Underworlds #3: Revenge of the Scorpion King Read online

  We no longer had Loki’s lost glove. It was all up to me now.

  “I have to retune the strings for our world,” I said. “I need some quiet —”

  “I smell Fenrir,” said Sydney, waving away the ashes falling through the night air. “This way. Past the nail salon.”

  We ran as quickly as we could. The craft store had already gone up like a pile of twigs.

  Before we got to the corner, police cars and ambulances barreled down the street toward us. It was too late to hide. The front car slowed and the window rolled down. “Kids, get out of here,” the officer yelled as the car picked up speed again. “Go to your homes. Now!”

  “Homes!” said Jon, his eyes wide. “Our parents. We need to find them and make sure they’re safe —”

  We heard the popping of gunshots and knew the police were firing at the monsters. The noise was tremendous, a roar of chaos. We had to get away from the center of town.

  “I see flames in our neighborhood,” said Sydney. “Where’s Loki in all of this?”

  Dana rubbed her wrist. “Now I wish I could sense him. Come on!”

  We ran along the quieter alleys behind Main Avenue. Thick smoke rose into the black sky above us. I was so tired. We all were. I tried to return the lyre’s tuning to what it was before, since we didn’t need the lost chord anymore. We needed the lyre to work here. I restrung the broken string. It was loose, dull, and twangy, but at least it made a noise.

  When I plucked the strings one by one, a cool breeze wafted over us. Good. It was working.

  We approached the streets near Jon’s and Sydney’s homes. They looked deserted.

  “Have they started to evacuate already?” Sydney said. “Our parents will be crazy with worry.”

  To see my friends stone-cold terrified struck me. Our wild adventure in the Underworlds had seemed pretty unreal. But now it seemed too real, too true. These were our homes. Our people! Pinewood Bluffs was going to be a mountain of ash by morning.

  Just as Loki had predicted.

  As if she had read my thoughts, Dana touched my shoulder. “Owen, we need to find him … Loki … to …”

  “To stop him?” I said.

  And then we heard the words that no one in Pinewood Bluffs would ever say.

  “Burn, Midgard! Burn!”

  “There!” said Jon. He grabbed my arm and turned me toward the center of town. “He’s there. On the steps of the museum.”

  And we saw him.

  Loki stood on the top step of the museum, howling like a crazed basketball coach watching his team score.

  Behind him were the double red doors that had led us to finding the lyre of Orpheus in the first place.

  I didn’t know what I wanted to do to Loki, but I found myself creeping along the fronts of smoldering buildings, edging closer to him.

  Jon, Sydney, and Dana were right behind me. We all wanted the same thing. To stop him.

  “We can get closer by going up the side,” Dana whispered, nodding her head to the alley on the east side of the museum.

  I smiled. “Yes.”

  We ducked down the alley and worked our way to the corner nearest the stairs.

  I suddenly remembered the person we’d seen lurking in the museum. It seemed so long ago, but the dark figure we saw in the museum halls seemed to want Orpheus’s lyre as much as we did. Who was it? It wasn’t Loki. But then who?

  Whoom! The night lit up with a blast of red flame, and Fenrir leaped from the shadows in front of us. The force of the blast threw Sydney back into Jon, while Dana and I ducked close to the wall.

  Fenrir paced in front of us, growling loudly.

  Then Loki was there, peering down from the museum stairs and grinning wickedly. “Do you like it?” he said, waving a hand at the street. “Now that Midgard burns, the war enters its final phase. Say good-bye to your homes. Your families. Your world.”

  He laughed a crazy laugh, like a madman. Except that he wasn’t a man. He was the worst kind of god.

  Evil. Ruthless. Cruel.

  “You —” I said, but I didn’t finish.

  Suddenly, I was wrenching my arms from Sydney and Jon, pushing Dana aside, and jumping up the steps, swinging the lyre over my head like a weapon.

  ATTACKING LOKI WAS BOTH GOOD AND BAD.

