How to Be a Hero

Far above Whetstone and the Vikings of Krud, a girl unfolded a crumpled booklet and flattened it out. Her forehead wrinkled as she read:

A Guide to the Nine Worlds

By Blood-Runs-Cold, Leader of the Valkyries

The Nine Worlds

Imagine the biggest tree you can. No, bigger than that.

BIGGER.

BIGGER.

That’s Yggdrasil, and it makes your tree look like a bit of wilted broccoli. Nine whole worlds hang from Yggdrasil, that’s how big it is.

Asgard: Right at the top, because it’s the best. Home of the Gods and ruled over by Odin. In Asgard you can find Valhalla, Odin’s Great Hall, where the greatest warriors come after they’ve died. There they can fight, feast and drink until Ragnarok, the battle at the end of the world. At Ragnarok they will be called upon to fight the Frost Giants for Odin, but until then it’s basically party time.

Vanaheim: Home to the Gods who aren’t cool enough to be in Asgard. They’re mostly interested in growing stuff; inhabitants of Asgard are more interested in fighting.

Alfheim: Home of the Elves. Yes, they have pointy ears. Yes, they giggle a lot. Mostly harmless, but keep them where you can see them.

Jotunheim: Home of the Giants, including our mortal enemies the Frost Giants. They keep trying to break into Asgard; we keep beating them in battle. Lots of mountains; good for skiing.

Midgard: This is where you can find living humans, living their ordinary lives, with ordinary horses, ordinary farms and ordinary families.

Svartalfheim: Home of the Dwarves. A maze of caves and mines. They love tinkering with gold and making magical gadgets.

Muspell: Land of Fire. Ruled over by Sutr, a Fire Giant. Nice saunas.

Helheim: Home of the Queen of the Dead, Hel. Yes, she named the place after herself. Tells you everything you need to know, really.

Niflheim: Land of the Unworthy Dead. The dragon Nidhogg lives here and chews on the roots of the world tree. He likes poetry, gold and trampling anyone unlucky enough to be sent there.

Who’s Who in Asgard

Odin: The Allfather, the Spear Shaker, the Terrifying One-Eyed Chief of the Gods. The boss.

Frigg: Goddess of Family. Odin’s wife. Knows the future but won’t tell anyone.

Loki: The Trickster. Enjoys a ‘joke’. Approach with caution. Technically a Fire Giant, but Odin lets him live in Asgard because they’re blood brothers.

Thor: God of Thunder. Do not touch his hammer. Seriously. Freyja: Goddess of Love and Sorcery. Likes cats.

The Valkyries: Elite female warriors, Valkyries are created by Odin, Chief of the Gods. Their main job is to bring the greatest warriors and Heroes to Valhalla on their flying horses. At Ragnarok, the battle at the end of the world, they will lead the Gods and warriors of Valhalla in the final clash against the Frost Giants.

Travel between Worlds

It is possible to travel between worlds by flying or climbing through Yggdrasil’s branches. Not easy, but possible. Only the Gods (and Valkyries) have really got the hang of it. The Giants have managed it a few times, more through luck than anything else.

Valkyries and Odin travel by flying horse, Loki has special shoes, and Freyja uses a magic cloak. The Bifrost Bridge links Asgard and Midgard. When humans on Midgard see it, they call it a rainbow.

Magic

It’s simple: magic can only be created by magical creatures– Dwarves, Elves, and to a certain extent, Giants. All other magic comes from magical objects made by magical creatures, usually the Dwarves.

Except for Odin: he learned how to do magic by hanging upside down from Yggdrasil for nine days to discover the secrets of the runes. Fancy doing that? No? Then no magic for you.

Lotta folded the much-creased booklet and stuffed it under the leather bands of her wrist guards next to her brown skin. Lotta was a trainee Valkyrie, and today was going to be their first trip to collect fallen warriors from Midgard, so she didn’t want to make any mistakes.

‘I can do this,’ she muttered, jamming a metal helmet on top of her dark curls and dodging through the narrow archway. ‘It’s easy. Midgard is down. Asgard is up.’

