Chapter 11: Marc
"No."
"Pretty please?"
"No."
"Pretty please with a cherry on top and a little umbrella?"
"Still no. This is my first chance of a lie-in in weeks."
"Please? I'll buy you steak dinner and not make a single comment about carcinogenic carcasses."
"Really? That might be worth giving up my lie-in for."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I'll put all the stuff on your phone and you'll need these glasses."
"Wait. What? Why do I need those glasses?"
Didn't I tell you? This is a VARG."
"VARG? Darling, you know I'm not a geek, no acronyms."
"Virtual. Augmented. Reality. Game. VARG. This is way ahead of the pack in gaming terms. I just need you to test it for me."
"Er, non-gamer here. You know I don't get that stuff. I believe you said I was the least imaginative person you'd ever met."
"Which is why you're the perfect person to test it! If you can enjoy this, imagination-challenged as you are, then anyone can!"
"Right. You want me to give up my first lie-in in weeks to play at being Sir Numbskull of Witlessville?"
"You won't be Sir Numbskull, silly. It'll use your name. But otherwise, yes. It'll be fun."
"Yeah. Fun. Right."
Marc groaned as his alarm went off. Despite Isabella's incentive of steak dinner, he was still ambivalent about giving up his long awaited lie-in to test her game. He didn't even like games. While Isabella revelled in slaying pixelated (or not so pixelated these days) dragons, he'd rather be reading naval histories or out photographing wildlife. Still, he'd promised and as tempting as the warmth of the duvet was, he'd best get up and get moving.
After he'd showered, shaved and dressed, he wandered into their living room with a cup of coffee and settled on the sofa to read the note Isabella had left him.
"Put on the glasses. Please don't break them – they're the only pair I have and they've taken me a year to make. I've sent the app to your phone - VARG. Launch it. It'll all become clear then. See you later, xxx"
Marc picked up the glasses. He inspected them. Turning them in his hands, he could see tiny electrical components and gizmos soldered along the frames. He shrugged, it could have been pixie dust and alien antennae for all the understanding he'd have of it. He put them on and looked round the living room. It all seemed as it did a few seconds ago. Local rag on the coffee table, Isabella's stack of books by her end of the sofa (he made a mental note to ask her to put them away again, he'd asked once why she felt it necessary to fetch half a dozen books at a time when she could only read them one by one. She'd said it was more efficient this way round and smiled at him.). He picked up his phone and tapped the VARG icon. Nothing. He frowned at it and flicked to the task manager, maybe he'd not started it running.
"Ahem."
Marc froze. That wasn't Isabella. It was a male voice for a start. He flicked his eyes towards the sound. Sat in the easy chair was a tall, well-built, one-eyed, white haired man wearing a tunic and leggings. He shimmered a little at the edges, but otherwise looked solid.
"Hello Marc," the man said, "welcome to VARG."
Marc blinked. "Umm" was all he managed to vocalise.
The man chuckled. "Isabella either didn't tell you how this would work, or you just ignored it as her usual techno-geek babble. I am Woden, your guide on today's minor quest."
Marc winced, "Quest?"
"No need to worry young theng, you're not expected to slay dragons. Not today at least. Today is for gathering knowledge. Your first task is to go and find my shrine."
With that, the man blinked out of existence. Marc removed the glasses and placed them on the coffee table with great care.
"Holy bananas, batgirl. What the hell have you got me testing Isabella?"
His phone bleeped. A text from Isabella, one word "Enjoy" and a smiley emoticon. He looked again at the table. Next to his phone, under the glasses, a headline on the local rag jumped out at him "New Norse exhibition opening today. See how local settlers lived and worshipped." Marc drained his coffee and smiled. At least he knew where he needed to go. He put the glasses back on, and slipped his phone into his pocket.
Marc wasn't a fan of the museum. Every time he'd been there, it had been silent as the grave and almost as musty. Today was no exception. The scent of mildew hung in the air and there was only a handful of visitors. Marc ignored it all and headed straight for the Norse exhibition. As he approached the hall, he could see the usual cabinets of artefacts and a single display of rather dilapidated mannequins dressed in shabby tunics and tweeds. As he crossed the threshold of the hall, the room shimmered. Now, he was stood within a dark rough-hewn stone cave, lit by two smoky braziers, eerie shadows flickering across the walls. In the centre was a large slab of grey stone, darkened in areas by something he didn't want to think about. Stood in front of this was a figure wearing a broad brimmed hat and cloak. The figure turned to face Marc, revealing the man who'd been sat in the easy chair earlier that morning. Woden raised his hand to his face and touched the empty eye socket "This was the price I paid for wisdom." Marc went white and gulped. Woden laughed, "Ah my young theng, this is not your path. There are no sacrifices required of you today, beyond that which you already paid. Just one more task. Get yourself to where I learnt to cast and control the runes."
With that, the cave blinked out of existence and Marc was left standing in the doorway of the room he'd seen before entering the exhibition hall. A blonde lady pushed past him, and said, sotto voce to the short man with her, " Really! You'd think people would know better than to dither in a doorway." Marc grimaced and moved a few steps into the room, and looked round. As he'd expected, most of the room was filled with cabinets containing dusty relics and mediocre artefacts. To his left was the display of Norse worshippers, even more dilapidated close up. On the wall to the right was a frieze illustrating the legends of the gods. One figure stood out, a tall white-haired man, missing an eye, wearing a long cloak and broad brimmed hat. “Gotcha!” Marc muttered and walked over. He scanned down the text, looking for "runes". Halfway down he spotted it:
"Odin hung himself from a branch of the great ash, Yggdrasil, and gazed into the depths of the underworld. After nine days and nights, the indistinct shapes took form and revealed themselves as runes, granting Odin the power to use them."
Marc didn't bother with reading the rest. "Lordy, Isabella. You've got me chasing down Norse legends! So, a tree. On a hill by the look of that picture. Ooh! Of course!" He banged his forehead with his palm. "Idiot!" he exclaimed. The blonde lady, who'd been reading the same frieze tutted and glared at him.
"Oh! Sorry! Talking to myself." He grinned at her. She sniffed and stalked over to a nearby cabinet. He shrugged and turned to leave. As he exited the room, he kicked against a small parcel, wrapped in brown paper. He picked it up, saw the neatly printed address. "You can be my second good deed for today, I'll drop you at the post office after we go to the hill" he said to the parcel. Which didn't respond. He chuckled at himself and heard the blonde lady saying to the short man "You see? This is what happens when you don't charge for an exhibition. You get all sorts of undesirables coming in." Marc laughed even louder as he walked away, carrying the small parcel.
Marc loped up the hill. He could see the tree at the summit. Once a magnificent ash, it had been caught by lightning more than once and now it stood alone against the horizon, the same dead silhouette, no matter the season. As he drew closer, he could make out a familiar figure. Tall, curvy, long chestnut brown hair tied back in a ponytail. "Isabella!" he yelled.
"Worth giving up the lie-in?" she yelled back.
"Hell yeah!" He dropped the parcel and sprinted the last few metres, whirling her up off the ground in an almighty bear hug. "Isabella, my love, you are a certifiable genius. It was truly amazing. Even for someone as imagination-challenged as me!"
"Why, thank you, darling."
&
nbsp; "I still want my steak dinner though." He winked at her.
"I wouldn't dream of reneging. A promise is a promise."
"Good. Let's go!" Marc placed her back down on the ground. Isabella leaned in, her face close to his. He smiled at her, anticipating a kiss. She smirked.
"Race you!" She turned and dashed down the hill, laughter trailing after her.
"Nutter!" Marc beamed and chased after her, parcel forgotten.
***