Paul Brager is twelve when his father tells the story of Iduna and her apples. Mr. Brager always tells stories before bed to entertain Paul's little brother, Adrian-a ritual that has become even more important since their mother died. Iduna was a godde

More Precious than Rubies

The Return of the Norse GodsBy Randy Coates

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2012 Randy Coates
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-2660-6

Contents

Part I..........................................................1Chapter 1: The Tale of Iduna's Apples...........................3Chapter 2: The Stranger.........................................12Chapter 3: The Arrival of the New Principal.....................22Chapter 4: Mr. Theisen Plays With Riddles.......................39Chapter 5: Inside Mr. Donlevy's Condo...........................51Chapter 6: Footsteps in the Basement............................74Chapter 7: Mr. Donlevy's Journals...............................90Chapter 8: The Dream............................................100Part II.........................................................113Chapter 9: Mr. Theisen Gains Control............................115Chapter 10: Reading Mr. Donlevy's Journals......................128Chapter 11: Adrian's Condition Gets Worse.......................136Chapter 12: The Confrontation...................................146Chapter 13: The Return of the Norse Gods........................152Chapter 14: Adrian's Recovery...................................163

Chapter One

The Tale of Iduna's Apples

Paul Brager, twelve-years-old, knew that his father's presence in his bedroom at this hour could only mean one thing. He was there for his nightly ritual, the telling of the bedtime story for Paul's younger brother, Adrian.

Paul had claimed the top bunk of the bunk bed for himself long ago, allowing Adrian no choice but to sleep in the lower bunk. That's what big brothers did, Paul thought. They asserted power over their younger brothers. They got to pick what was on television and they got to use the computer first and they got to confiscate whatever bunk they wanted before their brother had a chance.

Mr. Brager settled himself in a chair across from the lower bed where Adrian was lying. "Once long ago ...," he began.

"Once upon a time."

"Huh?"

"All stories start 'Once upon a time.' You always start them with 'Once upon a time.'"

"Well I was just trying to be a little different. A little spontaneous."

"A little ... spon-what-eous?"

Mr. Brager looked at the crooked grin of his youngest son and appeared to be amused. This had always been a game: to chuck in a word that was more complicated than the rest and to get Adrian asking questions. Wasn't that the point of childhood? Brager always said to his sons – to keep kids curious and to make them see that questions were more important than answers.

Adrian pulled his bedsheets up to his chin, waiting, although the June air was sultry, sneaking through the bedroom's open window, rolling over and around the room lazily.

Adrian still had goosebumps. Every night he did, anticipating his father's story. Knowing it would somehow lull him to sleep and make him forget about the death of his mother.

"Spon-tay-knee-us," Brager said slowly.

"Spon-tay-me-us."

"Knee-us."

"Knee-us."

"Knee-us, knee-us, knee-us," grumbled Paul, turning angrily on his bed.

"Now, now," Mr. Brager said sternly.

Adrian didn't seem to notice this interruption. "What's it mean, Dad?"

"What? Oh ... Spontaneous means to do something without really thinking about it ... To do it suddenly."

Adrian screwed up his face but it was more for dramatics than anything. "But ... that's bad, isn't it?"

"Sometimes. But not this time."

"Why ...?"

"Jeeeezzz ... Let him get on with the story." It was bad enough that Paul had to share a room with his eight-year-old brother but that he also had to be subjected to the nightly story-telling. Some nights, he even took his sleeping bag outside when the weather was fine and set up the tent in the backyard just to avoid the routine.

"Okay Dad. On with the story before Paul takes a snit fit."

Paul put his pillow over his head.

"Once ... upon a time ..."

Adrian put his blanket down and settled himself.

"... there was a woman called Iduna ..." He could see that Adrian was about to raise himself up and to inquire about this unusual name, but his finger raised to his lips made Adrian keep still. "... Iduna happened to be a goddess who had very special powers. But her powers were also very simple. In fact, her powers came in the form of apples ..."

Again, his finger went to his lips.

"Iduna had a whole orchard of apples but these were not your ordinary apples. They were the most delicious apples that you ever tasted and once you tasted them ..."

