Visz had a bad feeling about this. Of course, he usually had a fear of impending doom with most things involving Ausgard. Donar assured him that it was a simple favour, and he would have trusted one of his friends in Ausgard to do it for him, but he knew that Visz would excel at house-sitting. What Donar didn't seem to pick up on was that Visz really didn't have an overwhelming urge to look after houses, but an underwhelming urge to be killed by egomaniacal super villains every time he left one in Donar’s presence.
“Mine friend, I shalt be backeth as fast as mine enchanted weapon canst carryeth me. Once the Djemigorjan art slain, and I hath picked uppeth some Rankjormilk on the way, I shalt tarry nonce and returneth henceforth.”
“So…what. Half an hour?” Visz asked, unsure which of the two chores sounded more gruesome.
“Mayhap a Middlegardian hour. Three at the mosteth. I shalt tarry noncely…verily.” Donar reassured his forlorn looking friend. “I haveth lefteth a small list in yon eating chamber for thy perusal…I shalt ensure thou art handsomely rewarded with maidens of virtue fair?”
“No no no, I’ll pass on the maidens….and no Ausgardian gold either. I like my coins a little more manageable than manhole covers, thanks all the same. To be honest a few chores will help pass the time til you get back.”
“Very well my friend. I wish thee luck, and shalt see thee soon!” Donar boomed as he burst into the sky, disappearing in a blinding flash of light from one dimension to the other one to where he was going to do stuff.
“….Luck?”
Visz closed the heavy wooden door and headed up the vast hall toward the eating chamber. “Why would I need luck?” he asked himself rhetorically as he turned the corner and saw the list on the wall. It was on Donar’s note board on what Visz referred to as an Ausgardian Post It, which for all intents and purposes was a leather scrap covered in runes held to the wall with a large jewelled dagger. To the casual observer this would be a threatening manner in which to impart information, but when the notes contained phrases like “Get Rankjormilk” and “Wodensday 11:30: Pick up ceremonial breastplate from panel beater” it added a certain rustic charm. The note for Visz was a little more detailed:
“Heilsa mine dear friend.
If thou couldst complete these meagre tasks, I shalt be ever in thy debt. Thou shalt have thy pick of maidens!
· Feed the Djogs
· Take a message shouldst anyone call
· Polish Sjelknuser if thou hast the time
· Enjoy thy self!
Many thanks, D.”
“Seems easy enough.” Visz tried to convince himself. “Feed the dogs. That’ll require dog food of some kind. And dogs.” He decided to start with the fridge. Well, it was the closest thing that Ausgardians had to refrigerator technology. He lifted the lid on the gold encrusted Casket of Ancient Winters & Foodstuffs and began to rummage around. “Dog food. What would Donar feed a dog? Or a Djog, which one can only assume is similar, but probably breathes fire and has laser beams for eyes. Aha! “Djog Fud”. That must be it. Now to find out how many ways a Djog can cause mortal wounding.”
He hauled the large sack from the casket and let it rest on the stone floor. The sack itself should have been heavier than it looked, because it appeared as though it was large enough to contain a cow and several of her close friends, but Visz had been able to heft it around relatively easy. Of course, it came a quite a surprise when the sack asked him “What dost thou think thou art doing?” After a brief period where he leapt up and bravely shrieked like a schoolgirl, Visz caught his breath and answered.
“Feeding the Djogs?”
“Thou art not His Highness, Lord of all Ausgard and Some Other Bits on the Edge of the Map..” The sack pointed out.
“True.” Visz agreed, realising he should’ve known that freezer bags were sentient here. “But I’m house-sitting for Donar while he’s off slaying a somethingorother and I need to feed the Djogs while he’s gone. And how exactly can I lift you?”
“Thou canst heft me due to an enchantment that doth ease the feeder of the Djogs in his task. It would seem His Highness has bequeathed thee with a quest of epic proportions! Forgive my delaying thee, noble sir. If thou art worthy a warrior to face the Djogs I shall impede thee not a second longer!” the sack conceded before slumping to the floor like a polite sack should’ve done in the first place.
“Warrior what now?” Visz enquired eloquently. But the sack continued being only a sack and nothing more. He sat down, wondering if he had indeed lost his remaining marbles. Talking sacks? That’s insane. But, he reminded himself, he was in Ausgard at the moment and insanity seemed to be fairly commonplace, if not a requirement for citizenship. Taking the now not-talking sack by its now not-moving lips he headed off toward the back door where Donar had mentioned (though not in this tale) where the Djogs were kept.
