The Hammer of Thor

warned—one rune is missing, just as with your other set. When any letter is absent, the entire language of magic is weakened. Someday you will have to reclaim that symbol to reach your full potential. When you do, come see me again.”

I remembered the inheritance rune Hearthstone had left behind on his brother’s cairn. If Sif could jump through trees and telepathically communicate with moss, I didn’t understand why she couldn’t just hand Hearthstone a new othala. Then again, I wasn’t a graduate of Rune Magic with the All-Father: A Weekend Seminar.

Hearthstone bowed his head in gratitude. He stepped away from the dais, cradling his new pouch o’ power like it was a swaddled baby.

Sam shifted, gripping her ax. She eyed Sif as if the goddess might be Little Billy in disguise. “Lady Sif, that’s very kind. But you were going to tell us why you brought us here?”

“To help my husband!” Sif said. “I assume you now have the information necessary to find and retrieve his hammer?”

I glanced at my friends, wondering if anyone had a diplomatic way of saying sort of, kind of, not really.

Sif sighed with the slightest hint of disdain. “Oh, yes, I see. First you want to discuss the matter of payment.”

“Um,” I said, “that wasn’t really—”

“Just a moment.” Sif ran her fingers through her long hair like she was working a loom. Red-yellow strands fell into her lap and began weaving themselves into some sort of shape, like a 3-D printer spitting out solid gold.

I turned to Sam and whispered, “Is she like Rapunzel?”

Sam arched her eyebrow. “Where do you think that fairy tale came from?”

In moments, with no visible loss of integrity to Sif’s hairdo, the goddess was holding a small golden trophy. She held it up proudly. “You’ll each get one of these!”

At the top of the trophy was a tiny golden replica of the hammer Mjolnir. On the pedestal at the bottom was engraved: AWARD OF VALOR FOR RETRIEVING THOR’S HAMMER. And in smaller letters I had to squint to read: BEARER IS ENTITLED TO ONE FREE ENTRÉE WITH PURCHASE OF AN ENTRÉE OF EQUAL VALUE AT PARTICIPATING ASGARD RESTAURANTS.

Blitzen made a squeak sound. “That’s amazing! Such workmanship! How…?”

Sif smiled, obviously pleased. “Well, since my original hair was replaced with solid-gold magical hair after that horrible trick Loki played on me”—her smile soured as she glanced at Alex and Sam—“one benefit is that I can weave my extra hair into any number of solid-gold items. I am responsible for paying the house staff, including heroes such as yourselves, with tokens like this. Thor is so sweet. He appreciates my abilities so much he calls me his trophy wife.”

I blinked. “Wow.”

“I know!” Sif actually blushed. “At any rate, when your job is done, you’ll each get a trophy.”

Blitzen reached longingly for the sample. “A free entrée at—at any participating restaurant?” I was afraid he might weep for joy.

“Yes, dear,” said the goddess. “Now, how do you plan to retrieve the hammer?”

Alex coughed. “Um, actually—”

“Never mind, don’t tell me!” Sif raised her hand like she wanted to block out Alex’s face. “I prefer to leave details to the help.”

“The help,” Alex said.

“Yes. Now, your first task will be tricky. Whatever news you have, you will need to deliver it to my husband. The elevator is just there. You’ll find him in his—what does he call it?—his man cave. Just be warned, he has been in a very bad mood.”

Sam drummed her fingers on the head of her ax. “I don’t suppose you could just give him a message for us?”

Sif’s smile hardened. “Why, no, I couldn’t. Now run along. And try not to send Thor into a murderous rage. I don’t have time to hire another group of heroes.”





Pigtails Have Never Looked So Frightening


“SIF SUCKS,” Alex muttered as soon as the elevator doors closed.

“Maybe this isn’t the time to say that,” I suggested, “when we’re in her elevator.”

“If the legends are true,” Blitz added, “this mansion has over six hundred floors. I’d rather not fall all the way to the basement.”

“Whatever,” Alex grumbled. “Also, what kind of name is Bright Crack?”

A two-second chorus of heavenly bliss sounded from the overhead speakers.

“It’s a kenning!” Blitzen said. “You know, like Blood River for the Skofnung Sword guy. Bright Crack—”

Ahhhhhhhh!

“—is just a poetic way of saying lightning, since Thor’s the thunder god and all.”

“Hmpf,” said Alex. “There is nothing poetic about Bright Crack.”

Ahhhhhhhh!

