Loki's Wolves (7 page)

Matt felt icy fingers creep up his back.

This was his fault. He had the dream, and it was just a dream, but now his grandfather believed it, was using it to explain the bad things that were happening in the world.

“Nidhogg has almost bitten through the roots of the world tree. One of the first signs of Ragnarök.”

Matt gripped the sides of his chair to keep from flying up there and saying Granddad was wrong. He’d misunderstood.
He’d trusted some stupid dream that was only a dream; Matt was only a kid, not a prophet, not a Seer.

“And we understand, too, the meaning of the tsunamis and tidal waves that have devastated coastal cities around the world. Not only has Nidhogg almost gnawed through the world tree, but the Midgard Serpent has broken free from its bonds. The seas roil as the serpent rises to the surface. To the final battle. To Ragnarök.”

Matt sucked in air, but it didn’t seem to do any good. He started to gasp. Mom reached over and squeezed his hand. On his other side, Dad eased his chair closer, his arm going around Matt’s shoulders as he whispered, “It’s okay, bud.” Josh leaned around Dad and gave a wry smile.

On Mom’s other side, Jake snorted and rolled his eyes. Scorn for the baby who was freaking out because bad things were coming and he couldn’t handle it, which was how it would look to everyone else.

Matt disentangled his hand from his mother’s and shrugged off his father’s arm. Then he pulled himself up straight, gaze fixed on his grandfather, who was saying something about nations in Europe breaking their promises on an environmental treaty and rumblings of conflict. All signs of Ragnarök. Oaths broken. Brother turning against brother. War coming.

“In that final battle, we have a role.” Granddad looked over at the mosaic, and everyone’s gaze followed to the epic
confrontation against the Midgard Serpent. “For centuries, the Thorsens have worked together, stayed together, fought together. But this battle is different. This job is for one and only one. The Champion of Thor, who must win the battle, defeat the serpent, and save the world from destruction.”

Dad’s hand went to Matt’s leg and squeezed. When Matt looked over, his father’s face was tight and unreadable as he stared straight ahead.

“We have waited for the signs that point us to our champion,” Granddad said. “We had seen some, but we were still unsure. Now, though, the prophecy has been fulfilled and the runes…”

He moved back, and the Seer shuffled forward. She didn’t step up to the microphone, so her reedy voice barely carried past the front rows. Matt had to strain to listen.

“The runes have spoken,” she said. “I have cast them again and again, and the answer remains the same. We have chosen correctly. We have our champion.”

Matt glanced at his father. Tentatively, his father slid his hand around Matt’s and held it so tightly that Matt had to fight not to pull away.

On the stage, the Seer’s voice rose, so all could hear. “Our champion is Matthew Thorsen, son of Paul and Patricia Thorsen.”

Matt froze.

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then whispers slid past.
Did he really say the Thorsen boy? He’s just a kid. No, that can’t be right. We heard wrong. We must have.

Granddad’s voice came back on the speakers. “I know this may come as a surprise to some of you. Matt is, after all, only thirteen. But in Viking times, he would have been on the brink of manhood. The runes have chosen Matt as our champion, as the closest embodiment of Thor. His living representative. And they have chosen others, too, all the living embodiments of their god ancestors, all children born at the turn of the millennium. Young men and women like Matt. The descendants of Frey and Freya, Balder, and the great god Odin. They will come, and they will fight alongside our champion. And…” He pointed at the mosaic of Thor’s death. “That will not happen, because they will win and they will live.”

Another moment of silence, like they were processing it. Then someone clapped. Someone else joined in. Finally, a cheer went up. It didn’t matter if they thought Matt was too young—the runes called him the champion, so that’s what he was. However ridiculous it seemed.

Matt looked around. People were turning and smiling, and his mother was pulling him into a hug, whispering how proud she was. Josh shot him a grin and a thumbs-up. Jake’s glower said Matt didn’t deserve the honor and he’d better not mess this up.

So Ragnarök was coming? And he was the Champion of Thor? The chosen one? The superspecial kid?

I’m dreaming. I must be.

Once he figured that out, he recovered from the shock and hugged his mother and let his dad embrace him and returned Josh’s thumbs-up; then he smiled and nodded at all the congratulations. He might as well enjoy the fantasy. Too bad it wasn’t real, because if he did defeat the Midgard Serpent, he was pretty sure he could get a dirt bike out of the deal. He laughed to himself as he settled back into his seat. Yeah, if he fought and killed a monstrous snake, Mom really couldn’t argue that a dirt bike was too dangerous.

He looked around as everyone continued congratulating him.

It had to be a dream. Anything else was just… crazy. Sure, Matt believed in Ragnarök, sort of. He’d never thought much about it. That’s just how he was raised, like some kids were raised to believe an old guy named Noah put two of every animal on one boat. You didn’t think much about it—it just
was
. So Ragnarök must be real, even if it sounded…

He looked around. No, everyone else believed it, so it must be true.

Maybe it wasn’t an actual serpent. Maybe it was a… what did they call it? A metaphor. That’s it. Not an actual snake, but some snake-like guy who had to be killed or he’d unleash nuclear war or something.