Visz was surprised by how worried he suddenly wasn’t. Deep down he knew that Donar would never purposefully endanger his life. He also knew that Donar had spoken of his Djogs fondly and had raised them from when they were only Pjuppies. As Visz pushed open the second large wooden door he’d had to move in the last hour, he sighted what appeared to be two red wading pools with intricate lettering on the sides. On closer inspection, the wading pools had one word each written on them “Hjeelr? Djingo? Holy…these are food bowls? Then how big is a..”?
Something growled directly behind him. And another to the left of directly behind him. He froze, which wasn’t a hard thing to do under the circumstances. “Oookay….That will be the Djogs…” He told himself under his breath. “So…come on brain. Help me out here. Now what? Food. They want food. I could be food. Or…or they could want the food in the sack.” He looked down at the sack, who was clever enough to remain a sack and not ask the Djogs what they thought they were doing. A gust of wind hit Visz on the back of the head. A large wet nose then sniffed him again as he saw a pair of yellow eyes move through the shadows on his left. “Ok. I move, I’m dead. I don’t move, I’m Djog Fud. Good options right there.” He paused mid-panic as the yellow-eyed silhouette in the shadows stepped forth and Visz learned the first lesson about Djogs: They are really big.
Imagine a horse. Now, imagine that that horse has a dog’s head, body, legs, tail and teeth. Then, imagine that the horse’s dog’s teeth are really from a really really big shark, all five rows of them. Now imagine that the horse’s dog’s shark’s teeth are covered in drool and are about 6 inches from your head. Now when you get out of the closet you just ran into, imagine how Visz feels about now. And I didn’t even get to the part about poisonous spurs on its paws and echidna-like spines sticking out of the blue-black fur along its back. There’s no need. I told you about the teeth.
Visz could see the teeth. Really well. Lots of them. He could also see the little tag hanging off the Djog’s neck that said “Hjeelr.” He figured it was worth a shot…so he shot.
“Hjeelr! Sit.” Visz barked with the biggest voice he could muster under the circumstances. Closing his eyes, he made peace with his Gods while swearing he was going to haunt the one that he was now housesitting for. Suddenly, his head was not casually bitten off by a horsedogsharkechidna. Looking to see why not, he was happy to discover Hjeelr was sitting obediently in front of him while what he assumed was Djingo paced behind him.
Visz, with his confidence restored, turned around to confront him. “Djingo! Sit!” Djingo, who was identical to Hjeelr except for his red-brown fur, sat promptly as commanded.
“Good Djog.” Visz exhaled. He was getting pretty good at this. He went to pick up the sack only to by sent flying by a playful nudge from Hjeelr from behind. Visz dusted himself off after a less than graceful landing in a gigantic Djog blanket and rose to find Hjeelr and Djingo bounding about happily, spinning on the spot and doing all the usual things that dogs do when they are about to be fed. Feeling he was now in slightly familiar territory, he was able to pour several carcasses into each Djog Fud bowl before heading back inside while the carnivorous cjanines devoured their lunch.
As he threw the sack back in the Casket, he was sure it giggled at him. He didn’t care. If he had heard what he thought he had heard, it meant his ears were still attached to his head, which was still attached to his body, and that was a good thing.
Irony decided to mock his sudden appreciation of hearing by deafening him with the doorbell. True to Ausgardian design principles, if the job could be done by one small bell, fifteen gargantuan bells were used. And they weren’t all in tune with each other either, that would be too much too ask. The resulting cacophony sounded like a roomful of drunken Bjorks singing through megaphones. Once the place stopped shaking, and Visz was able to focus again, he headed for the door hoping that one of Donar’s old enemies hadn’t decided to drop by for a spot of tea and vengeance.
Ordinarily one would look through a peephole in a door to see who was there, but Ausgardian majick being what it is, Donar only had a crystal ball on the inside of the front door panelling. Visz had seen him use it before with varying degrees of success, usually only guessing whom it was by their eventual cries of “Openeth the bloody dooreth!”. Having had enough conversations with apparently inanimate objects for one day he decided on a bolder course of action.
“Who is it?”
“Tis Brunhilde of the Valkyr come to see King Donar, Lord of Ausgard and Some Other Bits on the Edge of the Map and Now Some Other New Bits Only Discovered This Morn! Fetch him at once!”
“Uh. Hang on a minute..”
