Odin's Ravens

by K. L. Armstrong

  His cousin frowned for a minute, but then he bumped his shoulder into hers and said, “Sorry.”

  That was all it took for her to smile at him. He wasn’t always sure what he was apologizing for, but he knew that when she was unhappy, apologies helped. Today was no different. She leaned into him a little, and then rested her head on his shoulder briefly. “Grump.”

  “Yeah,” he admitted. He nodded at Matt, who smiled at him. Fen was grateful that Matt wasn’t going to push him to talk this time. It was one thing to have feelings; it was another to chat about them. Fen shuddered a little. That was one of the only benefits of not having parents: no one ever wanted to talk about feelings, or screwups, or any of that stuff. It was one of the best parts of being raised by wolves. Literally, his family turned into actual wolves. When he screwed up, he got knocked down or growled at or maybe nipped. That made sense to him.

  From somewhere nearby, a woman’s voice said, “Garm says that you are not going to irritate me.”

  If Fen had been in wolf form, his hair would be bristling. He looked around, not sure where the person who went with the voice was. The pavilion of bones had seemed empty when they arrived, and it still was. He glanced at Matt, and then whispered to Laurie, “Stay behind us.”

  The woman laughed. “Come in, godlings. I am Helen.”

  Fen reached back and took Laurie’s hand in his, mostly to keep her from rushing into anything, but also to hold on to her in case the invisible woman decided to try anything. At the very least, by holding on to Laurie, he couldn’t be separated from her.

  Then, cautiously, Fen and Matt stepped into the empty pavilion. Laurie was only a step behind them. As they entered the pavilion, it went from empty to overflowing—or maybe they were transported into another building. Fen glanced over his shoulder. He could see the gates not too far away, but when he looked around him, he wasn’t entirely sure that the contents of the pavilion would truly fit inside the space he’d seen when he was outside of it. A line of long tables stretched the length of a football field. The tables were covered with food, not the stuffy sort that he’d seen in movies, but the good stuff. Bowls overflowed with corn chips, pretzels, and what looked like potato chips in every possible flavor. Fountains of soda bubbled, and in a few cases, the soda seemed to pour out of levitating vases, the mouths of fish sculptures, and a barrel held in the arms of a monkey statue. Pizza pies were steaming on upraised platters, and mounds of hot dogs and cheeseburgers were heaped on other platters. As Fen looked farther down the tables, he could see brownies, cookies, pies, and tubs of ice cream. He was almost tempted to go to the tables, and his grumbling stomach certainly seemed to agree with that plan.

  He glanced at Matt and Laurie; they seemed entranced by the feast before them, too, but then all three of the descendants noticed the extremely tall woman who watched them. She looked like she was no more alive than the monkey statue. Her skin was shiny, almost plastic, like one of those creepy dolls in the all-pink aisles of a toy store, and her eyes looked a bit like beetles. The shimmering colors in those beetle eyes made it hard to look away from her gaze—even as she stalked toward them. Despite her alien features, she was amazingly lifelike when she moved. Her dress made a swishing noise as she stopped in front of them, and Fen realized that it was covered by—or maybe made of—living winged insects.

  The wings of her dress opened and closed rapidly as she peered down at the kids. “You amuse me so far, little godlings. What do you want so desperately that you would travel to a land filled with death?”

  “We would like to take our friend home, ma’am,” Matt said.

  “Baldwin,” Fen interjected. “Our friend Baldwin. He died by mistake, and we need—”

  “Death is not a mistake, Nephew,” Helen chastised. “It is many things, but not a mistake.”

  “Nephew?”

  “Many generations apart, but…” She flicked her fingers in a small, dismissive gesture. “Nephew will work. My father was your long-ago ancestor, so you are my family.” Helen lowered a hand onto Fen’s shoulder and at the same time stroked Laurie’s hair with her other hand. “Like all of the wulfenkind.”

  Laurie had tensed when Helen touched her, and Fen’s first instinct was to push his “aunt” away. Her mention of the wulfenkind didn’t do much to convince him she was trustworthy. If she turned out to be a threat, he’d have to attack.

