Last Shadow Warrior

by Sam Subity

  Gwynn and I exchanged a startled look.

  “You do?” I nearly shouted. “How? I mean, where?”

  Easy. Your answer lies in the Well of Weird.

  “The Well of Weird? No, seriously.”

  Really. It’s a well. And, boy, is it weird.

  I looked back at Gwynn and Grimsby, but they only shrugged and shook their heads. I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, then how do we get there?”

  Well, I can’t exactly just draw a map for you. That would be against the rules. Also, I don’t have any hands.

  I spread my hands. “What rules? How am I supposed to find it, then?”

  I guess I could … hmmm … Yeah, I think it would be okay to give you a clue. Let me think. Yeah, how about this?

  The ground started to vibrate. I threw my hands out to steady myself and stared down nervously. Earthquake? But then I recognized what it was. The tree … seemed to be humming. Then out of nowhere it sang:

  In order for your dad to save

  A secret from beyond the grave

  You’ll need to find, then hold your breath

  And you will surely conquer death.

  I ground my teeth in frustration, realizing this was some sort of riddle. Why couldn’t someone just give us a straightforward answer for once?

  The tree warbled out the last line in an out-of-tune falsetto. Apparently we’d found the mysterious singer with the awful voice. I waited, expecting more. Fifteen seconds ticked by. A minute.

  I closed my eyes and slowly mashed my fist against my forehead. “That was … it? That was the clue?” I didn’t see how that helped with anything.

  Pfft, I’m all, “Best clue ever! Hashtag winning!” and she’s all, “Duuude, that was it?”

  I repeated the lines to myself, trying to make sense of what they meant. What did it mean by “a secret from beyond the grave”? I looked up at the branches. “Why should I believe you about any of this? I mean, no offense, but you’re a … tree.”

  Look, bro. Can I call you bro? A wise tree once said, “Sometimes to see clearly you just need to change your perspective.” Spoiler alert: That wise tree … was me. You might be surprised what you can see from up here. Anyway, on to the reeeaaallly important stuff. Can you do something for me now?

  “Uh, sure?” I said.

  The ground started to vibrate again, and this time I recognized the vibrations as bouncy guitar chords I’d heard somewhere. I looked around in surprise as out of nowhere a piano joined them. Then the tree launched into Elvis Presley’s “All Shook Up.”

  “Wait! Hold on!” I shouted, lowering my hands from my ears as the tree stopped singing.

  What’s wrong? I was too pitchy, wasn’t I?

  I raised an eyebrow. It struck me as ironic that an all-knowing world tree had no clue it was a terrible singer. “No, not at all,” I lied. “It sounded, um, fine. Really.”

  Well, thank you. Thank you very much, the tree said, doing its best Elvis impression.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, throwing my hands up in frustration, “but I don’t see how what you said helps me at all. Can you give me any other clues?”

  But if the tree heard me, it didn’t bother to answer. It was busy practicing its Elvis impression.

  “Excuse me, um, Iggy?” Gwynn tried. “Iggy!”

  Thank you very much. Thank YOU very much …

  “Abby?” came Grimsby’s voice. But I was too busy trying to get the tree’s attention.

  “Um, ABBY?” Louder this time.

  “WHAT?” I whirled around.

  Grimsby shot out his hands to protect himself and then pointed at my backpack, which lay on the ground a couple of feet away.

  I dropped my gaze. In the surrounding gloom, I could see the bag glowing with a faint greenish light. I ran across to it and yanked the zipper open, pulling out the journal. On its cover the second rune looked like it was on fire. The tree rune.

  “We did it!” Gwynn said. “We found Yggdrasil.”

  Grimsby nodded slowly. “Or Iggy, I guess.”

  I wanted to feel excited that we were only one more step away from helping my dad. If that really was what this was all about. But instead I felt more frustrated than anything. “Only …” I looked back up at the tree. “It wasn’t exactly what I was expecting.”

  THANK YOU VERY MUUUUUCH, the tree said.

  Actually, not at all what I’d expected. A flash of light brought my gaze back to the journal. The new rune settled into a deep green color.