Damn. He remembered the Valkyr. He remembered one in particular his last visit to Ausgard. He couldn’t remember her name but he knew she was like Chief Gouger of Eyes or something. She also took a bit of a fancy to him in the “I’d like to keep him as a husband or pet, whichever involves less cleaning of his cage” kind of way. The door was still firmly closed, fortunately, but he had to think fast (which was not unheard of, but unlikely to happen twice in one day. Oh for the times when he could just ponder a solution over a nice warm cup of…).
“Who art thou in the Lord’s abode? Thou shalt be slain henceforth if thou has caused harm to Him that is Lord of Ausgard and Some Other Bits on the Edge of the…”
“I’m a friend of his that’s come to watch the house while he slays a..thing with lots of silent j’s in its name..and get some groceries. He’ll be back later. Can I…take a message?”
“Thy voice doth ring familiar…art thou a compatriot of his from Middlegard?”
“Crap.” He muttered under his breath. The more he thought of it, the more her name sounded vaguely familiar. “Uh..Nay..I art…a…new vassal of his that he..didst winneth..playing pinball with a..Gjallen…hoofne..quastle..nir.”
“But thou said thou wert his friend come to house sit not a moment before!”
“Crap.” Visz muttered again to himself. He was sure he could hear something sharp metallic and pointy being pulled from its sharp metallic pointy holder. “Aye. I am a friend..as are all who serveth..his highness…and by “house sit” I dost doth meaneth that..I have been aske..commanded to sitteth by the dooreth to taketh messages so doeth you haveth one or notteth?”
“Very well, vassal. Inform thy Lord that despite our search we wert unable to recruit the warrior maidens he referred to as Xena and Buffy. He shouldst advise us if we should continue our search on other realms besides Middlegard or tryeth again. Hast thou got all that?”
“Ye..Aye. I dost writeth it..downeth now..and…done. I’ll let him know. Eth.”
“See that thou dost.”
Visz peeked under the door to see a pair of large but dainty female feet descend the stairs and mount a lizard horse thing. “Two close calls. What else can possibly happen today?”
It was meant to be rhetorical.
Visz looked at the list. He was feeling pretty good about himself. He’d managed to handle a wild uncontrollable beast that would savour the chance to bite off his head. That, and he’d fed the Djogs. One thing left. But what the hell is a Sjelknuser?
“Polish.” He noted. “Polish Sjelknuser. Well, I doubt it’s something he picked up in Poland, so I’ll assume it’s metal and it needs cleaning. Right. What’s made of metal in this place.” He answered himself before even finishing the sentence in his mind. “Everything not made of wood. Right. So. ‘Sjelknuser’. Sounds old. Knowing Donar, I’ll go with weapon or food processing device” After wandering the many rooms he eventually came upon an armoury. It was magnificent. Gleaming gold and silver adorned the walls; weapons encrusted with jewels and runes all hanging neatly in their own place. It was like a mechanic’s work shed if the mechanic was a Viking deity and liked to smash things brutally in the head while stabbing them. He could see an empty space on the wall with a black outline barely visible through the dust. Whatever was there was not there now, nor had it been for a long time. It was like a bat. Mjalcolm! Visz grinned to himself. At least he recognised something in here, even if it wasn’t actually here. But which one of these things was Sjelknuser? Was it the weird sword that had steel flames licking along the blade? Was it the axe with the cloven hoof handle? The mace that was watching him intently with one black unblinking eye? Then he thought of the sack. Maybe something in here would know.
“I’m looking for Sjel..knuser?”
The mace with the eye broke its gaze and looked at a small plain dagger almost hidden by its commonplace appearance. It was in a small cage as though it were a bird. Among such intricate weaponry it really looked as though it was in here by accident more than design. It was a plain pewter knife. And it didn’t look that sharp either. Or clean. Visz reasoned that Donar must’ve been polishing these weapons for display and this insignificant trinket was overlooked.
“Well. Let’s get you shiny, little fella.”
Visz picked up a nearby cleaning cloth and opened the cage. That’s when Sjelknuser let out a mournful scream and flew out of the open cage door like a kamikaze parakeet. Visz had to admit that it looked a lot sharper flying towards his left eyeball than it did a minute ago. Visz ducked as Sjelknuser turned in midair for a second attack, pewter wings flapping furiously. Visz could help but be amused by the stupidity of it all. The Djogs and the Valkyr let him live, only for him to be impaled by a belligerent butter-knife. He wondered to himself.. “What would Ash do.” And he knew. He ran.
