CHAPTER 1

Northern Greenland—August 15th, 1926

In the far distance, the low sun hovered above an immense glacier, casting a long, familiar shadow across the snow; Indiana Jones was growing weary of the perpetual daylight. The sun hadn't dipped below the horizon in the nine days they'd been dragging themselves across this frozen desert and the constant glare had started to play tricks with his senses. For the first few days Indy didn't know if it was day or night, if he should be awake or asleep. Now, at times, he wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep, the unrelenting whiteness and the burn of the frost persisting even in his dreams. Still, they were getting close. Very close. They might just make this.

"We go now?" Panuk was a few years younger than Indy but knew this barren wilderness like Indy knew the snug fit of his fedora; there was ice in Panuk's veins. The young Inuk musher had saved Indy's neck on more than one occasion since they'd set out from Qaanaaq, Indy just wished the conversation had been a little sparkier. Panuk's English was pretty limited and Indy's grasp of the local language was patchy to say the least; not that it mattered, Panuk kept himself to himself and Indy wondered if he wouldn't feel quite so lonely if the Inuk wasn't around.

"Ready when you are, pal."

As Panuk re-attached the last of the sled dogs' harnesses, Indy walked past him and raised his binoculars, looking in the direction they'd come from, away from the sun. Visibility was good. For much of their journey the boundary between snow and sky had been as indecipherable as that between day and night, but this morning a blanket of vivid blue rose up from the frozen tundra, clearly separating the land from the heavens. In the far distance, clinging to the horizon, Indy could just make out what looked like a small snowstorm. Dark shapes moved within the puffy white clouds; Ziegler was gaining on them.

When Indy had accepted the job, Abner had warned him about the German. A general with the Deutsches Heer during the War, Ziegler had gone on to use his family's fortune to finance archaeological digs across the Near East and northern Europe. Now it appeared he was branching out into Arctic expeditions, too. Indy had only met Ziegler once, a few years earlier when Indy had been studying in Paris. The encounter had been brief, but long enough to confirm to Indy that Ziegler's reputation was accurate. The War might be over, but imperial entitlement still surged through the German's veins—he was cold, ruthless, and took what he wanted, regardless of the consequences. It was likely no coincidence that several of Ziegler's rivals had suffered freak—and fatal—accidents in recent years, and now Ziegler had Indy firmly in his sights.

"They're gaining on us. Six miles. Maybe less." Indy spoke as much to himself as to Panuk. "Looks like they're motor powered, judging by the amount of snow they're kicking up." Indy knew that if they didn't get in and out before Ziegler showed up, it was game over. "Let's hope your dogs have got some fire left in 'em." Indy turned to his guide, Panuk pointed to the sled's driving bar.

"What the hell!" the Inuk spoke in his best American accent. Indy was taken aback, as much by Panuk's uncharacteristic smile as the gesture; this was the first time he'd invited Indy to drive the sled.

"You sure?" Indy asked.

Panuk nodded. "You watch Panuk well. How Americans say... you learn from best!" Indy smiled, finally the ice-man was beginning to melt, or maybe he was just resigned to the futility of their endeavour.

Indy tipped his fedora forward and tugged his scarf up over his nose as he mounted the sled. Panuk knelt down before the lead dog, Kallik, whispered to the animal, then kissed her on the nose and ruffled her fur. Panuk looked to the sky and muttered "Qailertetang illersortigaara." Indy had grown accustomed to the Inuk's plea for protection from the weather goddess, and, today at least, it seemed old Qailertetang was playing ball.

The sled dogs grew restless, howling and jostling from side to side—all muscle and coiled energy. Kallik gave a short, sharp bark, keeping her pack in check. Panuk stood behind Indy and held his waist tightly. Indy braced his feet on the foot boards, gripped the driving bar with his left hand and raised the whip with his right. "Hahh!" Indy cracked the whip and the eight dogs exploded across the snow, thrusting the sled forward.

Indy squinted as the icy air slashed at his face, the snow stretched before him like freshly pressed linen. The dogs tore forward with relentless energy, engineered since birth for this sole purpose.

Watching Kallik and her pack, Indy's mind drifted—not for the first time—to the Alaskan Malamute who had once meant everything to him, and, invariably, to his mother who's sudden departure from Indy's life still had the power to slice through his heart when he was least prepared. He needed to focus. The dogs were fast, but Ziegler was faster.