  Even before I reached him, Fenrir threw me off the stairs to save his master from my lame attack. That was good, because it meant that Loki didn’t blow me into subatomic particles.

  The bad part came when I landed on the sidewalk and something cracked.

  At first, I hoped it wasn’t my shoulder. When I saw what really had cracked, I wished it was my shoulder.

  The lyre frame was busted from end to end, and three strings were snapped.

  Loki burst out laughing again. “A pity you take such poor care of your only weapon. Dana Runson, you will now come with me!”

  “Think again!” Jon shouted, as he and Sydney took their places in front of Dana.

  Loki smirked, striding down the steps, his gloved hands sparking. “Little children. Little and defenseless and —”

  All of a sudden, the shriek of tires tore through the air behind us. “Kids, get in!”

  I swung around.

  It was my dad.

  The car doors flew open, and we dived in. Fenrir leaped at the car, but Jon flung his door back out and Fenrir took a hard tumble onto the street. Loki shot a blast at us, but the car moved just in time, and it blew a hole in the sidewalk instead.

  We tore off toward home — or tried to. Thornviper slithered across the road in front of us and blocked the car. The beast rose up and belched a gust of flame while my dad jammed the car into reverse, knocked Fenrir down again, and bounced full speed into a side street. We were around a corner before Loki could fire off a double dose of lightning.

  “I can’t believe this!” my father said. “I’m just glad you’re all alive!”

  We glanced at one another. Yeah, I guess we were alive. Barely.

  Zigzagging left and right to avoid the flaming debris and emergency vehicles, my dad shook his head. “What is going on, Owen? Where were you? For hours! Have you seen these … these monsters? A giant bird guy. A man made of spare parts? A big dog made out of stone? It’s insane!”

  His cell phone rang, and he answered. “I have them,” he said. “Yes, all of them. I’ll be right there.” I saw relief in Dad’s face, but also terror as he hung up. “Your families are all at our house! Except, of course, for your parents, Dana. They’re safe and sound in Iceland. But the rest of us. We were all so … we were …”

  I looked at Dana. She drew in a breath.

  My dad had a hundred questions for us. “Owen, was that strange man talking to you? Do you know him? What could you possibly know about any of this craziness?”

  We could try to answer his questions, but that would only lead to more questions. He wouldn’t understand Loki’s war against Odin, anyway.

  We didn’t even understand it ourselves.

  Sydney nodded at the damaged lyre.

  As battered as it was, I hoped it still had a bit of magic in it. I plucked a couple of strings and held my breath. In those few seconds, Dad’s face began to brighten.

  “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I guess things aren’t so bad. We’ve been ordered to evacuate. So we’ll all take a road trip up north —”

  “No,” I said, knowing that Loki would make his way to Iceland for the Crystal Rune. The farther they got from Loki, the better. “Not north. South. Drive south instead.”

  “But the police said —”

  “Trust me,” I said.

  Dad smiled. It hurt me to see him do that, knowing that I was tricking him with the lyre. But it was better than the awful truth.

  “All right, then,” he said. “South it is!”

  To avoid the flames, he had to drive — recklessly — away from town and along the back streets to get home. That’s when I saw Mammoth near the water tower, overturning cars and setting them on fire
with his tusks.

  “Stop!” I said.

  “Owen, there’s an elephant —”

  “It’s a mammoth!” I said. “Please stop!”

  Dad slammed on the brakes, and I jumped out.

  “What are you doing, Owen?” Dana asked, rushing after me. She twisted me around to face her.

  “The water tower,” I said. “We can at least do something.”

  Ignoring Mammoth, I planted myself in front of the water tower. I thought of Orpheus and what he did. And my fingers sensed what to do. I touched the remaining four strings of the lyre one after another, repeating a short melody.

  Plink-blong-ping-dooon!

  The iron legs of the tower twisted slightly. My head throbbed. I almost fell to my knees from the pain, but Sydney, Jon, and Dana gathered around and held me up so I could keep playing.

