Odin's Ravens

by K. L. Armstrong

  Owen shifted, trying to get comfortable as he listened to the ravens. They told him that Thor and Loki were still in Hel, and they cautioned that the rooster had not yet spoken.

  “Maybe the rooster will stay silent, and the end won’t come,” he whispered.

  The ravens both looked at him like he was a fool. They reminded him that Balder had been killed, and the rooster would speak. Ragnarök was beginning, and the battle was unavoidable.

  “You’ll stay with me?” he asked, hating that he sounded afraid. He usually hid his emotions well, but no amount of preparation would make today any easier.

  “We stay now,” Thought said.

  “It hurt Odin,” Memory added.

  “It will hurt you, but we stay,” Thought promised.

  The Raider guarding Owen tried to shoo Huginn and Muninn away again, but the ravens dug their talons into Owen’s shoulders. They weren’t leaving him. The birds cawed at the Raider, pecking at the boy’s hand as he tried to make them fly away.

  “Nasty birds,” the Raider muttered, smearing the blood from the back of his hand onto his ripped pants.

  “They are mine,” Owen murmured. “Tell your boss that they are here. He’s been waiting for this, too.”

  “Like you would know,” the boy scoffed.

  Owen smiled before he said, “The ravens told me. They tell me everything. I know what your boss will do next.” He took a moment so his voice wouldn’t waver, and then he finished, “And I am ready.”

  FOUR

  MATT

  “BEACH OF BONES”

  As soon as their feet left the stone floors of the pavilion, fog rolled in, smelling wet and rank, like swamp water. Matt peered into the fog, seeing only that thick gray blanket. The pavilion had been oddly hushed, but out here it was so silent he could hear the others breathing. The noise of it sounded strange, unnatural in this dead world. Unnatural and unwanted.

  Matt took a step and his shoe crunched, making him jump back. He peered down to see sand. Or pebbles. White pebbles. That’s why everything looked gray—they were walking onto a massive white beach shrouded in fog.

  He continued forward. The others followed.

  “Can anyone see?” Laurie had whispered it, but her voice echoed like a thunderclap.

  Matt started to say no. Then he realized his eyes were adjusting. He could make out a figure ten feet away. He was no taller than Matt and thinner than Laurie but definitely a grown man, his face lined and gray. Actually gray—not just pale. His entire figure was that color, from his hair to his clothes to his skin to his shoes, as if he was cast in stone. He was dressed like a Viking thrall—an indentured servant—wearing a simple belted tunic and laced sandals.

  “I think we’re supposed to follow him,” Matt said, pointing.

  “The statue?” Fen said.

  “It’s one of Helen’s servants.”

  “Um, no, it’s a statue. I saw ones just like it back in the pavilion and near the gates.”

  Matt shook his head. “It’s Ganglati, Helen’s manservant. Ganglot was inside, too—she’s the maidservant.”

  “You’re losing it, Thorsen. That is a statue. Watch.”

  Fen broke into a lope, ignoring Laurie’s cries for him to stay close. As he drew near the figure, a sheet of mist blew by, obscuring it. When the mist passed, the “statue” stood another ten feet away.

  “See?” Matt said.

  “That’s creepy,” Fen grumbled. “Statues aren’t supposed to move.”

  “They’re not really statues, though.” Baldwin lifted a hand. “Hey, Ganglati. Thanks for the escort.”

  Fen turned to Baldwin. “You knew? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt. That’s rude. But you’re right—they do look like statues. It’s an easy mistake to make.” Baldwin smiled, and Fen stopped grumbling.

  They “followed” Ganglati. The manservant would disappear when they got close, only to reappear farther away. As they walked, the cold mist swirled around them. Matt rubbed his arms, but it didn’t really help. It was so icy and wet, like a winter’s rain.

  Bone-chilling cold, his mom always called it.

