He’d obviously been thinking of a word other than guy. “But I couldn’t refuse. I went over the top, charged the Reb fortifications all by myself. I heard later, after I was dead, that my action triggered the offensive that led to the fall of Fort Wagner. The rest of the fellows followed my example. Guess they figured I was so crazy, they’d better back me up. Me, I just wanted to kill that lieutenant. I did, too. Jeffrey Toussaint. Shot him once in the chest, then got close enough to jab my bayonet right into his gut. Of course, by then the Rebs had shot me about thirty times. I fell in their ranks and died smiling up at a bunch of angry Confederate faces. Next thing I knew, I was in Valhalla.”
“Odin’s undies,” I muttered, which was a curse I saved for special occasions. “Wait…the lieutenant you killed. How did you learn his name?”
T.J. gave me a rueful smile.
Finally, I understood. “He ended up in Valhalla, too.”
T.J. nodded. “Floor seventy-six. Me and old Jeffrey…we spent about fifty years killing each other over and over again, every day. I was so filled with hate. That man was everything I despised and vice versa. I was afraid we’d end up like Hunding and Helgi—immortal enemies, still sniping at each other thousands of years later.”
“But you didn’t?”
“Funny thing. Eventually…I just got tired of it. I stopped looking for Jeffrey Toussaint on the battlefield. I figured something out. You can’t hold on to hate forever. It won’t do a thing to the person you hate, but it’ll poison you, sure enough.”
He traced the minié ball scar with his finger. “As for Jeffrey, he stopped showing up in the feast hall. Never saw him again. That happened to a lot of the Confederate einherjar. They didn’t last. They locked themselves in their rooms, never came out. They faded away.”
T.J. shrugged and continued. “I guess it was harder for them to adjust. You think the world is one way, then you find out it’s much bigger and stranger than you ever imagined. If you can’t expand your thinking, you’re not going to do well in the afterlife.”
I recalled standing with Amir Fadlan on the rooftop of the Citgo building, cradling his head and willing his mortal mind not to fracture under the weight of seeing the Bifrost Bridge and the Nine Worlds.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Expanding your brain hurts.”
T.J. smiled, but I no longer thought of it as an easy smile. It was hard-won, as courageous as a solitary soldier charging enemy lines. “You’ve accepted your own personal challenge now, Magnus. You’re going to have to face Loki one-on-one. There’s no going back. But if it helps, you won’t be charging those fortifications by yourself. We’ll be right there with you.”
He patted my shoulder. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He handed me his coffee-and-hardtack soup like this was a fantastic gift. “I’m off to get some shut-eye!”
Most of the crew slept belowdecks. The Big Banana, we had discovered, would unfold as many rooms as we needed to be comfortable, regardless of the exterior size of the hull. I wasn’t sure how that worked. Even though I was a Doctor Who fan, I didn’t feel like testing the limits of our bright yellow TARDIS. I preferred sleeping on the deck, under the stars, which is where I was on our third morning at sea, when Alex shook me awake.
“Let’s go, Chase,” she announced. “We’re running Samirah through her paces. I’m going to teach her how to defy Loki even if it kills us. And by us, I mean you.”
I SAW my problem immediately.
I should never have introduced Alex to Percy Jackson. She had learned way too much from his relentless training methods. Maybe Alex couldn’t summon sea animals, but she could turn into them. That was just as bad.
We started with Samirah and Alex fighting each other—on the deck, in the water, in the air. My job was to call out random animals from a stack of flash cards Alex had made. I’d shout, “MONKEY!” and Sam was supposed to turn into a monkey mid-combat, while Alex shape-shifted continually from human to animal to human, doing her best to beat up Sam.
Whenever Alex was in human form, she tossed out taunts like “Come on, al-Abbas! You call that a cotton-topped tamarin? Do better!”
After an hour of combat charades, Samirah’s face gleamed with sweat. She’d taken off her hijab and tied back her long brown hair so she could fight better. (She considered us all family, so she had no problem going hijab-less when required.) She leaned against the rail, taking a breather. I almost offered her some water, then I remembered she was fasting.
“Maybe we should take a break until tonight,” I suggested. “After dark, you can eat and drink. This must be killing you.”
“I’m fine.” Sam wasn’t a very good liar, but she forced a smile. “Thanks, though.”
Alex paced the deck, consulting her clipboard. A clipboard, y’all, like she was gunning to be assistant manager at the Hotel Valhalla. She wore green skinny jeans with a pink tank top, the front stitched with an inappropriate hand gesture in glittery sequins. Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane.
“Okay, Magnus, your turn,” she told me. “Get Jack and prepare to fight.”
Jack was pleased to help. “Combat time? Cool!” He floated in a circle around me. “Who are we fighting?”
“Sam,” I said.
Jack froze. “But I like Sam.”
“We’re just practicing,” I said. “Try to kill her without really killing her.”
“Oh, phew! Okay. I can do that.”
Alex had a clicker. Her cruelty knew no bounds. Jack and I double-teamed Sam—Jack attacking with his blade, obviously; me with a mop handle, which I doubt struck terror into Sam’s heart. She dodged and weaved and tried to land hits on us with her ax, the blade wrapped in sail canvas. Sam was supposed to shape-shift whenever Alex clicked her clicker, which she did at random intervals with no regard for Sam’s situation.
The idea, I guessed, was to condition Samirah to change shape whenever, wherever she had to without second-guessing herself.
Jack held back, I could tell. He only whacked Sam a couple of times. Me, I was less than successful with my mop. Combat maneuvering on the deck of a Viking ship turned out to be one of the many important skills I did not have. I tripped over the oars. I got snagged in the rigging. Twice, I bonked my head on the mast and fell into the ocean. About average for me, in other words.
Sam had no such trouble. She left me bruised and battered. The only time I landed a hit was when Alex clicked at a particularly bad time. Mid-lunge, Sam turned into a parrot and flew beak-first into my mop handle. She squawked, turned back into a human, and sat down hard on the deck, a cloud of blue and red feathers fluttering around her.
“Sorry, Sam.” I felt mortified. “I’ve never hit a parrot before.”
Despite her bloody nose, she laughed. “It’s fine. Let’s try that again.”
We fought until we were both spent. Alex called our practice done, and the three of us slumped against the rail shields.
“Whew!” Jack propped himself next to me. “I’m exhausted!”
Since all the energy he expended would come out of me as soon as I took hold of him, I decided to let Jack stay in blade form a while longer. I wasn’t ready to go comatose until after I had lunch.
But at least I could have lunch.
I glanced at Samirah. “This Ramadan thing. I seriously don’t know how you do it.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You mean why I do it?”
“That, too. You really have to endure the fast for a whole month?”
“Yes, Magnus,” she said. “It may surprise you to learn that the month of Ramadan lasts one month.”
“Glad you haven’t completely lost your snark.”
She dabbed her face with a towel, which was apparently not forbidden. “I’m more than halfway through the month. It’s not so bad.” She frowned. “Of course, if we all die before the end of Ramadan, that would be irritating.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “Loki burns down the Nine Worlds while you’re fasting, and you can’t even have a drink of water? Ouch.”