Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 2: The Hammer of Thor

by Rick Riordan

  Fortunately, Heimdall just patted Amir’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Amir. I know you’re confused about the Nine Worlds and whatnot. But I’m afraid you’re saying words that don’t make any sense.”

  “Please, Heimdall,” Sam said. “I know it seems…strange, but gazing directly at the Nine Worlds might give you a fresh perspective.”

  The god looked unconvinced. “Surely there’s another way to find your goat-killer. Maybe I could blow Gjallar and get the gods up here. We could ask them if they’ve seen—”

  “No!” we all screamed at once. Alex came in a little late, as he was still lying down making light angels. He may have added a few colorful modifiers to his no.

  “Hmph.” Heimdall scowled. “Well, this is highly unorthodox. But I don’t want to see a big ugly giant come between a cute couple like you two.” Heimdall wagged his finger between me and Sam.

  “Uh, actually it’s those two,” I corrected, pointing to Amir.

  Over in the rainbow, Alex snorted.

  “Right, of course,” Heimdall said. “Sorry. You guys look very different when you’re not in the camera app. Perhaps you have a point about a fresh perspective! Let’s see what we can find in the Nine Worlds!”

  Godzilla Sends Me an Important Message

  HEIMDALL GAZED into the distance and immediately stumbled backward. “Nine Mothers of Me!”

  Alex Fierro sat up, suddenly interested. “What is it?”

  “Uh…” Heimdall’s cheeks were turning the same sheep-like color as his hair. “Giants. A lot of them. They—they appear to be massing on the borders of Midgard.”

  I wondered what other threats Heimdall had missed while he was photo-bombing the president. Between this guy and hammerless Thor, it was no wonder the safety of Asgard depended on unprepared, undertrained people like…well, us.

  Sam managed to keep her voice level. “We know about the giants, Lord Heimdall. They suspect Thor’s hammer is missing. Unless we get it back soon—”

  “Yes.” Heimdall licked his lips. “I—I suppose you did say something like that.” He cupped his ear and listened. “They’re talking about…a wedding. Thrym’s wedding. One of the giant generals…he’s grumbling because they have to wait until it is over before they can invade. Apparently Thrym has promised them some good news after the ceremony, something that will make their invasion much easier.”

  “An alliance with Loki?” I guessed, though something about that didn’t seem quite right. There had to be more.

  “Also,” Heimdall continued, “Thrym has said…yes, his own forces won’t join the invasion until after the wedding. He’s warned the other armies it would be rude to start the war without him. I—I don’t think the giants are scared of Thrym, but from what I’m overhearing, they’re terrified of his sister.”

  I remembered my dream: the harsh voice of the giantess who had swatted my pickle jar off the bar. “Heimdall,” I asked, “can you see Thrym? What’s he up to?”

  The god squinted and looked deeper into the void. “Yes, there he is, just at the edge of my vision, under a mile or so of rock. Sitting in that horrid fortress of his. Why he wants to live in a cave decorated like a bar, I have no idea. Oh, he is so ugly! I pity the person who marries him.”

  “Great,” Sam muttered. “What’s he doing?”

  “Drinking,” Heimdall said. “Now he’s belching. Now he’s drinking again. His sister, Thrynga—oh, her voice is like oars scraping on ice! She’s berating him for being a fool. Something about his wedding being a stupid idea and they should just kill the bride as soon as she arrives!”

  Heimdall paused, maybe remembering that Samirah was the poor girl in question. “Uh…sorry. As I thought, though, there’s no hammer anywhere. That’s not surprising. These earth giants, they can bury things—”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “In the earth?”

  “Exactly!” Heimdall looked impressed with my knowledge of earth giants. “They can retrieve those items simply by calling them back to hand. I imagine Thrym will wait until the wedding is finished. Once he has his bride and his bride-price, he’ll summon the hammer…if he feels like keeping his part of the bargain, that is.”

  Amir looked more nauseated than I’d felt aboard the Cessna Citation. “Sam, you can’t do this! It’s too dangerous.”

  “I won’t.” She balled her fists. “Lord Heimdall, you’re the guardian of the sacred marriage bed, aren’t you? The old stories say you traveled among humankind advising couples, blessing their offspring, and creating the various classes of Viking society?”

