by Rick Riordan
‘What?’ I wondered if Utgard-Loki was messing with her brain somehow. ‘Sam, you can’t hide under a green piece of silk! The squirrel can’t be that stupid …’
She shook out the fabric. It grew to the size of a bedsheet, the colours rippling until the hijab was exactly the same brown and yellow and white of the lichen patch.
She’s right, Hearth signed. GO.
Sam crouched next to him and pulled the hijab over them both, and they vanished, blending perfectly against the lichen.
‘Magnus.’ Blitz tugged at my arm. ‘It’s now or never.’ He pointed to the branch below. The knothole was closing.
At that moment, Ratatosk broke through foliage above. If you can imagine a Sherman tank covered in red fur, barrelling down the side of a tree … well, the squirrel was way scarier than that. His front teeth were twin wedges of white enamel terror. His claws were scimitars. His eyes were sulphur yellow, burning with fury.
YARK! The squirrel’s battle cry pierced my eardrums. A thousand insults were packed into that one sound, all of them invading my brain, drowning out any rational thought.
You have failed.
No one likes you.
You are dead.
Your dwarf’s pith helmet is stupid.
You could not save your mother.
I fell to my knees. A sob built in my chest. I probably would have died then and there if Blitz hadn’t hauled me up with all his dwarven strength and slapped me across the face.
I couldn’t hear him, but I read his lips well enough: ‘NOW, KID!’
Gripping my hand in rough calloused fingers, he jumped off the branch, dragging me with him into the wind.
THIRTY-EIGHT
I Break Down in a Volkswagen
I stood in a sunlit meadow with no memory of how I got there.
In the distance, wildflowers dusted rolling green hills. The breeze smelled of lavender. The light was warm and rich as if the air had turned to butter.
My thoughts moved sluggishly. Light … sunlight was bad for dwarves. I was pretty sure I’d been travelling with a dwarf – someone who had slapped me and saved my life.
‘Blitz?’
He stood to my left, holding his pith helmet at his side.
‘Blitz, your hat!’
I was afraid he’d already become stone.
Then he turned. His eyes were stormy and distant. ‘It’s okay, kid. This isn’t regular sunlight. We’re not on Midgard any more.’
He sounded like he was talking through wax paper. The squirrel’s yap had left a crackling in my ears and some corrosive thoughts rattling around in my brain.
‘Ratatosk …’ I couldn’t finish the sentence. Just saying his name made me want to curl up in the foetal position.
‘Yeah,’ Blitz said. ‘His bark is literally worse than his bite. He …’ Blitz looked down, blinking rapidly. ‘He’s the most destructive creature in the World Tree. He spends his time running up and down the trunk, carrying insults from the eagle who lives at the top to Nidhogg, the dragon who lives at the roots.’
I gazed towards the hills. Faint sounds of music seemed to be coming from that direction, or maybe it was the static in my ears. ‘Why would a squirrel do that?’
‘To damage the tree,’ Blitz said. ‘Ratatosk keeps the eagle and the dragon whipped into a frenzy. He tells them lies, rumours, nasty gossip about each other. His words can … well, you know what his words can do. The dragon Nidhogg is always chewing on the roots of the World Tree, trying to kill it. The eagle flaps his wings and creates windstorms that rip the branches and cause devastation throughout the Nine Worlds. Ratatosk makes sure the two monsters stay angry and in competition with each other, to see which one can destroy their end of Yggdrasil faster.’
‘But that’s … crazy. The squirrel lives in the tree.’
Blitz grimaced. ‘We all do, kid. People have destructive impulses. Some of us want to see the world in ruins just for the fun of it … even if we’re ruined along with it.’
Ratatosk’s chatter echoed in my head: You have failed. You could not save your mother. The squirrel had driven me to despair, but I could see how his bark might stir up other emotions – hatred, bitterness, self-loathing.
‘How did you keep your wits?’ I asked Blitz. ‘When the squirrel barked, what did you hear?’
Blitz ran his fingers across the brim of his pith helmet, pinching the edge of the black veil. ‘Nothing I don’t tell myself all the time, kid. We should get going.’
He trudged off towards the hills. Despite his short stride, I had to power-walk to keep up.
