Odin's Ravens (The Blackwell Pages)

by K. L. Armstrong

  No more obstacles stood between them and getting out of Hel. Instead, it looked like they were actually free to go. As Fen and Matt joined the other two kids, the ground shimmered and a stack of filled backpacks appeared at their feet. Each backpack had a piece of insect-wing paper with one of their names.

  “Aunt Helen seems to be making up for missed birthdays,” Fen said.

  Fresh, unripped clothes for all four kids spilled out of the backpacks as they opened them. Each pack somehow had a sleeping roll in it, too, despite the seeming impossibility of so much stuff fitting into small bags. As they sorted through the backpacks, they all withdrew clothes and shoes in their own sizes. Fen didn’t see the need to change until he could get the dirt off of him, but both Baldwin and Matt pulled on clean shirts to replace the ones that had been destroyed in the river in Hel.

  Laurie looked through her pack as the boys put on their shirts. After a moment, she withdrew an odd item from her bag: a strange bow that appeared to be made of bone and sinew. “Umm, guys?”

  They all looked at the weapon she held and then checked their bags. No one else had a weapon.

  “I guess I’m not the only family member who thinks you need a little distance from the fights,” Fen teased.

  Laurie smacked him lightly on the arm, but she was smiling. He realized he was, too. He couldn’t help it: they were all together, they’d rescued Baldwin from death, and they were about to return to the land of the living. Things were looking up again. Now they just needed to rescue Owen, pick the twins back up, and get the rest of the missing items for the coming battle. Finding Thor’s hammer and some feathers shouldn’t be too difficult, right? They’d already done the impossible—rescued Baldwin from death—and they could do this, too.

  Maybe they wouldn’t even need to do all that. They’d changed what the myth said would happen; they weren’t just trapped to repeat the myth exactly. Maybe rescuing Baldwin was enough to stop Ragnarök.

  They were tired but smiling as they started through the portal gate that led them out of Hel. Matt stepped through first, and the rest of them followed.

  SIX

  MATT

  “HAIRY, OVERSIZED COWS”

  Matt jumped from Hel into a thunderstorm. Or that’s what he thought, right after his feet hit the ground and pain jabbed through his legs. As he rubbed his calves, he heard the distant roar of thunder. Still disoriented from the jump, he reached up to cover his head against the rain, only to realize it wasn’t raining. The thunder kept rumbling, though, so loud it shook the ground. When he inhaled, he smelled dry earth and dust.

  He looked over at the exit portal, shimmering like a heat wave. The others hadn’t come through yet. When a dark shape passed overhead, he glanced up to see two birds, circling so high he couldn’t make out more than black dots.

  Thunder rumbled again. He glanced behind him and saw a storm coming in. A dust storm, it looked like, rolling across open ground.

  They were on the prairie—the autumn grass tall and golden, dark hills in the backdrop. The sky above was blue. Bright, almost blindingly blue, scorching his eyes after the dusk and mist of Hel. The sun blazed, and there wasn’t a single cloud to be seen… except that dust cloud on the ground, rolling closer, a whirling beige mass dotted with black—

  Matt realized what he was seeing just as Fen started stepping from the exit portal. Matt lunged and hit him in the shoulders.

  “What the—?” Fen began before toppling back to Hel.

  Matt tried to dive in after him, but he hit the ground instead. Apparently, it was a one-way ticket out.

  He lifted his head and saw the cloud of dust, and at the front of it, a line of bison. Stampeding bison.

  “Laurie!” he shouted, hoping she could somehow hear him from the other side. “I could use an escape hatch here!”

  He glanced around as he scrambled up, but he didn’t see any sign of Laurie’s door and didn’t dare wait to find out if she could deliver. The bison were bearing down so fast he could smell the rank stink of their fur and hear their panicked snorts over the thunder of their hooves. He started to run, but even as he did, he knew it was too late. It wasn’t just a few bison. It was a herd—a big one, at least several hundred, spread out across the land like a rolling wave of destruction, mowing down everything in their path. Including any thirteen-year-old boy who got in their way.

