The Sword of Summer (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, #1)

by Rick Riordan

YEAH, I KNOW. You guys are going to read about how I died in agony, and you’re going be like, “Wow! That sounds cool, Magnus! Can I die in agony too?” No. Just no.

My name is Magnus Chase. I’m sixteen years old. This is the story of how my life went downhill after I got myself killed.

After two years, my memories of her were still a minefield. I stumbled over one, and instantly my composure was blown to bits.

(Chocolate must be savored, not rushed.)

He's right.

“You missed a pedestrian,” I said. “You want to go back and hit her?”

Suddenly, Randolph did remind me of my mom. He gave me the same exasperated scowl, the same look over the top of his glasses, like Please, kid, cut the sarcasm. The similarity made my chest ache.

“The statue of Leif Erikson…Does that mean the Vikings—er, the Norse—discovered Boston? I thought the Pilgrims did that.” “I could give you a three-hour lecture on that topic alone.” “Please don’t.” “Suffice it to say, the Norse explored North America and even built settlements around the year 1000, almost five hundred years before Christopher Columbus. Scholars agree on that.” “That’s a relief. I hate it when scholars disagree.”

“Myths are simply stories about truths we’ve forgotten.”

“You are sixteen today.” Randolph’s eyes danced with excitement. “It’s the perfect day for you to reclaim your birthright. But it’s also what your enemies have been waiting for. We have to find it first.” “But—” “Trust me a little while longer, Magnus. Once we have the weapon—” “Weapon? Now my birthright is a weapon?”

“YOU CAN’T DROP a bombshell like that and walk away!” I yelled as Randolph walked away.

I know. Its VERY annoying when the uncle you havent seen in years tells you your dad is a god from norse mythology. Yup totally can relate.

“Randolph!” I called. “I’m talking to you!” “The drift of the river,” he muttered. “The landfill on the banks…allowing for a thousand years of shifting tidal patterns—” “Yo!” I caught the sleeve of his cashmere coat. “Rewind to the part about a Norse god being my pappy.”

“Be quiet, Surt!” Randolph’s voice was shrill. “Magnus has the sword! Go back to the fires from whence you came.” Surt didn’t seem intimidated, though personally I found the word whence very intimidating.

I pointed my once-might-have-been-a-sword at Surt. “Cool down, man. I have a corroded piece of metal and I’m not afraid to use it.”

But before I could take action, something whizzed past my ear and smacked Surt in the forehead. Had it been a real arrow, Surt would’ve been in trouble. Fortunately for him, it was a plastic toy projectile with a pink heart for a point—a Valentine’s Day novelty, I guessed. It hit Surt between the eyes with a cheerful squeak, fell to his feet, and promptly melted. Surt blinked. He looked as confused as I was. Behind me a familiar voice shouted, “Run, kid!” Charging up the bridge came my buddies Blitz and Hearth. Well…I say charging. That implies it was impressive. It really wasn’t. For some reason, Blitz had donned a broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses along with his black trench coat, so he looked like a grungy, very short Italian priest. In his gloved hands he wielded a fearsome wooden dowel with a bright yellow traffic sign that read: MAKE WAY FOR DUCKLINGS. Hearth’s red-striped scarf trailed behind him like limp wings. He nocked another arrow in his pink plastic Cupid’s bow and fired at Surt. Bless their demented little hearts, I understood where they’d gotten the ridiculous weapons: the toy store on Charles Street.

WOW, MAGNUS, you’re probably thinking. That was…stupid! Thanks. I have my moments.

Weakly, I raised my free hand. I flipped him a gesture that he wouldn’t need to know sign language to understand.

ha!

FLOOM! I hit the water. Then I died. The end.

great

Maybe you’re thinking, Oh, Magnus, you didn’t really die. Otherwise you couldn’t be narrating this story. You just came close. Then you were miraculously rescued, blah, blah, blah. Nope. I actually died. One hundred percent: guts impaled, vital organs burned, head smacked into a frozen river from forty feet up, every bone in my body broken, lungs filled with ice water. The medical term for that is dead. Gee, Magnus, what did it feel like? It hurt. A lot. Thanks for asking.

Okay, yes. My mom called me pumpkin. Go ahead and laugh. As I got older, it embarrassed me, but that was while she was still alive. Now I’d give anything to hear her call me pumpkin again.

😢

“You realize check-in time is three P.M.,” he said. “If you die earlier in the day, I can’t guarantee your room will be ready.” “I can just go back to being alive,” I offered.

For the record, Magnus means great. My mom named me that because our family was descended from Swedish kings or something a billion years ago. Also, she said I was the greatest thing that ever happened to her. I know. One, two, three: Awwwwww. It was an annoying name to have. People tended to spell it Mangus, rhymes with Angus. I always corrected them: No, it’s Magnus, rhymes with swag-ness. At which point they would stare at me blankly.

Yes, I like to read. I’m weird that way. Even after dropping out of school, I spent a lot of time in the Boston Public Library, learning random stuff just to pass the time in a warm, safe place. For two years I had missed my old book collection; I never seriously thought I would have one again.

