Odin's Ravens

by K. L. Armstrong

  So when the draugr began to roar, he got it from all sides. An arrow in the back of the head. A wolf clamping down on his arm bone. And Matt running full speed and slamming him in the face with the shield. This time, it was like hitting him with a shield made of solid brick. There was a horrible cracking noise. Then a rip and a snap as the draugr fell backward, and Fen ended up with a detached zombie arm in his mouth.

  The draugr hit the ground flat on his back. His face looked like it had been hit with a brick shield—the bone cracked, nose lying flat, a couple of teeth dangling loose. Still, he struggled up and ran at Fen, snatching his arm back and magically reattaching it. Then he went after Matt.

  The fight continued. Laurie pelted the draugr with arrows. Fen chomped down on whatever bone he could reach. Matt slammed the draugr with both shield and Hammer. He called on Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, and they joined in, butting the draugr mercilessly. Yet, like a horror-movie zombie, the draugr just kept coming. That’s when Matt realized he was in trouble. He was wasting his strength and his powers on one insignificant draugr while the real battle waited.

  Angry and frustrated, Matt felt the rage build inside of him, amulet burning hot.

  “Get out of my way!” he shouted finally, as he faced off with the draugr, arrows sticking from its armor like porcupine quills, Fen hanging off its arm.

  The draugr laughed. “The little boy grows tired? I am a warrior, fool; I will not step aside for—”

  “Thor!” Matt roared. “You will step aside for Thor.”

  He didn’t even need to launch the Hammer. Like in the cabin, it launched itself, a massive ball of blue light hurtling from his body. Fen saw it coming and let go, twisting out of the way. The draugr stood there, jawbone hanging. The ball hit him in the breastplate and—

  And shattered him like a baseball hitting a vase. He broke into a hundred bones, flying like shrapnel, everyone ducking to avoid the pieces. Then…

  Quiet. All around them, the battle stopped. Berserkers, Valkyries, and draugrs alike turned and stared at the arrow-ridden armor lying on the battlefield.

  Matt strode forward, bellowing, “I am the Champion of Thor. I come for Mjölnir. Stop hiding behind your army, Glaemir. Face me!”

  The silence rippled outward, the fighting stopping even beyond those who could see what had happened, even beyond those who could hear Matt’s words. A hush fell and the crowd parted, and at the end of it, he could see Glaemir, rising from his throne, Mjölnir now at his feet.

  “You want Mjölnir?” the draugr king said. “Come and take her.”

  Matt continued walking, aware of the crowd on either side of the path, in case someone jumped him, all the while not taking his gaze from the king. Fen and Laurie helped, walking on either side of him, as did Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr.

  “Your friends and your pets stay there,” Glaemir said as Matt approached the throne.

  “And your guards?” Matt said.

  Glaemir waved the two back. “You will give me your word that your side will not interfere, and I will vouch for my warriors. This will be between us. A fight for Mjölnir.”

  “You have my word.”

  Matt caught Fen’s eye. Fen tilted his head discreetly, asking if he should jump in when he could, but Matt shook his head. If he broke his word, the draugrs would break theirs. This was the way it should be. The way he understood. Warrior versus warrior.

  He climbed the steps onto the massive raised stone slab that held the king and his throne. He didn’t need to defeat Glaemir. Just get to Mjölnir, less than ten feet away, the handle sticking up, as if waiting for him. Then keep the draugr king at bay long enough for the Valkyries to snatch him up. Easy.

  Glaemir reached down and, for a heart-stopping second, Matt thought he was reaching for Mjölnir, that he’d somehow learned to wield it. But no, his hand went past the hammer and under his throne to pull out—

  A sword. It was four feet long and nearly four inches wide. The hilt looked a thousand years old, dull and tarnished, the carvings nearly worn smooth from use. Yet the blade? The blade was clean and polished and sharp.

  Matt’s heart thudded. Until now, the draugrs had fought mostly unarmed, a few wielding clubs and cudgels, but nothing with a blade. A blade…

  He swallowed.

  A blade made this a very different kind of fight.

  “I don’t have a weapon,” Matt said.

  “Yes, you do,” Glaemir’s half face contorted in a terrible smile. “It’s right here. Come and get it.”

  He brandished his sword, smile growing to a skull-head grin.

