Magnus Chase and the Sword of Summer

by Rick Riordan

  The blade swished from side to side. ‘Well, what is a good name? Something that fits my personality and my many talents.’

  ‘But I don’t really know you as well as I’d like to.’ I looked at Samirah, who just shook her head like, Hey, it’s your disco sword.

  ‘Honestly,’ I said. ‘I don’t know jack –’

  ‘Jack!’ the sword cried. ‘Perfect!’

  The thing about talking swords … it’s hard to tell when they’re kidding. They have no facial expressions. Or faces.

  ‘So … you want me to call you Jack.’

  ‘It is a noble name,’ said the sword. ‘Fit for kings and sharp carving implements!’

  ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘Well, then, Jack, thanks for the save. You mind if …?’ I reached for the hilt, but Jack floated away from me.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that yet,’ he warned. ‘The price of my amazing abilities: as soon as you sheathe me, or turn me into a pendant, or whatever, you will feel just as exhausted as if you had performed all my actions yourself.’

  My shoulder muscles tightened. I considered how tired I would feel if I had just destroyed all those weapons and cut all those beards. ‘Oh. I didn’t notice that earlier.’

  ‘Because you hadn’t used me for anything amazing yet.’

  ‘Right.’

  In the distance, an air-raid horn howled. I doubted they got many air raids in an underground world, so I figured the alarm had to do with us.

  ‘We need to go,’ Sam urged. ‘We have to find Hearthstone. I doubt Junior was joking about reinforcements.’

  Finding Hearthstone was the easy part. Two blocks away, we ran into him as he was coming back to find us.

  What the H-e-l-h-e-i-m? he signed. Where is Blitzen?

  I told him about Freya’s gold net. ‘We’ll find him. Right now, Junior is calling up the Dwarven National Guard.’

  Your sword is floating, Hearth noted.

  ‘Your elf is deaf,’ Jack noted.

  I turned to the sword. ‘I know that. Sorry, introductions. Jack, Hearth. Hearth, Jack.’

  Hearth signed, Is it talking? I don’t read sword lips.

  ‘What is he saying?’ Jack asked. ‘I don’t read elf hands.’

  ‘Guys.’ Sam pointed behind us. A few blocks away, an iron-plated vehicle with caterpillar treads and a mounted turret was turning slowly onto our street.

  ‘That’s a tank’ I said. ‘Junior has a tank?’

  ‘We should leave,’ Jack said. ‘I am awesome, but if I try to destroy a tank the strain might kill you.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I agreed. ‘How do we get out of Nidavellir?’

  Hearthstone clapped for my attention. This way.

  We sprinted after him, zigzagging through alleys, knocking over carefully handcrafted garbage cans that probably had names and souls.

  From somewhere behind us, a deep BOOM! rattled windows and made pebbles rain from above.

  ‘Is the tank shaking the sky?’ I yelled. ‘That can’t be good.’

  Hearthstone led us down another street of terraced clapboard houses. Dwarves sat on stoops, clapping and cheering as we ran by. A few of them recorded videos of us on uniquely crafted smartphones. I figured our attempted getaway would go viral on the Dwarven Internet, famous among Internets.

  Finally we reached what would’ve been the southern edge of South Boston. On the far side of the avenue, instead of the M Street Beach, the ground dropped off into a chasm.

  ‘Oh, this is very helpful,’ Sam said.

  Behind us in the gloom, Junior’s voice shouted, ‘Bazookas, take the right flank!’

  Hearthstone led us to the rim of the canyon. Far below, a river roared.

  He signed, We jump in.

  ‘Are you serious?’ I asked.

  Blitzen and I did this before. River washes out of Nidavellir.

  ‘To where?’

  Depends, Hearthstone signed.

  ‘That’s not reassuring,’ said Sam.

  Hearthstone pointed back towards the avenue. The dwarven mob was gathering, tanks and jeeps and RPGs and a whole bunch of really angry geriatric dwarves in armour-plated walkers.

  ‘We jump,’ I decided.

  Jack the Sword hovered next to me. ‘Better hold me now, boss. Otherwise I might get lost again.’

  ‘But you said the exhaustion –’

  ‘Might make you pass out,’ the sword agreed. ‘On the bright side, it looks like you’re going to die anyway.’