  He still tried to escape, though. He ran as fast as he could until he knew there was no chance—no chance at all. Then he dropped into a ball and yanked the shield over his shoulder, blocking him, realizing as he did how small the shield was, how small and thin. He could see the bison through the dust. Massive, shaggy beasts. Six feet tall. Twice as long. A thousand pounds each. Huge pointed horns. Rolling, panicked eyes.

  I’m dead, he thought. After all this, I’m dead, and it’s not trolls or demon dogs or rivers of acid. It’s hairy, oversized cows.

  The herd hit, ground shuddering, dust flying into his eyes, his nose, his mouth, the sound and the smell so overwhelming that he couldn’t even think. The first few bison had time to see him, and they veered past. He didn’t dare look over the shield, but he knew his luck wouldn’t hold. Soon there would be one that didn’t see—

  A hoof struck the shield with a terrible crack. The bison stumbled but miraculously went right over him, long belly hair brushing him as it went. The blow to the shield knocked it aside just enough for Matt to catch a glimpse of something shimmering about ten feet away. A portal door. Could he make it? He bunched his legs and braced his hands against the ground, ready to—

  A figure appeared in the shimmering door. It was Baldwin, stepping through.

  “No!” Matt shouted. “Stay inside!”

  He shot to his feet, realizing his mistake even as he did. The bison running at him let out a snort and swerved, but the one behind it kept coming, not seeming to see him at all. Matt lifted his shield and felt his Hammer flare.

  His hand shot out. The Hammer hit the charging bison. It stumbled. The one behind it barreled into the dazed bison, and they crumpled in a heap, the rest of the herd seeing the pileup and racing around it, leaving Matt standing there. He murmured an apology to the collapsed bison as they staggered to their feet. Then he spun toward the portal just as a rampaging bison, horns lowered, bore down on Baldwin.

  “Baldwin!” Matt shouted.

  The horns caught Baldwin. He flew into the air. The portal shimmered again, an arm coming through. Fen’s arm.

  “No!” Matt yelled.

  He ran toward them, narrowly missing one of the giant beasts as it thundered past. He could see Baldwin now, on the ground, as the bison tried to get around him. He was off to the side, away from the portal, and Fen was stepping through.

  “Fen! Get back! Don’t—”

  Fen walked out right in front of a charging beast. Matt slammed it with Thor’s Hammer just in time to knock it off course, but now Laurie was coming through, and Fen must not have had time to even realize what was happening—it was all so fast, the shock of stepping from Hel too great.

  Matt waved his arms madly, shouting at the top of his lungs, trying not only to get their attention, but to let the bison see them. Some did and veered, but one huge bull was heading right for Laurie.

  “No!” Matt shouted.

  There was a flash of light, and at first he thought he’d thrown the Hammer, but his hands were still at his sides as he ran. There was a tremendous crack, and something hit the ground right behind Laurie. Something so bright it blinded them, and Matt didn’t realize what it was until he saw the black scar on the sandy ground and the dry grass around it burst into flame.

  Lightning.

  He looked up at the sky, but it was still blue and cloudless. He was with the others now, the bison snorting and bellowing as the smell of smoke hit them. They swerved around the scar and the small fires—and around Laurie and Fen, giving them a wide enough berth that Baldwin could get to his feet. Baldwin raced to the cousins and reached them just a
s Matt did… and just as the tiny fires went out and the bison herd started closing in again.

  “Do it again!” Laurie shouted to be heard over the herd.

  “What?” Matt said.

  “The lightning!” Fen said.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Thunder? Lightning? Thor?” Laurie said. “Of course you did!”

  Matt stared at the herd as the bison began closing in, that gap they’d given the kids vanishing.

  “Any time now, Thorsen,” Fen said.

  “Come on, Matt,” Baldwin said. “Whatever you did, do it again. Fast. Those buffalo are a lot bigger than us.”

  What had he done? He had no idea. He hadn’t been thinking or doing anything except panicking, and if that was enough, then there should be lightning bolts flying everywhere right now because his heart was hammering—

  The Hammer. Maybe…

  He clutched his amulet, and his hand shot out, but he could feel right away that it wasn’t the same. There was the flash and the bang, but what hit the ground was just a regular Hammer blow that did absolutely nothing at all.