Adrian's eyes were wide.

Paul stirred. The pillow came off of his head and he turned over onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

"... Once you tasted them," Brager continued, moving back so that he now had a good view of both of his sons, "you felt different. You felt younger and stronger and full of energy. And as long as you kept eating them, you would never age. Never get older than what your age was now."

"Coool."

"Iduna used to let the gods come into the orchard and eat the apples. It made them strong for battle. But there was also a problem."

Adrian propped himself up on one elbow.

"Bad people wanted the apples, too. You see, that's the thing about special items. People get greedy. Sometimes, they'll steal for them. Sometimes, they'll even kill for them." Here, Brager checked the reaction of Adrian as if he were registering any change in his son's expression. Adrian's erratic nod allowed him to continue. "So Iduna had to watch over the apples. To make sure no bad people got at them. But she was tricked into leaving her orchard."

"How?"

"Even though Loki was one of the gods, he had a bad attitude ..." Paul snickered at this. "He was a trickster. He approached Iduna and told her that he had seen other apples that were much better than hers. Tastier. Redder. More powerful. You see, his intention was to take Iduna away from the orchard, to show her these other apples. Even though her husband pleaded with her not to go, her pride was hurt. She couldn't ignore her curiosity ..."

"So she went?"

"I'm afraid she did."

Paul turned on his side to watch his father. There was something about his father's storytelling tonight that seemed to be troubling Mr. Brager.

"Not long after Loki and Iduna left, there was a terrible thumping in the sky above them. Like the beating of a thousand wings. Iduna looked up and saw this massive eagle coming at her. Iduna had no time to react. Before she knew it, the bird grabbed her in its talons and swept her into the air. It flew off."

"Well ... Who was it? I mean, I know it was an eagle but ..."

"It was really a giant in the form of an eagle. The giants were the enemies of the gods and this one had wanted the whole orchard for himself. It had captured Loki and said it would give Loki his freedom back only if he tricked Iduna into leaving the apples."

"So what happened to ... I ... Idoo ...?"

"That's another story which I'll tell you another day ... So then, because Iduna was missing, bad things happened. In her absence, the land began to shrivel and die. Leaves fell from trees, things turned brown. But, worst of all, the gods started to get old because they no longer had Iduna around to provide them with the apples." Brager stopped then and closed his eyes.

After a long pause, Adrian said, "Is that it? That's the end?"

"You know my stories never end, son. There is always a continuation. Just like in life. One story begins where another has ended."

"Just like in a T.V. show."

"Exactly."

"But ..."

"Yes?"

"There is no happy ending. I think it should have a happy ending. I mean ... I'm not dumb ... I know there are sad endings, too, but ..."

"There is a happy ending, Adrian."

Paul kicked his feet over the side of the bed and started down the ladder.

Brager moved back to let him pass. "Are you okay, Paul?"

"Sure I'm okay. Why shouldn't I be?"

"I was almost finished."

"I just wanted to get a drink. It's pretty hot."

After Paul was out of the room, Adrian asked, "Do the gods get better? Does ... I-doo-na ... return? Does the giant die?"

Brager said nothing for awhile.

Paul appeared in the doorway, a can of coca-cola in his grip. From where he stood, he thought he could see his dad's eyes moistening.

"Dad?"

Mr. Brager opened his eyes and wiped them with one hand. "There's a happy ending, Adrian. This one has a happy ending. Don't worry. The giant gets it in the end."

"Good!" Adrian clapped his hands together. "Are you okay?"

Brager brushed the bangs out of his son's eyes. "Yeah, I'm okay."

Adrian smiled one of those comforting smiles that only children can deliver, those smiles that are confident and have yet to be damaged by time. "You haven't told me that story before."

"No, I haven't."

"That's kind of weird."

"Why's that?"

"You usually run out of stories and tell me one I've heard before ... Don't get me wrong, Dad ... I like them."

"I know, I know...I guess it just seemed like the right time ... To tell that story, I mean."

Paul walked back out to the kitchen.

Mr. Brager stood up, then knelt down as quickly as he had gotten up. "Oh man."

"What?"