Half a mile or so to Indy's left the southernmost tip of the glacier reached up to the heavens—an ice behemoth the size of Manhattan. As the crow flies their destination was only a few miles north, on the coast, but to reach it they had to skirt twelve miles around the glacier's perimeter. They wouldn't make it, not while keeping ahead of Ziegler. There had to be another way. Something caught Indy's eye; a narrow inlet in the side of the glacier—a path through the ice could shave hours off their journey.

"You told me there were passageways, a shortcut to the north side of the glacier?"

Panuk shook his head. "Big danger. No one make it through."

"C'mon, Qailertetang's smiling on us today."

"Goddess control weather, not ice. Even Panuk not find way."

Indy smiled, adrenalin pulsing through him. "But I reckon Kallik can. Iju! Iju!" Kallik veered to the left and the other dogs followed, dragging the sled straight toward the glacier.

Panuk squeezed Indy tightly. "Perlequjaaq!" Indy didn't know the word, but by the way Panuk spat it out, he guessed it wasn't complimentary. As they approached the glacier the snow beneath the sled was replaced with ice; the dogs skidded, their paws losing traction, but they soon adjusted to the new terrain and regained their rhythm, taking everything in their stride. Ahead of them the glacier opened up, the inlet was wider than it had appeared from a distance and lead deep into the ice—Indy was sure he could find a way through.

Just then, a hollow creaking sound, and another, and another—a cacophony of dread as the ice began to splinter beneath the sled. Indy glanced back, the ground behind them was rapidly fragmenting, the cracks fanning out like a haphazard spider's web as the frozen surface gave way to the dark, inky water below. Panuk's eyes were wide. "Perlequjaaq Jones!" There was that word again. Indy watched as the ice shattered beneath the dogs paws, the sled skimming along water as the fragmenting ice sank beneath their weight.

Panuk screamed. "Ajalupput!" Indy didn't understand what he was saying. Panuk shouted again. "Ajalupput! Ajalupput!" Then it clicked—zigzag! Indy cracked the whip and yelled. "Iju! Iju" the dogs headed left. "Ili! Ili!" the dogs swerved right. Indy repeated the commands again and again, the sled skidding one way, then the other; spreading its weight over a larger surface area and just about staying afloat. Indy hung desperately to the driving bar, Panuk's full weight pulling on him as the pair were tossed left then right. The ice disappeared all around them, Indy's left foot slipped from the foot board and splashed into the freezing water, the chill snapping around his leg like a bear trap—Panuk grabbed his collar and yanked him back onto the sled.

The glacier loomed large now, Indy could see that the ice thickened and rose upward near the mouth of the passageway. Kallik jumped the last few feet of ice water, the other dogs followed her lead, and the sled glided up onto firmer ground as they entered the glacier.

"Ai! Ai!" The dogs slowed to a stop on Indy's command. Indy caught his breath and attempted a grin.

"See, that wasn't so bad, was it?" He glanced back to Panuk, the Inuk's glare icier than the cold that gnawed at Indy's wet leg.

Their attention was snared by the faint, distant sound of engines surging. They peered out from the glacier; effortlessly gliding across the snow plain were over a dozen vehicles, the likes of which Indy had never seen before—ice adapted trucks and bizarre motorcycle-sled hybrids—machines designed to specifically handle this, the most hostile of terrains. Ziegler's contingent was thirty, maybe even forty strong and was already beginning its journey around the glacier's edge. There was no time to lose. Indy cracked the whip, the dogs resumed their sprint and the sled was dragged deep into the ice.

The sled barrelled along the winding passageway, bored over tens of thousands of years by the constant drip of meltwater. Inside, the glacier was alien, otherworldly; stars twinkled in the silver blue ice—sunlight refracted in an infinity of directions. Fractures in the glacier opened up new passageways, forking off like branches on a tree. Making split second decisions—and with one eye on his compass—Indy kept the dogs heading due north, never allowing Kallik to slow her pace.

