The Ship of the Dead

by Rick Riordan

  landscape. She was ten feet tall, dressed in white and gray furs, her brown eyes cold and angry, her dark hair braided in multiple strands like a cat-o’-nine-tails whip.

  “Who dares rock-shape my front door?” she asked.

  Blitz gulped. “Uh, I—”

  “Why should I not kill you all?” the giantess demanded. “Or perhaps, since you look half-dead already, I’ll just close my door and let you freeze!”

  “W-wait!” I croaked. “Sk-skadi…You’re Skadi, right?”

  Gods of Asgard, I thought, please let this be Skadi and not some random giantess named Gertrude the Unfriendly.

  “I—I’m M-magnus Chase,” I continued. “Njord is my grandfather. H-he sent me to f-find you.”

  A variety of emotions rippled across Skadi’s face: irritation, resentment, and maybe just a hint of curiosity.

  “All right, frozen boy,” she growled. “That gets you in the door. Once you’ve all thawed out and explained yourselves, I’ll decide whether or not to use you for archery targets.”

  I DIDN’T WANT to let go of Alex. Or maybe I just physically couldn’t.

  Two of Skadi’s jotun servants literally had to pull us apart. One of them carried me up a winding set of stairs into the fortress, my body still hunched in hobbling-old-man position.

  Compared to outside, Skadi’s hall felt like a sauna, though the thermostat probably wasn’t set much higher than freezing. I was carried through high stone corridors with vaulted ceilings that reminded me of the big old churches in Back Bay (great places to warm up in when you’re homeless in winter). Occasionally a booming sound echoed through the fortress, like someone was shooting cannons in the distance. Skadi barked orders to her servants, and we were all taken to separate rooms to get cleaned up.

  A jotun manservant (giantservant?) lowered me into a bath so hot I hit a high note I hadn’t been able to sing since fourth grade. While I soaked, he gave me something to drink—a vile herbal concoction that burned my throat and made my fingers and toes spasm. He hauled me out of the bath, and by the time he got me dressed in a white wool tunic and breeches, I had to admit I felt almost okay again, even with Jack now hanging back on my neck chain as a runestone. The color of my toes and fingers had returned to pink. I could feel my face. My nose had not fallen off from frostbite, and my lips were right where Alex had left them.

  “You’ll live,” the jotun grumbled, like this was a personal failure on his part. He gave me comfortable fur shoes and a thick warm cloak, then led me out to the main hall, where my friends were waiting.

  The hall was standard Viking for the most part: a rough-hewn stone floor covered with straw, a ceiling made from spears and shields, three tables in a U shape around a central fire, though Skadi’s flames burned white and blue and seemed to give off no heat.

  Along one side of the hall, a row of cathedral-size windows opened onto a blizzard-blurred vista. I saw no glass in the windows, but the wind and snow didn’t trespass inside.

  At the center table, Skadi sat on a throne carved from yew wood and overlaid with furs. Her servants bustled around, putting out platters of fresh bread and roasted meat, along with steaming mugs that smelled like…hot chocolate? Suddenly I liked Skadi a lot more.

  My friends were all dressed like me, in white wool, so we looked like a secret society of very clean monks—the Fellowship of the Bleach. I’ll admit I scanned for Alex first, hoping to sit next to her, but she was on the far bench, wedged between Mallory and Halfborn with T.J. at the end.

  Alex caught me. She mimicked my gawping face like What are you looking at?

  So, it was back to normal, then. One life-and-death kiss, and we returned to our regularly scheduled snark. Great.

  I sat next to Blitzen, Hearthstone, and Sam, which was just fine.

  We all dug into our dinner, except for Sam. She hadn’t bathed—since that was also against Ramadan rules—but she’d changed clothes. Her hijab had shifted color to match her white outfit. Somehow, she managed not to stare longingly at everyone else’s food, which convinced me beyond a doubt that she had superhuman endurance.

  Skadi lounged on her throne, her cat-o’-nine-tails hair draped over her shoulders, her fur cloak making her look even larger than she was. She spun an arrow on top of her knee. Behind her, the wall was lined with racks of equipment: skis, bows, quivers of arrows. I guessed she was a fan of cross-country archery.

  “Welcome, travelers,” said our host, “to Thrymheimr—in your language, Thunder Home.”

  As if on cue, a rumble shook the room—the same boom I’d heard when deeper in the fortress. Now I knew what it was: snow thunder. You heard it in Boston sometimes when a snowstorm mixed with a thunderstorm. It sounded like firecrackers going off inside a cotton pillow, if you magnified that sound by a million.

  “Thunder Home.” Halfborn nodded gravely. “A good name, considering, you know, the constant—”

  Thunder boomed again, rattling the plates on the table.