  Bone-chilling. That fit here, he supposed. So did “quiet as a tomb.” The only sound was the crunch of their footsteps on the white pebbles below. As Matt tramped along, he realized his sneaker had come untied. He adjusted his shield and bent to tie his shoe. As he did, he saw the rocks. They seemed more like driftwood—bleached-white bits of varying shapes and sizes. One looked like a tiny tower, square and white with four points at the top. He poked at the piece, and the rest of it came out of the sand, a tapering white bottom. It was a tooth. A molar. Matt picked up another piece and saw the porous underside. Bone. That’s what they were walking on. A beach of bones.

  “Matt?” Laurie said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just fixing my shoe.” He straightened and readjusted his shield. “Let’s go.”

  After a while, the beach began to dwindle, the ground becoming soft, scattered with what were now undeniably bones—a skull here, a rib there. No one commented. They just continued on. The mist lifted, too, though occasionally Matt would feel a drip of cold water. When he looked up, he could make out roots far overhead. Yggdrasil—the world tree. Hel was under one root, earth beneath another, and the frost giants below the third.

  When Matt noticed Ganglati standing to the side, he started that way, but the wraith lifted a hand, the movement so slow he seemed not to move at all. Matt continued toward him, but he vanished and reappeared farther, his hand still lifted. Very slowly, he shook his head.

  “I think he’s saying this is as far as he can take us,” Laurie whispered.

  “We’re on our own after this?” Matt called.

  Ganglati’s head dipped in a nod. Then he vanished… and didn’t reappear.

  “Okay,” Fen said. “So back to the map. Can you tell where we are?”

  “I think so.” Laurie unfolded the map and studied it for a moment. “We’re looking for a river next.”

  “I hear running water,” Baldwin said. “That way.”

  Matt nodded, and they continued on.

  Something was following them. Matt had caught a faint noise a few minutes ago. Now it came again. It didn’t sound like footsteps. More like a rustling, except… not quite. He couldn’t place it and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Whatever lurked in the shadows was probably not something he cared to see. Yet it couldn’t be too dangerous or his amulet would vibrate.

  The sound came again, closer now.

  “What is that?” Laurie asked.

  “What’s what?” Fen said.

  “I heard something. No one else did?” She looked around at the boys, frowning.

  Fen said he didn’t, and Baldwin agreed. Matt thought of saying the same, just so no one would worry, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie.

  “I did,” Matt said. “I think something’s following us.”

  Laurie glanced over sharply. Fen spun on him, saying, “What?”

  “It’s probably just a ghost,” Matt said. “A wraith or a landvættir. I hear a whispery noise, like a death shroud.”

  “Death shroud?” Laurie asked.

  “You know, the thing they wrap corpses in. It’s probably just a curious corpse following us.”

  “Huh,” Fen said. “That’s not disturbing at all.”

  “It is Hel,” Matt said. “Or Niflheim. The division isn’t exactly clear. There’s Helen’s domain, also known as Hel, and then there’s Niflheim, which is—”

  Something dove at Matt’s head. He caught only the blur of motion coming straight at him.

  “Down!” he shouted as he dropped.

  The thing let out a strangled squawk and zoomed back up out of sight. As it flew away, Matt caught the beating of its wings and realized that was the noise he’d been hearing.

  Another squawk and a dark shape swooped at them again.

  “Take cover!” Matt said
. “Over there!”

  He pointed to a shadow about twenty feet away. As they ran, he could make out more shadows, domes about ten feet high, dotting the landscape. Burial mounds. He steered the group between two.

  “How does this help?” Fen said as they crouched there. “It’s dive-bombing us. We need to be under something.”

  “I know,” Matt said. “I’m thinking.” He paused as the creature squawked again. “Laurie? What does the map show? Any place to take cover?”

  A rustle as she unfolded it. “It’s too dark. I can’t really see.…”

  The creature dove at them again.

  “What is that thing?” Fen said. “Thorsen? You’re the monster expert.”

  “I know; I know.” Matt racked his brain to think of Norse flying beasts. There weren’t many. “Maybe Hræsvelgr? He’s a giant that sits at the end of the world and can take the form of an eagle.”

  “Or it could be a chicken,” Baldwin said.

  Fen laughed softly. “Yeah. I wish.”

  “Um, he’s serious,” Laurie said. “Look.”