  “I did?” Heimdall glanced at his phone as if tempted to look up this information. “Um, I mean, yes. Of course!”

  “Then hear my sacred vow,” Sam said. “I swear upon the Bifrost and all the Nine Worlds that I will never marry anyone except this man, Amir Fadlan.” (Thankfully, she pointed in the correct direction and did not implicate me. Otherwise things might have been awkward.) “I will not even pretend to marry this giant, Thrym. It will not happen.”

  Alex Fierro rose, his mouth set in a frown. “Uh…Sam?”

  I figured Alex was thinking the same thing I was: that if Loki could control Sam’s actions, she might not be able to keep this vow.

  Sam gave Alex a warning look. Surprisingly, Alex shut up.

  “I have made my vow,” Sam announced. “Inshallah, I will keep it and marry Amir Fadlan in accordance with the teachings of the Quran and the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.”

  I wondered if the Bifrost Bridge would collapse under the heavy-duty Muslim sacred vow Sam was laying down, but nothing seemed different except for Amir, who looked like he’d been hit between the eyes with a phablet.

  “P-peace be upon him,” he stammered.

  Heimdall sniffled. “That was so sweet.” A tear as white as plant sap slid down his cheek. “I hope you crazy kids make a go of it. I really do. I wish…” He tilted head, listening to the distant murmurings of the universe. “Nope, I’m not on the guest list for your wedding with Thrym, darn it.”

  Sam looked at me like, Did I just imagine the last few minutes? “Lord Heimdall, you mean…the wedding I just swore not to go through with?”

  “Yes,” he confirmed. “I’m sure it will be lovely, but that soon-to-be sister-in-law of yours, Thrynga, is going on and on—‘No Aesir, no Vanir.’ They apparently have some first-rate security in place for screening the guests.”

  “They don’t want Thor getting in,” Alex guessed, “and stealing back his hammer.”

  “That would make sense.” Heimdall kept his eyes on the horizon. “The thing is, this underground fortress-bar of theirs…I’ve seen how it works. There’s only one way in, and the entrance tunnel keeps shifting around, opening in a different place every day. Sometimes it turns up behind a waterfall, or in a Midgard cave, or under the roots of a tree. Even if Thor wanted to plan an assault, he’d have no idea where to start on any given day. I don’t see how you could arrange an ambush to steal the hammer.” He frowned. “Thrym and Thrynga are still talking about the guest list. Only family and giants are invited, and…Who is Randolph?”

  I felt as if somebody had turned up the thermostat on the Bifrost. My face itched like a hand-shaped burn mark was forming across my cheek.

  “Randolph is my uncle,” I said. “Can you see him?”

  Heimdall shook his head. “Not in Jotunheim, but Thrym and Thrynga are very annoyed about him being on the list. Thrym is saying, ‘Loki insists.’ Thrynga is throwing bottles.” Heimdall winced. “Sorry, I had to look away. Without the camera, everything seems so three-D!”

  Amir watched me with concern. “Magnus, you have an uncle who’s involved in all this?”

  I didn’t want to get into it. The scene from the zombies’ barrow kept replaying in my mind: Randolph crying as he drove the Skofnung Sword into Blitzen’s gut.

  Thankfully, Alex Fierro changed the subject.

  “Hey, Lord Selfie,” he said, “what about the goat-killer? That’s who we need
to find right now.”

  “Ah, yes.” Heimdall raised his sword blade over his eyes like a visor, nearly decapitating me in the process. “You said a figure in black clothes, with a metal helmet, and a faceplate like a snarling wolf?”

  “That’s him,” I said.

  “I don’t see him. But there is something strange. I know I said no camera, but…ah, I’m not sure how to describe this.” He raised his phablet and snapped a picture. “What do you make of this?”

  The four of us gathered around the screen.

  It was hard to judge the scale, since the shot had been taken from inter-dimensional space, but at the top of a cliff sat a massive warehouse-looking building. Across the roof stretched glittery neon letters almost as eye-catching as the Citgo sign: UTGARD LANES.