Even through his sweater and leather jacket, Indy could feel Panuk's terrified fingers digging deep into his sides—if they got out of this alive, he doubted the musher would ever speak to him again. Taking a sharp turn to the right their path ascended steeply, the dogs' stamina started to wane, Indy cracked the whip and commanded them onward. Kallik and two dogs at the rear of the pack—the wheel dogs—picked up speed, and the rest were forced to match their pace.

After a desperate, winding scramble they emerged on the top of the glacier, at least fifty feet above the snow plain. The frozen terrain was jagged and uneven, mountains of ice rose up and canyons fell away. Despite Panuk's fingertips slicing into his side, Indy had no intention of slowing the dogs down. He guided Kallik the best he could, working out a path across the glacier. As they swept along the cusp of a deep crevice the left sled runner slipped over the edge and the sled lurched to the side—Panuk lost his footing and stumbled, hanging perilously over the abyss, he clung on to Indy and threatening to pull the sled and the dogs over with him. Indy grabbed Panuk by the arm and hoisted him back on the sled, both men lurched to the right and the sled levelled out as the dogs hauled them away from the crevice.

Indy repositioned himself behind the driving bar. His eyes widened as he saw where their path was headed; a narrow ice bridge arching up over a gaping chasm sliced through the glacier, at least a hundred foot drop to the surging river of meltwater below. The naturally formed bridge was all that remained of the ice that once joined the two halves of the glacier; it spanned maybe fifty or sixty feet and looked barely wide enough for their sled—but there was no option to turn back, the sled's momentum was too great, they'd never stop in time.

Panuk grabbed Indy's shoulder. "Too heavy. Bridge not strong enough." Indy was already one step ahead. He climbed up and over the driving bar as Panuk took control of the sled. Indy scrambled onto their camping equipment and supplies, all securely tied to the bed of the sled. The dogs dashed onto the ice bridge; Indy removed his knife and slashed at several of the ropes—at least half of their bags tumbled from the sled, significantly lightening their load as they were pulled out onto the bridge. Indy watched as his sleeping bag, climbing gear and a week's supply of tinned food plummeted into the river below. So much for their return journey. But the bridge held, and Indy kept low, trying not to offset the sled's centre of gravity. The dogs fast approached the apex of the bridge—but it wasn't there; the ice had fallen away leaving a six foot gap in the path ahead.

Panuk whistled and Kallik knew exactly what to do—she leapt and the pack followed her lead, Indy clung to the bed and Panuk crouched as the sled soared from the bridge. They hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, then landed with a judder on the far side of the bridge. They'd made it, but Indy glanced back and saw the ice was falling away behind them. Panuk cracked the whip and the sled rocketed from the bridge moments before it collapsed completely.

They were heading downward now, back through the glacier. Their path grew steeper and steeper, the sled rattled from one side of the chute to the other. The dogs began to lose their footing, the wheel dogs were the first to slip, they bowled into the others and soon the whole pack was sliding and tumbling down the chute; the sled overturned, spilling its contents and sending Indy and Panuk careening down the ice. The chute wended one way, then turned sharply in another direction. Indy lay on his back as he hurtled ever faster—equipment clattered around him, the flailing dogs yelped helplessly. Icicles protruded from the floor and the ceiling, Indy managed to slalom around the first few, but one of the icy tips sliced across his shoulder, it stung like hell and he cried out in pain. Just inches behind Indy the full weight of the sled barrelled down the chute, shattering the icicles and clearing the path for Panuk who was sliding at its tail.

First the dogs, then Indy, the sled and finally Panuk were thrown from the glacier, falling a dozen or so feet before splashing into a shallow meltwater stream. Panuk was shaken but unhurt, and as Indy put pressure on his bloody shoulder, he was thankful he'd got away with just a minor flesh wound. It seemed Qailertetang, or whatever member of her pantheon dealt with outlandish sled manoeuvres, really was on their side. The first aid kit had gone over the chasm, back on the ice bridge, so Indy dug beneath his jacket and sweater and tore several ribbons of fabric from his shirt. Indy winced—the pain acute—as he tightened the makeshift bandage around his shoulder, but it stemmed the bleeding.

Panuk's first priority was to check the dogs; once he'd established they were all unscathed he looked to his sled—it was damaged, but seemed salvageable—then he turned to Indy. The young archaeologist wasn't sure what the musher was saying as he screamed and gesticulated in Indy's face, but he got the gist. He thought Panuk might land one on him, and he wouldn't have blamed the guy if he had.