Except that wasn’t what Granddad was talking about. He meant the Midgard Serpent. Like in the picture. An actual serpent.

That’s the story, Matt. Don’t you believe it? You’ve always believed it.

His head began to throb, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Let Granddad handle it. Just do what you need to do.

Do what? Be their champion? No. He’d make a mess of it. He always did.

The
Thing
ended, and every Thorsen lined up to shake Matt’s hand. He
was
awake, and he was the chosen one—and he was going to fight the Midgard Serpent and save the world. First, though, he was going to throw up.

Every time someone shook his hand, he felt his stomach quiver, too, and he thought,
I’m going to do it. I’m going to barf. Right on their shoes
. The only way he could stop it was to clamp his jaw shut and keep nodding and smiling his fake smile and hope that the next person who pounded him on the back didn’t knock dinner right out of him.

After the others left, his grandfather talked to him. It wasn’t a long discussion, which was good, because Matt barely heard any of it. All he could think was
They’ve made a mistake. They’ve made a really, really big mistake
. He even tried to say that, but his grandfather just kept talking about how Matt shouldn’t worry, everything would be fine—the runes wouldn’t choose him if he wasn’t the champion.

Check again.
That’s what he wanted to say.
If a kid has to fight this… whatever, it should be Jake, or even Josh. Not me.

Granddad said they’d talk more later, then he slipped off with the Elders into a private meeting, and Matt was left alone with his parents. They told him a few more times that everything would be fine. Then Dad thumped him on the back and said Matt should go enjoy the fair, not worry about curfew, they’d pick him up whenever he was ready.

“Here’s a little extra,” Dad said, pulling out his wallet. “It’s a big night for you, bud, and you deserve to celebrate.”

When he held out a bill, Matt stared. It was a hundred.

“Uh, that’s—” Matt began.

“Oh. Sorry.” His dad put the hundred back, counted out five twenties instead, and put them in Matt’s hand. “Carnies won’t appreciate having to cash a hundred, will they?” Another slap on Matt’s back. “Now go and have fun.”

Matt wandered through the fair, sneakers kicking up sawdust. He didn’t see the flashing lights. Didn’t hear the carnies hustling him over. Didn’t smell the hot dogs and caramel corn. He told himself he was looking for his friends, but he wasn’t really. His mind was still back in the rec hall, his gaze still fixed on that mosaic, his ears still ringing with the Seer’s words.

Our champion is Matthew Thorsen.

Champion. Really? No, really? I’m not even in high school yet, and they expect me to fight some giant serpent and save the world?

This isn’t just some boxing tournament. It’s the world.

Matt didn’t quite get how that worked. Kill the serpent; save the world. That’s how it was supposed to go. In the myth of Ragnarök, the gods faced off against the monsters. If they defeated the monsters, the world would continue as it was. If the monsters won, they’d take over. If both sides died—as they did in the myths predicting Ragnarök—the world would be plunged into an ice age.

What if the stories weren’t real?

But if the stories aren’t real, then Thor isn’t real. That amulet around your neck isn’t real. Your power isn’t real.

Except it obviously
was
. Which meant…

Even thinking about that made Matt’s stomach churn and his head hurt and his feet ache to run home. Just race home and jump in bed and pull up the covers and hide. Puke and hide: the strategy of champions.

Matt thought of his parents catching him, and his heart pounded as he struggled to breathe. They expected him to do this, just like they expected him to walk home after practice and make his own science fair project. They expected him to be a Thorsen.

Something tickled his chest, and he reached to swat off a bug. Only it wasn’t a bug. It was his amulet. Vibrating.

Um, no, that would be your heart, racing like a runaway train.

The tickling continued, and he swiped the amulet aside as he scratched the spot. Only it wasn’t his heart—it really was the pendant. When he held it between his fingers, he could feel the vibrations.

Weird. It had never done that before.

“You are looking for Odin,” said a voice behind him.

Matt wheeled. There was no one there.

“You are looking for Odin,” the voice said again, and he followed it down to a girl, no more than seven. She had pale blond braids and bright blue eyes. She wore a blue sundress and no shoes. In this weather? She must be freezing. Where were her parents?

“Hey,” he said, smiling as he crouched. “Do you need help? I can help, but we should probably find your parents first.”

The girl shook her head, braids swinging. “I do not need your help, Matthew Thorsen. You need mine.”

Strange way for a kid to talk. Formal, like someone out of an old movie. And the way she was looking at him, so calmly. He didn’t recognize her, but in Blackwell, there were so many little blond kids that it was impossible to keep them all straight.

“Okay, then,” he said. “You can help me find your parents.”

“No, you must find Odin. He will help.”

“Help what?”

She frowned, confused. “I do not know. That is to come. That is not now. I know only what is now, and
now
you must hear.”

“Hear what?”

She took off into the crowd.

Matt bolted upright. “Wait!”

The girl turned. She looked at him, her blue eyes steady. Then she mouthed something, and he understood her, like she was standing right there, whispering in his ear:
You must hear.

She turned and ran again. Matt hesitated, but only for a second. As safe as Blackwell was, no kid her age should be wandering around alone.

He raced after her.