by Rick Riordan
“Now, down to business,” Helgi said. “Loki has escaped, but we know where he is. Samirah al-Abbas…your next mission as Odin’s Valkyrie in charge of special operations will be to find your father and put him back in chains.”
Samirah lowered her head. She didn’t look surprised—more like she’d lost the final appeal for a death sentence she’d been fighting her entire life.
“Sir,” she said, “I will do as I’m ordered. But after what happened the last two times I faced my father, the ease with which he controlled me—”
“You can learn to fight it,” Alex interrupted. “I can help—”
“I’m not you, Alex! I can’t…” Sam gestured vaguely at her sister, as if to indicate all the things Alex was that Sam could never be.
Helgi brushed some food scraps out of his beard. “Samirah, I didn’t say it would be easy. But the ravens say you can do it. You must do it. And so you shall.”
Sam stared at the ball bearings bouncing back and forth. Click, click, click.
“This place where my father went…” she said. “Where is it?”
“The Eastern Shores,” Helgi said. “Just as the old stories say. Now that Loki is free, he has gone to the docks, where he hopes to complete construction of Naglfar.”
Hearthstone signed: The Ship of Nails. That is not good.
I felt cold…and seasick.
I remembered visiting that ship in a dream, standing on the deck of a Viking longboat the size of an aircraft carrier and made entirely from the toenails and fingernails of the dead. Loki had warned me that when Ragnarok began, he would sail the ship to Asgard, destroy the gods, steal their Pop-Tarts, and otherwise cause mass chaos.
“If Loki is free, is it already too late?” I asked. “Isn’t his unbinding one of the things that signals the beginning of Ragnarok?”
“Yes and no,” Helgi said.
I waited. “Am I supposed to pick one?”
“The unbinding of Loki does help start Ragnarok,” Helgi said. “But nothing says this escape is his last and final escape. It’s conceivable you could recapture him and put him back, thus postponing Doomsday.”
“Like we did with Fenris Wolf,” Blitz muttered. “That was a piece of cake.”
“Exactly.” Helgi nodded enthusiastically. “Cake.”
“I was being sarcastic,” Blitz said. “I suppose they don’t have sarcasm in Valhalla any more than they have decent barbers.”
Helgi reddened. “See here, dwarf—”
He was interrupted by a huge brown-and-orange shape slamming into his window.
Blitzen fell out of his chair. Alex leaped straight up and clung to the ceiling in the form of a sugar glider. Sam rose with her ax in hand, ready for battle. I valiantly took cover down in front of Helgi’s desk. Hearthstone just sat there, frowning at the giant squirrel.
Why? he signed.
“It’s all right, everyone,” Helgi assured us. “It’s just Ratatosk.”
The words just Ratatosk did not compute. I’d been chased through the World Tree by that monstrous rodent. I’d heard his soul-searing, scolding voice. It was never all right when he showed up.
“No, really,” Helgi insisted. “The window is soundproof and squirrel-proof. The beast just likes to stop by and taunt me sometimes.”
I peeked over the top of the desk. Ratatosk was barking and screeching, but only the faintest murmur came through the glass. He gnashed his teeth at us and pressed his cheek against the window.
The ravens didn’t seem bothered. They glanced over as if to say, Oh, it’s you, then went back to preening their feathers.
“How do you stand it?” Blitzen asked. “That—that thing is deadly!”
The squirrel puffed his mouth against the glass, showing us his teeth and gums, then licked the window.
“I’d rather know where he is than not,” Helgi said. “Sometimes I can tell what’s going on in the Nine Worlds just by observing the squirrel’s level of agitation.”
Judging from Ratatosk’s current state, I guessed some serious stuff was going down in the Nine Worlds. To alleviate our anxiety, Helgi rose, lowered the blinds, and sat back down.
“Where were we?” he said. “Ah, yes, cake and sarcasm.”
Alex dropped from the ceiling and returned to her regular form. She’d changed out of her wedding dress earlier and was back in her old diamond-pattern sweater-vest. She tugged at it casually as if to say, Yes, I totally meant to turn into a sugar glider.
Sam lowered her ax. “Helgi, about this mission…I wouldn’t know where to start. Where the ship is docked? The Eastern Shores could be on any world.”