"I forgot the most important part of the story."

"So there is more! Should we get Paul?"

"No, no, that's okay. I think he's outgrowing the stories, anyway ... When the gods saw what the stealing of Iduna's apples caused in the land – all the heartbreak it caused – they decided to do something about it. They decided to hide all the apples ..."

"The whole orchard?"

"The whole orchard ..."

"No way!"

"... They did this because they now knew what evil people could do with them. That's the problem in the world, you see. When good things are put in the hands of the wrong people ... then bad things happen. So the gods hid them. And to this day, the apples remain hidden. No one knows where they are."

Adrian said nothing for a very long time, then finally, "They're hidden in our world?"

"Could be."

"Dad, where'd ya hear this?"

Brager smiled. "It's actually a myth. You know what ...?"

"Yeah, yeah ... It's not real ... You have a good memory."

"I made up a little bit of it. That's what a good storyteller does ... Each time he retells a story, he does it a little bit different. So he doesn't bore the audience. But, most of all, so he doesn't bore himself ... Hey, I'm gonna let you sleep now."

"Yeah, you'd better get Paul or he's gonna drink all the coke."

Brager found Paul sitting at the kitchen table, the empty coke can in front of him. He sat down beside him.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Dad."

"Fine, fine."

"I get it, you know."

"Get what?"

"The story. Iduna is really Ida, isn't she?"

Ida was Brager's wife, killed in a car accident five years ago when Paul was seven and Adrian was only three.

Paul swallowed with difficulty. The death of his mother had affected him greatly when it happened. There had been a drunk driver (or at least people insisted he was drunk) who had rammed into his parents' car when they were coming back from visiting friends.

Luckily, Paul and Adrian were at home with a babysitter and not involved in the accident.

Mr. Brager had been injured slightly but was emotionally devastated about his wife's death.

Paul remembered that his father had said very little to him and Adrian about the tragedy, as if he didn't want to upset them. Paul gained most of the information concerning the accident from other people. He also recalled seeing a grainy image of the drunk driver in the newspaper. Ironically, his dad worked as a writer for that very newspaper.

Brager grinned. "I figured you would get that part. About Iduna, I mean." He put his hand out to stroke his son's cheek but Paul turned his head to avoid the touch.

"What d'ya mean, that part? I got all of it."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, really."

"So what do you think the apples signify?" he asked, unsettled. There was something in the way he asked the question that made him look as if he wasn't sure of the answer himself.

Paul showed defiance. "They're the things in life we can't get, right? The good things we wish for that we can never have. Like, nobody lives forever ... Like thinking you'll always have a mother and then finding out ..."

This time, Paul did not flinch when Brager reached out and touched his shoulder.

"Sometimes, things turn out okay. Not always, but sometimes."

"I don't know, Dad. Maybe you shouldn't be telling stories like that."

"Why?"

"Well ... I don't know."

"Did you like them when you were younger?"

Paul cracked a half-hearted grin. "Yeah, I guess I did."

"Paul, in some stories, bad things happen. As you know, in life, bad things happen. I believe that bad things remind us to be hopeful."

"For the good things?"

"Yeah. Now you'd better go to bed. You've got a whole summer stretched out ahead of you."

Chapter Two

The Stranger

The first long weekend of the summer had arrived and Paul was feeling a lot better than he was the other night, the night his dad made him think about his mom again. His dad really meant well, Paul knew, he just seemed to be pleasing himself too much with those wild tales.

In fact, Paul was feeling pretty good just now. School had let out, he believed that Liz Parkinson liked him, and he'd be going into grade seven come September. He and his classmates, so Paul was thinking, would be pretty much kings at Dorian Heights.

Everything was sweet. Right now, anyway.

There was the whole summer ahead and he had no commitments except for that part-time job thing that Chad Tremblay, his best friend, and he had about cutting lawns in their neighbourhood. Yeah, he'd actually be making some money. And though Chad had more of the entrepreneurial spirit than Paul – he was the one who had secured the jobs for them in the first place – Paul wasn't going to turn down his first money-making opportunity. Mr. Tremblay told them in his joking (though it was hard to tell with him) way that they were materialistic. Then he lit up a cigarette and said out of the side of his mouth, like he was trying to impersonate a gangster and not doing very well at it, "I suppose you kids gotta start makin' money some time. Tough world."