  He had a point. (Oh, sorry. That was bad.) I took the sword and willed it back into pendant form. I just had time to attach it to the chain before my legs buckled.

  Sam caught me. ‘Hearthstone! Take his other arm!’

  As my vision went dark, Sam and Hearth helped me leap off the cliff. Because, you know, what are friends for?

  FORTY-SIX

  Aboard the Good Ship Toenail

  I knew I was in trouble when I woke up dreaming.

  I found myself standing next to Loki on the deck of a massive ship.

  ‘There you are!’ said Loki. ‘I was starting to wonder.’

  ‘How …?’ I noticed his outfit. ‘What are you wearing?’

  ‘You like it?’ His scarred lips twisted into a grin. His white admiral’s jacket gleamed with medals, but Loki wasn’t exactly wearing it regulation-style. It was open over a black T-shirt featuring Jack Nicholson’s face from The Shining. The caption read: HEEEERE’S LOKI!

  ‘Where are we?’ I asked.

  Loki polished his medals with his coat sleeve. ‘Well, neither of us is here, of course. I’m still tied up on a stone slab with snake poison dripping in my face. You’re dying on the banks of a river in Jotunheim.’

  ‘I’m what?’

  ‘Whether you live or not, this may be our last chance to talk. I wanted you to see this – Naglfar, the Ship of Nails! It’s almost complete.’

  The ship came into clearer focus – a Viking longship larger than an aircraft carrier. The main deck could’ve accommodated the Boston Marathon. Giant shields lined the railings. Fore and aft rose thirty-foot-tall figureheads shaped like snarling wolves. Naturally, they had to be wolves.

  I peered over the side between two shields. A hundred feet down, braided iron cables moored the ship to a dock. The grey sea churned with ice.

  I ran my hand along the railing. The surface was bumpy and prickly – enamelled with white and grey ridges like fish scales or pearl shavings. At first glance, I’d assumed the deck was made of steel, but now I realized the whole ship was constructed of this weird translucent material – not metal, not wood, but something strangely familiar.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked Loki. ‘I don’t see any wood or nails. Why is it called the Ship of Nails?’

  Loki chuckled. ‘Not carpentry nails, Magnus. Naglfar is made from the fingernails and toenails of dead men.’

  The deck seemed to pitch beneath me. I wasn’t sure if it was possible to puke in a dream, but I was tempted. It wasn’t just the obvious grossness of standing on a ship made of nail clippings that made me nauseated – it was the sheer volume of the material. How many corpses had had to contribute their nails to make a ship this size?

  Once I managed to steady my breathing, I faced Loki. ‘Why?’

  Even with the ruined lips and scarred face, Loki’s grin was so infectious that I almost smiled back – almost.

  ‘Amazingly disgusting, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Back in the old days, your ancestors knew that nail clippings carried part of your spirit, your essence … your DNA, you’d call it now. Throughout their lives, mortals were careful to burn any clippings they made. When they died, their nails would be trimmed and the clippings destroyed so the material wouldn’t contribute to this great ship. But sometimes –’ Loki shrugged – ‘as you can see, the proper precautions weren’t taken.’

  ‘You’ve built yourself a battleship out of toenails.’

  ‘Well, the ship is building itself. And, technically, Naglfar belongs to Surt and the fire giants, but when Ragna
rok comes I will guide this ship out of the harbour. We’ll have an army of giants led by Captain Hrym, plus hundreds of thousands of dishonoured dead from Helheim – all those who were careless or unlucky enough to die without a sword in their hand, a proper burial and a decent post-mortem mani-pedi. We’ll sail to Asgard and destroy the gods. It’ll be awesome.’

  I looked aft, expecting to see an army gathering on the shore, but the mist was so thick I couldn’t see the end of the dock. Despite my usual resistance to cold, the damp air soaked into my bones and made my teeth chatter.

  ‘Why are you showing me this?’ I asked.

  ‘Because I like you, Magnus. You’ve got a sense of humour. You’ve got zing. So rare in a demigod! Even rarer among the einherjar. I’m glad my daughter found you.’

  ‘Samirah … that’s how she can turn into a horsefly. She’s a shape-shifter like you.’

  ‘Oh, she’s Daddy’s girl, all right. She doesn’t like to admit it, but she’s inherited a lot of things from me: my abilities, my dashing good looks, my keen intellect. She can spot talent, too. After all, she chose you, my friend.’

