Guardians Inc.:Thundersword (Guardians Incorporated #2)

by Julian Rosado-Machain

  Their powers faded, but their presence remained in myth and legend.

  The last of the Pantheons to fade were the Mayan; they had tried to hold onto the Earth through the use of Blood Magic and human sacrifice. They created one of the most bloodthirsty religions, but in the end even the Magic created by the sacrifice of human life wasn’t enough, and they too had to leave humanity alone.

  The Aesir had been slightly different; they hadn’t treated humans like slaves or pets. They treated them as warriors. Armies in a grand game, they valued strength and courage and they were getting ready for Ragnarok.

  Ragnarok.

  The word sent a chill down Thomas’s spine. The battle to end all battles. A great cataclysm, including natural disasters and monsters roaming the Earth.

  To Thomas, the more he read about Ragnarok, the more it sounded like an attack by the Wraith. He checked on his wristpadd to see if any Guardian scholar had made a connection between Ragnarok to the Wraith when Bolswaithe tapped his shoulder.

  “Look at that,” Bolswaithe said pointing toward the stone. A lithe form was climbing down the tree, its reddish, long tail fluffed as it moved.

  “A squirrel,” Thomas said.

  “A red squirrel,” Bolswaithe pointed out the long tail, “and it’s going for the acorn.”

  “Poor guy,” Thomas said.

  The squirrel slowly reached for the acorn, sniffing it and taking it into his little hands. He looked at Thomas and Bolswaithe and sat facing them with the acorn on its lap.

  It twitched its whiskers.

  “It’s going to chip a tooth,” Thomas whispered, trying not to startle the animal.

  The squirrel eyes half closed, as if angered by his comment, and then a white horn sprouted from the center of its forehead much like a unicorn. The squirrel then struck the acorn with the horn, breaking it cleanly into four pieces and began to munch on a piece.

  The horn then disappeared.

  Thomas and Bolswaithe kept quiet while the squirrel ate through the piece of gold. It seemed to be enjoying it immensely, even licking its fingers once in a while as specs of gold dust flew from its mouth.

  The squirrel suddenly stopped and looked directly at them. “So…” it said in a very grave voice. “What do you want?”

  “Ahh…” Thomas stuttered.

  “Ahhh…!” the squirrel mocked him rudely, and then belched. “Are you dumb? What do you want?” the squirrel asked again.

  “We need a guide,” Bolswaithe said while the squirrel continued to munch on the acorn. “We want to visit the Aesir.”

  “We?” the squirrel said. “I don’t do ‘we.’ You didn’t pay for ‘we,’ and you’re not getting ‘we.’ One acorn. One person. Take it or leave it and be quick about it because I’m in a hurry, old man.”

  “What the hell is that thing?” Tony asked, waking up from his nap. The squirrel picked up a rock, threw it, and hit Tony on the forehead.

  “Hell is what you’ll get if you don’t show respect for Ratatosk, messenger of the Aesir, you stupid human!” the squirrel shouted.

  Tony scrambled to his feet, holding his forehead. “So help me…” he began to say when another rock struck him in the groin.

  “Time!” Ratatosk yelled, gulping down another piece of the acorn. “Who’s going? One or no one at all?” he said, mumbling.

  “I am.” Thomas stepped forward.

  “You are?” Ratatosk said. “Scrawny thing like you will last two seconds in the Halls of Valhalla.” Ratatosk then jumped to the top of one of the Dolmens and the entrance shimmered. A door opened, like a puddle of water at first, with concentric waves coming from the center, then the ripples stopped. Inside they could see a marbled hall with three cloaked statues on the far end standing around a pillar that held a basin, almost like the bird baths Thomas had helped his mother install at his house in Fulton. The statues looked female, but they could only see their lips and the tips of their noses. The rest of their faces were deep inside the hood of their cloaks.

  “Good luck.” Bolswaithe shook Thomas’s hand. “I’ll be waiting for you here.”

  Tony placed his hand on Thomas’s shoulder; he was still doubling over Ratatosk’s well-aimed stone. “Be careful,” he groaned.