  Mallory leaned over to Alex. “I can’t reach Gunderson. Hit him for me, will you?”

  Despite the huge size of the hall, the acoustics were perfect. I could hear every whisper. I wondered if Skadi had designed the place with that in mind.

  The giantess wasn’t eating from the plate in front of her. Best-case scenario: she was fasting for Ramadan. Worst-case scenario: she was waiting until we were sufficiently fattened up so she could enjoy us as her main course.

  She tapped her arrow on her knee while studying me intently.

  “So, you’re one of Njord’s, eh?” she mused. “Child of Frey, I suppose.”

  “Yes, uh, ma’am.” I wasn’t sure if Lady or Miss or Huge Scary Person was the appropriate title, but Skadi didn’t kill me, so I figured I hadn’t offended her. Yet.

  “I can see the resemblance.” She wrinkled her nose, as if the similarity was not a point in my favor. “Njord wasn’t the worst husband. He was kind. He had beautiful feet.”

  “Outstanding feet,” Blitz agreed, wagging a pork rib for emphasis.

  “But we just couldn’t get along,” Skadi continued. “Irreconcilable differences. He didn’t like my hall. Can you believe it?”

  Hearthstone signed, You have a beautiful hall.

  The gesture for beautiful was circling your hand in front of your face, then spreading your fingertips apart like poof! The first few times I saw it, I thought Hearth was saying This thing makes my face explode.

  “Thank you, elf,” said Skadi (because all the best jotuns understand ASL). “Certainly, Thunder Home is better than Njord’s seaside palace. All those gulls constantly screeching—I couldn’t stand the noise!”

  Snow thunder shook the room again.

  “Yes,” Alex said, “no peace and quiet, like here.”

  “Exactly,” said Skadi. “My father built this fortress, may his soul rest with Ymir, the first giant. Now Thrymheimr is mine, and I don’t intend to leave it. I’ve had my fill of the Aesir!” She leaned forward, still holding that wicked barbed arrow. “Now tell me, Magnus Chase, why did Njord send you to me? Please tell me he doesn’t still harbor illusions about us getting back together.”

  Why me? I thought.

  Skadi seemed okay. I’d met enough giants to know they weren’t all bad, any more than all gods were good. But if Skadi was done with the Aesir, I wasn’t sure she’d welcome us going after Loki, who was, of course, the Aesir’s main enemy. I definitely didn’t want to tell her that my grandfather, the god of seaside pedicures, still pined for her.

  On the other hand, some gut instinct told me Skadi would see through any lies or omissions as easily as she heard every whisper in this hall. Thrymheimr was not a place for hiding secrets.

  “Njord wanted me to see how you felt about him,” I admitted.

  She sighed. “I don’t believe this. He didn’t send you with flowers, did he? I told him to stop it with the bouquets.”

  “No flowers,” I promised, suddenly sympathizing with all the innocent Niflheim del
ivery people she had probably shot dead. “And Njord’s feelings aren’t the main reason we’re here. We’ve come to stop Loki.”

  The servants all stopped what they were doing. They glanced at me, then at their mistress, as if thinking Well, this should be interesting. My friends watched me with expressions that ranged from You got this! (Blitzen) to Please don’t screw up as much as usual (Alex).

  Skadi’s dark eyes glittered. “Go on.”

  “Loki is getting his ship Naglfar ready to sail,” I said. “We’re here to stop him, recapture him, and bring him back to the Aesir so we’d don’t have to fight Ragnarok, like, tomorrow.”

  Another peal of thunder shook the mountain.

  The giantess’s face was impossible to read. I imagined her sending her arrow across the room and embedding it in my chest like a mistletoe dart.

  Instead, she threw back her head and laughed. “Is that why you’re carrying Kvasir’s Mead? You intend to challenge Loki to a flyting?”

  I gulped. “Uh…yeah. How do you know we have Kvasir’s Mead?”

  My second, unspoken, question was: And are you going to take it away from us?

  The giantess leaned forward. “I am fully aware of everything that happens in my hall, Magnus Chase, and everyone who passes through it. I have taken inventory of your weapons, your supplies, your powers, your scars.” She scanned the room, her eyes resting on each of us—not with sympathy, more like she was picking targets. “I also would have known if you’d lied to me. Be glad you did not. So, tell me: Why should I let you continue your quest? Persuade me not to kill you.”

  Halfborn Gunderson wiped his beard. “Well, for one thing, Lady Skadi, killing us would be a lot of trouble. If you know our abilities, you know we’re excellent fighters. We’d give you quite a challenge—”

  An arrow thudded into the table an inch from Halfborn’s hand. I didn’t even see how it happened. I looked back at Skadi—she suddenly had a bow in her hand, a second arrow already nocked and ready to fly.