  “Unless you lie,” Glaemir said. “Unless you truly are an impostor.”

  “You know I’m not. I—”

  “Come and get it, then, Atli Thor.” Thor the Terrible, said with a contemptuous twist of what remained of his lips.

  “I have no weapon,” Matt said again.

  “You have a shield.”

  “And you are invulnerable. You don’t need a shield.”

  “You have your amulet. Are you going to continue whining like a child? Or do you intend to fight me?”

  Matt charged. Glaemir smiled and swung back his blade, and Matt heard Laurie shout, “No!” but at the last second, he flung up his shield and the sword clanged off it, as if it had turned to metal. The plan had been to block the blow and grab the hammer. Except the hammer wasn’t there. When he grabbed for it, the stone slab beneath it shattered, as if hit from below, and Mjölnir dropped out of reach.

  Matt heard Laurie shout again and twisted just as Glaemir swung the sword for another blow. He barely blocked it this time, the impact slamming through his arm with a jolt of pain. He could hear Laurie shouting suggestions, which would be great if Fen’s helpful growls weren’t drowning her out.

  Matt scrambled to the side before Glaemir swung again. He leaped up and blocked the next blow, then raced out of Glaemir’s reach and hit him with a Hammer strike. It was decent enough. A week ago, he’d have considered it a success. But he was spoiled now, after the megablows in the cabin and here on the battlefield, and it seemed like lobbing a basketball when he expected a cannonball.

  The Hammer strike hit Glaemir. The draugr king stumbled back. It was no more than a stumble, though, not even enough time for Matt to get two steps closer to Mjölnir, now on the edge of the broken stone slab under their feet.

  The fight continued. Slash. Dodge. Hammer blow. Recover. Hack. Block. Repeat. The whole time Matt’s focus stayed fixed on Mjölnir, even when he pretended otherwise. Glaemir wasn’t stupid, though. He knew that’s where Matt was heading and kept cutting him off and driving him back.

  Finally, Matt realized he had to change tactics. He wasn’t getting that hammer without inflicting some serious damage on the zombie king. So he concentrated on the Hammer that he did have—his amulet. He managed to get in some serious blows, too. Blasts that nearly knocked Mjölnir off the slab with their force. The same blows would have exploded a lesser draugr. Or one with less flesh on his bones. The most Matt managed was to knock small, nonessential parts off Glaemir. An ear. A tooth. A few bony fingers. It wasn’t enough.

  The trick, as Matt realized midway through a slash-dodge sequence, was to aim the Hammer blasts somewhere other than Glaemir’s chest. He blocked a sword thrust and danced backward, nearly to the other side of the slab, purposefully balancing on the edge. Glaemir grinned as if Matt didn’t know where he stood. The draugr barreled toward him, sword out, pointed straight at the shield, his only goal to knock Matt back a step and onto the stone below.

  But Matt was ready. He fired a Hammer blast straight at Glaemir’s left knee—bare bone under his ragged trousers. It was a good blast, too, complete with a crash and flash that sent the nearest bystanders reeling. The hurtling ball of light hit its target dead-on… and half of Glaemir’s left leg shot across the slab, leaving the rest of him standing there. For a split second, he didn’t seem to realize what had happened. Then he fell.

  Matt raced across
the slab, skirting the draugr king as Glaemir bellowed for his guards to find the rest of his leg. Matt was five feet from Mjölnir. Four. Three. He heard Glaemir roar and dropped into a slide, stomach hitting the stone slab, skidding over it as it sliced through his shirt, into his skin, the sudden pain excruciating, but he didn’t care. Mjölnir was there, right there—

  The slab edge crumbled, and the hammer dropped. Matt could see it, just a few feet below, the handle still up. He could push off the edge and—

  “Matt!”

  He didn’t need Laurie’s warning. He sensed Glaemir and flipped to see the draugr king’s sword coming straight at him while Matt’s shield twisted awkwardly beneath him, useless.

  He fired a Hammer blast instead. It knocked Glaemir back, just enough for the sword to sing over Matt’s head. Matt leaped to his feet, ready to scramble down off the slab, but Glaemir slashed again, this time cutting through Matt’s shirt, just missing his skin. Matt yanked his shield up. Below, he could see Mjölnir, lying there on the ground….

