by Sam Subity
I shook my head and took off at a jog, splashing through the remaining water and up onto the beach. All around me, Vikings stormed onto the shore and into the village, yelling wildly and smashing in the doors of the simple dwellings as they set fire to their thatched roofs. The acrid smell of smoke preceded the heat of flames, which seared my face as a roof nearby exploded into a fireball. I was relieved to notice that all the villagers seemed to have escaped behind the castle walls by this point.
As weird as it seemed, I was actually starting to get into the whole scene. Or at least the adrenaline rush was switching over from “Run for your life!” to “How sweet is this?!” After all, the holograms I’d seen earlier were pretty impressive. This had to be another of them. There was no other explanation that made sense. It was like dropping into the world’s most realistic video game. So I shoved aside the little part of my brain that still screamed danger and instead, with a barbaric yell of my own, joined a band of raiders heading for the castle.
As we neared the open field surrounding the fortified walls, a row of defenders armed with pitchforks, shovels, and rusted plow blades stepped forward to block our way. They clustered tightly together and raised a mismatched collection of iron pot lids and wagon wheels like shields to form a human barricade. The invading Vikings formed their own tight phalanx, raising their shields into a battering ram. I found to my surprise that I was wearing a shield on one arm, so I raised it too and ran ahead at full speed.
With a mighty crash, we smashed into the defenders. For a few moments their line held. I pushed with all my strength, close enough to smell the rancid breath of my opponent on the other side and be sprayed by spit from his labored breathing. Then their line broke, and we plunged into chaos as Vikings and defenders clashed in hand-to-hand combat on all sides.
Stinky Breath Guy, thin, red-faced, and in a dented helmet that resembled an overturned cooking pot, charged at me with pitchfork raised. I lifted my sword just in time to block his blow. The loud clang of metal on metal reverberated through my arm so badly that I almost dropped my weapon. Then a burly Norseman slammed into him from the side, and with a grunt both of them went down.
Nearby someone shouted, “To me! To me! Take the castle!”
My eyes searched the melee for the source of the cry. A tall Viking with long flaming-red hair stood atop an overturned wagon, waving an ax in the air. A woman. She seemed to be the leader, because the others swarmed to her call. I leapt over the struggling men at my feet and ran after the tall Viking as she jumped down from the wagon and sprinted toward the castle. We rushed up a small rise to a stone bridge that ended at the castle gate. The defenders hadn’t had a chance to fully close the gate yet. To give the men inside more time, a fresh group of soldiers swarmed out from behind the wall.
The tall red-haired Viking turned directly toward me. “Take my back!”
Suddenly I couldn’t move.
I recognized the Viking queen. It was my mom.
The battle around me seemed to go into slow motion, the sound of the clashing weapons quieting to a murmur. How … how was she here?
Years of emotion welled up in my chest. Feelings I hadn’t realized I still had until now. I’d always told myself that I was okay. That I’d gotten past the pain of losing her. But now I realized the truth: Her death was still a hot, painful wound that remained open even after all these years.
The ring of steel nearby snapped me back to the present. I ducked just in time to avoid a sword aimed right at my head. I felt a small sting as the whoosh of metal narrowly missed making me permanently a foot shorter. I reached up to touch my ear, and my hand came back bloody.
But instead of fear, I only felt anger. Anger rising in me like a searing flame. I charged into the defender with a roar and catapulted him over the side of the bridge. He fell into the moat below with a yelp and a splash.
My mom glanced over her shoulder at me appraisingly and grinned. I was fired up now. I pressed my back to hers, and we fought through the throng back-to-back. The solidness of her shoulders and the muscles in her torso as she swung her battle-ax in great arcs made me feel invincible. I stabbed and swung my sword in a frenzy, warding off defenders with a fury I hadn’t known I possessed as we battled our way toward the castle gate.
In a few short minutes, we were on the verge of breaching the gate. I was on a high that said no wall or gate could stop us now. Then, out of nowhere, tiny white gaps began to appear and grow in the scene around me, like I was looking at a tapestry being eaten by a thousand moths. With a gasp, I spun around in time to see my mom’s form slowly dissolving into the blank whiteness.
