The Monstrous Child by Francesca Simon Page A

the bridge.
    ‘Now what am I supposed to do?’ muttered the shade. ‘Who’s chieftain here? Where do I go? This isn’t right. I deserve better – I own two farms and five hundred sheep, I –’ Her angry voice faded as she vanished beyond the cliffs.
    I watched as more and more dead streamed down the long track from Midgard, drawn like moths to the glistening bridge. Some dragged wagon-loads of grave goods behind them, others carried a knife or an axe or a jug. One clutched a broken sword; another a bucket. I felt light-headed. So many dead … so many more would arrive. On and on and on –
    ‘You came from – up?’ said Modgud. She kept her eyes fixed on the bridge as she spoke.
    I nodded.
    ‘Midgard?’
    ‘No, Jotunheim.’
    Modgud looked blank.
    ‘Jotunheim. The home of the giants. Like you.’
    She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Never heard of it.’
    ‘And Asgard. The citadel in the sky where the cursed gods live – the ones who banished me here.’
    Modgud lowered her head.
    ‘What’s it like up there?’ whispered Modgud. ‘Under the sky?’
    My eyes watered.
    ‘Colour and light.’
    ‘Colour?’ said Modgud.
    ‘Like grass is green,’ I said.
    ‘I’ve never seen grass.’
    Green like my father’s eye. Green like Yggdrasil’s leaves. Green like –‘Green like – gangrene.’
    ‘Oh,’ said Modgud. She nodded.
    ‘Blue – like bruises. Red like blood. Yellow like pus. And it can smell – so sweet,’ I said.
    ‘Like the dead?’ asked Modgud.
    ‘No,’ I said. ‘Like the living.’
    ‘I wouldn’t know about that,’ said the little giantess.
    ‘How did you get here?’ I asked.
    Modgud shrugged. ‘I’ve always been here. Since the worlds began. I know nothing else.’
    ‘Do you always have to stand guard here?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘When do you sleep?’
    ‘The Echoing Bridge screams if anyone alive steps on it,’ she said. ‘I don’t need much sleep –’
    She paused, watching a troop of dead warriors drift over Gjoll, bloodstained and hacked, their weapons stilled, their studded helmets dangling. Valhall rejects. Unchosen by the Choosers of the Slain. The unglorious dead. Talk about a club you don’t want to join … Would they rampage when they realised their bad fate?
    ‘What will you do now, Queen?’
    A million replies raced through my mind, starting with ‘Kill the gods’ and ending with ‘Kill myself.’
    ‘I don’t know,’ I said.
    ‘The dead need a hall,’ said Modgud. ‘And so do you.’
    A hall. Embla had ranted about a hall.
    Modgud waved her bone-white arms. ‘It’s chaos here,’ she said. ‘There’s no order, no one’s in charge, the dead don’t know what to do or where to go. We’ve been waiting for you.’
    I am a goddess. And now I was a queen. I couldn’t skulk in a cave for eternity.
    ‘I’ll build a hall,’ I said. ‘Beyond those cliffs.’ My own place, where no one would tell me what to do. A fortress of stone. A walled stronghold and a great hall within impregnable ramparts. I would carve out a kingdom here, and I would name it … The name could come later.
    Modgud nodded. ‘Come and visit me whenever you like, Hel,’ she said. ‘It’s nice to talk to someone who still has flesh on their body. When you’ve seen one skull –’
    ‘I keep thinking I hear a dog howling,’ I said.
    Modgud looked alarmed.
    ‘That’s Garm. Don’t worry, he’s –’
    ‘Where is he? If I call him will he come? I’ve always wanted a dog –’
    ‘You don’t want him,’ said Modgud.
    ‘Don’t tell me what I want and what I don’t.’ She was a follower – she had no right to speak to me like that.
    ‘Trust me, you really don’t,’ said Modgud. Her face was mild, as always. ‘He guards one of the other entrances here. He’s more monster than dog, actually. He’ll rip your head off if you get too close. But don’t worry – he’s chained up in a cliff cave.’
    The image of my wolf brother, frothing in his fetters, came unwelcome into