فصل 68

Don’t Be a No-bro, Bro

HE LOOKED LIKE a Hollywood Viking. He looked more like Thor from the movies than Thor did.

Blond hair fell to his shoulders. His tan face, blue eyes, hawkish nose, and stubbly beard would’ve worked equally well on the red carpet or the beaches of Malibu.

He reclined on a throne of living tree branches, the seat draped with deer hide. Across his lap lay a sort of scepter—a stag’s antler fitted with a leather grip.

When he smiled, I saw my own self-conscious smirk, the same crooked chin. He even had the same cowlick I always got above my right ear.

I understood why my mom would’ve fallen in love with him. It wasn’t just because he was handsome, or because his faded jeans, flannel shirt, and hiking boots were exactly her style. He radiated warmth and tranquility. Every time I’d healed someone, every time I’d called on the power of Frey, I’d captured a fragment of this guy’s aura.

“Dad,” I said.

“Magnus.” Frey rose. His eyes twinkled, but he didn’t seem sure what to do with his arms. “I’m so glad to see you at last. I’d—I’d give you a hug, but I imagine that would not be welcome. I understand you need more time—”

I charged in and gave him a bear hug.

That wasn’t like me. I’m not a hugger, especially not with strangers.

But he wasn’t a stranger. I knew him as well as I knew my mother. For the first time, I understood why my mom had been so insistent on taking me hiking and camping. Every time we were in the woods on a summer day, every time the sun came out from behind the clouds, Frey had been there.

Maybe I should have resented him, but I didn’t. After losing my mother, I didn’t have patience for grudges. My years on the street had taught me that it was pointless to whine and moan about what you could’ve had—what you deserved, what was fair. I was just happy to have this moment.

He cupped his hand gently on the back of my head. He smelled of campfire smoke, pine needles, and toasted s’mores. Did they have s’mores in Vanaheim?

It occurred to me why I must be here. I was dead. Or at least dying again.

I pulled away. “My friends—”

“Are safe,” Frey assured me. “You pushed yourself to the verge of death healing the berserker, but he will live. So will you. You have done well, Magnus.”

His praise made me uncomfortable. “Three Valkyries died. I almost lost every friend I had. All I did was bind the wolf with a new rope and send Surt back to Muspellheim—and Jack did all that work. It doesn’t really change anything.”

Frey laughed. “Magnus, you have changed everything. You, the wielder of the sword, are shaping the destiny of the Nine Worlds. As for the deaths of the Valkyries—that was a sacrifice they willingly made. Do not dishonor them by feeling guilt. You cannot prevent every death, any more than I can prevent each summer from becoming autumn…or any more than I can prevent my own fate at Ragnarok.”

“Your fate…” I closed my fingers around the runestone, now back on its chain. “I have your sword. Couldn’t you…?”

Frey shook his head. “No, son. As your Aunt Freya told you, I can never wield the Sword of Summer again. Ask the sword, if you want to be sure.”

I pulled off the pendant. Jack sprang to life, spewing a tirade of insults I can’t really repeat.

“And another thing!” he yelled. “Giving me away so you could marry a giantess? Dude, what was that? Blades before babes, you know what I’m saying?”

Frey smiled sadly. “Hello, old friend.”

“Oh, we’re friends again?” the sword demanded. “Nah. Nuh-uh. We’re done.” Jack paused. “Your son’s okay, though. I like him. As long as he’s not planning to trade me for a giantess’s hand in marriage.”

“That’s not on my to-do list,” I promised.

“Then we’re cool. But as for this sorry father of yours, this traitorous no-bro—”

I willed the sword back to pendant form. “No-bro?”

Frey shrugged. “I made my choice long ago. I surrendered the blade for the sake of love.”

“But on Ragnarok, you’ll die because you don’t have it.”

He held up the deer antler. “I will fight with this.”

“An animal horn?”

“Knowing your fate is one thing. Accepting it is another. I will do my duty. With this antler I will slay many giants, even Beli, one of their great generals. But you’re right. It won’t be enough to bring down Surt. In the end, I will die.”

“How can you be so calm about it?”

“Magnus…even gods can’t last forever. I don’t expend my energy trying to fight the change of seasons. I focus on making sure the days I have, and the season I oversee, are as joyful, rich, and plentiful as possible.” He touched my face. “But you already understand this. No child of Thor or Odin or even noble Tyr could have withstood Hel’s promises, Loki’s silver words. You did. Only a son of Frey, with the Sword of Summer, could choose to let go as you did.”

“Letting go…My mom…”

“Yes.” Frey retrieved something from his throne—a sealed ceramic jar about the size of a heart. He placed it in my hands. “You know what she would want?”

I couldn’t speak. I nodded, hoping my expression told Frey how grateful I was.

“You, my son, will bring hope to the Nine Worlds. You have heard the term Indian summer? You will be our last such season—a chance for warmth, light, and growth before the long winter of Ragnarok.”

“But…” I cleared my throat. “But no pressure.”

Frey flashed his brilliant white teeth. “Exactly. Much needs to be done. The Aesir and Vanir are scattered. Loki grows stronger. Even in his bonds, he has played us against each other, distracted us, made us lose focus. I am guilty of becoming distracted as well. For too long I have been removed from the world of men. Only your mother managed to…” He focused on the jar in my hands. “Well, after my big speech about not holding on to the past…” He smiled ruefully. “She was a vibrant soul. She would be proud of you.”

“Dad…” I wasn’t sure what else to say. Maybe I just wanted to try out the word again. I’d never had much experience using it. “I don’t know if I’m up to this.”

From the pocket of his flannel shirt, he pulled a tattered piece of paper—the MISSING flyer Annabeth and her dad had been distributing on the day I died. Frey handed it to me. “You will not be alone. For now, rest, my son. I promise it won’t be another sixteen years before we meet again. In the meantime, you should call your cousin. You should talk. You will need her help before all is said and done.”

That sounded ominous, but I didn’t get the chance to ask about it. I blinked and Frey was gone. I was sitting in the longship again, holding the flyer and the ceramic jar. Next to me sat Halfborn Gunderson, sipping from a cup of mead.

“Well.” He gave me a bloody grin. Most of his wounds had faded to scar tissue. “I owe you my life. How about I buy you dinner?”

I blinked and looked around us. Our ship had docked in Valhalla, on one of the rivers that ran through the lobby. How we’d gotten there, I had no idea. My other friends stood on the wharf, speaking with Helgi the hotel manager—grim faces all around as they regarded the off-loaded bodies of the three dead Valkyries.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Halfborn drained his cup. “We’ve been summoned to the feast hall to explain ourselves before the thanes and the host of einherjar. I hope they let us eat before they kill us again. I’m starving.”