“My Valkyrie? Wait. I don’t have a Valkyrie.” Hunding laughed, his eyes still fixed on the chocolate bar. “Yeah, if I had your Valkyrie, I’d say the same thing. She’s caused her share of trouble.”

WAIT WHOS HIS VALKERYE?

As it burned, a new copy appeared on the coffee table. Stupid magical hotel wouldn’t even allow me to properly vandalize things.

“Sorry,” I said. My throat felt like I’d swallowed a live rodent with lots of claws. “But why do you care if I’m a hero or not?” She smacked her forehead. “Wow, okay. Maybe because I brought you here? Maybe because my career is on the line? One more slipup and—” She caught herself. “Never mind. When you’re introduced, go along with what I say. Keep your mouth shut, nod your head, and try to look brave. Don’t make me regret bringing you here.” “All right. But for the record, I didn’t ask for your help.” “Odin’s Eye! You were dying! Your other options were Helheim or Ginnungagap or…” She shuddered. “Let’s just say there are worse places to spend your afterlife in than Valhalla. I saw what you did on the bridge. Whether you recognize it or not, you acted bravely. You sacrificed yourself to save a lot of people.” Her words sounded like a compliment. Her tone sounded like she was calling me an idiot. She marched over and poked me in the chest.

okay, I really like Sam

The girl straightened. She took a deep breath and extended her hand. “Let’s start again. Hi, I’m Samirah al-Abbas.” I blinked. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that doesn’t sound like a very Viking-ish name.” She smiled tightly. “You can call me Sam. Everyone does. I’ll be your Valkyrie this evening. Pleased to meet you properly.” She shook my hand, her grip so tight my finger bones popped. “I will now escort you to dinner.” She forced a smile. “If you embarrass me, I’ll be the first to kill you.”

“How does that work exactly?” “Well, I live a double life. Tonight, I’ll escort you to dinner. Then I have to rush home and finish my calculus homework.” “You’re not joking, are you?” “I never joke about calculus homework.”

“Most important things have names.” She frowned at me. “Who are you again?” “Very funny.”

haha

She didn’t appear to be kidding, though it was hard to be sure. Her face was full of tense humor—her eyes darting and alert, her lips pressed together like she was either suppressing a laugh or expecting an attack. I could imagine her doing stand-up comedy, though maybe not with the ax at her side.

“Be careful,” Sam warned me. “Gunilla is powerful.” “Also kind of a butt.” The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched. “That, too.”

“What kind of animal am I eating?” Sam wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “It’s named Saehrimnir.” “Okay, first of all, who names their dinner? I don’t want to know my dinner’s name. This potato—is this potato named Steve?” She rolled her eyes. “No, stupid. That’s Phil. The bread is Steve.” I stared at her.

“There’s Leif Erikson.” “Whoa…but he’s not wearing a metal bra.” “I’m going to ignore that comment.

“Don’t mind Mallory. She’s a sweetheart, once you get past the fact that she’s a horrible person.” “Shut up, Halfborn.” The big guy chuckled. “She’s just grumpy because she died trying to disarm a car bomb with her face.” Mallory’s ears turned as red as hummingbird juice. “I didn’t—it wasn’t—Argh!”

“Let’s take that hill!” He pointed to a nearby ridge at the edge of the woods. “Why?” I yelled. “Because it’s a hill!” “He loves taking hills,” Mallory grumbled. “It’s a Civil War thing.”

“For Frigg’s sake!” Mallory cursed. “Come on, newbie.” She grabbed my arm and pulled me along. More javelins sailed over my head. “You guys do this every day?” I demanded. “No. Like we told you—Thursdays are dragons.” “But—” “Hey, Beantown, the whole point is to get used to the horrors of battle. You think this is bad? Wait until we actually have to fight at Ragnarok.” “Why am I Beantown? T.J.’s from Boston. Why isn’t he Beantown?” “Because T.J. is slightly less annoying.”

“Just because you’re wearing a Sox jersey does not mean we’re friends.” “I’m hurt!” His eyes sparkled. “My daughter Samirah saw something in you. We could help each other.” “You ordered her to take me to Valhalla?” “Oh, no. That wasn’t my idea. You, Magnus Chase, are of interest to many different parties. Some of them are not as charming or helpful as I.” “How about being charming and helpful to your daughter? She got kicked out of the Valkyries for choosing me.” His smile faded. “That’s the gods for you. They banished me, too, and how many times did I save their hides? Don’t worry about Samirah. She is strong. She’ll be fine. I’m more worried about you.”

“Arm!” Blitz yelped. “Broken!” “Right.” I knelt, trying to focus. “I might be able to heal this.” “Might?” “Wait…did you get a makeover?” “You’re asking about my wardrobe?” “Well, yeah.”

