by Sam Subity
“ ‘It’s time to start living again,’ he says.
“Of course, we’re sitting practically in front of the school’s front doors, so there are kids all around us. There’s ‘YMCA’ blasting into the schoolyard, and kids’ heads are turning to see what’s going on. I—”
My breath caught in my throat, leaving me unable to continue. In the background the steady beeping and whooshing noises filled the room.
After I didn’t say anything for a while, still lost in the memory, Gwynn finally prompted, “So what happened?”
I shrugged. “I took his hand. And that morning went down in Kleckner Elementary history as the day Angus Beckett led a dance party in the school parking lot. Because the strangest thing was, after the other kids stopped staring at us kicking our feet and spelling Y-M-C-A over our heads like a couple of lunatics, a few of them actually joined in. Then more. It was just like in one of those old musicals where everyone spontaneously drops everything and starts to dance.”
I looked back over my shoulder at Gwynn. “That was the first time I was able to shake off the darkness that had eaten at me since my mom’s death. I eventually crawled out of that pit. Because of my dad. But I guess that’s the kind of person he is. In spite of everything we’ve gone through, he’s always able to find the positive in any situation. It’s like some weird happy disease you get when you’re around him. If your cup is half-empty, then he’s got plenty to share from his own.”
Gwynn didn’t say anything for a while, then: “So what do you think he would do right now? If that was you lying there instead of him?”
I laughed a little, wiping away a tear. “Probably tell me to get my rear end out of bed already.”
Gwynn laughed too. “He sounds like a great dad. But you know what that story tells me?”
“What’s that?”
“That he wouldn’t give up.”
I nodded slowly. “Never.”
“And neither should you.” She looked at me earnestly. “Not while there’s any hope left. You can count on me to help you out.” She made a mock grimace and continued, “And Grimsby, I guess. For whatever that’s worth.”
I laughed through my tears. She was right, of course. There’s no way I was giving up. But as I looked up at the clock on the wall, each movement of its second hand matched the beating of my dad’s heart monitor as if counting down the final seconds of his life.
In a dream, I ran down a long tunnel that seemed to telescope out farther and farther as I ran. My dad called to me from one end: “This is what you trained for. You can do the YMCA.” From the other end, my mom’s voice floated to my ears: “My little Grendel hunter …” I was paralyzed, not knowing which way to go.
Then the scene shifted, and I stood in the middle of the knattleikr field. I was the last Aesir, and the stadium seats were filled with monstrous forms, snarling and taunting me. Among them, a single figure stood, towering over the rest and wearing a cloak that blazed as if made of flames. “Do you really think you can stop me? One little girl?” The fiery figure swept its arms forward, motioning for the horde to attack.
Just as they fell on me in a swarm, I jerked awake. Blinking my eyes, I sat up slowly and took in my dad’s unmoving form, his ghostly pale face nearly the same shade as the hospital pillow. No. Is he … ? I spun toward the heart monitor. Its display still showed a weak but steady peak-and-valley rhythm. He was still with me. My own heart gave an extra-hard thud of relief.
My little Grendel hunter. Again in the dream. Why was that bothering me? Some connection lingered on the edge of my consciousness, just out of reach.
The clock on the wall now read 2:11 a.m. I’d lost more than two hours. I couldn’t believe I’d fallen asleep studying the journal, desperately looking for a clue that I felt had to be there. A muscle in my back twinged painfully from sitting in one position too long. When I raised my arms over my head to stretch, I heard the whisper of something small falling to the floor. I frowned and looked down. Oh, right. The secret love note. It must have fallen out of my pocket.
As I scooped it up, my chest ached remembering the secret notes my mom and I had exchanged when I was little.
Abby is the bestest ever.
Psst … Daddy ate the last cookie.
Wait.
My little Grendel hunter.