  “That leaves only one more to find,” Grimsby said with a weak smile. “The final rune.”

  “Maybe final in more ways than one,” I said.

  I stared into the night, where I could see snow swirling beyond our protected glade, anticipating what lay ahead for us out there but not wanting to name it.

  Somewhere out there was the final test. The one that would lead us to death.

  Asgard’s village square was crowded with families eating and laughing together, as if there was nothing unusual about a Viking community living underneath suburban Minneapolis. Nearby a little girl sat across from her dad. She giggled as a long string of gooey cheese stretched from her slice of pizza. I silently wished it could be me and my dad. Soon, I told myself. We’ll sit right there and share a pizza. With pineapple for Dad’s half, just how he likes it. Really soon.

  Grimsby clutched his stomach. “What’s the rune for cheese fries? I’m starving!”

  I shook the snow out of my hair and brushed off my jacket. “What, do snowstorms make you hungry too?” Outside, the wind and snow had escalated into a full-on blizzard.

  “I think eating makes him hungry,” Gwynn said. “But since it’s dinnertime, it’s probably not a bad idea to get some food and talk about our plan.”

  I turned to scan the shop fronts, wondering if anything could jump-start my appetite. It felt like I’d barely eaten anything since we’d arrived at Vale. But between worrying about my dad and struggling to figure out how I could possibly fulfill the promise I’d made to my mom, somehow I just hadn’t been hungry.

  Suddenly my heart froze. I ducked behind one of the huge timber pillars that supported the ceiling.

  “Everything okay?” Grimsby said, looking up from where he was sitting nearby, trying to knock snow out of his loafer. He turned to follow my stare. “Ohhhhhhh.”

  Only ten feet away, Mr. Lodbrok waited in line for coffee, his foot tapping impatiently while he repeatedly glanced down at his watch.

  “I don’t think he saw me,” I said.

  Gwynn started to move toward him. “Want me to—”

  “NO!” I said, clutching at her sleeve, then lowering my voice. “No. Thanks. I’m not sure I’m ready to face him again yet. Or maybe ever.”

  The barista slid a cup across the counter to him.

  “Does that look like my name?” he growled, pointing at the cup. “Or does Vale not teach reading anymore?”

  “Really?” I said, my fingers curling into fists as I watched the girl scramble to find his order while attempting to fight back tears.

  She handed him a new cup, and I ducked out of sight when Mr. Lodbrok turned toward us, steam obscuring his features as he sipped his coffee. He strode by without noticing us and continued across the square, looking like he had something urgent to do.

  It occurred to me that I didn’t know what his role was in the Viking community. If Professor Roth ran the school, and Doc taught and coached knattleikr … then what was Mr. Lodbrok’s role, exactly? I mean, other than chief jerk. He was up to something. And he was tied up in all this business somehow; I just knew it. And what was his deal with my mom? And me? There was only one way to find out.

  Then, my feet moving almost before my brain had made the decision, I started after him.

  A hand caught my arm. “Abby …”

  I spun toward Gwynn. “What?”

  She stared at me, her eyes narrowing in concern. “I see that look in your eyes. What are you planning to do?”

&nbs
p; I shot a look over my shoulder. It took me a minute to find Mr. Lodbrok disappearing into the crowd. If I didn’t go now, I’d miss him. “Nothing. Just … I’ll be right back.”

  She let go of my arm and glanced over at Grimsby before turning back to me. “Need any help?”

  “No, I’ve got this. You guys get some dinner. I’ll only be a minute. Really.”

  “Okay, just don’t do anything stupid.”

  Well, I couldn’t guarantee that. I sprinted in the last direction I’d seen Chase’s dad heading, feeling the flame of anger I’d felt earlier building with each step. Had I already lost him? I jumped up onto a chair and jerked my head from side to side, scanning the crowd. There he was, disappearing down a corridor on the opposite side of the village square. I leapt down off the chair and raced after him.