Since getting his new rune bag, Hearthstone had been even more withdrawn than usual. He leaned in the corner of the elevator, tugging at the string on the leather pouch. I tried to get his attention, to ask if he was okay, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

As for Sam, she kept running her fingertips down the edge of her ax as if she anticipated using it soon.

“You don’t like Sif, either,” I noted.

Sam shrugged. “Why should I? She’s a vain goddess. I don’t often agree with my father’s pranks, but cutting off Sif’s original golden hair—that I understood. He was making a point. She cares about her appearance above everything else. The ability to weave things with her new precious-metal hair, the whole thing about her being a trophy wife? I’m sure my dad planned that, too. It’s his idea of a joke. Sif and Thor are just too dense to pick up on it.”

Hearthstone apparently caught that. He stuffed the rune bag into his pocket and signed, Sif is wise and good. Goddess of growing things. You— He pointed at Sam, then made two okay signs with his hands, flicking one across the other as if tearing a piece of paper—the sign for unfair.

“Hey, elf?” Alex said. “I’m guessing at your meaning, but if you’re defending Sif, I gotta say I’m with Samirah on this one.”

“Thank you,” said Sam.

Hearthstone scowled and crossed his arms, the deaf equivalent of I can’t even talk to you right now.

Blitz grunted. “Well, I think you’re nuts to be bad-mouthing Thor’s wife in Thor’s own house when we’re about to see—”

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open.

“Holy man cave,” I said.

We stepped out of the elevator into a sort of garage area. Suspended on a hydraulic lift was Thor’s chariot, the wheels off and what looked like a broken transaxle hanging from the undercarriage. Lining a Peg-Board against one wall were dozens of wrenches, saws, screwdrivers, and rubber mallets. I briefly considered picking up one of the mallets and yelling, I found your hammer! But I thought the joke might not go over well.

Past the garage area, the basement opened up into a full-fledged man cavern. Stalactites hung from the ceiling high above, filling the room with a Nidavellir-like glow. The back half of the cave was an IMAX theater with two full-size screens and a line of smaller plasma monitors across the bottom, so Thor could watch two feature films while keeping track of a dozen different sporting events. Because, you know, relaxing. The theater chairs were leather-and-fur recliners fitted with drink tables fashioned from moose antlers.

To our left was a galley kitchen: five stainless steel Sub-Zero refrigerators, an oven, three microwaves, a row of high-end blenders, and a butchering station that was probably not his goats’ favorite place. At the end of a short hallway, a stuffed ram’s head pointed the way to the restrooms with a placard hanging from either horn:

VALKYRIES

BERSERKERS



The right half of the cavern was mostly arcade games—pretty much the last thing I wanted to see after Utgard Lanes. Fortunately, there was no bowling alley. Judging from the oversize table that took place of honor in the middle of the cave, Thor was more of an air-hockey man.

The place was so huge I didn’t even see Thor until he marched out from behind the Dance Dance Revolution machine. He looked lost in thought, pacing and muttering while knocking two air-hockey paddles together, as if preparing to defibrillate someone’s heart. Behind him trailed his goats, Otis and Marvin, but they weren’t very nimble on their hooves. Every time Thor turned, he collided with them and had to shove them out of the way.

“Hammers,” he was grumbling. “Stupid, stupid hammers. Hammers.”

Finally, he noticed us. “Aha!”

He stormed over, his eyes bloodshot and furious, his face as red as his bushy beard. His battle armor consisted of a ragged Metallica T-shirt and gym shorts that showed off his pale hairy legs. His bare feet were in dire need of a gentlemen’s pedicure. For some reason, his scraggly scarlet hair was in pigtails, but on Thor the look was more terrifying than funny. It was almost as if he wanted us to know I can wear my hair like a six-year-old girl and still murder you!

“What news?” he demanded.

“Hey, Thor,” I said, in a voice about as manly as his pigtails. “Uh, Sumarbrander has something to tell you.”

I pulled off my pendant and summoned Jack. Was it cowardly of me to hide behind a magical talking sword? I prefer to think of it as strategically wise. I wouldn’t be able to do Thor any favors if he smashed my face in with an air-hockey paddle.

“Hi, Thor!” Jack glowed cheerfully. “Hi, goats! Ooh, air hockey! Sweet chill pad, Thunder Man!”

Thor scratched his beard with a paddle. The name of his son Modi was tattooed in blue across his knuckles. I really hoped I didn’t get a closer look at that name.