Paul could sense the sun through his short-sleeved Raptors shirt. His arms were already beginning to be barbecued brown. He was well aware of ozone depletion and global warming and that basking too much in the sun would roast his innards and cause cancer. The teachers had taught the subject to death in the weather and conservation of energy units in science. But he was in such a great mood, school already distant in his thoughts, that he refused to focus on the effects of the sun. People usually die before the sun gets to them, he thought, his mother's face swimming up into his mind. Then, he told himself to shut up.

"Hey Paul!"

The sound came to his right and there was Tremblay, standing by the swan boats, pointing at them with a delicious grin and motioning him over.

He approached in disbelief. "Are you kidding?" Only one boat was in use, occupied by a woman, probably a grandmother, and a tiny, black-haired girl who looked to be four or five. The woman could not hide her boredom but the kid was loving it, throwing her head back and letting out loud, annoying bursts of laughter.

"Let's go for it."

Chad had inherited his sense of humour from his dad. Paul could never tell when he was joking and he had to be careful because, too often, he ended up putting Chad in a mood when he questioned the validity of his comments.

But, come on, he thought, this had to be a joke. "But this is so ..." He double-checked Chad's face and caught the tell-tale smirk. "But it's so ..." He stopped before he said something offensive.

The students at Dorian Heights knew well enough that some words were taboo. For instance, they were pretty good at intervening when their friends got too close to being racist. But, as teachers kept reminding them, they now had to work on not using other words that bordered on insult.

He didn't need to say anything more. Chad laughed a laugh that challenged the girl's. Her grandmother twisted around in the boat, looking ridiculous with the swan wings coming up around her, and almost fell into the water.

That got both Paul and Chad going.

The grandmother made a shrewd face and said something unpleasant to the girl whose face was screwed up in obvious ignorance. She clapped her French fry fingers to her round, little face and joined Paul and Chad in their happiness.

Paul and Chad loped off, the shrill laughter chasing them into other parts of Centre Island.

"Oh don't ... Oh don't ..." Chad stuttered through the machine gun fire of laughs. "Oh, don't ... do that! ... Be kind to your ... el ... Your el ... Your el-derrrrrssss!"

"Now," Paul croaked, taking on the voice of an old man, "you think this is funny now ..."

His old man voice always killed Chad. Chad couldn't even look at him. He bent his head down over his forearm and shuddered as Paul went on.

"Just wait until yer my age, kiddo. Then you'll know ... You'll know how it feels ... Life's not all fun and games. You'll see."

They flopped onto a clean piece of grass, making sure there were no goose droppings to land in, and watched the odd stares of people passing, their eyes twinkling.

When Chad eventually reclaimed his voice, he grinned hugely at Paul and nudged him with the toe of his running shoe. "You would've got in if Parkinson had invited you."

Paul didn't know what he was talking about at first, then understood. He shook his head, wondering how Chad knew about him and Liz.

"Yeah, right, Brager. A little kiss, kiss, smooch, smooch with Parkinson in your own personal swan boat."

"Oh shut up!" He wanted to say something else but every time he swore, the words didn't taste good in his mouth. As if his body were rejecting them, letting him get older.

"Everyone knows!"

He could've played dumb and said Knows what? but that wasn't the way Chad and he worked. They knew each other too well to pretend or treat the other like an idiot. Paul stared at him, slightly defiant. "Okay, but does she like me?"

"Come on, you know she does."

Even though Paul was probably aware of Liz's feelings towards him, he felt a surge of warmth (and it sure wasn't the sun) slide right up and down in the middle of him. He was convinced that Chad could see it, radiating right out of him and, for that, he grew embarrassed. He hated giving in to the lovey-dovey feeling. He had to make himself think about action movies in order to get rid of it. He also needed to turn the subject back around and hit Chad with it.

(Continues...)

Excerpted from More Precious than Rubiesby Randy Coates Copyright © 2012 by Randy Coates. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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