Was that it? Was that the connection? The hidden drawer in her workbench had been stuffed full of notes, drawings …
Suddenly I sat up straighter. Hold on. The workbench she’d used here looked exactly like the one she’d had back home. Did that mean it also had the same secret drawer? Mom’s journal was missing from the workbench shelf here in Asgard. Could she have hidden it there? My thoughts sped through the events of the past few days, rapidly putting things together. Was it possible that her final words in the simulation were a secret message that only I would understand? Pointing me to the one thing that could both prove Grendels still existed and give me the final piece of the puzzle I needed to save my dad?
I quickly scooped the journal into my backpack and shot out the doors of the medical ward, startling a lone night nurse as I passed. Asgard’s halls lay silent and empty at that late hour. Only a handful of Vikings still monitored computers in the command center, their faces lit by the white glow of their screens like disembodied heads in the low light. They ignored me as I passed through.
Finally I arrived at the forge Gwynn had showed us on our first visit to Asgard. Now the moment of truth: the iris scanner. Would it let me in? I carefully stepped up to the silent scanner shaped like a dragon head and stared into its dark eyes. Come on. Come on. I realized too late that I hadn’t thought about what happened when it rejected someone. The sharp teeth looked wickedly sharp. Or maybe a blast of fire from …
The eyes blinked green. The door rumbled open.
Whew.
For a few seconds, I stood there on the threshold. The forge sprawled vast and quiet in front of me. Here and there thin tendrils of steam still curled toward the ceiling, out of sight amid the scattered orange glow of dying embers. My heart thudded in my ears. It felt like disembarking a spaceship onto some volcanic alien planet.
I forced myself to take a step forward. Then another. I startled as the door slid shut behind me. Which way had we gone? I swiveled my head left and right, trying to remember. Everything looked completely different in the dark. But I thought I recognized a display of throwing knives to the right and headed in that direction.
The forge appeared completely empty as I worked my way deeper into its core. So far I’d seen no one. I guess even Viking blacksmiths had to sleep sometimes. As I walked, metallic ticking noises and occasional shrieks of cooling metal surrounded me like hunting calls from strange and terrifying nocturnal creatures. I kept my feet moving forward, trying to stay focused on my mission.
After wandering for what felt like an hour, I started to notice familiar things. We’d passed that massive bellows, right? And there was the place where Grimsby’s backpack had caught on fire. I started to move faster. Then I turned a corner and Mom’s workbench lay in front of me, silent and dark. I stopped in front of it and spread my hands palms down on its rough wooden surface as if by doing so I could connect with her beyond the grave. By touching something she had touched … Wait a sec. A secret from beyond the grave … That was part of the clue from the world tree, right? Yes! This had to be it!
I shook my head. Focus. Sucking in a quick breath, I slipped my trembling hand under the carved wooden surface, relying on memory to probe with my fingertips for a hidden switch. Where was it? I could feel my last shred of hope hanging by the thinnest of threads. It had to be there. Otherwise I was toast. Out of …
Click.
I let out a long sigh of relief. The hidden compartment. I shot a look over my shoulder toward the forge, worried that even the small sound had echoed through the cavernous room. Stillness. Nothing. I allowed myself to breathe again.
I turned back toward the workbench. My fingers fumb
led excitedly for the drawer and I slid it out. Inside I felt a single object. Something smooth and metallic that I couldn’t identify. What? Already half knowing the effort was futile, I poked my fingertips into the back corners of the drawer. The journal simply wasn’t there. The brief rocket of success I’d been riding seemed to sputter. I lifted the metal object from the drawer, recognizing its contours in the dim light but not ready to give up hope yet without examining it more closely.
An arm lamp hung over the workbench. Should I risk turning it on? Another loud metallic shriek from the gloom sent an electric spark up my spine. “It’s just cooling metal,” I told myself quietly. “Stop letting your imagination freak you out.”
I swung the lamp lower and clicked it on, then studied the object that lay reflecting dully in the circle of yellow light. It was a simple metal spoon. And not even a particularly nice spoon, its plain handle mottled with the tarnish of age.