  I clutched my stomach. ‘I don’t feel so good.’

  ‘Duh! You’re on the verge of death. Personally, I hope you wake up, because if you kick the bucket now your death will be meaningless and nothing you’ve done will matter.’

  ‘Thanks for the pep talk.’

  ‘Listen – I brought you here for some perspective. When Ragnarok comes, all bonds will break, not just the ropes binding Fenris. The moorings of this ship – snap. The bindings that hold me captive – snap. Whether or not you keep that sword out of Surt’s hands, it’s only a matter of time. One bond will snap and they’ll all start going – unravelling like one huge tapestry.’

  ‘You’re trying to discourage me? I thought you wanted Ragnarok delayed.’

  ‘Oh, I do!’ He put up his hands. His wrists were raw and bleeding, as if he’d been handcuffed too tightly. ‘I’m totally on your side, Magnus! Look at the figureheads. The wolves’ snouts aren’t finished yet. Is there anything more embarrassing than sailing into battle with half-finished figureheads?’

  ‘So what do you want?’

  ‘The same thing I’ve always wanted,’ Loki said. ‘To help you fight your fate. Which of the gods besides me has bothered to speak to you as a friend and an equal?’

  His eyes were like Sam’s – bright and intense, the colour of burning – but there was something harder and more calculating about Loki’s gaze – something that didn’t jibe with his friendly smile. I remembered how Sam had described him: a liar, a thief, a murderer.

  ‘We’re friends now?’ I asked. ‘Equals?’

  ‘We could be,’ he said. ‘In fact, I have an idea. Forget going to Fenris’s island. Forget facing Surt. I know a place where the sword will be safe.’

  ‘With you?’

  Loki laughed. ‘Don’t tempt me, kid. No, no. I was thinking about your Uncle Randolph. He understands the value of the sword. He’s spent his life looking for it, preparing to study it. You might not know it, but his house is heavily fortified with magic. If you took the sword to him … well, the old man can’t use it himself. But he would store it away. It would be out of Surt’s hands. And that’s what matters, eh? It would buy us all some time.’

  I wanted to laugh in Loki’s face and tell him no. I figured he was trying to trick me. Yet I couldn’t see his angle.

  ‘You think it’s a trap,’ Loki said. ‘I get that. But you must have wondered why Mimir told you to take the blade to the Wolf’s island – the very place where Surt wants to use it. What’s the sense in that? What if Mimir is playing you? I mean, come on. That old severed head runs a pachinko racket! If you don’t bring the sword to the island, Surt won’t be able get his hands on it. Why take the risk?’

  I struggled to clear my thoughts. ‘You’re – you’re a smooth talker. You’d make a good used-car salesman.’

  Loki winked. ‘I think the term is pre-owned. You’ve got to make a choice soon, Magnus. We may not be able to speak again. If you want a gesture of good faith, however, I can sweeten the deal. My daughter Hel and I … we’ve been talking.’

  My heart jackknifed. ‘Talking about …’

  ‘I’ll let her tell you. But now …’ He tilted his head, listening. ‘Yes, we don’t have much time. You might be waking up.’

  ‘Why were you bound?’ The question forced itself out before I realized I was thinking it. ‘I remember you killed somebody …’

  His smile hardened. The angry lines around his eyes made him look ten years older.

  ‘You know how to ruin a conversation,’ Loki said. ‘I killed Balder, the god of light – the handsome, perfect, incredibly annoying son of Odin and Frigg.’ He stepped towards me and poked my chest, emphasizing each word. ‘And – I’d – do – it – again.’

  In the back of my brain, my common sense yelled, DROP IT! But, as you have probably figured out by now, I don’t listen to my common sense much.

  ‘Why did you kill him?’

  Loki barked a laugh. His breath smelled of almonds, like cyanide. ‘Did I mention he was annoying? Frigg was so worried about him. The poor baby had been having bad dreams about his own doom. Welcome to reality, Balder! We all have bad dreams. But Frigg couldn’t stand the idea that her precious angel might bruise his little foot. She exacted promises from everything in creation that nothing would hurt her beautiful son – people, gods, trees, rocks … Can you imagine exacting a promise from a rock? Frigg managed it. Afterwards, the gods had a party to celebrate. They started throwing things at Balder just for laughs. Arrows, swords, boulders, each other … nothing would hurt him. It was as if the idiot was surrounded by a force field. Well … I’m sorry. The thought of Mr Perfect also being Mr Invulnerable made me sick.’

