to share with you the food I have.”
    For an instant Gunnar wondered if he should run. But the old man seemed friendly enough, and the mention of food had made the juices flow in his mouth. He needed to eat and he needed to rest. So he shrugged, and the old man walked out of the God House, beckoning him to follow.
    A low byre stood near by. Gunnar recognized it as the place where beasts were kept tethered before they were sacrificed. The old man ducked inside and set about making a fire with straw and twigs he found in one of the stalls. Soon they were sitting, the fire crackling. The old man pulled cheese and a loaf from his bag and cut chunks with a small bone-handled knife. Gunnar tore into the food, not realizing how hungry he was until his stomach started to fill.
    The old man had taken off his hat and Gunnar saw that the eye hidden by its brim till then was sightless, a milky-white ball like a shiny pebble. The other eye was the palest blue.
    “So, what brings you to the God House this early?” said the old man after a while. “You look as if you’ve had an interesting night.”
    Gunnar glanced down at himself. He was filthy, his clothes and hands stained with ashes and dried blood. Father’s blood. Hot tears filled his eyes and he tried to hold them in. What was he doing sitting here with this old man?
    “Thanks for the food,” he said, and rose to his feet. “But I have to leave.”
    “What’s your hurry?” said the old man, throwing more twigs on the fire. “I might be able to help you get to Valhalla, if you really must go there.”
    Gunnar stared at him. There was something strange about this old man, something that made Gunnar feel uneasy, although he couldn’t say why. He sat down once more and crossed his arms. “I’m listening,” he said.
    The old man smiled and cut off more bread and cheese, handing the chunks to Gunnar. “You’ve heard the stories, so you know Valhalla is to be found in Asgard, home of the Gods,” he said. “You’ll also know that Asgard is one of the nine worlds, and that all nine are linked by the great tree Yggdrasil. But Asgard itself is joined to this world by the rainbow bridge, Bifrost.”
    “I’ve heard of that,” said Gunnar. “How do I find it?”
    “Ah, well, that might not be so easy.” The yellow flames of the fire were reflected in the old man’s solitary eye. “Some say one end of Bifrost