“What was that sound?” Mallory scowled at me. “Why do you have a dwarf and an elf in your room?” “SQUIRREL!” Blitzen yelled, slamming my door shut. Hearth said the same thing in sign language—a gesture that looked disturbingly like a set of mandibles rending flesh. T.J. looked like he’d been slapped across the face. “Magnus, what have you done?” “I need to leave the hotel. Now. Please don’t stop us.” Mallory cursed in what was maybe Gaelic. Our little hallway group was a veritable United Nations of Cussing. “We won’t stop you,” she said. “This is going to get us laundry duty for a decade, but we’ll help you.” I stared at her. “Why? You’ve known me less than a day.” “Long enough to know you’re an idiot,” she grumbled. “What she’s trying to say,” T.J. offered, “is that hallmates always protect each other. We’ll cover your escape.” The door of my room shook. Cracks spiderwebbed from the nameplate. A decorative spear fell off the wall of the corridor. “X!” T.J. called. “Help!” The half-troll’s door exploded off its hinges. X lumbered into the hallway as if he’d been standing just inside, waiting for the call. “Yes?” T.J. pointed. “Magnus’s door. Squirrel.” “Okay.”

“What’s going on?” He glowered at Blitz and Hearth. “Should I kill the dwarf and the elf?” “No!” Blitzen yelped. “Don’t kill the dwarf and the elf!” “They’re with me,” I said. “We’re leaving.” “Squirrel,” T.J. explained. Halfborn’s shaggy eyebrows achieved orbit. “Squirrel as in squirrel squirrel?” “Squirrel squirrel,” Mallory agreed. “And I’m surrounded by moron morons.”

“I’ll stay with X in case the squirrel breaks through,” she said. “T.J., you take them to recycling.” “Yeah.” “Recycling?” Blitz asked. Mallory drew her sword. “Magnus, I can’t say it’s been a pleasure. You’re a true pain in the nári. Now get out of here.” The door of my room shuddered again. Plaster rained from the ceiling. “The squirrel is strong,” X grunted. “Hurry.” T.J. fixed his bayonet. “Let’s go.”

“The Capo knows stuff. The future, for instance. He does his best to nudge events in the right direction, keep the Nine Worlds from spiraling into chaos and exploding.” “That sounds like a good plan.”

Somehow, I believed her. Here I was, a reborn superwarrior from Valhalla, and Annabeth still intimidated me. The way she held herself, her steely confidence—I could tell she’d overcome some hard stuff, the same way I could tell which guys in the shelters were the most dangerous.

“Magnus, I probably could help. But…” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “Recently I learned the hard way that sometimes I have to step back and let other people do their own quests, even people I care about.

“I’ll call.” I kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.” She sighed. “You’re still a butt.” “I know. Thanks. Bye.”

It clanged against Sam’s ax, knocking the weapon from her hand, almost taking off her face in the process. She stared at me in disbelief. “What the Helheim?” “You started it!” Hearth grabbed her ankle. Sam kicked him away. “And stop kicking my elf!” I said. Sam pushed back her headscarf, letting her dark hair sweep her shoulders. She crouched in a wrestler’s stance, ready to take us all on. “So help me, Magnus, if I had my full powers, I would rip your soul from your body for all the trouble you’ve caused me.” “That’s nice,” I said. “Or you could tell us what you’re doing here. Maybe we could help each other.”

Still lying on the ground, Hearth signed, Somebody please kill her. “What’s he doing?” Sam demanded. “Is he making rude elf gestures at me?” “It’s ASL,” I said. “American Sign Language.” “Alf Sign Language,” Blitz corrected. “Anyway”

“I should never have chosen you for Valhalla.” Blitzen snorted. “On that, at least, we agree. If you hadn’t interfered on the bridge—” “Interfered?” Sam demanded. “Magnus was already dead when I chose him! You and the elf weren’t doing him any good with your plastic sign and your squeaky arrows!” Blitz stood straight, which didn’t make him much taller. “I’ll have you know my friend is a great rune caster.” “Really?” Samirah asked. “I didn’t see him using magic on the bridge against Surt.” Hearthstone looked offended. Would have. Got sidetracked. “Exactly,” Blitz said. “And as for me, I have many skills, Valkyrie.” “For instance?” “For instance, I could fix your disgraceful outfit. No one wears a brown peacoat with a green headscarf.” “A dwarf in sunglasses and a ski mask is giving me fashion advice.” “I have daylight issues!”

“Shocking. When they could’ve had casinos.” Sam coughed loudly. “Of course, great Mimir, both Aesir and Vanir honor you now. Magnus didn’t mean to insult you. He is not so stupid.” She glared at me like, You are so stupid.

“Correct me if I’m wrong. I’d love to be wrong. Ages ago, Loki had an affair with a giantess. They had three monstrous kids.” “I was not one of them,” Sam muttered. “I’ve heard all the jokes.” Hearthstone winced, like he’d been wondering about that.

“If Frey knew what his fate would be,” I said, “why did he give up his blade in the first place?” Blitz grunted. “Love. Why else?” “Love?” “Ugh,” Sam said. “I hate that story. Where are you taking us for lunch, Magnus?”