We crossed a stream where a picturesque little frog sat on a lily pad. Doves and falcons spiralled through the air like they were playing tag. I half expected a chorus line of fuzzy animals to pop out of the wildflowers and launch into a Disney musical number.
‘I’m guessing this is not Nidavellir,’ I said as we climbed the hill.
Blitzen snorted. ‘No. Much worse.’
‘Alfheim?’
‘Worse.’ Blitzen stopped just short of the crest and took a deep breath. ‘Come on. Let’s get this over with.’
At the top of the hill I froze. ‘Whoa.’
Down the other side, green fields stretched to the horizon. Meadows were strewn with picnic blankets. Crowds of people were hanging out – eating, laughing, chatting, playing music, flying kites, tossing beach balls. It was the world’s largest, most laid-back outdoor concert, minus the concert. Some folks were dressed in various bits of armour. Most had weapons, but they didn’t seem very interested in using them.
In the shade of an oak tree, a couple of young ladies were sword fighting, but after crossing blades a few times they got bored, dropped their weapons and started chatting. Another guy lounged in a lawn chair, flirting with the girl on his left while he casually parried attacks from the guy standing on his right.
Blitz pointed to the crest of the next hill about half a mile away, where a strange palace gleamed. It looked like an upside-down Noah’s Ark made of gold and silver.
‘Sessrumnir,’ said Blitzen. ‘The Hall of Many Seats. If we’re lucky, maybe she won’t be home.’
‘Who?’
Instead of answering, he waded into the crowd.
We hadn’t gone twenty feet before a guy on a nearby picnic blanket called, ‘Hey, Blitzen! What’s up, dude?’
Blitzen ground his teeth so hard I could hear them popping. ‘Hello, Miles.’
‘Yeah, I’m good!’ Miles raised his sword absently as another guy in beach trunks and a vest charged towards him with a battleaxe.
The attacker screamed, ‘DIE! Ha, ha, just kidding.’ Then he walked away eating a chocolate bar.
‘So, Blitz,’ Miles said, ‘what brings you to Casa de Awesome?’
‘Nice seeing you, Miles.’ Blitzen grabbed my arm and led me onward.
‘Okay, cool!’ Miles called after us. ‘Keep in touch!’
‘Who was that?’ I asked.
‘Nobody.’
‘How do you know him?’
‘I don’t.’
As we made our way towards the upside-down ark mansion, more people stopped and said hello to Blitzen. A few greeted me and complimented me on my sword, or my hair, or my shoes. One girl said, ‘Oh, nice ears!’ Which didn’t even make sense.
‘Everybody is so –’
‘Stupid?’ Blitzen offered.
‘I was going to say mellow.’
He grunted. ‘This is Folkvanger, the Field of the Army … or you could translate it as the People’s Battlefield.’
‘So this is Volkswagen.’ I scanned the crowds, wondering if I would spot my mother, but I couldn’t imagine her in a place like this. There was too much lounging around, not enough action. My mom would’ve rousted these warriors to their feet, led them on a ten-mile hike, then insisted they set up their own campsites if they wanted any dinner. ‘They don’t seem like much of an army.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Blitz said, ‘these fallen are just as powerfu
l as the einherjar, but they have a different attitude. This realm is one little subsection of Vanaheim – sort of the Vanir gods’ flipside version of Valhalla.’
I tried to picture myself spending eternity here. Valhalla had its good points, but as far as I’d seen it didn’t have picnics or beach balls, and I definitely wouldn’t describe it as mellow. Still … I wasn’t sure I liked Folkvanger any better.
‘So half the worthy dead go here,’ I remembered, ‘half go to Valhalla. How do they pick who goes where? Is it a coin toss?’
‘That would make more sense, actually.’
‘But I was trying to get us to Nidavellir. Why did we come here?’
Blitzen stared at the mansion atop the hill. ‘You were looking for the path we needed for our quest. That path led us through Folkvanger. Unfortunately, I think I know why. Let’s go pay our respects before I lose my nerve.’
As we approached the gates, I realized Sessrumnir wasn’t just built to look like an upside-down ship. It actually was an upside-down ship. The rows of tall windows were oar slots. The sloping walls of the hull were made from clinkered gold planks riveted with silver nails. The main entrance had a long awning that would’ve served as a gangplank.