  “In the myth, one of the gods didn’t mourn Balder when he died,” Matt said, his voice drawing their attention and breaking the building tension. “Loki’s representative”—he pointed at Fen—“ is mourning.”

  Helen’s seemingly plastic face didn’t change, except for a slight curve at the corners of her mouth. Fen thought it was a smile or maybe Helen’s version of a laugh. The creatures out of myth that he’d met didn’t exactly act like regular folks. The Valkyries were completely lacking a sense of humor; the monsters were straight out of the late-night movies that he probably shouldn’t be watching; and now, the lady who ruled over the dead seemed like an animated doll—the sort that also might belong in scary movies or books. He wasn’t sure what to say or do.

  “We would like to take our friend home… Aunt Helen,” Laurie said in her I’m-a-good-girl voice.

  Helen laughed, a bark of noise that seemed exceedingly odd because her features remained immobile. The iridescent wings on her dress all shivered, creating a prism of color. Then, Helen looked at Laurie. “Fenrir has my father’s temper, but you would mislead like Father Loki did.” She shook her head. “You do not think me an aunt any more than you think yourself a hero, Niece of Mine.”

  Helen swept her arm to her side, and a doorway opened in the air. Baldwin stepped through the doorway, looking as alive as he had when they were in his house. On second glance, though, Fen could tell that something was different. He was a somewhat slower, paler version of himself. Baldwin had been a nonstop blur of crazy words and hurtles into danger. Seeing him seeming so sluggish was wrong—not as wrong as seeing him dead after he’d been poisoned, but still, it sucked.

  “Hey!” The dead boy grabbed Fen and Laurie in a hug and then released them and stepped away. “Man, did Astrid kill you, too? Wow. That’s just not cool. I guess someone else will have to fight the big snake and the Raiders.” He shook his head and looked at Matt. “Totally uncool for you, but I still think you’d have been great at it. It’s great to see you. I mean, not great, but—”

  “Baldwin,” Helen interrupted.

  “Oh, hey.” He flashed her a smile. “Isn’t Helen awesome? She has the best food here.” He darted off and grabbed a slice of pizza.

  Maybe he wasn’t changed as much as Fen had thought. Still, Fen watched in shock as Baldwin shook crushed red pepper on the pizza. “Wait! What are you doing?”

  “It’s good,” Baldwin said around a bite of pizza. “No poison on the pizza here. Plus, we’re all already dead, so it’s not like we can re-die.”

  He took another bite while they stared at him.

  “We’re not dead, Baldwin,” Matt said carefully.

  He’s not breathing. That was the other thing that was different. It made sense and all: Baldwin was dead. However, he was talking, walking, and eating as if he were alive. He simply wasn’t breathing. Fen found himself watching how very still Baldwin’s chest was. Baldwin’s death was the worst thing that had happened so far. As a rule, Fen didn’t like people, but Baldwin was impossible to dislike. Fen had felt like his guts were being ripped out when Baldwin died. It was horrible. He was here now, though, and Fen hoped that Helen would let them take the murdered boy home.

  “You’re in Hel.”

  “We are,” Fen agreed.

  Baldwin shook his head and swallowed another bite of his food. “Shock,” he said sagely. “It’ll fade.” He walked up to Matt and patted his back. “It’s hard to accept being dead, but—”

  “No,” Laurie interrupted. “We’re actually not dead, Baldwin. We’re here to rescue you.”

  The boy frowned
in confusion. “From what? There are monsters I can fight with, pizza, and Helen’s pretty good at games. We played this one called Tafl that’s like an old Viking game. Have you heard of it?”

  “Sure…” Matt cleared his throat. “We’ll play Tafl. At home. After we stop Ragnarök. Right now, though, we need you to come with us.”

  “I’m not sure I can,” Baldwin said. “Helen, the death thing is permanent, right?”

  The ruler of Hel had watched the entire exchange with the same expression, but Fen suspected that her inflexible features were just her, not in response to the things around her. “Typically, those who arrive here don’t leave,” she said, “but for my niece and nephew, I could make an exception if I chose to do so.”