“Yes, yes, hello, Sumarbrander,” Thor grumbled. “But where is my hammer? Where is Mjolnir?”

“Oh.” Jack glowed a darker shade of orange. He wasn’t able to glare, but he definitely turned a sharp edge in my direction. “So…good news on that front. We know who has the hammer, and we know where he is keeping it.”

“Excellent!”

Jack hovered back a few inches. “But there is some bad news…”

Otis sighed to his brother Marvin. “I have a feeling we’re about to be killed.”

“Stop that!” Marvin snapped. “Don’t give the boss ideas!”

“The hammer was stolen by a giant named Thrym,” Jack continued. “He’s buried it eight miles under the earth.”

“Not excellent!” Thor smashed his air-hockey paddles together. Thunder rolled through the room. Plasma-screen TVs toppled. Microwaves flickered. The goats stumbled back and forth like they were on the deck of a ship.

“I hate Thrym!” the god roared. “I hate earth giants!”

“So do we!” Jack agreed. “And here’s Magnus to tell you about our brilliant plan to get the hammer back!”

Jack flew behind me and hovered there with great strategic wisdom. Otis and Marvin backed away from their master and hid behind the Dance Dance Revolution machine.

At least Alex, Sam, Blitz, and Hearth didn’t hide, but Alex gave me a look like, Hey, he’s your thunder god.

So I told Thor the whole story: how we’d been tricked into going to the wight’s tomb for the Skofnung Sword, then we’d rushed to Alfheim for the Skofnung Stone, we’d climbed the Bifrost for a selfie with Heimdall, and we’d gone bowling for information with Utgard-Loki. I explained about Thrym’s demands for a marriage alliance with Loki.

Every so often I had to pause so Thor could process the news by storming around, throwing power tools, and punching the walls.

He needed a lot of processing time.

When I was done, Thor announced his well-reasoned conclusion. “We must kill them all!”

Blitz raised his hand. “Ah, Mr. Thor, even if we could get you close enough to Thrym, killing him wouldn’t help. He’s the only one who knows exactly where the hammer is.”

“So we torture him for the information and then kill him! Then I will retrieve the hammer myself!”

Alex muttered, “Nice guy.”

“Sir,” Sam said, “even if we did that—and torture isn’t very effective, or, you know, ethical—even if Thrym told you exactly where the hammer was, how would you get it back from eight miles under the earth?”

“I would break through the earth! With my hammer!”

We waited for Thor’s mental gears to turn.

“Oh,” said the god. “I see the problem. Curses! Follow me!”

He marched into the garage, tossed aside his hockey paddles, and started rummaging through his tools. “There must be something in here that can drill through eight miles of solid rock.”

He considered a hand drill, a tape measure, a corkscrew, and the iron staff we’d almost died retrieving from Geirrod’s fortress. He threw them all to the floor.

“Nothing!” he said in disgust. “Useless junk!”

Perhaps you could use your head, Hearthstone signed. That is very hard.

“Oh, don’t try to console me, Mr. Elf,” said Thor. “It’s hopeless, isn’t it? You have to have hammers to get hammers. And this…” He picked up a rubber mallet and sighed. “This won’t do. I’m ruined! All the giants will soon know I’m defenseless. They’ll invade Midgard, destroy the television industry, and I will never be able to watch my shows again!”

“There might be a way to get the hammer.” The words came out of my mouth before I considered what I was saying.

Thor’s eyes lit up. “You have a large bomb?”

“Uh, no. But Thrym is expecting to marry someone tomorrow, right? We can pretend to go along with it and—”

“Forget it,” Thor growled. “I know what you’re going to suggest. There’s no way! Thrym’s grandfather humiliated me enough when he stole my hammer. I will not do that again!”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Wear a wedding dress!” Thor said. “Pretend to be the giant’s bride, Freya, who refused to marry Thrym. Selfish woman! I was disgraced, humiliated, and—What are you smirking about?”

This last comment was directed at Alex, who quickly put on her serious face.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just…you in a wedding dress.”

Hovering behind my shoulder, Jack whispered, “He looked a-MAZ-ing.”

Thor grunted. “It was all Loki’s idea, of course. It worked. I infiltrated the wedding, got my hammer back, and killed the giants—well, except for those little kids, Thrym the Third and Thrynga. But when I got back to Asgard, Loki told the story so many times he made me a laughingstock. No one took me seriously for ages!” Thor frowned as if he’d just had a thought, which must have been a painful experience. “You know, I bet that was Loki’s plan all along. I bet he arranged the theft and the solution to make me look bad!”