  Ratatosk mocked them with loud kissing noises. “Come on already.” Flecks of gold flew out from his mouth.

  Thomas approached the entrance to the Dolmen. There was a large dome, and as he touched the shimmering portal, it flexed, as if pushing against a curtain.

  “You have to leave your trinkets behind,” Ratatosk said, pointing at Thomas’s wristpadd. “Those things can’t cross over.”

  Thomas undid his wristpadd and handed it to Bolswaithe. He also took off his belt with the dart gun. He then looked at Ratatosk. “Anything else?” he asked.

  “Sword,” the squirrel said. “Unless you really know how to use it. Most people inside will jump at you to test your skills if you carry one.”

  Thomas looked at Tony, who shook his head from side to side. Bolswaithe raised an eyebrow.

  Ratatosk hit Thomas in the head with his paw. “What the hell are you looking at them for?” he spat. “You’re the one going in! It’s your life, your decision! If you wait for anyone else to make all your decisions, you're just a maggot feast waiting to happen!”

  Thomas took off his sword and walked into the shimmer.

  This time he went right through.

  Part 2: One for All

  The Norns and the Halls of Valhalla

  Thomas took a step on the other side of the gate. He looked back at Bolswaithe and Tony, but all he saw was his own reflection. The gate was like a one-way mirror. There was a gulping sound at his feet as Ratatosk entered through.

  “They’re fine…” he told Thomas. “Now go get your audience.”

  “Is the gate still open? ” Thomas asked. The mirrored surface seemed still.

  “You want to leave already?” Ratatosk asked.

  “No,” Thomas said. “I just—”

  “Then why does it matter?” Ratatosk cut him off. “Come on, the Norns are waiting.” The squirrel walked between Thomas’s legs.

  “Who are the Norns?” Thomas asked, following the squirrel. He suddenly realized that the statues weren’t statues at all, but three women. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their gaze upon him for a second.

  “Who are the Norns?” Ratatosk nodded, “You humans get more clueless every time I see you.” He took two quick steps in front of Thomas and opened his arms as in proclamation. “Behold!” he said as Thomas stopped and stared at the women, who seemed to be waiting for them.

  “Urðarbrunnr, The Well of Fate,” Ratatosk said loudly, “and the all-seeing, all knowing Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld. Readers of past, present, and future. The fate of all creatures is an open book for them…” he ran toward the birdbath and looked at Thomas. “Yours will be too... mortal from Midgard.”

  Ratatosk waited for him at the base of the birdbath and nodded for him to approach.

  Thomas hesitantly walked toward the Norns. The three robed figures followed his movement intently. Once he was on the other side of the birdbath, Ratatosk climbed on his shoulder and whispered in his ear.

  “Touch the water,” the squirrel said.

  With a shaky hand, Thomas touched the center of water. A slow, circular ripple extended from his fingertip toward the rim of the fountain.

  Then, another ripple grew, colliding with the one he had made, and then another and another. It was like watching raindrops fall on a pool. Small ripples would disappear under larger ones that collided and created small waves that in turn disappeared or clashed with more ripples.

  For a second Thomas thought that the water would actually come out from the fountain as the ripples became stronger. But then, as suddenly as the mini storm started, it stopped and the water became still again.

  The Norn woman on the left looked at the other two, and then all three turned their backs to him. They seemed to b
e talking among themselves in a heated discussion, although Thomas couldn't hear anything.

  “What’s happening?” Thomas whispered to Ratatosk.

  “Shhh,” the squirrel said. “They are deciding what to do with you.”

  The woman in the middle lifted her hands, and the others seemed to listen to what she was saying. Then the woman on the left moved her mouth. She seemed angry.

  “Was that bad?” Thomas asked.

  “Shhhh!” Ratatosk slapped him.

  After a couple of minutes, the Norns seemed to agree on something, and the woman on the middle turned to Thomas. She picked up a handful of sand and extended it to him.

  “Take it,” Ratatosk said. “You can pass now.”

  Thomas held out his hand, and the woman dropped the sand in his palm.

  “Let’s go,” Ratatosk said, pointing at the other side of the room. A door delineated itself on the wall.