  Halfborn didn’t flinch. He set down his hot chocolate and belched. “Lucky shot.”

  “Ha!” Skadi lowered her bow, and my heart started pumping blood again. “So you have bravery. Or foolhardiness, at least. What else can you tell me?”

  “That we’re no friends of Loki’s,” Samirah volunteered. “And neither are you.”

  Skadi raised an eyebrow. “What makes you say so?”

  “If you were a friend of Loki’s, we would already be dead.” Sam gestured toward the windows. “The Harbor of Naglfar is close, isn’t it? I can sense my father nearby. You don’t like Loki gathering his army right on your doorstep. Let us continue our quest, and we can take my father off the board.”

  Alex nodded. “Yes, we can.”

  “Interesting,” Skadi mused. “Two children of Loki sit at my dinner table, and you both seem to hate Loki even more than I do. Ragnarok makes strange allies.”

  T.J. clapped once, so loudly we all flinched (except for Hearth). “I knew it!” He grinned and pointed at Skadi. “I knew this lady had good taste. Hot chocolate this tasty? A hall this awesome? And her servants don’t wear thrall collars!”

  Skadi curled her lip. “No, einherji. I detest the keeping of slaves.”

  “See?” T.J. gave Halfborn a told-you-so look. More thunder rattled the plates and cups, as if agreeing with T.J. The berserker just rolled his eyes.

  “I knew this lady hated Loki,” T.J. summed up. “She’s a natural Union supporter!”

  The giantess frowned. “I am not sure what that means, my very enthusiastic guest, but you are right: I am no friend of Loki’s. There was a time when he didn’t seem so bad. He could make me laugh. He was charming. Then, during the flyting in Aegir’s hall…Loki insinuated that—that he had shared my bed.”

  Skadi shuddered at the memory. “In front of all the other gods, he slighted my honor. He said horrible things. And so, when the gods bound him in that cave, I was the one who found the serpent and set it over Loki’s head.” She smiled coldly. “The Aesir and Vanir were satisfied just to bind him for eternity, but that wasn’t enough for me. I wanted him to experience the drip, drip, drip of poison in his face for the rest of time, just the way his words had made me feel.”

  I decided I would not be slighting Skadi’s honor anytime soon.

  “Well, ma’am…” Blitz tugged at his wool tunic. He was the only one of us who didn’t look comfortable in his new threads, probably because the outfit did not allow him to wear an ascot. “Sounds like you gave the villain just what he deserved. Will you help us, then?”

  Skadi set her bow across the table. “Let me understand this: you, Magnus Chase, plan to defeat Loki, the silver-tongued master of insults, in a verbal duel.”

  “Right.”

  She looked like she was waiting for me to wax poetic about my prowess with verbs and adjectives and whatnot. Honestly, that one-word answer was all I could manage.

  “Well, then,” Skadi said, “it’s a very good thing you have Kvasir’s Mead.”

  My friends all nodded. Thanks a lot, friends.

  “You were also wise not to drink it yet,” Skadi continued. “You have such a small amount, there is no telling how long its effect will last. You should drink it in the morning, just before you leave. That should allow enough time for the mead to take effect before you face Loki.”

  “Then you know where he is?” I asked. “He’s that close?”

  I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or petrified.

  Skadi nodded. “Beyond my mountain there lies a frozen bay where Naglfar sits at her moorings. In giant terms, it is only a few good strides away.”

  “What is that in human terms?” asked Mallory.

  “It won’t matter,” Skadi assured her. “I will give you skis to speed you on your way.”

  Hearth signed, Skis?

  “I’m not so good on skis,” Blitz muttered.

  Skadi smiled. “Fear not, Blitzen, son of Freya. My skis will look good on you. You will have to reach the ship before midday tomorrow. By then, the ice blocking the bay will be sufficiently melted for Loki to sail into open waters. If that happens, nothing will be able to stop Ragnarok.”

  I met Mallory’s eyes across the hearth fire. Her mom, Frigg, had been right. By the time we set foot on Naglfar, if we reached it, forty-eight hours would have passed since Fläm.

  “If you manage to board the ship,” Skadi said, “you will somehow have to make your way through legions of giants and undead. They will, of course, try to kill you. But if you succeed in getting face-to-face with Loki and issuing your challenge, he will be honor-bound to accept. The fighting will stop long enough for the flyting.”

  “So,” Alex said, “it’ll be cake, then.”

  Skadi’s cat-o’-nine-tails hair slithered across her shoulders as she regarded Alex. “You have an interesting definition of cake. Assuming Magnus somehow defeats Loki in a flyting, and weakens him enough to capture…how will you imprison him?”