  The hall was empty and quiet when I arrived, the noise of the crowd quickly falling away. I crept forward slowly now past doors and more hallways on both sides, worried I wouldn’t be able to find him in this maze. What else was down here? The garage Grimsby had speculated about, with tricked-out vehicles and possibly some warships? Maybe a Viking workout room? I imagined a bunch of huge dudes playing catch with telephone poles or bench-pressing small cars.

  “… are we going to explain this?”

  I froze, recognizing Mr. Lodbrok’s angry voice coming from inside a door just up ahead. I snuck closer and pressed my body against the wall outside.

  “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.” It was a second male voice, which I didn’t recognize.

  “The sea monster, or octopus, or whatever it was”—Mr. Lodbrok paused—“was meant to kill her.”

  My heart nearly stopped. The sea monster was supposed to kill her? Was supposed to kill me? Had Unferth Lodbrok just confessed to attempted murder?

  “Now we have to try to make it look like the whole thing never happened,” he snapped. “Do you think you can handle that much?”

  Then the other voice again: “Yes, sir, I will. You can count on me. Like it never happened, sir.”

  “Good. See to it, then. I can’t have this getting out.” I heard his voice getting nearer, and I frantically looked around for somewhere to hide. But there was nowhere. Then Mr. Lodbrok strode through the door and down the hall away from me without even a glance in my direction. He pressed his palm flat against a panel next to a door. It slid open and he disappeared inside.

  I stood there pinned against the wall, stunned. Whatever I’d thought he was up to, murdering me wasn’t even remotely on the list. His earlier words came back to me: If a Grendel still lives, then there is absolutely nothing that you—or any of us—can do to stop it. If he believed that, what would he do? Would he go so far as to join the Grendel to try to save his own life and his son’s? It made sense, now that I thought about it. I mean, how else could someone track down the Aesir so easily unless someone on the inside was helping track them down? Had he sent the Grendel after me in North Carolina?

  The sounds of angry muttering cut off by the door next to me slamming closed jerked me out of my thoughts. I blinked and shook my head, then eyed the door down the hall where Mr. Lodbrok had disappeared.

  No, I thought even as the idea started to form. That’s ridiculous.

  But …

  If I wanted to prove the Grendel was real—that we were all in grave danger—and if Mr. Lodbrok was somehow in league with it, then continuing to tail him seemed like my best chance. Either for finding the Grendel or speeding up my inevitable death.

  Or both. I wasn’t sure.

  I looked both ways. The hall was empty. Now was my chance. If I thought too long about it, I’d chicken out. I crossed to the door, and my hand hesitated over the touch pad for only a second before I pressed it.

  The door slid open to blackness. A stale breath of air wafted from the room. An image of walking into the gaping maw of a giant flickered through my head.

  Your mother was a fool.

  I set my jaw. And her daughter is here to wipe that smug look off your face.

  I stepped inside. The door slid shut behind me, plunging me into blackness. I stopped. What now? I closed my eyes and let my other senses explore the room like I’d learned in my training. Silence. No sounds of movement. The faint smells of steel and cleaning oil like my training space at home.

  A tingle of foreboding somewhere deep in my brain made me hesitate just as I was about to step forward. Was it possible that Mr. Lodbrok could be lying in wait for me in the dark? No. That was silly. He hadn’t seen me. Probably. Okay, I told myself, now you’re being ridiculous. You’re not going to bail out just because of a little darkness.

  I ventured farther into the room, and a row of lights flickered on along one wall. Motion sensors, I guessed. From what I could now see, the room looked like some sort of training gym. A row of Viking helmets and swords lined the illuminated wall alongside what were either battle training machines or exotic torture devices. Mr. Lodbrok was nowhere in sight. There must have been another exit from the room.

  I crossed over to the display of helmets. They were either pretty great replicas or real Viking helmets, with rounded iron caps and nose-bridge guards, many of them bearing the marks of actual battle. None of the silly horned helmets that most people mistakenly associate with Vikings. I’d had a plastic version that I used to wear around everywhere as a kid. It’s amazing how fast other kids get out of your way on the playground slide when you’re coming up the other way wearing a helmet with pointy horns.

  I lifted a helmet off the rack and carefully slid it onto my head. Then I turned toward a nearby mirror. Not to brag or anything, but I looked pretty awesome. I growled at my reflection.