  “Thank you,” Thomas said, but the Norns didn’t answer. They just followed his movements as he approached the door.

  “Throw the sand at the door,” Ratatosk said. “Quick!”

  Thomas threw the sand at the door and it receded into the wall. He looked back at the Norns, but they were already peering into the fountain again.

  “Who are you?” Ratatosk asked as the door began to open. “I’ve never seen the fountain react like that before. And I’ve brought some true heroes before.”

  “True heroes?”

  “Cú Chulain, Beowulf, you know…Merlin?”

  Thomas hunched his shoulders; he didn’t know who Cú Chulain was, but he had heard about Beowulf, even seen a movie about him, and Merlin, or course, was a name everyone knew. Ratatosk’s comment actually scared him.

  “Move it.” Ratatosk pinched him with a claw.

  Thomas crossed the door into the stone hallway, it felt like an old medieval castle. The door began to close behind him, and he looked at Ratatosk, still perched on his shoulder. The squirrel had started to munch on a piece of acorn he had saved. His left cheek was still full with the other piece.

  “Are you going to stay there?” Thomas asked. The squirrel’s little claws were digging into his shoulder.

  “Can’t eat and walk at the same time,” Ratatosk answered. “Walking’s your job. So go ahead.”

  “Where to?” Thomas asked.

  Ratatosk gulped a piece of golden acorn. “Just follow the sound.” The door closed behind him, and suddenly the smell of cooked meat reached his nostrils and the sounds of a party filled the hallway.

  A wild party too—he could hear clashes and yells, even the clanging of swords as he followed the noise through the corridor. He turned left and found two guards with lances and shields on each side of a heavy wooden door.

  “Vikings,” he mumbled and Ratatosk laughed.

  “What did you expect?” the squirrel asked, then pinched him again. “Keep moving, you’re like a lazy donkey!”

  The two guards didn’t move from their posts; they just eyed Thomas as he approached them. They were strong, very tall, and looked fierce. Their long hair was braided as well as their beards. Thomas stood away from the door unsure of what to say, or even if he had to say anything.

  “Don't worry about these two,” Ratatosk whispered. “They are here just to open the door. They won't fight you.”

  The two guards centered their gaze on Thomas. One of them smacked his lips.

  “Well, ask them!” Ratastosk shouted in Thomas’s ear.

  “Open!” Thomas shouted, then added, “please,” more softly.

  The guards opened the door for him, and the noise from inside became almost unbearable.

  It was a party. Viking style.

  Row after row of long, wooden tables filled the hall. Each table held at least twenty Vikings on each side. Some were singing and eating while others clanged their cups, which were incidentally made from human skulls. Others were fighting with axes on top of the tables while the onlookers cheered. There were a couple of Vikings who were completely passed out, and other Vikings were fighting with their knuckles. Chairs, skull glasses, and meat flew from one side of the hall to the other.

  “You can worry a little about these ones! You might have to fight some of these!” Ratatosk shouted over the ruckus. He pointed with his claw to a set of doors on the other side of the long hall. “These are the Halls of Valhalla, and the throne room is on the other side.”

  “What do you mean I might have to fight some of these...?” The doors behind Thomas closed loudly, and the entire hall stopped moving as the Vikings looked at the newcomers to the feast. Suddenly, he was the center of attention of an entire Viking army.

  The Vikings remained on their tables, and Thomas didn't know if he should run or walk or just try to talk his way out of it.

  “Raahen,” a Viking, who had been in a drunken stupor a moment ago, pointed at Thomas and tapped on his neighbor’s arm. “Raaaa...ven!” he said, trying to better articulate. Then he dropped from his stool.

  “Raven!” the other Viking repeated. “Raven, Raven. Raven…” Louder and louder, like a group of cheerleaders, the Vikings chanted as they joined and tapped on the tables with their fists and skull glasses.

  “I think they like you,” Ratatosk said, “or at least you amuse them. I suggest we go as fast as we can while they're happy.”

  Thomas didn't need a pinch from Ratatosk this time; he began to cross briskly through the center of the hallway toward the doors on the other side. The Vikings chant grew louder, and Thomas imagined that this might be what football players heard after winning the Superbowl.

