Secrets of Valhalla by Jasmine Richards

“Time to go up!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Rift
    D o not look down, Buzz told himself, climbing farther and farther up the tree. Just don’t do it.
    But Buzz’s eyes were magnets, and the ground below was a sheet of iron with an irresistible pull. He gazed down past his feet in their battered sneakers, through the silver branches and their tangled leaves, all the way to the ground, which looked very, very far away.
    He began to tremble, and the backpack he’d slung carelessly over his shoulder slipped off his arm like soap suds off a plate. “Watch out,” he cried as the bag tumbled downward, taking a swathe of twigs and leaves with it.
    He heard Mary curse. “I told you I should have gone first.” Her voice came from somewhere beneath him.
    Buzz tried to get his breathing under control. “Sorry.”
    â€œIt’s okay.” Mary’s voice sounded less annoyed. “There was nothing important in that bag, was there?”
    â€œNo, not really. Some money. A drink.” Buzz didn’t want to mention that his mum had bought the bag for his last birthday. A burning pain in his arms made him catch his breath, and he realized that he’d wrapped them so tightly around the trunk of the tree that the bark was cutting into his skin. He wondered how he was ever going to move from this position. His arms were locked into place, his feet were clumps of concrete, and his heart beat so furiously against his ribs that he could almost hear it tapping out a rhythm on the bark.
    â€œHey, Buzz, you’re not moving,” Mary called up. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    â€œI’m fine,” Buzz insisted. “Just give me a moment.” But still his arms tightened around the trunk.
    He heard a familiar scrabbling sound, and then Ratatosk was dangling beside him, his tail securing him to the branch while the wind made him sway merrily back and forth.
    Just looking at the squirrel made Buzz feel dizzy. “Ratatosk, unless you’re a flying squirrel, I suggest you hold on to this tree properly.” He said the words through gritted teeth.
    â€œJust take a breath, mate.” Ratatosk’s voice was soft. “Don’t feel bad about being scared. Yer scared because yer want to live. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
    â€œBut how am I going to do this?” Buzz asked, and he knew he wasn’t just talking about the tree. He was talking about all of it. Finding the runes, waking the sleeping gods, defeating Loki.
    And Ratatosk understood that, too.
    â€œYer’ll do it because yer and Mary are the only ones who can do it. Yer’ll do it because this world will go kaput if yer don’t. Yer’ll do it because even though yer haven’t realized it yet—yer and Mary were born for this.”
    Buzz looked into the squirrel’s dark eyes. What had Ratatosk said earlier? Truth is your most reliable guide, but your heart must be open to listen to its advice.
    The concrete he imagined around his feet crumbled into dust, and his arms loosened around the trunk.
    â€œThanks, Ratatosk. Come on, we’ve got a Roman god to find.” Buzz pushed upward, his arms and legs working to pull his body farther up the tree. Ratatosk was right by his side, leaping from branch to branch.
    â€œHey, Buzz, slow down,” Mary squawked from below.
    â€œI thought you were good at climbing trees!”
    â€œI am, and if I knew it was a race, I wouldn’t have given you a head start,” she shot back.
    Buzz slowed down, but only a little bit.
    As he pulled himself up onto the next bough, he saw a sliver of light between the skeletal limbs of the tree. It was a solid silver branch as bright as a sword’s blade. It gleamed in front of them. Thin, but as long as the path that led up to his front door. The bark was silver, not just in color but in its metallic texture as well. At the far end of the branch, the air was split in two,