  Behind that, even larger and more awe-inspiring, was an inflatable Godzilla, like you might see advertising a sale at a car dealership. In Godzilla’s hands was a cardboard sign that read:

  ’SUP, MAGNUS.

  COME VISIT!

  GOT INFO 4 U. BRING UR FRIENDS!

  ONLY WAY 2 BEAT THRYM + GOOD BOWLING.

  XOX BIG BOY

  I let out a few Norse cuss words. I was tempted to throw the Phablet of Doomsday off the Bifrost Bridge.

  “Big Boy,” I said. “I should have known.”

  “This is bad,” Sam muttered. “He told you that someday you would need his help. But if he’s our only hope, we’re doomed.”

  “Why?” Amir asked.

  “Yeah,” Alex demanded. “Who is this Big Boy who communicates through inflatable Godzillas?”

  “I know this one!” Heimdall said cheerfully. “He’s the most dangerous, powerful giant sorcerer of all time! His real name is Utgard-Loki.”

  Falafel Break? Yes, Thank You

  ANOTHER VIKING pro tip: If Heimdall offers to drop you somewhere, say NO!

  Heimdall’s idea of sending us back to Midgard was making the Bifrost dissolve around our feet and literally dropping us through infinity. Once we stopped screaming (or it may have been just me again; don’t judge), we found ourselves at the corner of Charles and Boylston, standing in front of the Edgar Allan Poe statue. By that point, I definitely had a tell-tale heart. My pulse was going so fast you could’ve heard that sucker through a brick wall.

  We were all exhausted, but we were also hungry and buzzing with post-rainbow adrenaline. Most importantly, we were a block from the Transportation Building food court, where the Fadlans had a restaurant.

  “You know…” Amir flexed his fingers as if making sure they were still there. “I could make us some dinner.”

  “You don’t have to, man,” I said, which I thought was pretty noble considering how much I loved his family’s falafel recipe. (I know he asked me to remind him not to give me any more falafel, but I had decided to interpret that request as temporary insanity.)

  Amir shook his head. “No, I—I want to.”

  I understood what he meant. The guy’s world had just been cracked open. He needed to do something familiar to steady his nerves. He craved the comfort of deep-frying chickpea patties, and really, who was I to argue?

  The Transportation Building was closed for the night, but Amir had the keys. He let us in, opened Fadlan’s Falafel, and prepped the kitchen to make us a late dinner/really early breakfast of amazingness.

  Meanwhile, Alex, Sam, and I sat at a table in the darkened food court, listening to the clanging of pots and fryer cages echo through the vast space like metallic bird cries.

  Sam looked dazed. She tipped over a saltshaker and wrote letters in the white grains—whether Norse or Arabic, I couldn’t tell.

  Alex kicked up his rose high-tops on the opposite chair. He twiddled his thumbs, his two-toned eyes scanning the room. “So, this sorcerer giant…”

  “Utgard-Loki,” I said.

  A lot of folks in the Norse cosmos had warned me that names had power. You weren’t supposed to utter them unless you had to. Me, I preferred to wear names out like hand-me-down clothes. That seemed the best way to drain the power from them.

  “He’s not my favorite giant.” I glanced around the floor, making sure there were no talking pigeons nearby. “A few months ago, he showed up right here. Tricked me into giving him my falafel. Then he turned into an eagle and dragged me across the rooftops of Boston.”

  Alex drummed his fingers on the table. “And now he wants you to come visit his bowling alley.”

  “You know the really messed-up part? That’s the least crazy thing that has happened to me this week.”

  Alex snorted. “So why is he called Loki?” He looked at Sam. “Any relation to us?”

  Sam shook her head. “His name means Loki of the Outlands. No connection to…our dad.”

  Not since the Great Alderman Disaster of that afternoon had the word dad invoked such negative feelings in a conversation. Looking at Alex and Sam sitting across from each other, I couldn’t imagine two people more different. Yet they both wore exactly the same expression: sour resignation that they shared the god of trickery as their pop.

  “On the bright side,” I said, “Utgard-Loki didn’t strike me as a big fan of the other Loki. I can’t see the two of them working together.”

  “They’re both giants,” Alex pointed out.

