Underworlds #1: The Battle Begins

  Sydney saw it, too. “Way too obvious.”

  “But worth a try,” Jon said, bouncing on his toes. “Anything to get out of here.”

  The key was cold when I picked it up from the bowl. I slipped it into the lock and turned it. Ping! The drawer popped out, and my breath caught in my throat. Inside the drawer was a very used copy of a very fat paperback book: Bulfinch’s Mythology.

  “Mythology?” Jon said. “You mean like ogres and unicorns?”

  “More like gods and monsters,” Sydney said. “When I was little, my parents read me those stories. Do you think this is the book Dana was talking about?”

  “It’s not like the other books on the shelves. It’s cheap,” I said. I peeled back the cover and saw Dana’s name written inside. “Why would she keep it locked up here and not in her room?”

  “Maybe she didn’t keep it locked up,” Sydney said. “Maybe her parents did. To protect it? Maybe —”

  Grrrrr.

  Jon froze. “I think we woke the dog ….”

  GRRR! The growling was louder.

  “They don’t have a dog,” I said quietly. My hands and feet were numb. I couldn’t tell if it was from the cold, or from the fear that shot through me.

  A massive thing rose up from the shadows. And up and up. Its head alone was the size of a dog. Then it bared its teeth … only they weren’t just teeth. They were fangs — long and curved and dripping thick goop. The thing’s eyes were deep and black. It wasn’t a dog.

  It was a wolf.

  Some kind of crazy extra-large wolf with spiky bristles of red fur sticking out like bent wire. The giant beast just stared at us, heaving out the foulest frozen breath imaginable.

  Jon flattened against the shelves. “Please let this be a dream. And I wake up far away —”

  RRRAAOOO! Flames shot out of the beast’s jaws as it leaped high over our heads and landed by the library door. It slammed the door shut, and the house echoed — doom-doom-doom! We were trapped.

  Scrambling backward, I tripped over Jon’s feet and fell to the floor. Maybe I was dizzy with fear, but from that angle the bookshelves looked like only one thing.

  A ladder.

  Without thinking, I leaped up and swung my arms across the top of the desk. Bowls, pens, paper, everything flew at the wolf.

  “Up the shelves!” I cried.

  In the second it took for the giant wolf to dodge the junk, we clambered up the dark wooden shelves.

  The wolf roared fire again, then jumped at us. I hurled a heavy book at its head. With a cry of pain, the wolf tumbled backward.

  We clawed our way up to the top shelf. I heaved one of the vases down over my shoulder. So did Jon. The wolf dodged mine, but Jon’s caught it on the snout. It shot another blast of fire.

  “There’s a heating vent in the corner,” Sydney said, grabbing my arm and then pointing.

  We crawled across the top shelf to the corner, where an ornate grille stood in the wall. Jon and I kept dropping vases and pots at the wolf, while Sydney pulled a tiny screwdriver from her backpack and began to unscrew the grate.

  “Shop teachers’ daughters are always prepared,” she said under her breath.

  The wolf roared again, and the lower shelves burst into flame.

  “Sydney!” I cried.

  “Got it,” she said. She yanked out the grille, threw it over her shoulder, and we scrambled into the darkness beyond. By the time the wolf clawed its way up the shelves, we were deep into the guts of the house. We crawled through one turn after another until we found a second vent. Together we kicked it out, jumped down onto the dining room table, and got out of the house as fast as we could. I made sure to lock the door behind me.

  The wolf was still inside, roaring and all crazy mad. The whole thing seemed unreal, but we couldn’t stop to think about it. We ran until we saw our bus in front of the auditorium, and we climbed on, breathless and soaked with sweat.

  When I slumped into my seat, my heart was beating like a drum. My veins had turned to ice. My tongue didn’t work.

  But I still had Dana’s book.

  THE OTHER BAND KIDS DIDN’T LIKE THAT WE HAD skipped the concert. But that hardly sank in. Our ride back to school was pretty much a blur — all because of Dana’s book.

  It bulged with bookmarks, sticky notes, highlighted passages, dog-eared pages, circled words, and hundreds of notes, scrawled up and down the sides of nearly every page. Dana had practically written a whole other book in the margins.