Then Indy saw something tantalising jutting out from behind the glacier, an awestruck smile spread across his face. He walked past the ranting Inuk, along the side of the stream to where it flowed into an estuary. Indy's eyes were awash with wonder; they'd made it to the north side of the glacier and their destination lay right before them. Encrusted into the mountain of ice was an enormous Viking longship, perfectly preserved for a millennia. Panuk saw the ship too and was stunned into silence. Indy looked up to the foreboding dragonhead at the ship's prow, icicles hung from the beast's flared nostrils and curved fangs. A forbidding sight. The archaeologist jumped as Kallik barked and snarled at the monster.

Indy unfurled his whip and cracked it up toward the ship's deck, a good six feet above his head. After a few attempts he managed to snag the end of the whip through one of the oarports. Indy tugged the whip a couple of times to make sure it was secure, then he used it to scale the side of the ship before pulling himself up onto the deck.

If Indy hadn't witnessed the scene for himself he wouldn't have believed it possible. Across the deck dozens of Vikings—oarsmen and warriors—all perfectly preserved, their dying moments etched in eternity. Animal-skin-clad oarsmen strained mid row; battle ready warriors grasped axes, swords and shields; motionless faces were contorted by the horror of their impending demise. All were imprisoned within a tidal wave which had frozen solid moments after it rammed the ship into the glacier. Indy paced cautiously across the frozen deck, eyes that looked unnervingly alive peered back at him. This was the strangest of tombs. Some of the men were hulking monsters, others were little more than boys. One pour soul had been impaled on his oar, the blood that pumped from his chest and his final moment of excruciating agony rendered for all time like some macabre museum exhibit.

Panuk appeared behind Indy. He repeated the same phrase over and over. "Upperneq guutimut ilagiissutigaarput." Something about God protecting their souls. Indy hoped Panuk was right.

Indy approached the prow where the Vikings' leader stood statuesque—one hand grasping the rear of the dragonhead, the other holding aloft a sword—a leader prepared for battle in this life and the next. But this tall, striking warrior was no king. Encased within the ice, an inferno of fiery red hair swept back from a face that was strong and severe, but also undeniably beautiful. Freydis Eiríksdóttir, the eldest daughter of legendary Viking explorer Erik the Red, was as feared and respected as any king. Her striking blue eyes were uncompromising and determined, unflinching even in this final moment, as she looked out upon certain death. Indy thought she would have been a girl worth knowing, if only he'd been around nine centuries earlier.

Indy's gaze was drawn to a golden amulet hanging from the Viking's neck; an exquisite sun compass, painstakingly engraved with interweaving Norse patterns; the cardinal points marked with precious gem stones sourced from far beyond the culture's Scandinavian homeland.

"The sun compass, we've found it!" Tears welled in Indy's eyes, this is what he'd dragged himself to hell and back looking for. Now he saw his prize he was certain that the frostnip, the lack of sleep, and every cut, scrape, bruise and near death experience had been worth it. He was damned if Ziegler was going to get his hands on this thing.

Panuk was more wary "Be careful Jones. What if curse is real?"

Amulets are said to bring good luck, but folklore talked of the sun compass having the opposite effect on its bearer. According to Norse legend the compass had been in Freydis's family for generations, and originally belonged to her great, great, great uncle Naddodd, who, while on route to the Faroe Islands in 825, was betrayed by the compass and found himself lost at sea for many weeks. He eventually landed in Iceland, and became the first Norseman to set foot on the island. However, misfortune and tragedy subsequently plagued his family, with generation after generation suffering the discomforts of plague, exile and murder. The compass passed to Erik the Red who was supposedly wearing it when he was thrown from his horse and fatally injured; with his last breath he is said to have cried out that the compass was cursed. That hadn't deterred his daughter from claiming the heirloom—like himself, Indy doubted Freydis bought into superstitious mumbo jumbo. Still, her final predicament suggested there could be some weight to her father's proclamation. Even so, on balance, Indy was more than prepared to take his chances.

"C'mon Panuk, y'know I don't go in for campfire stories and fairy tales." Indy was about to ask his guide to fetch the tool bag, but then remembered how he'd unshackled it on the ice bridge, it was likely half way to the Arctic Ocean by now.

