The Age of Odin - James Lovegrove [72]
"I'm happy with the state of things as they stand," I said. "'One day at a time, sweet Jesus,' and all that. Live for the now. Tomorrow can take care of itself. That's my philosophy."
"You aren't the slightest bit intrigued to learn what lies in store?" said Skuld, with a witchy leer and a rub of her gnarled hands. I'd thought people only rubbed their hands in story books, but she did.
"Nope," I said firmly. "Call me boring, but that's the way it is."
"The dear little creature," said Verdande to her sisters. "He acts as though he has a choice."
Cue smug laughter.
"I do," I said. "I do have a choice. I can get up and walk out. You un-press Pause if you like, but I won't be sticking around to watch. I'll be gone. I'll be dust. You see if I won't."
"Very well. Let's put it to the test, shall we?" Verdande clicked the switch, and the image of Abortion at the steering wheel jerked back into motion.
I stood up.
Or thought I did.
I kept standing up. Turning round. Walking out.
But somehow I remained stuck fast to the settee. In my head I was making good my bid for freedom. My body had other plans. Paralysed.
The Astra veered off the road. It bumped over the snowy verge, punched through the wire fence, and careened out into space.
I shut my eyes. Screwed them up tight. I could at least manage that, even if I was powerless to move in every other respect. I heard Abortion's heartfelt cry of "Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit!" I heard the crashing-crunching-thumping-dinging of the car as it bounced down the hillside. I heard my own grunts and helpless little doglike yelps as the rolling impacts jarred my body. Finally I heard... nothing.
Nothing except an empty, airy hiss.
It went on for a long time. I felt someone tap my knee. Odin.
"Gid," he said. "You may look now."
I opened one eye. Peeked.
All that was on the TV was static. It sizzled, white and black, like a night-time blizzard. Clusters of photons jostling against clusters of darkness, never-endingly.
The Norns looked mighty pleased with themselves, like they'd just pulled off a monumental practical joke.
"That's it?" I said. "That's all? I have no future?"
"Or," said Skuld, "the rest is for you to decide. You are free. Your options are unlimited."
"But you said -"
"The path of the hero," Skuld cut in, "has more branches than even Yggdrasil. Anything and everything is yours for the choosing. There is no certain route, no sure outcome. There is only what is right and what is wrong, and you yourself must be the constant judge of that. That's what being a hero is: freedom of choice. Death or glory. Fight or flight. Honour or shame."
"Coke or Pepsi. Look - stop me if I've said this already - but I don't reckon I am a hero."
"The evidence suggests the contrary," said Verdande, with a wave at the TV.
"The tape would not have ended where it did," said Skuld, "were you of a lesser breed, with more mundane prospects. What appears to be formless chaos is, in fact, endless possibility. Infinite opportunity. You are a rare, fortunate man, Gid Coxall."
I turned to Odin. "Do I trust them?"
"They are the Norns," he answered with a shrug. "Whether to trust them or not isn't really an issue. You simply have to accept everything they say."
"The All-Father may not be all-knowing," said Urd, "but he offers good counsel."
"This isn't some kind of set-up?" I said, suspicious. "Some plan the four of you have concocted together to make me stay?"
The Norns played innocent and offended. Hands to throats. Elaborately shaken heads. Deep frowns.
Odin, for his part, seemed bemused by the whole notion. "I and the Norns, collude? I don't think so, Gid."
"But you keep telling me I'm a hero. Are you trying to, how shall I put this? Seduce