  No, wait! It wasn’t just lying there. It was moving. Rocking. Vibrating. Matt reached out his hand, trying not to be obvious. Mjölnir rocked harder.

  He focused on calling the hammer to him. Which would be a whole lot easier if he wasn’t also focused on not getting skewered, stabbed, or sliced. He dodged a sword thrust and blocked another. The whole time, Mjölnir rocked but never so much as lifted an inch from the ground.

  “You will not get Mjölnir, boy,” Glaemir said. “It is not yours.”

  Yes, it is. I pulled it from the rock. I threw it and it returned to my hand. It’s mine.

  Now return to me, Mjölnir!

  It rocked once. Only once. Glaemir noticed and laughed.

  “As I said, it is not yours, impostor.”

  “You know I’m not—”

  Glaemir swung, cutting him short. Nearly cutting his hair short, too. Matt dodged, then blocked, then sidestepped.

  He knows I’m Thor’s champion. He knows I freed Mjölnir. He’s lying. For some reason, he’s lying.

  Matt realized that, and fresh rage shot through him. He’d proven himself. He had. He absolutely had, and if there was any doubt—

  No, there was no doubt.

  “I am Thor!” he roared as he continued blocking Glaemir. “Asa-Thor. Atli Thor. Oku-Thor. I am all of those. I am Vingthor. Battle Thor. Mjölnir! Return to me!”

  The hammer shot up. It hit his hand so hard his arm whipped back with the force. But his fingers instinctively wrapped around the handle. He gripped it, and he heaved it, swinging it straight at Glaemir. It hit the draugr in the shoulder, his arm bones exploding. Matt didn’t wait to see if that was enough. He hit him again, the hammer like a stone mallet, splintering bone under dried flesh. The second blow knocked Glaemir onto his back. Matt hit him again, in the other hand, sending Glaemir’s sword whipping through the air. Then he stood over the draugr king, Mjölnir raised over Glaemir’s head.

  “I am Thor!” Matt shouted, and he lifted his head, looking out at the crowd, braced for the first sign of attack from the draugr’s warriors.

  But they weren’t attacking. They were bending, down on one knee, heads lowered.

  “Vingthor!” one shouted.

  Another took up the cry, and it echoed across the ruins and through the field of dead warriors.

  Vingthor.

  Battle Thor.

  TWENTY-THREE

  FEN

  “DEATH STEPS IN”

  Fen shed his wulfenkind form and stood next to his cousin as the draugrs all bowed to Matt and cheered. He wasn’t going to get all touchy-feely and say anything aloud, but it was pretty amazing. The fighting had all stopped, like a wave of stillness swept over the crowd, and Thorsen stood poised over the fallen leader of the draugrs.

  “We won,” Laurie said. “He has Mjölnir.”

  Even as the room had come to an almost reverent stillness, Baldwin was still irrepressibly bouncy. He came over to stand beside Fen. “This god-representative thing is the most epic thing ever. We’ve battled dead guys and nasty wolves.”

  Fen raised his brows as he looked at Baldwin. “Wolf here.”

  Baldwin made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Not the nasty sort, though. Doesn’t count.”

  Fen had to smile. He was really glad Baldwin was alive again.

  Matt turned and looked pointedly at them and then at the twins. He tilted his head in a beckoning gesture.

  “Thorsen wants us.” Fen lifted his arm in a sweeping arc, gesturing the others forward, and then shot a guilty glance at Laurie. “Sorry. Used to being the second-in-command, but I guess that’s you now.”

  Laurie rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid. We’re a team.”

  As the others joined them, they all made their way up to where Matt had overcome Glaemir. Once the descendants were at his side, Matt looked at the silent dead, who were bowing to him. “I am not an impostor; neither are they. These are Loki’s descendants.” He looked at Fen and Laurie.

  The cousins exchanged a confused look but then lifted their heads and stared out at the draugrs, who now watched them. Matt obviously had a reason for what he was doing. They trusted him enough to go along with it.

  “And Frey and Freya’s.”

  The twins stood with linked hands, ready to use their magic if things got violent again.

  “And Balder’s.”

  Baldwin gave a cheery wave. “Hi! It was great fighting you.”

  “And Odin’s. He has the god’s Berserkers.”