The manager turned up his palms. “I don’t have those answers, Samirah, but Huginn and Muninn will brief you privately. Go with them to the high places of Valhalla. Let them show you thoughts and memories.”
To me, that sounded like some trippy vision quest with Darth Vader appearing in a foggy cave.
Sam didn’t look too happy about it, either. “But, Helgi—”
“There can be no debate,” the manager insisted. “Odin chose you. He has chosen this entire group because—” He paused abruptly and put a finger to his ear. I’d never realized Helgi wore an earpiece, but he was obviously listening to something.
He glanced up at us. “Apologies. Where was I? Ah, yes, all five of you were present when Loki escaped. Therefore, all five of you will have a part to play in recapturing the outlaw god.”
“We broke it, we bought it,” I muttered.
“Exactly!” Helgi grinned. “Now that that’s settled, you’ll have to excuse me. There’s been a massacre in the yoga studio, and they need clean mats.”
Daisies in the Shape of an Elf
AS SOON AS we left the office, the ravens led Sam up another staircase. She glanced back at us uneasily, but Helgi had been pretty clear that the rest of us weren’t invited.
Alex turned on her heel and marched off in the opposite direction.
“Hey,” I called. “Where—?”
She looked back, her eyes so angry I couldn’t finish my question.
“Later, Magnus,” she said. “I have to…” She made a strangling gesture with her hands. “Just later.”
That left me with Blitzen and Hearthstone, who were both swaying on their feet.
“You guys want to—?”
“Sleep,” Blitzen said. “Please. Immediately.”
I led them back to my room. The three of us camped in the grass in the middle of my atrium. It reminded me of the old days, sleeping in the Public Garden, but I’m not going to tell you I was nostalgic for being homeless. Homelessness is not something any sane person would ever be nostalgic about. Still, like I’ve said, it was a lot simpler than being an undead warrior who chased fugitive gods across the Nine Worlds and conducted serious conversations while a monstrous squirrel made faces at you in the window.
Hearthstone conked out first. He curled up, sighed gently, and went right to sleep. When he was still, despite his black clothes, he seemed to blend into the shadows of the grass. Maybe it was elf camouflage—a remnant of the time when they were one with nature.
Blitz wedged his back against a tree and stared at Hearth with concern.
“We’re going to Blitzen’s Best tomorrow,” he told me. “Reopen the shop. Spend a few weeks trying to regroup and get back to…whatever normal is. Before we have to go and find…” The prospect of taking on Loki again was so daunting he couldn’t even finish the thought.
I felt guilty that I hadn’t considered Hearthstone’s grief the past few days. I’d been too preoccupied with Thor’s stupid TV hammer.
“That’s a good idea,” I said. “Alfheim was rough for him.”
Blitz clasped his hands near where the Skofnung Sword had pierced him. “Yeah, I’m worried about Hearth’s unfinished business there.”
“I wish I’d been more help to him,” I said. “To both of you.”
“Nah, kid. Some kinds of help you have to do for yourself. Hearth…he’
s got a dad-shaped hole in his heart. You can’t do anything about that.”
“His dad will never be a nice guy.”
“No kidding. But Hearth has to come to terms with that. Sooner or later, he’ll have to go back and face him…get his inheritance rune back one way or another. When and how that will happen, though…” He shrugged helplessly.
I thought about my Uncle Randolph. How did you decide when someone was irretrievably lost—when they were so evil or toxic or just plain set in their ways that you had to face the fact they were never going to change? How long could you keep trying to save them, and when did you give up and grieve for them as though they were dead?
It was easy for me to advise Hearthstone on his father. The dude was way past horrible. But my own uncle, who had gotten me killed, stabbed my friend, and freed the god of evil…I still couldn’t quite bring myself to write him off.
Blitzen patted my hand. “Whatever happens, kid, we’ll be ready when you need us. We’ll see this through and get Loki back in chains, even if I have to make those chains myself.”
“Yours would be a lot more fashionable,” I said.
Blitz’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. Yeah, they would. And don’t feel guilty, kid. You did good.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. What had I accomplished? I felt like I’d spent the last six days scrambling around doing damage control, trying to keep my friends alive, trying to minimize the fallout from Loki’s plot.