  They all turned and followed Laurie’s finger to see something perched on the burial mound right beside them. It was…

  “A chicken?” Fen said.

  Matt gazed up at the bird. It was a huge rooster, almost three feet tall and just as long from the tip of its dark red beak to the tip of its long tail feather, which was the same red, so dark it almost looked brown. Soot red. The words leaped to his mind, and as they did, his throat closed for a moment, breath coming hard. The rooster stayed there, balancing on the peak of the burial mound, crimson eyes fixed on his.

  “ ‘A sooty-red cock from the halls of Hel,’ ” he recited.

  “A what?” Fen said.

  “Cock. Rooster.”

  “Right. So what’s with the, umm, rooster?” Fen said, his cheeks red, carefully not looking at his cousin.

  “It’s one of the three that will crow to signal the start of Ragnarök. The other two are in Valhalla and Jotunheim—the land of the heroes and the land of the giants.”

  “What if the rooster doesn’t crow?” Fen said.

  Fen’s voice sounded odd, almost like a growl, and when Matt looked over, Fen was watching the bird the way a wolf would watch its prey.

  “What?” Matt said.

  “What if it doesn’t crow? Would that fix things? No rooster, no Ragnarök?”

  “Fen…” Laurie said, her voice low with warning.

  Matt shook his head. “We’ve got that covered. Once we get Baldwin out of here, we’ve broken the myth cycle.”

  “We hope,” Laurie murmured.

  “Maybe we could use some insurance.…” Fen said, eyeing the bird. “I can take down a chicken, even a giant one.”

  There was a definite growl in Fen’s voice now, and as his hands flexed against the burial mound, they seemed to shimmer and pulse, as if about to change shape. The rooster looked right at him, head tilted. Then it turned to Matt and let out another squawk. Only this time, Matt didn’t hear a squawk. He heard a word: “Soon.”

  The bird spread its red wings, flapped once, and lifted into the air.

  “Soon,” it said. “Soon.”

  Soon. Ragnarök is coming soon.

  As it flew off, Matt stared after it, his stomach twisting. He dimly heard Fen make some comment, but he was too wrapped up in his thoughts to catch it.

  We got Baldwin back. We broke the cycle. We changed the myth.

  Not yet. We still need to get him out. Then everything will be fine.

  “You don’t belong here,” a voice behind them said.

  They all wheeled to see a huge bearded man in Viking garb. A warrior. Matt could tell by his spear and shield and helm, which—like real Viking helms—did not have horns. Otherwise, the man didn’t wear any kind of armor, just a coat over his tunic.

  Two other warriors stood, one on each side of him, blocking the gap between the burial mounds. All three looked—well, they looked dead. There was no other way to describe it. Their clothing was tattered, their faces gray and drooping, like they were one good beard-tug from sliding off. All three appeared to have died of old age, with graying hair, wrinkled faces, and not a full set of teeth among them.

  “Viking zombies,” Baldwin whispered. “That is so cool.”

  “Draugrs,” Matt murmured back.

  “What?”

  “Viking zombies are called draugrs. They guard the treasures of the dead.” He gazed around at the burial mounds. “But I don’t think that’s what they are. At least, I hope not.”

  As zombies went, draugrs were some of the nastiest. They weren’t evil, like zombies, but if you got on their bad side, you were in trouble. Big trouble. Draugrs were the animated bodies of dead Viking warriors, but they kept their human intelligence, and they could inflate to more than double their size for a fight. Plus, being already dead, they couldn’t be killed.

  Matt took a better look at the men. No, he was pretty sure they weren’t draugrs. Just run-of-the-mill dead Vikings.

  “You don’t belong here,” the big one said again.

  “Yeah, we’ve already heard that,” Fen muttered.

  “And we completely agree,” Matt said. “Which is why we’re trying to leave. We’ll be gone as soon as possible, and we’re very sorry to have disturbed your, uh, afterlife.”

  “Leave?” another man said, perking up. “You can leave?”

  Matt cursed himself for that one. “No, I mean, well, yes, we can, but only because we don’t belong here, like you said. It’s, uh, a special exit. For people who got here by mistake.”