  The door opened and the Vikings fell silent. He turned around, and all of them were looking at him, as if expecting something from him. Ratatosk slowly pinched his shoulder.

  Thomas couldn't think of anything, so he raised his fist and shouted.

  The Halls of Valhalla erupted in pandemonium as the Vikings joined in the shout. Thomas kept shouting as the doors slowly closed, muffling a little of the noise.

  “That wasn't so bad,” he told Ratatosk. He was actually exhilarated about the Halls and how the Vikings had received him.

  “Are you going to keep us waiting?” a burly voice called from behind him.

  Thomas turned around. He was in a circular atrium built with granite. The roof was made with heavy, wooden beams, and dragons’ heads and Viking motifs of battle scenes were carved on the walls. At least two dozen men and women were standing around the hall, the men dressed in metal armor and cloaks made of fur, and the women dressed in rich clothing and beautiful jewelry.

  “Well?” a man seated on the center throne asked. He was wearing a crowned helmet, and a leather patch covered one of his eyes.

  Ratatosk leaned in his ear, but Thomas spoke first. “I know,” he whispered to the squirrel. “That’s Odin.”

  The ancient magical creatures the Norsemen had called “Gods” stood before him.

  The Aesir

  Thomas slowly approached the center of the circular hall, unsure of what to do. All eyes were watching his every move. Many different smells reached him, from fresh-cut grass to the ozone smell just after a heavy rain, flowers, and also the smell of beer. He even got a whiff of rotting meat, but it dissipated quickly and was replaced by the smell of grilled fish and wine.

  He stopped once he had reached the center of the hall.

  Odin stood up from his throne. He was an imposing figure with a long, reddish beard streaked with white, and braided, long hair that almost reached his waist. He was wearing a full metal suit of armor polished to a shine over black leather. Unlike the Vikings Thomas had seen in the Halls of Valhalla, Odin was truly a sight that could inspire fear and admiration.

  Thomas tried to remain calm as the broad-shouldered Odin approached him.

  With a swift move Odin grabbed Thomas by the arms, pressing them against his torso, and effortlessly lifted him. He surveyed Thomas with a curious eye.

  “Husband...” the queen said from the throne.


  “I know, my wife. I noticed,” Odin said, running his gaze over Thomas's neck. He lifted him up higher and turned him on his side. Ratatosk had to scramble over Thomas’s head, digging his claws in Thomas’s shoulder in order not to fall. The other Aesir tilted their heads, following Thomas.

  “My Lord...” one of the Aesir said. He was the only male wearing an elegant tunic instead of a suit of armor. Odin silenced him with a stare. He then turned Thomas upside down, released him for a second, and caught him by the legs. Thomas reflexively braced for a fall, but his extended arms didn't even reach the floor.

  With a quick jerk, Odin turned Thomas upright again. Ratatosk had to dig his claws in deep or he would have been sent flying.

  Odin placed Thomas on the floor, and then turned his chin toward his throne. The Queen made the motion to say something, but Odin silenced her.

  “Not a word,” he said. “Not a single word!” he yelled at the other Aesir.

  “Tom!” a young girl cried out from behind him.

  When Thomas turned around, a beautiful, light-skinned girl hugged and kissed him on the cheek. She had brown eyes, and her long, dark hair was braided. Her tunic was green and she wore a pendant with a bejeweled mantis around her neck.

  Thomas didn't know how to react. The girl held him tightly until Odin separated them. “What did I just say?” he told her.

  “But...” the girl said, and Odin scolded her.

  “Not a word!” he said. “Especially from you!” For good measure, Odin looked at Thomas directly. “You also,” he told him. “Not a word.”

  The girl looked at Thomas desperately; Thomas gauged her age to be around fifteen or sixteen. She opened her mouth, and Odin lifted a finger. “Not one!” he told her again. “Now leave.”

  The girl seemed angry, ready to talk back, but Odin bit his lip and the girl held back her words as the room grumbled with the sounds of a brewing storm.

  “Leave!” Odin rumbled and the sound of thunder filled the hall. “All of you! Leave now!” He walked toward his throne.