  “Giants fight among each other just like humans,” Sam said. “And, judging by what we learned from Heimdall, getting the hammer back from Thrym will not be easy. We need all the advice we can get. Utgard-Loki is crafty. He might be the right person to figure out a way to foil Dad’s plans.”

  “Fight Loki with Loki,” I said.

  Alex ran his hand through his shock of green hair. “I don’t care how tricky and clever your giant friend is. In the end, we’re going to have to go to that wedding and get the hammer. Which means we’ll have to face Loki ourselves.”

  “We?” I asked.

  “I’m going with you,” Alex said. “Obviously.”

  I remembered my dream of Loki in Alex’s apartment: It’s such a simple request. Having two children of Loki at the wedding, both of whom could be controlled by Loki’s slightest whim…that was not my definition of a joyous occasion.

  Samirah drew another design in the salt. “Alex, I can’t ask you to go.”

  “You’re not asking,” Alex said, “I’m telling. You brought me into the afterlife. This is my chance to make it count. You know what we need to do.”

  Sam shook her head. “I—I still don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Alex threw his hands in the air. “Are you even related to me? Where’s your sense of recklessness? Of course it’s not a good idea, but it’s the only way.”

  “What idea?” I asked. “What way?”

  Clearly I had missed a conversation between the two of them, but neither looked anxious to fill me in. Just then, Amir came back with the food. He set down a heaping platter of lamb kebab, dolma, falafel, kibbeh, and other heavenly yummies, and I remembered my priorities.

  “You, sir,” I said, “are a powerful entity.”

  He almost smiled. He started to sit next to Sam, but Alex snapped his fingers. “Uh-uh, lover boy. Chaperone says no.”

  Amir looked mortified. He moved to sit between Alex and me.

  We dug in. (Actually, I may have done most of the digging in.)

  Amir bit off the corner of a pita-bread triangle. “It doesn’t seem possible…food tastes the same. The fryer fries at the same temperature. My keys work in the same locks. And yet…the whole universe has changed.”

  “Not everything has changed,” Sam promised.

  Amir’s expression was wistful, as if remembering a good experience from childhood that couldn’t be recaptured.

  “I appreciate it, Sam,” he said. “And I do see what you mean about the Norse deities. They aren’t gods. Anyone who can take so many selfies with a sword and a ram’s horn…” He shook his head. “Allah may have ninety-nine names, but Heimdall isn’t one of them.”

  Alex grinned. “I like
this guy.”

  Amir blinked, apparently unsure what to do with the compliment. “So…what now? How do you top a trip across the Bifrost?”

  Sam gave him a faint smile. “Well, tonight, I have to have a conversation with Jid and Bibi to explain why I’ve been out so late.”

  Amir nodded. “Will you…try to show them the Nine Worlds, as you did for me?”

  “She can’t,” Alex said. “They’re too old. Their brains aren’t as flexible.”

  “Hey,” I said. “No need to be rude.”

  “Just being honest.” Alex chewed on a piece of lamb. “The older you are, the harder it is to accept that the world might not be the way you thought it was. It’s a miracle that Amir managed to see through all the mist and the glamour without going insane.” He kept his eyes on me a moment longer than seemed necessary.

  “Yes,” Amir muttered. “I feel very fortunate not to be insane.”

  “Alex is right, though,” Sam said. “When I talked to my grandparents this morning, the conversation they’d had with Loki was already fading from their memory. They knew they were supposed to be angry at me. They remembered that you and I had been arguing. But the details…” She made a poof gesture with her fingertips.

  Amir rubbed his chin. “My dad was the same. He only asked if you and I had patched up our differences. I suspect…we could tell them anything about where we were tonight, couldn’t we? Any mundane excuse, and they would believe it more readily than the truth.”

  Alex elbowed him. “Don’t get any ideas, lover boy. I’m still your chaperone.”

  “No! I only meant…I would never—”

  “Relax,” Alex said. “I’m messing with you.”

  “Ah.” Amir did not seem to relax. “And after tonight? What then?”

  “We go to Jotunheim,” Sam said. “We have a giant to interrogate.”

  “You’re traveling to another world.” Amir shook his head in amazement. “You know, when I arranged those flying lessons with Barry, I…I thought I was expanding your horizons.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Foolish of me.”