‘Why is it a boat?’ I asked.
‘What?’ Blitzen fiddled nervously with his carnation. ‘Not so unusual. Your Norse ancestors made lots of buildings by turning their ships upside down. In the case of Sessrumnir, when the Day of Doom comes around, they’ll just flip the palace over and voilà, it’s a vessel big enough for all the warriors of Folkvanger to sail nobly to their deaths. Sort of like we’re doing now.’
He led me inside.
I’d been expecting a gloomy interior like the hold of a ship, but the Hall of Many Seats was more like a cathedral. The ceiling rose all the way to the keel. The oar-hole windows crosshatched the air with bars of light. The entire space was open, no separate rooms or partitions – just clusters of sofas, comfy chairs, throw pillows and freestanding hammocks, most of which were occupied by snoring warriors. I hoped the half million inhabitants of Folkvanger liked one another’s company, because there was no privacy. Me being me, the main thing I wondered was where they all went to the bathroom.
Down the centre of the hall ran an aisle of Persian carpets, flanked by braziers with glowing spheres of gold light. At the far end stood a throne on a raised dais.
Blitz marched in that direction, ignoring the warriors who greeted him with ‘Dude!’ and ‘Sup, Dwarf Man!’ and ‘Welcome home!’
Welcome home?
In front of the dais, a cosy fire crackled in the hearth. Piles of jewellery and precious gems glittered here and there as if somebody had swept them up just to get them off the floor. On either side of the steps lounged a calico house cat the size of a sabre-toothed tiger.
The throne was carved from wood as soft and buttery as the light – linden wood, maybe. The back was draped with a cloak of downy feathers like on the underside of a falcon. In the throne itself sat the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.
She looked maybe twenty years old, surrounded by an aura of golden radiance that made me realize what Blitzen meant earlier when he’d said the daylight here wasn’t normal. The entire realm of Folkvanger was warm and bright, not because of the sun, but because it basked in this woman’s power.
Her blonde hair fell across one shoulder in a single long plait. Her white halter top showed off her tanned shoulders and smooth midriff. Her knee-length skirt was belted with a gold braid holding a sheathed knife and a ring of keys. Around her neck was a dazzling piece of jewellery – a lacework collar of gold and gems, like Ran’s net in miniature, except with rubies and diamonds instead of sailors’ souls and hubcaps.
The woman fixed me with her sky-blue eyes. When she smiled, heat travelled from the tips of my ears right down to my toes. I would have done anything to make her keep smiling at me. If she’d told me to jump off the World Tree into oblivion, I would’ve done it in a second.
I remembered her picture from my old children’s mythology book and realized how ridiculously it undersold her beauty.
The goddess of love was very pretty! She had cats!
I knelt before my aunt, the twin sister of my father. ‘Freya.’
‘My dear Magnus,’ she said, ‘how nice to meet you in person!’ She turned to Blitzen, who was glowering at his boots.
‘And how are you, Blitzen?’ asked the goddess.
Blitzen sighed. ‘I’m fine, Mom.’
THIRTY-NINE
Freya Is Pretty! She Has Cats!
‘Mom?’ I was so startled I wasn’t sure I’d said it aloud. ‘Wait … You, Blitzen. Mom?’
Blitzen kicked me in the shin.
Freya continued smiling. ‘I suppose my son didn’t tell you? He’s quite modest. Blitzen dear, you look very nice, but could you straighten your collar?’
Blitzen did, muttering under his breath, ‘Been a little busy running for my life.’
‘And, dear,’ Freya said, ‘are you sure about the waistcoat?’
‘Yes, Mom,’ Blitz grumbled, ‘I’m sure about the waistcoat. Waistcoats are making a comeback.’
‘Well, I suppose you know best.’ Freya winked at me. ‘Blitzen is a genius with fabrics and fashion. The other dwarves don’t appreciate his expertise, but I think it’s marvellous. He wants to open his own –’
‘Anyway,’ Blitzen said, a little too loudly, ‘we’re on this quest …’
Freya clapped. ‘I know! It’s very exciting. You’re trying to get to Nidavellir to find out more about the rope Gleipnir. And so, naturally, the World Tree directed you first to me.’