  “This better be the right book,” said Jon. “I’m not going back in that creepy house.”

  “If we actually believe what we saw in that house,” said Sydney, “and Dana really did vanish into the floor —”

  “We do and she did,” I said.

  “— then this book may tell us where she went. Maybe even something about what you heard.”

  “‘The battle begins,’” I said, shuddering.

  Sydney tapped our shoulders and whispered. “Guys, we’ll be back at school before we know it, so we should read fast. Let’s huddle!” Syd might have seemed a bit snobby at first. But I had to admit that she wasn’t so bad.

  We started poring over the stories Dana had marked. Some were about gods and goddesses. Others were about heroes and monsters. And not just the usual Greek ones. Norse gods from Scandinavia, like Thor and Odin. Egyptian creatures, like the Phoenix and the Sphinx. Even some of the fables from later in history, like Beowulf the dragon slayer.

  One name was circled on every page where it occurred: Hades, ruler of the ancient Underworld. In the margin next to one passage, Dana had scribbled: “Beware Hades’ bargains ….”

  “I remember Hades from the stories,” said Sydney. “He’s terrifying. And strict. He has to be because he’s the Greek king of the dead.”

  “I like this guy Jason. He was cool,” said Jon, tapping his finger on one page. “Getting an awesome team together for a big quest. Like us, forming a band.”

  Then I read the story of Argus, a beast in charge of keeping people captive. He had a hundred eyes.

  “A hundred eyes?” I said. “Like what I saw under the floor of the school? But that’s … no … that’s mythology.”

  “Argus is a monster,” Jon pointed out, scanning the rest of the page. “You said Dana talked about monsters. The only way Argus could be stopped was with music. A lullaby.”

  One story that may have been the most marked up was about the Greek hero Orpheus. Dana’s squiggly marks ran up and down the page: in pencil, in pen, in marker. We could barely read the original text.

  “This seems really big,” I said. “She spent a lot of time here.”

  “Orpheus was a musician whose wife died and went to Hades’ Underworld,” said Sydney, reading over my shoulder. “He descended to the Underworld to bring her back.”

  “I’ve heard about that one,” I said.

  Sydney continued. “Hades made a bargain with him. He could lead his wife to our world, as long as he didn’t look back to see if she was really following him.”

  “Let me guess,” Jon said. “He looked.”

  Sydney nodded. “Whoosh! Orpheus lost her forever —”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not losing Dana,” I said loudly. “Not like that. And anyway, we don’t know where she is. But she can’t be in some creepy Underworld. Especially not one under our school.”

  The kids on the bus quieted and turned to us.

  “Ha-ha!” said Sydney. “Nothing to see here!” She ducked her head down and flipped to a pink sticky note in the section about Norse myths. “Lots of monsters here, too. The Midgard Serpent. A scary half-blue lady. And … uh-oh.”

  “What?” I said.

  Syd went paler than usual. “Fenrir.”

  “Somebody you know?” asked Jon.

  “Somebody we all know,” she said, turning to me. “A big red wolf. Really big. With fur sticking out like wire.”

  I tried to stay calm. “Does Fenrir breathe fire?”

  Syd
ney scanned the page and nodded slowly. “It’s kind of his trademark.”

  Jon’s face drained of color until it matched hers. “So, we’re living in a weird fat book?”

  My heart was doing a drum solo. A hundred eyes? A red wolf? A trip to the Underworld? Was something mythological happening with Dana? No. It was too unbelievable.

  We read as much as we could, digging further into the Norse myths, before the bus got back to school. We climbed off just as the bell rang.

  “Third period,” said Jon. “Time for lunch. I can’t think on an empty stomach. Besides, macaroni special today.”

  “My brain is macaroni!” I said. “But yeah. Come on.”

  We entered the halls, following the last of the lunch crowd.

  “Mythology or not, book or not,” said Sydney, leaning close, “we can’t keep this a secret anymore. We have to tell someone about Dana. I should call the police or something —”

  “She told Owen not to tell,” Jon pointed out.