  “You’re doing it,” Dana whispered. “You’re doing it!”

  Another few notes, and the water tower’s legs twisted too far to hold up the weight of the container at the top. The legs buckled and the tower crashed, flooding the nearby street, dousing several houses and shops. Some of the fires sputtered out. It was a start.

  I heard fire engine sirens wailing closer. My father was staring openmouthed when we got back to the car.

  “Okay, Dad,” I said. “Now home.”

  A few minutes later, we screeched into the driveway and tumbled out of the car. Sydney’s parents leaped on her. Jon’s father dragged him from the car and hugged him close. My mother pulled in behind us, in the other car with Mags. They ran to me and Dana.

  The sky was red. Smoke was everywhere. The air smelled of everything burning — wood, rubber, paint. The smell of destruction.

  The Fires of Midgard were underway.

  “Everyone,” my father said, “we have to leave now. Owen says we should drive south. So, kids, get your stuff and —”

  “We have to stay,” I said, gesturing to Dana, Jon, and Sydney. This wasn’t going to go over well, I knew.

  “What?” my mother said. “No, you’re coming with us. Dana, too. We’re all leaving.”

  I said it again. “We have to stay here.”

  I thumbed the strings of the lyre again and everyone settled down, but my blood was thundering in my ears. I could barely hear myself think. Helicopters flew overhead, making the whole town a roaring, flaming nightmare.

  “You guys drive south,” I said. “Do it now. But …” I looked over at Jon, Sydney, and Dana. They all nodded. “We’re staying. We’ll be fine.”

  And even though it was the furthest thing from the truth, our parents believed it because the lyre’s melody told them to.

  Before she got in the car, Mom slid a letter out of her pocket and unfolded it. “I almost forgot. This was delivered today for you, Dana, by someone from school. One of the lunch ladies, I think.”

  Dana’s trembling fingers took the letter.

  As our parents went into the house to collect their things, we looked over Dana’s shoulder. The note was written by hand in a script of strange letters.

  “What language is that?” asked Syd.

  “Old Icelandic,” said Dana, looking stricken. “It says … my parents have left the village of Grindavik. Now they’re in … they’re in Niflheim. The Draugs found them. And there’s a note.”

  Meet me in the woods behind the house.

  — Miss Hilda

  Niflheim was the Norse Underworld, a land of evil beings, frost giants, and ice dragons. The letter meant that Loki’s Viking ghost warriors, the Draugs, had kidnapped Dana’s parents and taken them there.

  Sydney put her hand on Dana’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  I heard more thunking helicopters over town. They hovered for a while, then made their way up the coast.

  “Dana,” I whispered. “Was the Crystal Rune in Grindavik? Do you think your parents found it? And now the Draugs have it?”

  Dana shook her head. “The Crystal Rune was never in Grindavik. My parents must have tricked the Draugs into thinking that. But I remember the name of the village from the book they read to me. The Crystal Rune is in Thorshofn, a village north of where they were captured. Much farther north.”

  Sydney and Jon said their final good-byes to their parents, who then drove slowly down the street, joining the line of evacuating cars. Some of the fires were diminishing as more emergency crews arrived. That was good.

  It was the only thing that was good.

  I said good-bye to my parents and Mags. Then, while they packed the last few things into the car and locked the front door of the house, we hurried around to the back. We found Miss Hilda standing by the dark trees, looking up at the moon.

  “Package for you. From a friend,” she said, nodding to a wooden chest sitting on the ground under the trees. It had a runic symbol carved on the top.

  Dana ran her fingers over it. “Sindr?”

  Miss Hilda nodded. “The Norse ironsmith.”

  We lifted the chest’s heavy lid. Inside were four helmets, four short broadswords, and four breastplates, all obviously old and obviously the real thing.

  “Compliments of Odin,” said Miss Hilda.