  “You’re related to Helen?” Baldwin’s eyes widened. “Too cool. So do you visit her a lot?”

  “No,” Fen said. He took a deep breath and then locked eyes with Helen. “Thorsen says the myth is that Loki didn’t weep, but I… did.” Fen felt uncomfortable. Crying wasn’t something anyone liked to admit to doing, but he knew that the myth said that crying was the key. In a low voice, he added, “I cried.”

  “Really?” Baldwin started. “That’s so nice.”

  Laurie shushed Baldwin and then added, “We all wept. What Astrid did was awful.”

  “And clever,” Helen murmured.

  “She killed Baldwin. That’s not clever; it’s evil.” Fen’s hands curled into fists, discomfort ending as his temper stirred. “Baldwin is a good guy, and because some myth said his death was the start of Ragnarök, Astrid murdered him, and she used me as part of her sick plan.”

  “True,” Helen said emotionlessly.

  Fen wasn’t sure if Helen was agreeing to the facts or that Ragnarök was starting or that Astrid was evil. It didn’t matter, though. All that mattered was Baldwin’s release, so he pushed his temper away as best he could and continued, “We came. We wept. You already said you could let him go, so what’s it going to be?”

  Helen looked at them, her gaze assessing, and after a moment she said, “Fine. You can take him.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Matt said. “Thank you very much.”

  But before anyone else could speak, Helen added, “There is one problem.”

  “Of course there is.” Fen sighed. Just once it would be awesome if there weren’t a problem, or a monster, or an enemy. He could see Laurie’s shoulders slump and suspected she felt the same way. Thorsen, of course, was more upbeat.

  “Okay,” Matt said. “What is it?”

  Helen looked at them each in turn, stopping last on Laurie, before saying, “The doorway that you opened, Niece, can only allow as many out of my domain as came into it.”

  They all stared at her in shocked silence for several moments.

  “Well, if you guys aren’t dead, none of you should stay,” Baldwin said. “That wouldn’t make any sense. I’ll just stay here.”

  Laurie swallowed and in a very shaky voice offered, “I can open the portal, and you can all go through it, and since I’m not one of the representatives of the gods necessary for the fight, I can—”

  “No!” Fen snarled. “Not. Going. To. Happen.”

  “Are there other ways out?” Matt asked.

  Helen nodded. “One. I could give you directions.”

  “Okay.” Matt nodded. “Laurie, you open the portal, and you three go back. I can use the other, umm, exit.”

  Fen’s attention snapped from his cousin to Matt. “Are you cracked, Thorsen? You saw the Jotunn and Garm, and Baldwin says there are other monsters. He might be impervious to harm, but you aren’t. You can’t risk dying here when you’re the one who needs to defeat the big snake thing!” Fen shook his head. “I’m surrounded by crazy people.” He pointed at Baldwin. “You are coming back with us.” Then he pointed at Laurie. “You are… just… don’t you ever say something like that again. Ever.” Finally, he pointed at Matt. “And you’re not wandering Hel by yourself. We’re a team. If one of us has to stay, we all travel to the exit.”

  All three of them stared at him with expressions somewhere between shock and amusement. Fen didn’t back down after his outburst. He knew he was right. They were all so eager to sacrifice themselves sometimes that no one looked at the big picture. He stared at them, braced for argument.

  Instead, Baldwin grinned and said, “Huh. I thought Loki’s champion would be a troublemaker, not all ‘go team!’ ”

  “Fen’s right,” Matt said. “We’ll stick together.”

  Laurie bumped Fen’s shoulder but said nothing.

  He felt his face burning with embarrassment and forced himself not to look at his feet to hide it. Okay, maybe he liked them all a bit more than he let on, but seriously, they were a team: a monster-defeating, save-the-world team. Teams stuck together. With a lot more confidence than he usually felt, he looked at Helen. “So let’s have it, Auntie Helen: where’s the exit?”

  “I’ll give you a map,” Helen offered, “and something you didn’t ask for.” She paused then, her hand absently stroking the insects of her skirt like they were pets, before adding, “Odin’s child has been captured by other members of our family. They are not being kind to him.”