  Owen, who was already surrounded by several of the Berserkers and once more had the two ravens perched on his shoulders, lifted his head and looked out at the subdued draugrs with his one good eye.

  “The impostor here is Glaemir.” Matt glared down at the draugr. “He’s misled you, made you fight against the truth. He convinced you that I wasn’t really the rightful descendant of Thor, even though he knew I was.”

  The draugrs started grumbling, words of anger mingled with shock.

  Glaemir said nothing.

  “You’ve stayed here, defending a power-hungry king instead of going to the next world.” Matt held Mjölnir steady in his hand, but Fen saw his hand tighten like he wanted to lift it. He was a good guy, not likely to beat even an enemy in anger, but he was also all about justice, and as he talked, Fen understood that what Glaemir had done was even worse than trying to steal Mjölnir.

  “He’s lucky Aunt Helen isn’t here,” Fen muttered. “Messing with the dead that should be hers. He’d get what for.”

  “I wish she were here, then,” Laurie said just as quietly.

  “Me, too.” Fen felt sad for the decaying fighters. Only a few moments ago they’d been the enemy, but now that he knew the truth, he realized that they were victims. If he had a weapon like Matt’s, he might not be so good about resisting the urge to lower it on Glaemir’s head.

  “If I had been invited by my dear family sooner, I would’ve dealt with Glaemir by now,” said a voice behind them.

  “Aunt Helen!” Laurie exclaimed.

  “Niece.” The ruler of Hel wore another living dress, this one covered by death’s-head moths. Aside from the tiny little skull shape on the backs of the moths, they weren’t particularly odd. Helen’s habit of dressing in living things, however, was a bit creepy.

  “Speak of the devil,” Fen murmured.

  Helen laughed and shook her finger at him. “Now, now, Nephew. I’m standing here with the godlings. Would I do that if I were a devil?”

  “Hey, Helen,” Baldwin said.

  She turned her smile on him. “Are you adjusted to living again?”

  “Oh, yeah. Epic battles. Camping.” Baldwin grinned and nodded. “It’s all good.”

  The twins and Owen remained silent, but when Helen’s gaze fell on Reyna and lingered there, Reyna took a small step back. Several of the Valkyries strode through the room to stand near the girl protectively.

  Helen laughed. “I was merely examining her.”


  “She will ride with us,” Hildar said. “She will never be yours.”

  Fen, like a lot of boys in Blackwell, thought warrior girls were cool, so he knew that Freya rode with the Valkyries. Between them, they took the battle-dead. Helen took the rest. What he hadn’t realized was that it meant that Helen and the Valkyries weren’t very fond of each other. He wondered briefly if some of his instinctive dislike for Reyna was because he was related to Helen. It didn’t really matter. Reyna was a disappointment in terms of the warrior girls he’d imagined, and the Valkyries were a bit intense.

  “I have no need of her sort,” Helen said regally. “Or yours.”

  Then the ruler of Hel waved a hand dismissively at the Valkyries and stepped forward, positioning herself in front of the kids but still with them. Even here among the dead, the goats, and the gods’ descendants, she stood out as something remarkable. Her plastic-like skin looked even less real here in the odd greenish light of the cavern, and her beetle-colored eyes shimmered as the light emphasized their iridescence. She was the actual daughter of a god, a ruler in her own dimension, and as both of those, she was someone to fear—and she was about to let them know it.

  “This world is not your place. The dead do not belong in Midgard,” Helen told the draugrs in a voice that was not unkind. “You will be sorted. Those of you meant for Valhalla can go with them.” She gestured toward Hildar. “The rest will come with me to Hel.”

  The Valkyries appeared to be in agreement with Helen, although they still watched her warily.

  “What if we don’t want to leave Midgard?” one of the draugrs asked.

  “You’d rather stay here rotting?”

  There was a grumbling among them at Helen’s words. Finally, the same draugr said, “What if the gods need us?”

  “We’re not gods,” Matt interjected.

  Helen sent him an amused look. “If the godlings need you, they can summon you from Hel… at least those of you who opt to come with me. My niece and nephew can call out to me—as you’ve just seen.” She held out her hands as if they were children to be summoned to her side. “I pay attention to my family. It is what my father would want. These two are my family.”