Her hand reached toward me, and for a second it seemed that her eyes focused on mine. “My little Grendel hunter …” she breathed, then faded into nothing.
“Mom! No!” I screamed as I reached for her. But she was gone.
I was back in the training gym. Alone. I fell to my knees and let my sword clatter to the floor. As high as I’d been seconds ago, I felt that low now. Crushed. A combination of sweat and tears streamed down my face. It had been the most alive I’d ever felt, fighting back-to-back with my mom.
And now she was gone. Again.
Somewhere off to one side, I heard a door open and the sound of running feet.
“Abby!” someone yelled. Footsteps sprinted toward me. “Oh no! You’re hurt!” It was Gwynn. She gasped, evidently having spotted my bloody ear.
Without raising my head, I said in a rough voice, “It’s just a nick. I’ll be fine.”
She knelt and tentatively touched my ear. “You’re lucky that’s all it is. The simulation was set to ‘berserker.’ That’s basically Viking for ‘insane.’ No one has ever tried that level. It’s amazing you even survived.”
“So it wasn’t real after all?” I still clung to the image of my mom even though I knew it was just that. An image. “But I could smell the ocean. Feel the”—I winced as I lifted my sore arm—“the defenders pounding on me. How is that possible?”
“We call it VIC.” She pronounced it with a long “i” like “bike.” “Short for Virtual Immersion Chamber. And yeah, it’s very realistic. That was your mom’s goal.”
I jerked my head up, searching her eyes for a minute before I made the connection. “You mean she … she built this?” I choked on the words, then stared at the floor again and put my hands over my face. “I saw her … in there.”
Gwynn placed a hand on my shoulder. “I know. Yes, she came up with the idea for this training simulator. She programmed many of the simulations using actual warriors as models for realistic human movement, like they do in movies and video games. She was a brilliant scientist.”
I bristled a little at the word “was,” even though I knew Gwynn didn’t mean anything by it. “How did I … I mean, what happened just now? If this VIC thing is so deadly, shouldn’t there be some sort of password or something? Or at least a sign on the door? ‘Warning: Potential death or dismemberment’ or something like that?”
“There are … or were, at least.” She looked back the way I’d come in. “That door is never left unlocked. How did you even get in here?”
I suddenly remembered the reason I’d come into the room in the first place. I gripped her hand. “Mr. Lodbrok! I have to tell you …” I trailed off, glancing around the room for any sign of him. But my least favorite member of the Grey Council was nowhere in sight. Had he lured me in here to finish the job he’d failed to do with the sea monster? Could he be somewhere listening right now? I decided I couldn’t risk letting him know I’d overheard him.
I looked back at Gwynn. “I’ll have to tell you later. Anyway, how’d you find me?”
Gwynn shrugged. “The whole Valkyrie thing, remember? Sensing people in danger? And just in time too,” she teased, punching me in the shoulder. “Before you …” She drew her finger across her throat.
“What do you mean?” I protested. “We were just about to take the castle!”
“What you missed, hero,
was the giant vat of boiling tar the defenders were just about to pour on your little raiding party. I hear it’s a natural remedy for all sorts of things. Warts … toe fungus … living.”
I went wide-eyed and shuddered at the thought. “I do like hot showers, but that’s a little extreme.” Then I remembered. “ ‘My little Grendel hunter …’ ”
Gwynn frowned. “Sorry?”
“In the simulation. Right before my mom disappeared. That’s what she said. ‘My little Grendel hunter.’ There was a split second there when I was sure she recognized me. Like she was talking right to me. I mean, that’s what she used to call me. It was … weird.”
We sat in silence for a few seconds while Gwynn bandaged my ear, then I finally shrugged and looked at her. “It’s not the first weird feeling I’ve had since I got here. To Vale, I mean. To grow up a Viking myself and have no idea any of this even existed. All this stuff I never knew about my mom, I guess because she died when I was still so young, and I never asked my dad because it’s still hard for him to talk about her. My head literally hasn’t stopped …” I trailed off and narrowed my eyes. There was something off about Gwynn’s expression. “Speaking of weird feelings, I’m picking up one from you now. Is something wrong?”
