Ralphie´s Portal

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Once upon a time(half an hour ago) in the wild West of Galicia, I dragged my backpack up a mountain, groaning mightily. Up to where, from further down, I had noticed a dark smudge. I was now hoping and praying to all and sundry that this would turn out to be the entrance to a cave, preferably uninhabited by indigenous wildlife, whether human or of a more friendly disposition. I had learned from an acquaintance, who claimed to be the reincarnation of Eric the Red, that this place Finisterre was a magical one indeed. One where strange goings-on were the staple diet. Being no stranger to strange goings-on, I had decided, after ripe old (getting smelly even) consideration, to investigate. Me being Ralphie, super-sleuth or super-sloth, depending on the situation at hand. I had always profoundly preferred armchair sleuthing over the rather cumbersome hands-on approach.

Eric the Second had told me tales of enchanted harps that protected its musical companion from the elements and more such fantasticish tall tales. The fact that this place was called “the End of the Earth” by the old ones was an added incentive for me to stick my sniffer, where it would hopefully not get stomped on. The reason that I was willing to put my proboscis in such pertinent danger had been recurring dreams of a withered old drunk, calling to me by my given name: Oy! He had fairly ordered me to get my sorry excuse for a behind over there. After much nagging and whining from the old git, I could stand it no longer and on my weary way I stumbled and I grumbled. He was pulling me over yonder by an invisible thread. I do hope that I’m not  being led by the nose or worse still: by the noose!

I finally made it to the cave and when I entered, it was as black as a very dark place, with no light at all! After I’d stood there for a while and my eyes had adjusted, I could just make out the faint outlines of some squiggly writings on the floor. Like writing, but in no alphabet that I’d ever seen. Strangely though, they started to make sense to me. They spelled out the way to another place, a dream place. Or was it? I read: “Come to Asgard, ye the brave that have fallen!” Why did the old man want me, who was not particularly brave and hadn’t as yet fallen very far. Alright, there was that one period in my life, when I’d had too much of some spirit or other, but… I won’t go into that!

Bleedin’ heck, Asgard that was like home to the Norse gods! As far as I know, I have not a single Scandinavian drop of blood in me. And wasn’t I supposed to bring a sword? I did have my trusted plume, which is supposed to be mightier than the sword, but not a lot of use in a scrap, when the heavies start swinging battle axes and such. I held my plume in front of me in a protective manner, ready to squirt ink on any menacing ogre that showed itself. Now the runes on the floor tiles spelled out: “Jump, make a leap of faith, Children of Valhalla!”

I was not going to lift even a single toe off the floor until such time as I knew exactly what was going on here, leap of faith indeed! I had no faith at all in that drunken fool that summoned me here. I shouted: “Oy, old one! It’s me: Oy! Show yourself or I’m outta here!”

A voice not unlike one from an inveterate lifelong smoker answered: “Who disturbs the slumbers of Odin, the Great!” I countered: “What, napping on the job again, are we? You’re an Odd-un alright and it was you invited me to your pajama party, remember? It’s me, Oy!” He bade me enter, which I did, without leaping, mind you! The man who confronted me was clad in an armor fit for a giant. Inside the armor I could make out an emaciated bag of bones, with one eye and a long white beard: the formidable but slightly dilapidated (=euphemism) Odin, one presumes. I asked him why in Valhalla he looked such a mess. He explained that this had started happening, when the Norse Peoples began forsaking their ancient beliefs.

I quoth: “Hmmmm, I do sympathise. They’ve started worshipping the mightiest God of them all, a green one, called Money! You’ve been relegated to never-never land, I’m afraid! And what, might I ask, is lil ole me doing here?”

“It seems that in your own zany way, you are one of the few believers in fairy tales that remain. There is a problem, Thor has awakened and is not a happy chappy. He’s taken his hammer Mjöllnir and has gone off on a rampage, which I wouldn’t mind in the least ordinarily, but without the strength of his brothers and sisters, he will make a complete and utter fool of himself, thus diminishing our powers even further. You must help, it is your duty!”

“Wouldn’t that involve a measure of danger, to try to drag the God of Thunder back to Valhalla by his ear, with nothing to defend myself with but my “plume”?”

*****Dear Reader, are you intrigued? Will Ralphie(alias Oy) come out of this alive? Will he lose his “plume” and possibly the rest of his marbles? You will have to be patient and wait for part two!(hihi)******