Loki's Wolves - Armstrong Kelley L. (читать книги онлайн .TXT) 📗

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 Ragnarok. 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 Ragnarok 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 Ragnarok, 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 Ragnarok 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 Thingended, and every Thorsen lined up to shake Matt’s hand. He wasawake, 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.