  “Even if we went to the police, what would they say?” I asked. “Someone vanishing? Red wolves breathing fire? Lots of creepy eyes? Old books? No one is going to believe a single word.”

  By the time we got to the cafeteria, the tables were crammed, and the room was roaring with conversation. The lunch line was empty, so Jon quickly slid three trays onto the counter and pushed them ahead of us. The lunch ladies were standing behind the counter.

  “Macaroni special, please,” Jon said. “Times three!”

  Miss Hilda, the roundest lady, gave us a big smile. “Special, special, and special,” she said, pointing to each of us.

  But before ladling out any food, one of the others — Miss Lillian — stepped out from behind the counter and closed the lunch line door behind Sydney.

  The third lady, Miss Marge, a tiny woman with a snowdrift of white hair tucked under her hairnet, closed the accordion gate between the loud cafeteria and the quiet kitchen.

  “Uh …” Sydney started, “… what’s going on?”

  The kitchen lights flickered overhead, then went out. Torches magically appeared on the walls, sputtering with blue flames. We stepped back in shock as Hilda, Lillian, and Marge lined up together in front of us. One held a giant spatula, another a long soup ladle, and the third a great big pair of kitchen tongs.

  “What exactly is happening?” Jon whispered shakily.

  The lunch ladies took one step toward us, stared deep into our eyes, and cried out a single word.

  “Hoyo-toho!”

  Then they began to morph.

  FIRST THE LUNCH LADIES GREW SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT feet tall, their heads nearly touching the ceiling tiles. Then their white aprons dissolved into steel gray armor, and their kitchen tools twisted themselves into gleaming spears — with curved blades on each and fur banners hanging from them. Helmets, big and gray and dented from battle, with razor-sharp wings as large as eagle’s wings, closed around their faces.

  The three of us just watched, dumbstruck.

  In seconds, Miss Hilda, Miss Lillian, and Miss Marge had become giant warrior women. Their armor flashed under the torchlight like fireworks.

  “This isn’t weird at all,” Sydney said, backing up as far as she could go.

  It got weirder.

  As the three helmets stared down at us, a voice came from the one that covered Miss Hilda’s face. “Three hundred and four!”

  That was all.

  Jon breathed in slowly. “Excuse us, but what about ‘three hundred and four’? If this is a math problem, I’ll need lunch before I can —”

  “The … page … number …” Miss Lillian boomed. “In that book you’re holding, Owen Brown. Read it. Now.”

  I tried to ignore how these three could possibly know what book I had, or even what my name was. I almost dropped the book twice on the floor, flipping to page 304. And there it was, in the Norse mythology section, at the bottom of the page. An entry on …

  “The Valkyrior?” I said.

  “That’s us, dear,” said the lunch lady called Miss Marge. “We prefer ‘Valkyries,’ but please read it aloud. If you would.”

  “‘The Valkyrior — Valkyries — are warlike women mounted on horses and armed with helmets and spears.’” I stopped. “Uh …”

  “They work for Odin,” Sydney continued, taking the book from me. “They choose who will die in battle. It says, ‘Their name means “choosers of the slain.” When they ride forth on their errand, their armor sheds a strange flickering light.’”

  “Just like it’s doing now,” Jon whispered.

  “Doom Rider, I am named!” said the first. “But you know me as Miss Hilda!”

  “They call me Death Maiden!” Miss Lillian said from the depths of her helmet. Her voice echoed in the kitchen as if in a cave.

  The eye slits in her helmet blazing like fire, Miss Marge said, “I couldn’t decide for the longest time. I do like Marge. It’s homey. But in the armor, I call myself Soul Snatcher!”

  “Together, we are the Valkyries!” the three women cried out. “Daughters of Odin. Warriors and choosers of death! Hoyo-toho!”

  A part of me wanted to laugh out loud. Lunch ladies who work for the Norse god Odin? How could anyone believe that? Then they yanked off their helmets, and their faces were not the plump and pink and happy faces from just moments ago. They were gray, stern, angry … and deadly serious.

  I coughed up the courage to speak. “Are you here because of Dana Runson?”