My back pocket buzzed. I slid my phone out. Four missed calls. Several new text messages. My stomach gave a little lurch.
Gwynn studied my injured ear and fiddled with the bandages. “Are you sure you’re okay? Maybe we should have you—”
“Gwynn.” I grabbed her wrist. “I’m fine. What is it? What happened?”
She sighed. “We need to go to Asgard’s medical clinic.”
“But I told you. I think I’m okay.”
“No, it’s not that.” I could tell she was trying to find the right words. The way she averted her eyes seemed anything but good. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. There’s been some news. About your dad. Something’s … wrong.”
We burst through a pair of doors in Asgard’s medical wing labeled “ICU.” Unlike “VIC,” this abbreviation I knew all too well: intensive care unit. The place people go when they’re in serious trouble.
“Wait, why are we here?” I said. “I thought we were going to visit my dad. You know, in the hospital?”
Gwynn bit her lip as she looked back over her shoulder at me. “He was moved here an hour ago. I guess the facilities are—”
My gasp cut her off. Through a window, I’d spotted my dad’s still form lying on a bed among a coil of wires trailing from machines.
I ran to his side. Staring down into his pale face, my eyes blurred with tears. In just the space of time since I’d last seen him at breakfast, his features had shockingly thinned. His cheekbones jutted sharply against his skin like poles holding up a collapsed tent.
“What …” The words caught in my throat. “What happened?”
Gwynn met my gaze across the bed, sympathy filling her eyes.
I reached for his motionless fingers but paused with my hand in the air. “Is it okay? Holding his hand won’t hurt him?”
“Of course not,” said a voice behind me. I turned and saw Dr. Swenson sweep into the room. “I’m so glad Gwynn was able to find you, Abby. When your father’s condition worsened, we knew we had to move him to Asgard to monitor his condition more closely. As you can probably see, the facilities down here are even better than those of the public hospital.”
“What happened?” I repeated. “Just this morning he looked fine. Or, well, at least way better than this.”
The doctor shook her head. “As you know, we’ve had a team hard at work researching the svefnthorn. From the scant historical evidence we have to work with, we estimated that the sting of one thorn alone is fairly, let’s say, inconvenient at most. Its effects might be something similar to, for example, a high-dose sleeping pill.”
“But?” I said, hearing a hesitation in her voice.
She nodded and turned to look down at my dad. “But as I mentioned, your attacker was seemingly firing clusters of these thorns at you. Your father was hit by at least a dozen of them. That many at one time will …” She paused, searching for the right words.
“Will what?” I asked, fighting back a darkness creeping into my mind. “Just say it. I can handle it.”
“Will cause his heart to slow.” She gave me a sympathetic look. “Until it completely stops.”
My head swam, and the room dimmed around me. Dr. Swenson and Gwynn grabbed my arms and guided me to a nearby chair. I suddenly wished I could take back the words “I can handle it.” I couldn’t handle this at all. Fresh from just losing my mom again, the thought of losing my dad now was too much.
“I’m afraid, as we’re seeing in your father’s case,” continued Dr. Swenson, “without prompt treatment there comes a tipping point where the venom’s effects accelerate precipitously. And with no known cure—”
“Hold on,” Gwynn cut in. “We may know one. A cure, I mean. Sort of. At least we think it … We just have to … find it first.” She seemed almost too flustered to put the words together. “Abby, do you have the journal?”
I shrugged off my backpack and slid out the small book, flipping it open to the bookmarked page before handing it to Dr. Swenson. “It’s right here. An old botanist’s journal that we think talks about growing the svefnthorn somewhere on Vale’s campus.”
Dr. Swenson studied the page. “Well,” she said without looking up, “this would certainly speed up our efforts at deriving a cure if we could extract some of the nectar from the plant itself. Assuming it works as the entry here suggests. We’re at best still several weeks away from manufacturing an antivenom on our own.”