He turned to Panuk "Don't have a spare pick, do you?"

Panuk stared blankly back at him. Indy reached into his satchel, removed his penknife and flicked out the blade; it was far from the ideal tool to hack through frost a foot thick, but it was all he had. Indy stabbed into the ice, it was as hard as stone. This was going to take some time. But time was one thing they didn't have.

Panuk climbed down from the longship and tended to the pack. He needed to keep busy. Being among the dead had unnerved him. Panuk prayed the Vikings' spirits had escaped their mortal prisons, but feared they had not.

Panuk's father had passed two winters earlier. The weather had been harsh so the body had remained in an outbuilding for five weeks until burial was possible in the spring. During that time Panuk had visited his father's corpse often. He had drawn comfort from being close to his Ataata, even holding his lifeless hand on occasions; yet he knew the hard but fair man he had loved was now elsewhere. The life had flown from his father's eyes. When Panuk had glanced at the Vikings their eyes were still very much alive, their souls were screaming to be set free.

Panuk secured what was left of his and Jones' belongings to the sled. They were likely going to have to make a quick exit. Jones had spoken of the man who was pursuing them with his pack of mechanical beasts, and the stories had struck fear into Panuk's heart. Luckily the sled had only been superficially damaged, he was confident it could still get them home. More importantly, Kallik and the pack were unharmed. He thanked the gods. Despite Jones' recklessness, Panuk liked the brash American. Especially as he had paid upfront. But Panuk's priority was his animals. They were his family's livelihood, without them he could not hunt, he could not feed his infant son. Panuk would do anything to keep Anguta—gatherer of the dead and guardian of the underworld—away from his dogs.

As Panuk untangled the dogs' ropes and harnesses he heard a distant, ominous rumbling. Something was approaching.

He walked out around the longship and looked along the strip of snow where the glacier met the sea. The beasts were upon them.

Progress was slow. Indy had been digging with his knife for over half an hour, but there was still at least another six inches of ice to chip through. His hand throbbed and his wrist was bleeding where his skin had repeatedly snagged against the jagged edge of the freshly cut ice. But Indy knew he couldn't slow his pace. He had to keep hacking.

"Jones, they are nearly here! We must go!" Panuk called up, his voice laced with panic. Indy tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut, he doubled his efforts, slashing frantically at the ice. He was damned if he was going to give up now.

Indy heard the rising splutter and squeal of motor engines, then distant raised voices—German voices—crept into the mix. Still he plunged the knife again and again into the ice, he was just inches away from freeing the compass. Panuk appeared next to Indy, the young Inuk was clearly spooked. He tried to drag Indy from his work, but Indy shrugged him off.

"Please, Jones need to listen! Dogs are ready. We have to leave."

Panuk grabbed Indy again, but Indy shoved Panuk away. Panuk slipped, landing hard on his back. Indy felt bad, he liked the kid, but there wasn't time for apologies. He stabbed at the ice with increased vigour, he had to get this thing out. Panuk shook his head and backed away from Indy.

"PerlequjaaqJones! Panuk leave now. I'm sorry." He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and tossed it toward Indy. "You keep money." Panuk scrambled to his feet, slipped and skidded across the frozen deck and then leapt from the ship into the snow below. Moments later Indy heard Panuk yell "Hahh!" and the dogs barrel away around the far side of the glacier. There goes his lift home. What the hell was he doing?

Indy just kept slicing into Freydis's tomb. He thrust the blade again and again and then—it snapped. Shit. Things were just getting better and better.

Indy had an idea; he reached for his Smith & Wesson and unholstered it. He stepped back, raised the weapon and aimed it at the flame haired Viking.

"Don't take this personally." He fired at Freydis's chest and her icy prison exploded. The compass was freed.

Indy's eyes met the Viking's. "Maybe in another time, another place, things could've worked out different." Indy tipped his hat to the warrior, then grabbed the amulet and wrenched it from Freydis's neck. The compass was heavier than it looked and even more exquisitely beautiful up close. He'd done it. The compass was his.

But not for long.

A gun click and Indy felt the cold metal of a revolver barrel pressed firmly against the base of his skull.