  “Um,” Mallory said. “We have a walnut shell.”

  Skadi nodded. “That is good. A walnut shell might do it.”

  “So, if I defeat Loki in the flyting,” I said, “and we do the walnut shell, et cetera…then we shake hands with Loki’s crew, everybody says ‘good game,’ and they let us go, right?”

  Skadi snorted. “Hardly. The cease-fire will end as soon as the contest is over. Then, one way or another, the crew will kill you.”

  “Well, then,” Halfborn said. “Why don’t you come with us, Skadi? We could use an archer in our group.”

  Skadi laughed. “This one amuses me.”

  “Yeah, that feeling wears off quickly,” Mallory muttered.

  The giantess rose. “Tonight you will stay in my hall, little mortals. You can sleep peacefully knowing that there is nothing to fear in Thunder Home. But in the morning”—she pointed to the white abyss beyond her windows—“out you go. The last thing I want is to get Njord’s hopes up by pampering his grandson.” />
  DESPITE SKADI’S PROMISE, I didn’t sleep peacefully.

  The coldness of the chamber and the constant booming didn’t help. Nor did the knowledge that in the morning Skadi was apparently going to fit us with skis and throw us out a window.

  Also, I kept thinking about Alex Fierro. You know, maybe just a little. Alex was a force of nature, like the snow thunder. She struck when she felt like it, depending on temperature differentials and storm patterns I couldn’t possibly predict. She shook my foundations in a way that was powerful but also weirdly soft and constrained, veiled in blizzard. I couldn’t assign any motives to her. She just did what she wanted. At least, that’s how it felt to me.

  I stared at the ceiling for a long time. Finally, I got out of bed, used the washbasin, and changed into new wool clothes—white and gray, the colors of snow and ice. My runestone pendant hung cold and heavy on my neck, like Jack was catching some winks. I gathered my few supplies, then wandered into the corridors of Thunder Home, hoping I didn’t get killed by a startled servant or a random arrow.

  In the great hall, I found Sam at prayer. Jack hummed against my collarbone, informing me in a sleepy, irritated tone that it was four in the morning, Niflheim Standard Time.

  Sam had laid her prayer rug facing the huge open windows. I guessed the blur of white outside made a good blank screen to stare at while you meditated on God or whatever. I waited until she finished. I’d come to recognize her routine by now. A moment of silence at the end—a sort of peaceful settling that even the thunder couldn’t disturb—then she turned and smiled.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  “Hey. You’re up early.”

  I realized that was a stupid thing to say to a Muslim. If you’re observant, you never sleep late, because you have to be up for prayers before first light. Being around Sam, I’d started to pay more attention to the timing of dawn and dusk, even when we were in other worlds.

  “I didn’t sleep much,” she said. “I figured I would get in a good meal or two.” She patted her stomach.

  “How do you know prayer times in Jotunheim?” I asked. “Or where Mecca is?”

  “Heh. I take my best guess. That’s allowed. It’s the intention that counts.”

  I wondered if the same would be true of my coming challenge. Maybe Loki would say, Well, Magnus, you really sucked at flyting, but you did your best and it’s the intention that counts, so you win!

  “Hey.” Sam’s voice jarred me out of my thoughts. “You’ll do fine.”

  “You’re awfully calm,” I noted. “Considering…you know, today’s the day.”

  Sam adjusted her hijab, which was still white to match her outfit. “Last night was the twenty-seventh night of Ramadan. Traditionally, that’s the Night of Power.”

  I waited. “Is that when you get supercharged?”

  She laughed. “Sort of. It commemorates Muhammad receiving his first revelation from the angel Gabriel. Nobody knows exactly which night it is, but it’s the holiest of the year—”

  “Wait, it’s your holiest night, and you don’t know when it is?”

  Sam shrugged. “Most people go with the twenty-seventh, but yeah. It’s one of the nights of the last ten days of Ramadan. Not knowing keeps you on your toes. Anyway, last night it just felt right. I stayed up praying and thinking, and I just felt…confirmed. Like there is something bigger than all this: Loki, Ragnarok, the Ship of the Dead. My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

  I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up.

  I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware. She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

  “Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

  Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

  “Than what?”

  “Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger. Even your issues with a parent like Loki.” She shook her head. “Sorry, that must sound really hokey to an atheist.”

  I shrugged, feeling awkward. I wished I could have Sam’s level of faith. I didn’t, but it clearly worked for her, and I needed her to be confident, especially today. “Well, you sound supercharged. That’s what counts. Ready to kick some undead butt?”

  “Yep.” She smirked. “What about you? Are you ready to face Alex?”