  “She has been taken to the Underworld,” said Death Maiden.

  My heart sank.

  “No, she was sucked into the floor of our school,” said Jon.

  Death Maiden looked grimly at him. “Two plus two equals …”

  I was scared to say it.

  “You mean the entrance to the Underworld is under Pinewood Bluffs Elementary?” I whispered.

  Soul Snatcher nodded. “One of the entrances.”

  “So Dana’s … dead?” Sydney asked, eyes wide.

  “Dead to you,” said Death Maiden.

  “But how do you know?” I asked.

  “We choose who will die,” said Doom Rider.

  Jon raised his eyebrows. “Is that what the chef’s surprise is all about?”

  “But we did not choose Dana Runson,” continued Doom Rider, ignoring Jon’s comment.

  “So who did?” I asked.

  “That’s what the great god Odin sent us here to find out,” said Soul Snatcher. “He has known for some time that things in the Underworlds are not right. Someone is causing trouble. There is unrest in Hades’ world.”

  I didn’t know whether we should call 9-1-1, run for our lives, or both. Did these crazy women actually know something? Or were they simply lunch ladies who ate too much macaroni special and liked to play dress-up?

  “But what does Odin know about Hades?” I asked. “Aren’t they from different myths?”

  “Everyone knows Hades,” said Doom Rider. “The Greek kingdom of the dead is the largest of the Underworlds.”

  “You keep saying Underworlds, plural,” said Sydney. “How many are there?”

  “One for every branch of mythology,” said Miss Marge. “They share space down below. Sometimes … uneasily. You have already seen a monster, have you not?”

  Jon gasped. “Fenster, a wolf the size of a horse!”

  “Fenrir, the Norse monster wolf,” Death Maiden corrected him. “He may be the first beast to have escaped the Underworlds. He will not be the last.”

  “Fenrir is the pet of Loki, the Norse trickster god,” said Doom Rider. “Odin and Loki have quarreled for centuries.”

  “What does all this have to do with Dana?” I asked, shaking my head.

  Miss Hilda leaned down at us. “The battle is beginning. You know this already, Owen Brown. You were with Dana when she was taken. You gazed upon Hades’ kingdom.”

  I remembered the fiery pit. “Other monsters were thrashing around there. I think I saw the one called Argus. Are you saying that
more monsters are coming?”

  Miss Hilda’s eyes fixed on me. “I am saying the battle has begun, Owen Brown.”

  “I’m not a fighter,” I said, stepping back.

  Miss Hilda leaned even closer. “All your H.E.R.O. charities? Your love of people? You fight for what’s right, don’t you?”

  “Well, sure, I try, but …”

  “Try harder,” said Death Maiden.

  “Try more,” said Soul Catcher.

  “Try now!” they all said together.

  Miss Hilda pointed her spear out the kitchen windows. “There is one weapon that may help you.”

  “A sword?” asked Sydney. “Does it have a cool name, like Demon Biter or Chopper or —”

  “It is a stringed instrument,” said Doom Rider.

  Sydney and Jon turned to me. “That’s your department,” they said together.

  “The lyre of Orpheus,” Soul Snatcher added. “It’s like a small harp.” She spread her hands about twelve inches apart. “The music of Orpheus’s lyre could charm people and beasts to do his bidding. Even trees bowed at the sound of it. Travelers to the Underworlds might find it very … useful.”

  “Travelers to …” I didn’t want to understand what she meant. “We’re supposed to —”

  “Retrieve your destiny!” boomed Miss Hilda. “Enter the double red doors! Walk among the ancient things. And remember … three!”

  “Fifty!” said Soul Snatcher.

  “One hundred!” said Death Maiden.

  “Is this math again?” asked Jon.

  “Or a riddle?” Sydney added.

  “A riddle, dear,” said Soul Snatcher with a chuckle. “We’re ladies from mythology, so we have to speak in riddles. It’s one of the most charming things about us!”

  Then the three Valkyries sang out again.

  “Hoyo-toho!”

  The torches vanished, the lights came up, their armor became aprons again, and their spears turned back into kitchen utensils. They used them to dollop macaroni specials on each of our plates.