  Jon gulped as he picked up one of the swords. “Are there bandages in here, too?”

  “I guess this means war,” Sydney said.

  I looked at Dana. Her eyes were full of fear. She gave a short nod. “My mom and dad better not be hurt.”

  “Time to go,” Miss Hilda said, nodding over her shoulder. A torch flared among the trees, and we saw several very large horses. Flying horses, we knew, because on two of them sat Hilda’s sisters, Lillian and Marge, in gleaming blue armor. Lunch ladies by day, they were really the Valkyries of Norse myth.

  “We have a horse for each of you,” said Hilda. “Let’s ride.”

  We helped one another put on the armor and followed Miss Hilda into the woods, where four armored horses were waiting. We mounted them.

  “Owen?”

  I turned around. My little sister, Mags, stood in the side yard, her eyes as wide as the moon. “Where are you going?”

  The sky was red along the coast. The Fires of Midgard were spreading.

  “I love you, Mags,” I said. She looked at me. I didn’t have the heart to fool her with the lyre. “Now go back to Mom. It’ll be all right.”

  She stood for a second more, then turned and ran to the car. It was horrible to say good-bye. Especially because I wasn’t sure when I’d see my family again.

  Or if I would see them again.

  “Hoyo-toho!” the Valkyries chanted. Together, our horses left Pinewood Bluffs beneath us and flew quickly up into the night.

  Asgard (Norse Mythology): home of the Norse gods and the court of Odin

  Charon (Greek Mythology): a ferryman who leads the souls of the dead across the River Styx

  Fenrir (Norse Mythology): a giant, fire-breathing red wolf

  Hades (Greek Mythology): the ruler of the Greek Underworld

  Kingu (Babylonian Mythology): a famous Babylonian warrior who rebelled against Marduk and was cursed with the body of a scorpion

  Loki (Norse Mythology): a trickster god

  Lyre of Orpheus (Greek Mythology): a stringed instrument that charms people, animals, and objects into doing things for Orpheus

  Marduk (Babylonian Mythology): the great god of the Babylonian empire

  Midgard (Norse Mythology): a name for the world of humans

  Orpheus (Greek Mythology): a musician who traveled to the Underworld to bring his wife back from the dead

  River Styx (Greek Mythology): a river that divides the land of the living from the land of the dead

  Runes (Norse Mythology): old, powerful stones with magic symbols carved on them

  Seven Monsters of Babylon (Babylonian Mythology): in this story, the seven monsters are Mammoth, Thornviper, Furnace, Mad Dog, Fire Serpent, Birdman, and Ullikummi

  Valkyries (Norse Mythology): women who work for Odin and choose who lives and dies in
battle

  We quietly approached the frozen curtain, until we heard something in the passage behind us.

  Scuffling.

  Scratching.

  Breathing.

  “So,” Jon whispered. “The mine isn’t abandoned after all.”

  Sydney held up the torch. In its glow we could see a pack of dog-like creatures pad slowly into the cave. There must have been a dozen of them. They had no skin — just bones and teeth and skulls and slitty eyes. That glowed.

  “Skeleton dogs,” said Jon, drawing his sword.

  “Killer skeleton dogs,” Dana said softly.

  We had no choice but to run.

  PHOTO BY DOLORES ABBOTT

  TONY ABBOTT is the author of more than ninety books for young readers, including the popular The Secrets of Droon series; Kringle; Firegirl, which won SCBWI’s 2006 Golden Kite Award; The Postcard, winner of the 2009 Edgar Award for best juvenile mystery; and The Haunting of Derek Stone series.

  Tony Abbott was born in Ohio and lives with his wife and two daughters in Connecticut. For more information about Tony, visit www.tonyabbottbooks.com.

  Text copyright © 2012 by Robert T. Abbott

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Scholastic Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.

  SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, August 2012

  Cover art by Antonio Javier Caparo

  Cover design by Tim Hall

  eISBN 978-0-545-47300-2

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