Visz tore up the hallway like a man on a mission, the mission being to keep all of his near-mint condition body parts in near mint condition. Sjelknuser’s horrific howling betrayed the fact that it was getting closer and closer. Visz dashed sideways down a spiral staircase as the dagger overshot it’s mark and imbedded itself in the wooden hallway floor. “Ha..I can’t outrun it..but I can out manoeuvre It..” Visz noted for the sake of his continued existence. He had to admit, his adrenalin was still pumping from the Djogs and the Valkyr and he was actually beginning to enjoy the primal energy of his escape. He was running on pure instinct..he was running on the fear and reflexes. That is, of course until he found himself running into a wall.
“Ow.” Visz quipped, dusting himself off yet again. Gravity was not his friend this day. He had no idea how long he’d been lying on the floor, but it couldn’t have been long. He knew this because he didn’t feel at all stabby. Of course, as he stood up he could see Sjelknuser had driven itself into the wall he had just run to. He must’ve hit the wall and fallen just as the dagger flew at his head. “Ha. Take that ya stupid knife.”
Visz realised his comment was a long way from being a witty action hero pun, but puns are evil and must be avoided at all costs.
On closer inspection, Sjelknuser seemed to be somewhat distressed, almost in pain.
Visz then felt bad for being angry at the small flying cutlery that had tried to kill him and gently held the handle. “Hang on. I’m gonna free you, but you’re not allowed to attack me anymore. It’s like an Ausgardian honour deal thing.” Realising that negotiating with a knife was not the strangest thing he had done today, he began to gently prise the blade from the wooden panelling. “Ok. Nearly there and…you’re free.” The dagger didn’t move an inch, instead it rested calmly in his palm while he polished it with the cloth he had managed to bring along on his fear-induced sprint.
Before long the dagger gleamed like fine silver, its wings no longer a dull grey but now almost clear. It took flight, singing chorally as it followed Visz back to the armoury before landing in its cage and resting.
“Its name means Soulcrusher” a nearby helmet explained.
“I see. And it wanted me dead because..?” Visionary enquired casually, now quite used to having his surroundings strike up conversations.
“It was testing you. It tests the worth of your soul.”
“I see. And did I pass the test?”
“You’re here ain’t you? Part one of the test is how you cope with fear and the decisions you make. Second part is your capacity for mercy. Looks like you done alright.”
“Lucky me.”
“Luck’s nothing ta do with it, matey. You were never in any danger. Ol’ Sjelly’s never tasted blood. He’ll just go all..you know..corporeal when there’s any danger of harmin’ some geezer.”
“You’re not Ausgardian, are you.”
“Well done, Guv. Ol’ Mother England. A gift to His Storminess from King Arthur actually. And what’s your story?”
“Friend.”
“Then you’re a good sort. Speaking of…”
The doorframe of the armoury was suddenly filled with Ausgardian God
“Visionary? How art thou?” Donar enquired, Rankjormilk flagon over one shoulder.
“Good, buddy. Really good.”
“And how wast thy stay..not too taxing I hopeth?”
“Not really. Played with the Djogs. Cleaned your cutlery. Oh, and Brunhild called. She said…”
“I knoweth, I did just see her ‘pon my glorious return. Seems that Buffy and Xena doth remain quite elusive, but I am sure that when they are found, they will make most amazing Valkyr.”
“You’re probably right big guy. Well. It’s getting late and I have stuff to do so..”
“Of course mine friend. But first, a token.”
“No. No psychotic flying Viking maidens,. I mean it.”
“Friend Visionary. Thou art a true brother of mine. Thou hast shown the bravery to face Djingo and Hjeelr where trolls tenfold thy size have died of fear. Thou hast shown the merit of thy soul with the cleansing of sacred Sjelknuser. And thou hast proved thy friendship my watching mine house and suffering all the while, yet not wishing to maketh me feel in thy debt. You are a true friend. Visz. I wish thee to have this.” With that he handed Sjelknuser’s cage to Visionary. “He is yours. He will defend thee to the last, and is also quite adept at julienne carrots. If thou hast sudden need of me and all other means of communication art unavailable, throw him to the sky..he will fetch me hence.”
“Wow. Donar, I.”
“Nay, thank me not my friend.”
“..I was gonna say I don’t really want this thing trying to kill me again, but hey..if you say it’ll behave. Thanks.”
“Tis the least I can do. Now, thou must hurry..I have asked Brunhilde to giveth thee a lift home. She art out the front waiting for thee…vassal.”
Visz buried his face in his hands.
“Crap.”
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