Loki's Wolves, стр. 8

He motioned to a second board, covered in eclipse pictures and graphs and descriptions. It was a rush job, and it looked like it, but it wasn’t as bad as some… or so he kept telling himself.

“That’s very interesting, Matty,” his grandfather said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Where did you come up with an idea like that?”

Matt shrugged. “It just came to me.”

“Did it?”

Granddad’s blue eyes caught Matt’s, and under his stare, Matt felt his knees wobble. His grandfather studied him for another minute, his lips pursed behind his graying red beard. Then he clapped Matt on the back, murmured something to the Elders, and they moved on.

Matt got a B, which was great for a rushed project that didn’t actually work right. His teachers seemed happy. His parents weren’t. They’d headed out as he packed up his project, and he’d taken it apart carefully, slowly, hoping they’d get tired of waiting and leave.

“So it just came to you,” said a voice behind him.

It was Granddad. The gym was empty now, the last kids and parents streaming out.

Matt nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t win.”

His grandfather put his arm around Matt’s shoulders. “Science isn’t your strongest subject. You got a B. I think that’s great.” His grandfather pointed to the honorable mention ribbon on Matt’s table. “And that’s better than great.”

Of the thirty projects at the fair, five got an honorable mention. Plus there were the first-, second-, and third-place winners. So it wasn’t really much of an accomplishment, but Matt mumbled a thanks and started stacking his pages.

“So, Matty, now that it’s just us, tell me, how didit come to you?”

Matt shrugged. “I had a dream.”

“About what?”

“The wolves devouring the sun and moon. The start of the Great Winter.”

“Fimbulwinter.”

Matt nodded, and it took a moment for him to realize his grandfather had gone still. When he saw the old man’s expression, his heart did a double-thump. He should be more careful. With the Elders, you couldn’t casually talk about dreams like that. Especially not dreams of Ragnarok.

“I was worried about my project,” Matt said. “It was just a dumb dream. You know, the kind where if you fail your project, the world ends.” He rolled his eyes. “Dumb.”

“What exactly did you see?”

Sweat beaded along Matt’s forehead. As he swiped at it, his hands trembled.

Granddad whispered, “It’s okay, Matty. I’m just curious. Tell me about it.”

Matt did. He didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t just his granddad talking—it was the mayor of Blackwell and the lawspeaker of the town.

When he finished, his grandfather nodded, as if… pleased. He looked pleased.

“It—it was only a dream,” Matt blurted. “I know you guys believe in that stuff, but it wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean to—”

Granddad cut him off by bending down, hands on Matt’s shoulders. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just curious. It’s always interesting to hear where inspiration comes from. I’m very proud of you. Always have been.”

Matt shifted, uncomfortable. “Mom and Dad are waiting….”

“Of course they are.” After another quick hug, Granddad said, “I’ve always known you were special, Matty. Soon everyone else will know it, too.”

He pulled back, thumped Matt on the back, and handed him the box. “You carry this, and I’ll take your papers. It’s windy out there. We don’t want them blowing away.”

Matt started across the gym, Granddad beside him. “I saw ice on the Norrstrom a few days ago. Is that why we’re having Vetrarblot so soon? Winter’s coming early?”

“Yes,” Granddad said. “I believe it is.”

FIVE

MATT

“CHOSEN”

After the science fair, Granddad came to the house and took Matt’s parents for a walk. By the time they came back, Matt was heading off to bed—early wrestling practice—but they called him out to the living room and gave him a long speech about how proud they were of him for getting a B and an honorable mention. As a reward, they’d chip in the forty bucks he still needed to add to his lawn-cutting money so he could buy an iPod touch.

He knew they weren’t really proud of him. He’d still messed up. But his parents always did what Granddad said. Most people in Blackwell did. Anyway, he wouldn’t argue about the money. Now he could start saving for a dirt bike, and maybe if he managed to win the state boxing finals, Granddad would guilt his parents into chipping in for that, too. Not likely—his mom hated dirt bikes almost as much as she hated boxing—but a guy could dream.

Vetrarblot. It wasn’t as cool as Sigrblot—because Sigrblot meant summer was coming, which meant school was ending—but it was a big deal. A really big deal this year, for Matt. He’d just turned thirteen, which meant he’d now be initiated into the Thing.

The Thing. What a dumb name. Sure, that’s what it had been called back in Viking days—the word thingmeant assembly—but you’d think one of Blackwell’s founding fathers would have come up with a new name so the town meetings wouldn’t sound so stupid. They hadn’t.

In Viking times, the Thingwas an assembly made up of all the adult men who weren’t thralls—what the Vikings called slaves. In Blackwell, women were members, too. And by all “adults,” they meant all Thorsens past their thirteenth birthday.

As for what exactly the assembly did, well, that was the not-so-exciting part. It was politics. They’d decide stuff. Then the town council—which was mostly Thorsens—would make it happen.

They discussed community issues, too—ones you couldn’t bring up in a town council, like “That Brekke kid is getting into trouble again” or, he imagined, “Matt Thorsen still can’t control his powers.” Which was why he’d rather not be sitting there listening.

And during Vetrarblot, he’d really rather not be there. They held the meeting just as the fair was starting. Cody and the rest of Matt’s friends had a nine-o’clock curfew, which meant he wasn’t even sure he’d get out of the Thingin time to join them. Which was totally unfair, but his parents wouldn’t be too happy if he began his journey into adulthood by whining about not getting to play milk-bottle games.

He’d already gotten a long talk from them that morning about how he was supposed to behave. Matt was pretty sure they were worried it would be a repeat of the disaster at Jolablot. That was the winter festival where they retold all the old stories, and Granddad had asked Matt to tell the one about Thor and Loki in the land of the giants, just like Josh and Jake had when they were twelve. His parents hadn’t wanted him to do it, but Matt insisted. He knew the myths better than his brothers did. A lot better. He’d make them proud of him. He’d really tried to—memorizing his piece and practicing in front of his friends. Then he got up on the stage and looked out at everyone and froze. Just froze. Granddad had to come to his rescue, and his parents weren’t ever going to let him forget it. This festival, he’d just keep quiet, keep his head down and out of the spotlight, and do as he was told.

Between the parade and the Thing, there was food. Real food, not corn dogs and cotton candy. At that time, everyone who wasn’t a Thorsen went home or filled the local restaurants or carried picnic baskets to Sarek Park. The Thorsens took over the rec center. That’s when the feasting began. There was rakfisk, of course, and roast boar and elk and pancakes with lingonberries. Mead, too, but Matt didn’t get any of that.