She ducked to avoid a wonky wooden sign. Just readable through arrow holes and sword gouges were the words:

Beyond the archway, a ragtag group of girls prepared their horses for a journey. They might be dressed in identical armour, but that was the only matching thing about them. Valkyries were born out of Viking battles across Midgard, and their appearance depended on where they had been created.

Each of the trainees wore a breastplate of overlapping leather and metal strips, with a linen shirt and heavy, pleated skirt. Thick bands of leather protected their forearms, and heavy boots with metal studs covered their feet. Lotta paused to pull her hairy socks up – they kept slipping down inside her boots and getting stuck under her feet.

A pair of bored-looking looking Class Two Valkyries were supposed to be supervising the trainees. A tall black girl with elbow-length dreadlocks was speaking loudly to her friend, a girl with freckles scattered across her pink-cheeked face. ‘D’you remember when we went on our first trip to Midgard? I got seventy-eight per cent on my Collecting Fallen Warriors score for getting Jarl the Jelly-Jowls back to Valhalla in one piece.’

Lotta pulled her helmet firmly down over her ears. She was nervous enough without the older Valkyries making her feel worse.

She scuttled over to her horse and fastened a bridle around its head. Tight black curls escaped from under her helmet and brushed her neck. Her horse tried to take a bite out of them. Lotta jerked out of the way of his yellow teeth and scowled.

‘Thor’s beard! Are you trying to look scary, Lotta?’ called a sarcastic voice.

Lotta turned to see a girl with long silver plaits and pale skin climbing on to her own horse. It stamped on the flagstones, hooves sending up blue sparks.

‘You look like you’re desperate for a wee!’ the girl, Flay, said with a laugh.

A girl with identical plaits and an identical gleeful look on her face sniggered. This was Flee, Flay’s twin sister.

Lotta carefully avoided looking at the twins and focused instead on swinging herself up into her saddle. Feeling embarrassed was not very Valkyrie-like, but then, neither was Lotta.

There were three classes of Valkyrie. Class Ones were full Valkyries who went out on the most important missions. They swooped low over Viking battlefields, inspiring the fighting with their bloodcurdling cries. Class Twos were Valkyries who had almost finished their training; they were often used to send messages from the Gods to the rest of the Nine Worlds, or to inspire minstrels to write great stories about Heroes and famous battles. Then there were Class Threes: they were the trainees and rarely got to do anything more exciting than practising their axe-throwing or reciting petrifying poetry. Most Valkyries started training when they were around eleven years old and would be Class Ones when they reached eighteen. Lotta had already been in the training school for over a year and was not doing well.

Lotta jiggled her horse’s reins, intending to move away from the sisters and into the wide courtyard. Her horse had other ideas.

‘No, Thighbiter. Stop it.’ Lotta hauled on the reins as he twisted around, trying to bite her on the leg. He was always doing that. Thighbiter jerked sideways, clonking Lotta’s head on the low-hanging sign.

‘Ow!’ Lotta tried to grab the sign as it swung back, the words Valkyrie Training School looming before smacking her between the eyes. Lotta pulled off her helmet and rubbed at her forehead. Akrid, the Class Two Valkyrie with dreadlocks, sighed and crossed her arms.

‘You might as well get used to it, barnacle breath,’ Flay called from her horse as they trotted past. ‘You’re going to be stuck as a Class Three Valkyrie for a very looooong time.’

Lotta shoved the sign away and wedged her helmet back on top of her curls, trying to pull it low over her face. Flay might be saying what everyone else was thinking, but Lotta was determined to prove them wrong. In order to become full Valkyries, the trainees were supposed to show their mastery of six key skills. The current level of Valkyrieness of each trainee was shown on the circular shields they carried, which were split into segments – one for each skill. The segments glowed according to how well the trainee was doing in that particular element.

Someone like Flay or Flee had a shield that glowed brightly in most of the segments. Lotta’s shield, on the other hand, wasn’t very bright at all, and several of the segments were almost dark, miles away from the sixty per cent she needed in each section to move up to being a Class Two.