I imagined what Samirah would say: That’s enough, Magnus. She’d probably point out that I’d helped Amir. I’d managed to heal Blitzen. I’d gotten Thor’s assault team into the giants’ lair to retrieve the hammer. I’d bowled a really mean game of doubles with my partner the African bush elephant.
Still…Loki was free. He’d hurt Sam. He’d crushed her confidence badly. And then there was that little thing about all the Nine Worlds now at risk of being thrown into chaos.
“I feel terrible, Blitz,” I admitted. “The more I train, the more powers I learn…It just seems like the problems get ten times bigger than what I can handle. Is that ever going to stop?”
Blitz didn’t answer. His chin rested on his chest. He was quietly snoring.
I put a blanket over him. I sat for a long time watching the stars through the tree branches and thinking about holes in people’s hearts.
I wondered what Loki was doing right now. If I were him, I would be planning the most massive revenge spree the Nine Worlds had ever seen. Maybe that’s why Vidar, the god of vengeance, had seemed so gentle and quiet. He knew it didn’t take much to start a chain reaction of violence and death. One insult. One theft. One severed chain. Thrym and Thrynga had nursed a grudge for generations. They’d been used by Loki not just once, but twice. And now they were dead.
I don’t remember falling asleep. When I woke the next morning, Blitz and Hearth were gone. A bed of daisies bloomed where Hearthstone had slept—maybe it was his way of saying good-bye, thank you, see you soon. I still felt depressed.
I showered and got dressed. Just brushing my teeth felt ridiculously normal after the last few days. I was about to head to breakfast when I noticed a note slipped under my door, in Samirah’s elegant cursive:
Some ideas. Thinking Cup? I’ll be there all morning.
I stepped into the hallway. I liked the idea of getting out of Valhalla for a little while. I wanted to talk to Sam. I wanted good mortal coffee. I wanted to sit in the sunshine and eat a poppy seed muffin and pretend that I wasn’t an einherji with a fugitive god to catch.
Then I looked across the hall.
First I needed to do one more difficult and dangerous thing. I needed to check on Alex Fierro.
Alex opened the door and greeted me with a cheerful “Get lost.”
Wet clay spackled Alex’s face and hands. I glanced inside and saw the project sitting on the potter’s wheel. “Dude…”
I stepped inside. For some reason, Alex let me.
All the shattered pottery had been cleaned up. The racks were filled with new pots and cups, just drying and still unglazed. On the wheel stood a huge vase, about three feet tall, shaped like a trophy.
I grinned. “For Sif?”
Alex shrugged. “Yeah. If it turns out okay.”
“Is this gift ironic, or serious?”
“You’re going to make me choose? I dunno. It just…felt right to do. At first I hated her. She reminded me of my stepmother, all fussy and uptight. But…maybe I should cut her some slack.”
Over on the bed lay the gold-and-white wedding dress, still spattered with blood, the hem caked in dust and spotted with acid stains. Nevertheless, Alex had smoothed it out very carefully, like it was something worth keeping.
“Ahem. Magnus, you had some reason to stop by?”
“Yeah…” I found it hard to concentrate. I stared at the rows of pots, all perfectly shaped. “You made all these last night?”
I picked one up.
Alex took it out of my hands. “No, you can’t touch it, Magnus. Thanks for asking, Magnus. Yes, most of these were last night. I couldn’t sleep. The pottery…it makes me feel better. Now you were about to say why you came over and then quickly get out of my hair?”
“I’m going to meet Sam in Boston. I thought—”
“That I’d want to come with? No, thanks. When Sam is ready to talk, she knows where to find me.”
Alex marched back to the wheel, picked up a scraper, and started smoothing the sides of the trophy cup.
“You’re angry with her.”
Alex kept scraping.
“That’s a pretty impressive vase,” I offered. “I don’t know how you can shape something that large without it falling apart. I tried to use a wheel in, like, fifth grade art class. The best I could manage was an off-center lump.”
“A self-portrait, then?”
“Ha, ha. Just saying I wish I could do something this cool.”
No immediate reply. Maybe because I hadn’t left much room for a witty insult.
Finally, Alex glanced up warily. “You heal people, Magnus. Your dad is actually a helpful god. You’ve got this whole…sunshiny, warm, friendly thing going on. That’s not enough cool stuff for you?”