  Next I examined a row of swords. They were a variety of sizes and colors, and it felt kind of like picking a ball at a bowling alley. I chose one with an intricately designed silver handle and pulled. With a metallic hisssk, it slid free of its sheath. The blade was as black as coal and gleamed faintly in the dim light. I took a practice swing, stumbled, and almost fell. Real cool, Abby. It was a little heavier than the wooden training swords I was used to. But it wasn’t like there were numbers on these like on bowling balls to help you pick the right size. It occurred to me at that point that I’d let these cool toys distract me while I should have been looking for Mr. Lodbrok.

  But right as I was about to put the sword back, somewhere above me a chime sounded. Then the room went completely black.

  I froze. Even my heart stopped beating for a second as a shiver of dread shot through me. What. Was. Happening? I’d been so distracted playing dress-up that I’d forgotten about the possibility of danger.

  That’s when I heard the drums. Initially I thought it was my own heart thumping in my ears. A rhythmic pounding noise. Faint at first, then growing steadily louder. But it wasn’t my heart.

  A gentle breeze stirred against my face, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of salt air. This was getting weirder. Had the air-conditioning just kicked on?

  Then the floor seemed to heave gently and sway. I attributed this to my overactive imagination until a particularly sharp jerk made me stumble. Fortunately, I caught myself before I sprawled on my face. Along with the steady pounding noise, I could now hear a complaining creak and groan of wood each time the floor rolled. Then a seagull’s cry.

  A faint light shone behind me. I turned. A fiery crimson sun broke over a horizon, illuminating a forest of at least a hundred iron helmets around me, all glowing bloodred. A small cry of fear escaped my lips as I stared into the grizzled, battle-scarred faces of a horde of Viking warriors.

  With the aid of the dawn light, I could now see what the pounding noise was. Each warrior was thumping his sword hilt, staff, or club in unison onto the floor. No, not a floor. A deck. A shadow loomed over me as the deck rolled again, and I cowered instinctively. Looking up, I saw a dragon-head prow staring menacingly back at me. Then came a sharp snapping noise, and I turned as a massive white sail with the silhouette of a r
aven painted on it in black bellied in the wind. My breath was coming in shallow gasps as all the sensory overload threatened to overwhelm me. But as much as my brain refused to believe it, there was no denying—I was on a Viking raiding ship. It was like I’d been dropped into the middle of an IMAX movie. How was that possible?

  Okay, okay, I told myself. There has to be some rational explanation for this. Only a minute ago, I’d been in a training room and— That’s when it hit me. Yes! This had to be another sort of illusion. Like the fires in the sconces. The moving tapestries. I backed up another step, tripped over something, and began to fall. A strong hand grabbed the front of my shirt and hauled me forward before I pitched over the ship’s edge into the heaving waves.

  That shouldn’t be possible in an illusion. Right?

  “Don’t be too anxious, child,” the Viking said, grinning at me through a mouth of missing teeth. “There’ll be plunder enough for us all.”

  Plunder? This isn’t real, I told myself. This isn’t real. This isn’t—

  The wail of a horn pierced the air somewhere behind me. I spun around. Across the waves, a small village of mud-and-straw huts clustered not far from the shoreline. People in medieval-type clothing screamed and ran in panic. A stream of humanity flowed toward the walls of a gigantic stone castle in the distance.

  The sights. The smells. The sounds. My brain screamed that this was all too real as I fought to hold on to the last shred of my sanity. I was somehow at the front of a Viking raiding party. And we were about to land.

  With a splash and a grind of protesting wood, the ship jerked to a halt ten feet from the shore. Two men scrambled to drop a wooden ramp into the water. I flinched as a chorus of battle horns blasted in my ear. Then I was jostled forward as warriors began to advance all around me with loud cries and savage screams. Carried along by the invaders, I stumbled down the ramp and felt freezing water soak my boots as I stepped into the ocean. The shock of the cold water was exactly what I needed to jerk me back to reality before I was trampled to death under a wave of horsehair boots.