Valkyrie Training School Report

Name: Brings-A-Lot-Of-Scrapes-And-Grazes (Lotta)

Class: Third

Skill

Fighting: 35 %

Axes should be thrown FORWARD, Lotta! Good at polishing armour though.

Horse Riding: 30 %

Is distrusted by the horses.

Was chucked into a bush last week.

Epic Poetry: 28 %

Let’s just not mention your version of the Saga of Svenson the Selfish.

Transforming into Swans: 38 %

Looks more like a duck. Keeps questioning why it has to be a swan – it just does, Lotta!

Serving Mead in Valhalla: 53 %

Not bad, but it is pretty easy.

Collecting Fallen Warriors: 0 %

First battle visit next week – please don’t mess it up.

Overall Hero Score: 31 %

Signed: Blood-Runs-Cold, Leader of the Valkyries

The girls spun around in their saddles to see a heavily armoured shadow squinting at them from the stable doorway. Leading her own massive warhorse, Blood-Runs-Cold – or Scold, as she was known to the trainees – stepped into the courtyard. The Class Two Valkyries snapped to attention.

Scold was a statuesque woman with olive skin and powerful lungs. Legend said she once cleared an entire battlefield with one enormous sneeze; among her other jobs she was responsible for training the Class Threes.

Scold swung herself up on to her horse, Thunder Trumper. She turned to the assorted bunch of girl warriors. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you of how important today is,’ Scold roared. ‘Each of you was created from pure battle frenzy, brought to life by the breath of Odin. We may each come from separate places in Midgard, but we are united in one ULTIMATE PURPOSE: serving Odin by bringing back fallen warriors to fill Valhalla!’ She jabbed a finger in the direction of a huge wooden building behind them. It might not seem much from the outside, but being picked to spend your afterlife in Valhalla was a Viking’s idea of paradise.

Being in Valhalla was quite a good set-up, really. The fallen warriors were magically restored by Odin and spent their days on the field beside the hall, practising their biting, kicking, gouging and sword-fighting ready to support Odin when the Frost Giants invaded. Then all evening in the Great Hall, partying.

Scold took a deep breath. ‘I have done all I can to prepare you. We have practised flying in formation, we have rehearsed how to get mighty warriors on to your horses without hurting yourselves.’

‘You have been tested on selecting the best warriors out of the bunch. Today is a chance to PROVE YOURSELVES ONCE AND FOR ALL!’ Her voice boomed around the empty courtyard, making a pile of abandoned helmets ring metallically.

‘I believe some of you are more ready for this responsibility than others,’ Scold continued, definitely not looking at Lotta. ‘Needless to say, if you do well, you could all be on the way to becoming CLASS TWO VALKYRIES!’

Flee raised her hand. ‘Please, Scold, what happens if we don’t bring a warrior back?’

Scold scowled as she stuck a spikey helmet on her head. ‘Just bring one back, OK? It’s pretty basic stuff. If you can’t master this, well, then you can’t be a Valkyrie. Not even a Class Three.’

Scold’s eyes lingered on Lotta a moment. The girl puffed up her chest and pushed her shoulders back. Unfortunately, Thighbiter chose that moment to try and bite her on the leg. Again. As she spun in circles, tugging on Thighbiter’s reins, Lotta could hear Flay and Flee sniggering.

Scold turned away, bringing her horse into position at the head of the group. Lotta nudged Thighbiter to follow. He did so, barging Flay and her horse out of the way.

‘Watch where you’re going, snot-face!’ Flay snarled, flicking out one of her long silver plaits.

Flay smirked and went to pull her plait back – unfortunately that’s where it all went wrong. Flay’s hair had become tangled around the spikes of Lotta’s metal breastplate. She was stuck. Flay gave the plait a hard yank and Lotta lurched sideways half out of her saddle, one foot still caught in Thighbiter’s stirrups. The two girls and their horses danced around in tight circles.

‘Get HER off me!’ Flay shrieked at her sister, who – unhelpfully – grabbed Lotta’s arm and tried to pull her away from Flay.