I turned it over in the light. This had to be some kind of mistake. But, then, why was it in the drawer? Was it possible that Mr. Lodbrok was right and she’d gone completely off the deep end? Spending her final days working on secret … kitchen utensils?
I heard a noise behind me and instinctively slipped the spoon into my back pocket as I spun around. Nothing. I was sure I’d heard something beyond the normal sounds of the forge this time.
“Hello?” I called in a loud whisper. “Is anybody there?” I waited five seconds, the faint echoes of my voice slowly fading. Ten seconds.
Suddenly a shape emerged from the darkness as if part of the shadows had separated and come to life.
“Eeeeeee!” I squeaked, my heart nearly stopping. Then I recognized the blacksmith Gwynn had introduced us to earlier. He still wore his welder’s mask over his face, which seemed a little weird. I mean, who walks around with a mask on all the time? There’s Darth Vader, and the psychopathic killer from Friday the 13th, and …
“Oh, sorry!” I said, exhaling a shaky breath. “I—I didn’t realize anyone else was down here. Kind of creepy at night and all. Not that you’re creepy. Nope, you’re all right. Totally. Did I mention my name was Abby? I don’t think Gwynn officially introduced us. I’m—” I casually slid one quaking hand over my mouth to cut off my nervous chatter.
Through my whole monologue, the giant blacksmith had stood regarding me silently. I could see myself reflected back in the black glass over his eyes, looking tiny and helpless like a trapped mouse.
When he still didn’t say anything, I shot my eyes toward the exit and said, “Okay, well, nice talking with you. I have to, um …”
As I started to step away from the workbench, I thought I heard him say something that sounded vaguely like “weapon.”
I stopped in midstep and tilted my head to the side. “Sorry, what was that?”
“Give me. The weapon.” Louder this time. His deep voice echoed eerily behind the welding mask.
Weapon? What was he talking about? Didn’t he make weapons for a living? I was silently kicking myself at this point for not picking up an ax or sword earlier. I spread my hands and glanced back at my mom’s workbench. “Sorry, I’m not sure what you’re …”
He gestured toward the open drawer, and suddenly I knew exactly what he meant. And I also had a very bad feeling about this.
“I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about,” I said, at the same time chastising myself for being such a terrible liar. Even I didn’t believe me. I started to slide away in what I thought was the direction of the door.
“My master will be pleased when Fenris delivers both you and weapon.”
I froze again. Fenris. I assumed he was referring to himself in the third person. Sort of like Tickle Me Elmo’s way less popular big brother—Murder You Fenris. In stores everywhere for $19.95. Stop it, I told myself as I felt my brain slipping into the jokey detachment that sometimes happened when I was scared out of my mind. I needed all my brain cells focused on getting out of here. Right now.
“My master will reward Fenris muchly,” said the hulking giant, cutting into my thoughts.
My master? Who was he talking about?
“You made Fenris fail first time,” he continued, and raised his hand to the bandage on his bulging bicep. “But will not fail second time.” He shifted his bulk so that he was blocking my direct path to the door.
I made him fail? At what? I’d only met him earlier for, like, two seconds. The bandage … Waaait a minute. The queasy feeling in my stomach went from bad to worse. Even as he raised his hand to the visor on his mask, I knew in my gut what was coming next. Still, I couldn’t tear my gaze away.
In slow motion, the visor lifted. A burst of orange flame from a nearby kiln erupted just then, illuminating a thick, bushy mustache, and above that, a smooth, eyeless visage. It was the giant with the motorcycle.
A scream caught in my throat as bile rose from my stomach, causing me to gag violently. As it turned out, that may have saved my life, because it distracted my brain long enough to return motor control to my arms and legs.
As the giant reached for me, I rolled onto the surface of the workbench, then vaulted over the back of it, praying I wouldn’t land in an open flame or on sharp instruments and become an Abby skewer. When I landed on smooth concrete, I blew out a breath I’d been holding for too long. I frantically spun my head from side to side, trying to decide on my best options. Should I try to get back to the command center or go farther into the forge? Fenris sort of had the route closed off back the way I’d come, so that only left one choice.