One of her cats clawed at a Persian rug, ripping several thousand dollars of weaving into fluff. I tried not to imagine what the cat could do to me.
‘So, Lady Freya,’ I said, ‘can you help us?’
‘Of course!’ said the goddess. ‘More importantly, you can help me.’
‘Here we go,’ said Blitzen.
‘Son, be polite. First, Magnus, how are you faring with your sword?’
I missed a beat.
I guess I still didn’t think of the Sword of Summer as mine. I pulled off the pendant and the blade took shape in my hand. In Freya’s presence, it was silent and still like it was playing dead. Maybe it was afraid of cats.
‘I haven’t had much time to use it,’ I said. ‘Just got it back from Ran.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Freya’s nose wrinkled with the slightest hint of distaste. ‘And you delivered an apple to Utgard-Loki in exchange. Perhaps not the wisest move, but I won’t criticize your choices.’
‘You just did,’ Blitzen said.
The goddess ignored his comment. ‘At least you didn’t promise me to Utgard-Loki. Usually when giants make demands, they want apples and my hand in marriage.’ She flipped her braid over her shoulder. ‘It gets very tiresome.’
I had a hard time looking at Freya without staring. There really wasn’t anything safe to focus on – her eyes, her lips, her belly button. I silently scolded myself, This is Blitzen’s mom! This is my aunt!
I decided to focus on her left eyebrow. There was nothing entrancing about a left eyebrow.
‘So anyway,’ I said, ‘I haven’t really killed anything yet with the eyebrow – I mean the sword.’
Freya sat forward. ‘Killed anything with it? Oh, dear, that’s the least of its powers. Your first task is to befriend the sword. Have you done this?’
I imagined the sword and me sitting side by side in a movie theatre, a tub of popcorn between us. I imagined dragging the sword on a leash, taking it for a walk through the park. ‘How do I befriend a sword?’
‘Ah … well, if you have to ask –’
‘Look, Aunt Freya,’ I said, ‘couldn’t I just give the sword to you for safekeeping? It’s a Vanir weapon. You’re Frey’s sister. You’ve got a few hundred thousand well-armed, laid-back warriors to guard it from Surt –’
‘Oh, no,’ she said sadly. ‘The sword is already
in your hands, Magnus. You summoned it from the river. You have laid claim to it. The best we can hope for is that Sumarbrander, the Sword of Summer, will allow you to use it. Keeping it from Surt is your job now, as long as you manage to stay alive.’
‘I hate my job.’
Blitz elbowed me. ‘Don’t say that, kid. You’ll offend the blade.’
I looked down at the gleaming runes on the blade. ‘I’m sorry, long sharp piece of metal. Did that hurt your feelings? Also, if you allow people to wield you, why would you allow an evil fire giant to do so? Why wouldn’t you want to go back to Frey, or at least his lovely sister here?’
The sword did not reply.
‘Magnus,’ said the goddess, ‘this is no jesting matter. The sword is fated to belong to Surt, sooner or later. You know this. The sword cannot escape its destiny any more than you can escape yours.’
I envisioned Loki chuckling as he lounged on the High Seat of Odin. Our choices can alter the details. That’s how we rebel against destiny.
‘Besides,’ Freya said, ‘the sword would never allow me to use it. Sumarbrander holds me partially responsible for its loss … It resents me almost as much as it resents Frey.’
Maybe it was my imagination, but the sword seemed to become colder and heavier.
‘But it’s Frey’s sword,’ I protested.
Blitzen grunted. ‘It was. I told you, kid, he gave it away for love.’
The calico cat on Freya’s right rolled over and stretched. Its spotted tummy was pretty cute, except for the fact that I kept imagining how many warriors it could comfortably digest.
‘When Frey sat on Odin’s throne,’ continued the goddess, ‘he did so for my sake. It was a dark time for me. I was wandering the Nine Worlds, grieving and bereft. Frey hoped that by sitting in the throne he might find me. Instead, the throne showed him his heart’s desire – a frost giantess, Gerd. He fell madly in love with her.’
I stared at Freya’s eyebrow. Her story wasn’t helping my opinion of my dad.