I clung to her words like they were the last lifeline keeping me from drowning in a cold black ocean.
She closed the book and handed it back to me. “If you can tell me where the plant is, I can have someone take a sample right away.” She lifted the receiver from a red hospital phone on the wall and looked at us expectantly. Then, seeing our faces, she put it back in its cradle. “What’s wrong?”
I looked at Gwynn, then back at the doctor. “That’s … the problem. We haven’t exactly found the plant yet. We aren’t even sure if it still exists.” I could almost feel the brief swell of excitement in the room crash and fade away like a wave from the shore.
“Oh,” said Dr. Swenson. “I see.”
Gwynn, trying bravely to sound hopeful, said, “But we will. We just need some time and I’m sure we’ll find it.”
Dr. Swenson folded her hands in front of her, then looked down at my dad. “You’ll need to hurry. From my estimates, your father only has at best—”
Just then a paging system pinged on and a voice overhead talked over the doctor as it called her to another area of the clinic. But I thought I heard her say “four to eight.” Weeks? I guessed.
My desperate brain immediately switched into problem-solving mode. “Okay, that’s …” I paused and calculated in my head. “At least twenty-eight days. Maybe more. We can find it by then, right? Even if we have to turn Vale upside down.”
“My apologies,” Dr. Swenson said grimly. “I believe I was drowned out by the paging system. What I said was forty-eight hours. And that’s a best-case scenario. Based on your father’s current rate of decline, I would estimate that if we aren’t able to administer some sort of countermeasure by”—she looked down at her watch—“perhaps midnight tomorrow, then I fear it will be too late.”
With that, the lifeline snapped, and I was tumbling into the dark waters. Falling. Sinking. “What?!” I gasped. “That’s all?”
“I’m very sorry,” said Dr. Swenson, “but I have to go attend to another matter at the moment. I promise you, we’re doing everything we can to save your father. If you’d like to stay, I’ll return as quickly as possible so that we can discuss this more.” She encircled my free hand with her own and squeezed. “The important thing is not to give up hope. Not yet. Our best chance is if you can find the svefnthorn. A
nd quickly.”
As she turned and rushed out the door, Grimsby’s words from my first day at Vale came back to me: Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. I hadn’t known then how fitting it would be. I slumped farther into my chair and stared helplessly at my dad.
“How are we supposed to find it by midnight tomorrow?” I said to Gwynn, tears brimming in my eyes.
She pointed to the journal. “We found the second rune already. That means we’re just one step away.”
I waved my hand in frustration. “At least we had some idea what we were looking for then. But the last rune … Death? What’s that supposed to mean? How do you find death?”
I squeezed my eyes closed and felt hot tears slide down my cheeks. Then I felt Gwynn’s hand on my shoulder. For a few minutes, we stayed like that without speaking, the only sounds the white noise of activity in the ICU outside the room punctuated by the regular beeping of my dad’s heart monitor beside us.
Finally I broke the silence. “I failed him.”
Gwynn squeezed my shoulder. “No. You didn’t. This isn’t your fault.”
“Maybe not completely,” I said. “But I can’t help but think that after he basically threw away his life to make sure I had one, what happens? The first time he really needs me, I freeze up. Act like a scared little kid. And now he’s dying.”
Gwynn didn’t say anything, as if she sensed there was more I needed to get out.
“After my mom died, it was just Dad and me against the world. I remember this one time when he pulled up to drop me off at school. It was a drizzly gray morning.” I nodded slowly, remembering it like it was yesterday. “She’d been gone for more than a year. But I was still in a dark place and getting worse, somehow not able to get past it and move on. Angry at the world, you know?
“Anyway, on the radio the intro to ‘YMCA’ starts playing. And Dad loves his oldies. But this one? It’s one of his favorites. He stares at the radio for a minute like he’s thinking, then suddenly he cranks up the volume and throws his car door open. I slide down farther into my seat as he comes around to my side, opens the door, and reaches out a hand toward me. And I have no idea what he has in mind, so I just say, ‘What?’