  I blinked, trying to get the sting out of my eyes. Loki’s voice was so full of hatred it seemed to make the air burn. ‘You found a way to kill him.’

  ‘Mistletoe!’ Loki’s smile brightened. ‘Can you imagine? Frigg forgot one tiny little plant. I fashioned a dart from the stuff, gave it to Balder’s blind brother, a god named Hod. I didn’t want him to miss the fun of chucking deadly objects at Balder, so I guided Hod’s hand and … well, Frigg’s worst fears came true. Balder deserved it.’

  ‘For being too handsome and popular.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘For being loved.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Loki leaned forward until we were almost nose-to-nose. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t done the same kinds of things. Those cars you broke into, those people you stole from … you picked people you didn’t like, eh? You picked the rich, handsome, stuck-up snobs who annoyed you.’

  My teeth chattered harder. ‘I never killed anyone.’

  ‘Oh, please.’ Loki stepped back, examining me with a look of disappointment. ‘It’s only a matter of degree. So I killed a god. Big deal! He went to Helheim and became an honoured guest in my daughter’s palace. And my punishment? You want to know my punishment?’

  ‘You were tied on a stone slab,’ I said. ‘With poison from a snake dripping on your face. I know.’

  ‘Do you?’ Loki pulled back his cuffs, showing me the raw scars on his wrists. ‘The gods were not content to punish me with eternal torture. They took out their wrath upon my two favourite sons – Vali and Narvi. They turned Vali into a wolf and watched with amusement while he disembowelled his brother Narvi. Then they shot and gutted the wolf. The gods took my innocent sons’ own entrails …’ Loki’s voice cracked with grief. ‘Well, Magnus Chase, let’s just say I was not bound with ropes.’

  Something in my chest curled up and died – possibly my hope that there was any kind of justice in the universe. ‘Gods.’

  Loki nodded. ‘Yes, Magnus. The gods. Think about that when you meet Thor.’

  ‘I’m meeting Thor?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. The gods don’t even pretend to deal in good and evil, Magnus. It’s not the Aesir way. Might makes righ
t. So tell me … do you really want to charge into battle on their behalf?’

  The ship trembled under my feet. Fog rolled across the deck.

  ‘Time for you to go,’ Loki said. ‘Remember what I said. Oh, and have fun getting mouth-to-mouth from a goat.’

  ‘Wait … what?’

  Loki wiggled his fingers, his eyes full of malicious glee. Then the ship dissolved into grey nothingness.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  I Psychoanalyse a Goat

  As Loki had promised, I woke up with a goat in my face.

  Confession time: my only previous experience with kissing had been with Jackie Molotov in seventh grade, behind the bleachers at a school dance. Yes, I know that’s lame, seeing as how I was now sixteen. But during the past few years I’d been a little busy, living on the street and whatnot. Anyway, with apologies to Jackie, getting mouth-to-mouth from a goat reminded me of her.

  I rolled over and puked into the river conveniently located right next to me. My bones felt as if they’d been broken and mended with duct tape. My mouth tasted like chewed grass and old nickels.

  ‘Oh, you’re alive,’ said the goat. He sounded mildly disappointed.

  I sat up and groaned. The goat’s horns curved outward like the top half of an hourglass. Sticker burrs matted his shaggy brown fur.

  A lot of questions crowded into my head: Where am I? Why are you a talking goat? Why does your breath smell so bad? Have you been eating spare change?

  The first question that came out was: ‘Where are my friends?’

  ‘The elf and girl?’ asked the goat. ‘Oh, they’re dead.’

  My heart threatened to exit via my throat. ‘What? No!’

  The goat gestured with his horns. A few yards to my right, Hearthstone and Sam lay crumpled on the rocky beach.

  I scrambled over. I placed my hands on their throats and almost passed out again, from relief this time.

  ‘They’re not dead,’ I told the goat. ‘They both have pulses.’

  ‘Oh.’ The goat sighed. ‘Well, give them a few more hours and they’ll probably be dead.’