  “Like us,” the big man said. “We are here by mistake.”

  “You’re not making this better, Thorsen,” Fen muttered.

  “We should be in Valhalla,” the man said. “We are warriors.”

  “Right,” Matt said slowly. “But only warriors who actually die in battle go to Valhalla, which I know is totally unfair and—”

  “We died in battle.”

  “Little old for fighting, weren’t you?” Fen muttered.

  The dead man glowered at Fen and wrenched open his tunic. He pointed to a thin cut along his wrinkled breastbone. “What do you call this, boy?”

  “Um, a giant paper cut?”

  The dead Viking snarled and bellowed curses, calling Fen a shaggy hair, a bread nose, a half troll, and a pot licker.

  As the old guy chewed Fen out, the other two men partly stripped to show equally shallow cuts. It was then that Matt realized what was going on. The problem with Valhalla was that warriors could only enter if they died in battle. Unfair, as he’d said, because if you thought about it, the rule meant you got a better afterlife if you messed up. If you were such a good warrior that you lived to die in bed? Well, then you were outta luck, like these poor guys. Matt had heard that sometimes old warriors would attempt to game the system by cutting themselves on their deathbeds, in hopes that the Valkyries would think they’d died of wounds sustained in combat. It apparently didn’t work, but you couldn’t blame the old guys for trying.

  “You got a raw deal,” Matt said finally, cutting in as Fen argued with the increasingly enraged ghosts. “I’m going to speak to someone about that.”

  “You?” All three dead men laughed so loud their drooping faces wobbled. “Who are you to speak for us?”

  Matt pulled himself up straight. “I am Matthew Thorsen, descendant of the great god Thor. Chosen to be his representative at the battle of Ragnarök.”

  In a final flourish, he pulled the amulet from under his shirt. The three men stared at it. Then they burst out laughing.

  “No, he’s serious,” Laurie said. “He’s a son of Thor. And Fen and I are…” She trailed off. “We’re descendants of another great Norse god, and Baldwin here is a descendant of Balder. Everyone likes Balder, right?” She leaned over to Baldwin and whispered, “Say something.”

  Baldwin grinned and lifted a hand in greeting. “Hey, I’m Baldwin. I have no idea what�
��s going on here, but you should listen to these guys. If they say they’ll help, they will.”

  The men laughed again. Then one stopped and pointed at the map clutched in Laurie’s hand.

  “What is that?” he asked.

  Matt tensed. If these men realized they had a map out of Hel…

  “This?” Laurie held it up, but not before quickly flipping it to show them the back. “I don’t know. I found it back there. Pretty, isn’t it? It almost looks like it’s made of insect wings.”

  “We really should be going,” Matt said. “Like I said, I’ll put in a good word for you. With the Valkyries. I know the leader. Hildar? Have you heard of her?”

  As he babbled, he moved backward, subtly motioning for the others to do the same.

  “That is a map,” the big one said as Laurie carefully folded it while retreating.

  “What?” Laurie looked down at it. “Really? Why would you think that? It just looks like shimmery paper. I thought it was pretty because, umm, girls like pretty things, right?”

  “It is a map out of here,” one said. “It is from Helen. No one else has paper like that.”

  “Really? Huh… she must have dropped it. Maybe it’s a list or… notes. I bet that’s it.”

  The dead Viking lunged. Matt grabbed Laurie’s arm and whipped her behind him.

  “Run!” he said.

  They took off across the field, weaving in and out of the burial mounds.

  “Can someone explain why we’re running from old dead men?” Fen shouted as they went. “Those aren’t giants, Thorsen. One good punch and they’ll fall apart. We could take them.”

  “I don’t want to,” Matt called back.

  “Why not?”

  “Because they don’t deserve it.”

  “Matt’s right,” Laurie said as they dodged a thighbone. “We can’t take them out of here, but they’re old warriors, so we should respect them.”

  “Then they should respect us, too,” Fen grumbled. “We’re descendants of gods. We don’t run from old men.”

  “Hrafnasveltir!” one of the old Vikings bellowed. “Run, hrafnasveltir!”

  “What’s he calling us?” Fen snarled.