  Laurie gasped at the revelation, and Fen’s stomach sank even further. He didn’t know Odin’s champion, but no one deserved to be a prisoner of the wulfenkind. Their good behavior was awful, so he didn’t imagine they were treating a prisoner well at all. He wondered what other enemies were with them. It couldn’t be just the wolves and Astrid, could it? Were the trolls involved? The mara? Monsters they didn’t know yet? Rescue one godling, and another is already in danger. He stepped a little closer to Laurie.

  Helen gave him the kind of smile that said she noticed and knew why. Then she handed Laurie what seemed to be hundreds of tiny wings stitched together into a parchment of sorts. As Laurie tilted it, it seemed to be transparent; the map had been drawn on the wing-paper in some sort of thick red ink. Fen wondered if this was what happened to the winged things she wore after they died. Was their fate becoming paper? He stopped himself before he could wonder what the ink was.

  As Fen lifted his gaze from the map, his cousin blurted out, “Oh, wait! Can we ask which side you’ll be on? In the battle, I mean?”

  Instead of replying, Helen simply smiled and vanished, leaving the four kids standing in an empty pavilion.

  “Right,” Laurie said. “No more answers there.” She took a deep breath and returned to studying the map, muttering, “We’ll go home, and then try to rescue Owen, and—”

  “Not try,” Matt said, his tone even but firm. “We will rescue him.”

  They didn’t know Owen, but he was one of them. Fen and Matt exchanged a look, and Fen saw his own resolve mirrored there.

  “I hope so,” Laurie said.

  Fen bumped his shoulder into her. “He’ll be okay. We’ll go get him.”

  His cousin leaned into him and nodded once. Then she held up the map so they could all look at it. “It looks like we’re over here, so we”—she lifted her eyes and surveyed the area—“go that way.”

  THREE

  OWEN

  “THOUGHT AND MEMORY”

  Owen thought he was prepared to be captured. Like his father, his grandfather, and his great-grandfathers, Owen had always known about the coming battle. They were—as their ancestor, Odin, had been—born “all-seeing,” so they knew when the end of the world was going to be. It shifted, like all futures did, as people made choices. A few recent choices had brought Ragnarök forward by several years, far sooner than he’d have liked.

  “Hey, god-boy!” One of the Raiders, cruel wulfenkind who were descendants of the god Loki, kicked him.

  Owen opened his eyes. For now, he could still do that, but every day, he tried to convince himself to only open the one, to get used to losing his eye. When he was little, he’d worn an eye patch for an entire school year to practice having only one eye. The other kids called him “pirate” and “freak.” He di
dn’t tell them that he was even stranger than they thought. His family was proud of him. They called him brave. He didn’t tell them that he cheated. When he was alone in his room, he would remove the patch.

  “If you’re so all-knowing, shouldn’t you have known we would capture you?” the Raider taunted.

  “Yes.” Owen smiled at the boy. He’d discovered that his smile frightened them, so he smiled often. “I knew.”

  The boy backed up, and Owen smiled wider. He was a prisoner wearing handcuffs, but he was also a boy who was taking the place of a god in a great myth. The wulfenkind were just bullies. They thought that kicking him and saying mean things would make him afraid. It didn’t. It reminded him when and where he was, and that helped him stay strong. Odin was a god who could see the future; Owen was a human with a god’s gift. Sometimes that meant that Owen got confused on what had happened and what was going to happen. He saw everything—up until he became a participant in an event. As long as he wasn’t actively a part of a mission, he could still see it. Once he started making choices about a situation, his future-sight vanished. That’s why he was staying away from the others for now.

  He looked forward to meeting them, though. Knowing the future had made it really hard to make friends. In the myths, Thor and Loki were friends with Odin, and Owen really hoped that the gods’ representatives would also be his friends. For now, he had only his two ravens: Thought (Huginn) and Memory (Muninn).

  As if he’d summoned them, they arrived and landed on him, one on each of his shoulders. Their talons squeezed, digging into his skin. Thought and Memory told him what they had seen in Hel. He tried to listen carefully, but the voices of ravens were strange.