“That’s terrible,” Alex said. “What was your bridal dress like?”

“Oh, it was white with a high lace appliqué neckline and these lovely scalloped—” Thor’s beard sparked with electricity. “THAT’S NOT IMPORTANT!”

“Anyway…” I stepped in. “This Thrym—Thrym the Third or whatever—he’s expecting you to try that trick again. He’s got some kind of security precautions in place. No gods are getting through the front door unnoticed. We’ll need a different bride.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” He grinned at Samirah. “And I do thank you for stepping up, girl! I’m glad you’re not as selfish as Freya. I owe you a gift. I’ll have Sif make you a trophy. Or perhaps you’d like a Hot Pocket? I have some in the freezer—”

“No, Lord Thor,” Sam said. “I’m not marrying a giant for you.”

Thor winked slyly. “Right….You’re only pretending to marry him. Then once he brings out the hammer—”

“I’m not even pretending,” Sam said.

“I am,” Alex said.





Here Comes the Bride and/or the Assassin


ALEX KNEW how to get our attention. Hearth and Blitz gawped at her. Jack gasped and glowed bright yellow. Thor’s eyebrows furrowed, sparking like jumper cables. Even the goats trotted over to get a closer look at the crazy girl.

“What?” Alex demanded. “Sam and I discussed it. She vowed to Amir that she wouldn’t even fake-marry this giant, right? The charade doesn’t bother me at all. I’ll dress up, say the vows, kill my new husband, whatever. Sam and I are close to the same size. We’re both children of Loki. She can pose as my maid of honor. It’s our best option.”

I stared at Sam. “That’s what you and Alex have been talking about?”

Samirah fingered the keys on her belt ring. “Alex thinks she can resist Loki…unlike what happened to me in Provincetown.”

It was the first time she’d talked about the incident so openly. I remembered Loki snapping his fingers, Sam collapsing in a heap, all the air expelled from her lungs. Sam was a Valkyrie. She had the strongest willpower and discipline of anyone I knew. If she couldn’t resist Loki’s control…

“Alex, are you sure?” I tried not to let doubt creep into my voice. “I mean, have you ever tried to resist Loki before?”

Alex’s expression hardened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“No,” I said hastily. “I just—”

“The larger point,” Thor butted in, “is that you’re not even a proper girl! You’re an argr!”

The air became still, like the moment before a thunderclap. I wasn’t sure which possibility scared me more, Thor attacking Alex, or Alex attacking Thor. The look in her eyes made me wonder if we shouldn’t just put her on the borders of Jotunheim to scare away the giants rather than bothering with Thor and his hammer.

“I’m a child of Loki,” she said in an even tone. “That’s what Thrym is expecting. Like my parent, I’m gender fluid. And when I’m female, I am female. I can definitely pull off a lace appliqué wedding gown better than you!”

Thor fumed. “Well, there’s no need to be mean about it.”

“Besides,” Alex said, “I will not let Loki control me. I never have. I never will. I also don’t see anyone else volunteering for this suicidal bridal mission.”

“Suicidal bridal,” Jack said. “Hey, that rhymes!”

Otis clopped forward and sighed. “Well, if you need a volunteer to die, I suppose I can do it. I’ve always loved weddings—”

“Shut up, dummy!” Marvin said. “You’re a goat!”

Thor picked up his iron staff. He leaned against it thoughtfully, tapping his fingers and making different images flicker across the surface—a soccer match, the Home Shopping Network, Gilligan’s Island.

“Well,” he said at last, “I still don’t trust an argr to do this job—”

“A gender-fluid person,” Alex corrected.

“A gender…whatever you said,” Thor amended. “But I suppose, respect-wise, you have the least to lose.”

Alex bared her teeth. “I get now why Loki loves you so much.”

“Guys,” I said. “We have other problems to discuss, and not much time. Thrym is expecting his bride to arrive tomorrow.”

Alex folded her arms. “It’s decided, then. I get to marry the big ugly guy.”

Yes, you marry him, Hearthstone signed. Many happy years and fine children.

Alex narrowed her eyes. “I can see I’m going to have to learn sign language. In the meantime, I will assume you said, Yes, Alex. Thank you, Alex, for being so brave and heroic.”

Close enough, Hearth signed.

I still wasn’t loving the idea of Alex as a decoy bride, but I figured I’d better move things along. Keeping this group focused was like driving a chariot with no goats and a broken transaxle.