“I’ve never been called sunshiny before.”
“Oh, please. You pretend like you’re all tough and sarcastic or whatever, but you’re a big softie. And to answer your question, yes, I’m mad at Sam. Unless she changes her attitude, I’m not sure I can teach her.”
“To…resist Loki.”
Alex picked up a lump of clay and squeezed it. “The secret is, you have to be comfortable changing. All the time. You have to make Loki’s power your power.”
“Like your tattoo.”
Alex shrugged. “Clay can be shaped and reshaped, over and over, but if it gets too dry, if it sets…then there’s only so much you can do with it. When it gets to that point, you’d better be sure it’s in the shape you want it to have forever.”
“You’re saying Sam can’t change.”
“I don’t know if she can, or even if she wants to. But I do know this: if she won’t let me teach her how I resist Loki, if she won’t at least try—then the next time we face him, we’re all dead.”
I took a shaky breath. “Okay, good pep talk. I guess I’ll see you at dinner tonight.”
When I got to the door, Alex said, “How did you know?”
I turned. “Know what?”
“When you walked in, you said dude. How did you know I was male?”
I thought about it. At first I wondered if it had just been a throwaway comment—a non-gender-specific dude. The more I considered, though, the more I realized I’d genuinely picked up on the fact that Alex was male. Or rather, Alex had been male. Now, after we’d been talking for a few minutes, she definitely seemed like a she. But how I’d sensed that, I had no idea.
“Just my perceptive nature, I guess.”
Alex snorted. “Right.”
“But you’re a girl now.”
/> She hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Interesting.”
“You can leave now.”
“Will you make me a trophy for my perceptiveness?”
She picked up a pottery shard and threw it at me.
I closed the door just as it shattered on the inside.
Let’s Try This Whole “Meeting for Coffee” Thing Again
JUDGING FROM the line of empty cups, Sam was on her third espresso.
The idea of approaching an armed Valkyrie with three espressos in her system was usually not advisable, but I walked up slowly and sat across from her. She didn’t look at me. Her attention was on the two raven feathers in front of her. It was a windy morning. Sam’s green hijab rippled around her face like waves on a beach, but the two raven feathers didn’t flutter.
“Hey,” she said.
It was a lot friendlier than get lost. Sam was so different from Alex, but there was something similar in their eyes—a sense of urgency churning just below the surface. It wasn’t easy thinking about Loki’s inheritance battling inside my two friends, trying to take control.
“You got feathers,” I noted.
She touched the one of the left. “A memory. And this one”—she tapped the right—“a thought. The ravens don’t really speak. They stare at you and let you stroke their plumage until the right feathers drop out.”
“So what do they mean?”
“This one, the memory…” Sam ran a finger down the barbs. “It’s ancestral. From my distant forefather, Ahmad Ibn Fadlan Ibn al-Abbas.”
“The guy who traveled among the Vikings.”
Sam nodded. “When I took the feather, I could see his journey like I was there. I learned a lot of things he never wrote about—things he didn’t think would go over well in the court of the caliph of Baghdad.”
“He saw Norse gods?” I guessed. “Valkyries? Giants?”
“And more. He also heard legends about the ship Naglfar. The place where it’s docked, the Eastern Shores, lies on the border between Jotunheim and Niflheim—the wildest, most remote part of either world. It’s completely inaccessible, locked in ice except for one day of the year—Midsummer.”
“So that’s when Loki will plan to set sail.”
“And that’s when we’ll have to be there to stop him.”
I craved an espresso, but my heart was racing so fast I doubted I needed one. “So what now? We just wait until summer?”
“It’s going to take time to find his location. And before we can leave, we’ll need to prepare, train, make sure we can beat him.”
I remembered what Alex had said: I’m not sure I can teach her.
“We’ll make it happen.” I tried to sound confident. “What did the second feather tell you?”
“That’s a thought,” Samirah said. “A plan to move forward. To reach the Eastern Shores, we’ll need to sail through the farthest branches of the World Tree, through the old Viking lands. That’s where giant magic is strongest, and where we’ll find the sea passage to Naglfar’s dock.”
“The old Viking lands.” My fingers tingled. I wasn’t sure whether it was with