  I need lightning. Please, please, please, give me—

  A bison turned right into their path. Matt grabbed his shield with one hand, swinging it in front of him as he shouted, “Get behind me!” Then he launched the Hammer. It knocked the bison off course, but there was one right behind it, and there wasn’t time to throw another—

  A bloodcurdling scream rang out. At first, Matt thought it was Laurie. Okay, maybe he thought it was himself, screaming as he realized he was about to be trampled and a little wooden shield wasn’t going to save him. But then he saw something coming through the dust and the herd, something huge and white. Another scream. Then an echoing whinny, and he looked up to see a woman with blue handprints on her cheeks and long red hair streaming behind her. Hildar. Leader of the Valkyries. A sight nearly as terrifying as the bison, with her painted face and her flashing sword and her snarl of battle rage as her steed ran right up alongside the bison, shouldering it off course. Matt swung his shield—

  The horse swerved at the last second, and a hand grabbed the back of his shirt. He flew into the air and somehow landed on the horse, behind Hildar.

  “No!” he said. “The others—”

  He looked over his shoulder as three riders scooped up Laurie and Fen and Baldwin. Hildar yelled something, and he turned just in time to see a bison stumble, spooked by the horses. It collapsed in a heap, right in their path. Matt grabbed the sides of the saddle, bracing for impact. The Valkyrie shouted something, and they were about to hit the downed bison and then—

  Everything went white. Bright, blinding white, and he could still hear the thunder of the herd, but they were a blur on either side. The wind rushed past and his cheeks flattened, hair whipping, eyes stinging, like flying down the biggest roller coaster imaginable and all he could do was hang on. Then the noise of the herd vanished and the blur of the bison disappeared, too. His stomach lurched, and his mouth filled with the taste of the river. The taste of the dead. Another stomach lurch. He closed his eyes fast, squeezing them tight, praying that after all that, he wasn’t going to puke on a Valkyrie.

  He didn’t. The “ride” slowed, and he opened one eye to see thick forest. Hildar had stopped her horse in a clearing. Matt looked around, blinking to clear the dust from his eyes.

  They were in the Black Hills again. Or that’s what it seemed like: thick forest, the massive trees crowding in around the clearing.

  “Off,” she said.

  Matt slid to the ground, which really wasn’t easy when the saddle was about eight feet up. He hit with an oomph. Hildar gave him a withering look. Even her horse stamped and snorted, and Matt swore it rolled its eyes. Despite the billowing dirt, the beast managed to stay gleaming white. The only spots of color were blue handprints and swirls, like the ones on Hildar’s face, which seemed to glitter in the sun as she adjusted her shield and sword.

  Behind him, the other horses had arrived, and the kids were being unceremoniously ordered to dismount. Matt went to help Laurie, but Fen waved him off and helped her himself. Baldwin swung his leg over and jumped down. His clothing was ripped and filthy again, but he looked none the worse for having been nearly trampled by bison.

  “Buffalo?” Hildar said, moving her horse alongside Matt. “The son of Thor is almost killed by buffalo?”

  “Er, actually, they’re supposed to be called bison.” He caught her expression. “Never mind.”

  “It wasn’t his fault,” Laurie said. “The exit door from Hel took him right into the path of that herd.”

  “And you think that was accidental?”

  “If you’re implying Helen planned it, she didn’t tell us where to exit. That was—”

  “No matter,” Hildar said, cutting her short, as if prefering to blame Helen. “Still, the son of Thor should have looked where he was stepping. All the descendants of the North should have.”

  “We just escaped Hel,” Fen said. “Past fire giants and killer guard dogs and Viking zombies—”

  “They’re called draugrs,” Baldwin whispered to Fen.

  “No, actually, those weren’t…” Matt trailed off as he caught Hildar’s look. “Which isn’t important right now. The point is that I messed up, and I accept full responsibility.”

  “Which would have served you well in the afterlife,” Hildar said dryly. “Killed by buffalo? You would not even pass through the gates of Valhalla.”

