Afterworlds: The Book of Doom

“Well, no, not really,” Zac admitted. “But I’m sure something’s going to pop right in there any minute now.”

There wasn’t the explosion of temper from Odin that Zac had expected. The Allfather simply stared for a long time, as if trying to get to grips with the idea that someone didn’t know who he was.

“Haven’t you?” he asked at last.

Zac shook his head. “Nope. Should I have?”

“Of course you should!” boomed Odin. Then a flicker of doubt crossed his broad face. “Well, I mean... I suppose it has been a long time. And Baldr knows, things have changed over the years.” Slowly, he lowered himself back down into his chair. “Maybe... maybe people don’t know who I am any more. Maybe it’s—”

“Wait,” said Zac. “Did you say Odin? The Odin?”

Odin’s eyebrows rose hopefully. “Yes.”

“Lord of the Aesir? Ruler of the Norse Gods?”

“Yes,” nodded the Allfather, suddenly perking right up. “Yes!”

“Father of...”

“Thor,” whispered Angelo.

“I know. Father of Thor?”

Odin was standing again. He nodded encouragingly. “Yes. Yes. Go on. Go on!”

“Of course I’ve heard of you! Everyone’s heard of Odin. I thought you said you were Wodin to begin with. My mistake. Sorry about that.”

The Allfather laughed loudly enough to shake the rafters. “Aha! I knew you would know of me! Apology accepted, mortal,” he said. He raised his hands and the assembled Vikings cheered on cue.

“Come. Sit by my side,” insisted the Allfather. “Stop a while in the Great Hall, Valhalla, and share what tales you know of Odin, Ruler of the Gods!”

“Just, uh, just the Norse Gods, sir.”

Odin sighed. “Right, that’s it. Get out.”

“What? But, but, Allfather...”

“I’ve warned you already. Out!”

Zac turned to Angelo and gave him a curt nod, just as the scolded Viking shuffled past on his way to the door. “See? Told you I’d come up with a plan,” Zac said.

“Pretend you don’t know who he is. That was your plan?” Angelo said.

“I never said it was a great plan,” Zac admitted.

“How did you know he wasn’t just going to get angry and cut your head off?”

“I didn’t. But I wasn’t really worried,” Zac replied.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m pretty sure I can run faster than you can. Now, I’m going to sit with Odin and see if he can help us.”

“Help us do what?”

“Get to Hell. Since, you know, you can’t take us there.”

“Right,” said Angelo. “Good thinking! What should I do?”

“You?” Zac said. “Nothing. Do absolutely nothing at all. Understood?”

“Nothing; right,” Angelo nodded. He smiled. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

“If you say so,” replied Zac, then he turned his back, walked to the head of the table and took his seat beside the Allfather.

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HERE WAS ANOTHER round of clapping, cheering and fists thudding on tables when Zac sat down, and then the Vikings got back to the business of eating and drinking, as if the last few minutes hadn’t actually happened. Only Odin paid him any notice.

“Ale!” the god cried, pushing a dented metal tankard into Zac’s hands. “Drink!”

Zac set the mug down on the table. “No, thanks,” he said.

Odin looked at the tankard, then back at the boy. “Ale!” he insisted. “Drink!”

“I’ll just have some water.”

There was a sound like thunder as Odin hurled back his head and laughed. “Ah, young Zac, thou dost make me laugh!” he boomed, reverting back to character. “Ale it is!”

He pushed the tankard closer to the boy’s hand. Zac pushed it back. “Water will be fine.”

Odin frowned and gave his beard a stroke. Up close, the Allfather didn’t quite look real. His scaled-up size and the way he exaggerated his movements gave him the appearance of an animatronic puppet from a low-budget children’s movie.

“Water,” the Allfather mumbled. He rolled the word around in his mouth, as if tasting it. “Water. Very well.”

He gave two claps of his hands. Something large immediately dropped from the ceiling and landed beside him. Zac twisted in his chair, tensed, ready to fight, but instead of coming face to face with another Viking, he found himself looking at a tall, slender figure in a black leather bodice and matching leather trousers.

She was a girl, if you ignored the wings. Around his age, he’d say, although he’d been several centuries out with Angelo, so he wasn’t committing to anything at this point.

Her hair was long and dark, tied back behind her head in a functional ponytail. The girl’s white feathery wings folded in against her back with a sound like rustling velvet. She focused her gaze on Odin, not so much as glancing in Zac’s direction.

The girl’s mouth smiled, but her eyes weren’t really in on it. “Yes, Allfather? How may I be of service?”

“Ah, young Herya,” he boomed. “Meet Zac. Zac, Herya here is a—”

“Valkyrie,” said Zac. “You retrieve the souls of Vikings killed in battle and bring them to Valhalla.”

Odin clapped Zac on the back. It was like being slammed across the spine with a shovel. “Very good, Zac! Ye are not as dim as I first suspected!”