An enormous bellow sounded behind me, followed by a wrenching noise as Mom’s workbench started to lift off the floor. That was my cue. I sprinted recklessly into the depths of the forge, choking on the acrid smoke that seemed to fill every corner of the huge room. More loud crashes and the screech of rending metal followed me. I dodged and weaved deeper and deeper into the maze like a trapped rat, the noise seeming to gain ground no matter how fast I ran.
I quickly realized I was at a disadvantage. Not only did Fenris know his way through the forge, but he didn’t seem to be limited to my circuitous route. When something was in his way, he simply went through it. My current strategy was only going to end one way: with me getting a one-way ticket on the Valkyrie Express to Valhalla.
I needed a new plan. But first I needed to hide. Taking a hard left turn, I slid underneath a low water trough that I guessed was used to cool hot metal. I could have used some cool water right then, with the heat of the forge and running for my life leaving me sticky with sweat. The spoon pressed uncomfortably against me in the tight space. Why would this giant possibly want it? Whatever the reason, it wasn’t to help him lay into a bowl of Froot Loops. I had to keep it safe until I figured this out.
I scanned the immediate area for a weapon. Anything. Nearby, a tool handle protruded from the top of a waist-high open firepit. Was it an ax?
The noise of his earlier pursuit had gone quiet, and now an eerie silence again permeated the forge. With one hand, I gripped the back leg of the water trough and pulled myself farther into the shadows underneath it.
Then I waited. And waited. Where was he? Had I lost him? Maybe I should …
A gigantic pair of boots silently stepped into the open path next to my hiding place. I jerked reflexively, nearly banging my forehead on the underside of the trough. For a giant, he sure could move stealthily. I held my hand over my mouth to mask the sound of my ragged breathing. The boots paused there for what seemed like an eternity.
Don’t breathe. Don’t scream. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t.
At last he moved on.
I silently counted to ten, then slid into the gap between the trough and the brick firepit that stood next to it. I looked down. Okay, so it was a shovel, not an ax. But it would have to do. The heat of the coals resting in the pit felt almost intense enough to singe off my eyebrows. I turned away and waited, one hand resting on the shovel handle. Was he out of earshot? I turned back to the firepit and slowly … sile
ntly … began to slide the shovel out of the coals.
Then there came a barely audible noise behind me. Without even thinking, I spun. Saw that blank, horrifying face looming out of the darkness. Swung the shovel toward it, along with a scoop of glowing orange coals.
He roared in pain. Direct hit.
I wriggled the rest of the way out of my hiding spot and raced back the way I’d come, following his path of destruction to Mom’s now-overturned workbench, then working my way by memory to the entrance. The sound of Fenris’s screams grew fainter as I ran, but I didn’t bother to turn around until I shot out the doors into the cool of the hallway and heard them rumble closed behind me. As I collapsed on the floor with my lungs burning, a familiar stern face appeared above me.
It belonged to Professor Roth. The leader of the Grey Council.
Professor Roth’s eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. “Ms. Beckett. Whatever are you doing here? And at this hour?”
I scrambled to my feet. “I …” I looked toward the closed door to the forge and backed away, half expecting the giant to come crashing through it at any minute. “I couldn’t sleep. So I was just … I was looking for … Then he tried to kill—” I stopped, realizing I was probably looking and sounding deranged with my breathless speech, wild hair, and my arms and hands smeared with black soot.
Was Fenris a Grendel? No. At least, I didn’t think so. He was terrifying, but I hadn’t felt the same level of soul-crushing despair as I’d felt back in North Carolina. My master will be pleased … Was he working for a Grendel, then?
Professor Roth stared at me for a long moment, then slid her hand to a brooch on the lapel of her suit jacket and pressed it. Within about five seconds, two giant Viking guards came at a run from around a nearby corner.