  Matt could point out that this really wasn’t fair—facing the bison had been at least as terrifying as any fight they’d encountered. And it was a battle of sorts. Not to mention the fact that this whole only-get-into-Valhalla-if-you-die-on-the-field thing was a crock. But it probably wasn’t the time to mention any of that.

  “I’m sorry,” Matt said. “I messed up. Thank you for—”

  “We had to rescue you. From buffalo.”

  Fen stepped forward. “And the fact that we messed up because we just finished rescuing Baldwin from Hel doesn’t count at all? Really?”

  “We are pleased with you for that, son of Loki. As we are pleased with the son of Thor for getting you all out of Hel safely.”

  “Um, I didn’t get us out,” Matt said. “It was a joint effort. I actually fell in a river of acid.”

  “As you should,” she said. “We are pleased for that, too.”

  Obviously she was being sarcastic, but her expression and tone gave no sign of it.

  “We all worked together,” Laurie said. “I opened the door into the afterlife, and Fen convinced Helen to release Baldwin. Matt and Fen and Baldwin all fought off the zombies, and—”

  “Yes, yes, you all played your parts.” A dismissive wave. “But the son of Thor and the daughter of Loki need to be more careful. Each time we rescue you is considered an interference, and it will upset the balance of things. Now that we have saved you from buffalo, we will be unable to help at a more pressing time.”

  Ever since hearing that rooster in Hel, butterflies had taken up residence in Matt’s stomach, fluttering about, whispering that this might not be over even if they got Baldwin out. As Hildar spoke, those butterflies dropped like lead pellets.

  “More pressing time…” he said, barely able to get the words out. “So it’s not over.”

  “Over?”

  “We saved Baldwin. The myth has been broken. Ragnarök won’t happen.”

  Silence. For the first time since he’d met Hildar, some of the chill went out of her blue eyes. When she spoke, he would not say her voice was kind, but it was softer. “Is that what you thought, son of Thor?”

  “It’s what we all thought,” Laurie said. “Break the cycle; stop the apocalypse.”

  “No, children. You cannot stop Ragnarök. When you alter the course of the myth, you alter the course of the outcome. If the change is positive, such as saving Baldwin, then the odds move in your favor. That is no small thing.”

  Matt nodded but couldn’t bring himself
to speak.

  “Now it is time to rest,” Hildar said. “We will stand guard.”

  “But we can’t rest,” Laurie said. “Owen is out there. He’s being held captive and—”

  “He is free.”

  Laurie paused. “Is he okay?”

  “Owen is as he was meant to be. No more talk. Rest. Go. Now. There is more to be done.”

  The Valkyries waved them farther into the clearing, and they obeyed.

  SEVEN

  LAURIE

  “GHOST ARROWS”

  After the Valkyries had retreated, the kids were left standing alone in the small clearing.

  “Well, that sucks,” Fen muttered.

  Laurie expected Matt to say something encouraging, but his head was bowed like he was as disappointed as Fen sounded. She wanted to say something to make them both cheer up, but she’d also hoped that they’d averted the end of the world by saving Baldwin. It would’ve been nice if they had saved the world without any more battles. She sighed.

  “I knew I should’ve killed that stupid rooster,” Fen added.

  Baldwin laughed, drawing all their attention to him. When he realized they were all staring at him, he said, “What? That was funny.”

  Matt started to smile a little.

  “You defeated monsters to come rescue me. We survived a swarm of zombies and a cave bear, and”—Baldwin glanced at Laurie and then at Fen—“your Aunt Helen didn’t kill you for showing up in Hel while you were still alive. It’s been a pretty good couple days… even if you didn’t stop Ragnarök.” He grinned. “Or defeat a chicken.”

  “Hey, that wasn’t just any chicken,” Fen started.

  Laurie giggled. “Mighty hero thwarted by Hel Chicken.”

  Matt sounded very serious as he added, “Sorry about the chicken, Fen.” But then he laughed, too, and maybe it was just being tired or being alive, but Laurie could tell they were all starting to feel better.