‘Get her off ME!’ Lotta yelled back. She shook off Flee and started pulling at the hair caught in her armour with one hand while gripping on tightly to Thighbiter’s reins with the other. Thighbiter took the opportunity to joyfully try and bite lumps out of everyone.

Scold snorted, raised an eyebrow, and they all fell silent. Their teacher pulled a short knife out of her belt. ‘There seems to be only one thing to do.’

Lotta’s eyes grew wide as Scold approached. Flay tried to flinch away but was trapped. In one swift motion Scold leaned forward in her saddle, slicing through the hair caught in Lotta’s armour. The girls were free.

Flay slowly straightened up, lifted the remains of her hair in one hand and gazed at it in horror. She now had one long gleaming plait reaching her waist and one silvery tuft that barely reached her shoulder. Her sister’s face went completely white.

Lotta slowly pulled the remains of the plait out of her armour. ‘Do you want this?’ She held out the hair.

It was very loud and very high pitched. The horses all around twitched and flattened their ears.

‘We’re going to get you for this, Lotta,’ Flee hissed as she dragged her shocked sister away. ‘Just wait.’

Lotta sighed – nothing new there then. Thighbiter brayed, clearly delighted with himself.

‘Flee and Flay, stop sulking – it’s only hair,’ Scold called to the twins. ‘Now, get into line.’ Sitting regally astride Thunder Trumper, Scold returned to her position at the head of the group. Flee and Flay grumpily joined them.

‘I shall now OPEN THE GATE!’ Scold clicked her fingers and Akrid reached for a heavy iron key hanging on the gate post. ‘Made by the Dwarves, this key is the only way to open the gates and leave Asgard.’ Scold plucked the key out of the girl’s fingers. ‘NEVER try this without me. You don’t want to get lost and end up in the wrong world, do you?’

The Class Two Valkyries giggled as the trainees shook their heads. Although they had all pored over the map of Yggdrasil that hung in Valhalla, picking out the places they had heard of in stories, none of them had ever been allowed to go exploring. Lotta quite fancied a trip to Jotunheim, which was full of snow, or Alfheim, which was made of meadows. But nobody wanted to visit Helheim or Niflheim, the lowest and most miserable of all the Nine Worlds.

‘Now,’ Scold continued, ‘remember to turn your invisibility gauntlets on before we leave.’

‘Yeah, we don’t want you being spotted and frightening the humans,’ called out the girl with deadlocks.

With a wave of relief, Lotta twisted the centre strip of the gauntlet covering her left forearm. Her arm flickered, then vanished, along with the rest of her and Thighbiter. She could do with being invisible for a while, just to stop Flee and Flay giving her the evils. Around her were a series of clicks. Looking towards her fellow trainees, Lotta could hear the sound of gently clinking armour and shifting hooves but could see nothing. With a thump, something struck her helmet, knocking it into her eyes. She thought she heard a muffled snigger.

‘Let’s do the chant!’ Scold bellowed from somewhere in front of her. ‘WHO DO WE WANT?’

‘… end of the world!’ Lotta echoed. She hoped they had lots of time before then. The Nine Worlds were in balance, at the moment. But you never knew what the Frost Giants were planning, and when the Giants finally made it into Asgard, Ragnarok would begin. She sighed. It would be embarrassing to still be a Class Three Valkyrie at Ragnarok; you wouldn’t get to fight anyone important.

Hooves clopped across the courtyard towards the gateway, and the enormous iron gates swung open. ‘TALLY HOoOoOo!’ echoed Scold’s voice. Sparkling blue hoof prints appeared in the rutted ground, disappearing through the gateway.

Flay and Flee followed swiftly behind with their joint cry of ‘For Odin!’, their voices coming together to create a weird harmony, which made the hairs on the back of Lotta’s neck stand up.

The other Class Three Valkyries galloped along behind them, joining in with their own battle cries.

Lotta encouraged a reluctant Thighbiter into a canter. All she had to do now was find a Hero. How hard could that be?

Chapter Two

This Is Your ULTIMATE PURPOSE