Book Review: Loki's Wolves

Loki's Wolves, Part One of the Blackwell Pages, by K.L. Armstrong and M. A. Marr
Published by Little, Brown and Co, 2013  358 pages.
Source: Library.  Pulled off the New Book shelf because it looked interesting.

Summary:
Matt Thorsen knows he is a direct descendant of the Norse god Thor.  He just doesn't know that he's going to be the one who has to save the world.  He's only 13, even if he is big for his age, and now he's supposed to create a team of other descendants of the gods and go out and keep the world from ending.  It doesn't help that the children of Loki, the Trickster God, aren't very fond of him, but he persuades Fen and Laurie to join his quest, and they have the start of a team.

Review:
Right up front I need to say that this book does two things I'm not wild about.  The first is minor, and is overcome by a gripping story.  I'm not really that crazy about the supernatural kids in a normal modern world, but that's a matter of taste and it's well done.  I am even less crazy about cliffhanger novel endings, so consider this a warning: this book stops in the middle.  There is a modest sense of resolution--a few things are figured out--but the story is too incomplete for my taste.  Again, this is not something that necessarily means you won't like it.  You just need to know that.

I was fairly quickly drawn into the story, once I got past a little reluctance about the setting issues (see above and my personal tastes).  The book is liberally illustrated with full-page black and white pictures which look a bit like Manga, stylistically.  They don't do a lot for me, but again, that's taste.  By the time I was 50 or 60 pages in (not that far, really, with so many pictures and lovely large clear type) I was pretty hooked.  By the mid-point, the action heats up and really doesn't stop, so it's a gripper.  Relationships are a bit simplistic, but these are Junior High kids--they are big on drama, but not very good at self-knowledge.

The story is told by an omniscient narrator, and the authors have done a good job with that, so that there's always clarity about who's perspective we are seeing from, and no feeling of head-hopping. 
The writing is generally tight and smooth, and there were no editing or proofing issues that leapt out at me (except maybe a bit of geography, but that's not a huge issue and I only know because I checked on the map). 

Finally, to think about this in terms of the on-going discussion here and on Goodreads about kids without parents, most of these kids have parents--good and bad.  But the parents are pretty undeveloped, and are very quickly left behind.  The authors have for the most part chosen to removed the kids from the help and guidance of adults, who on the whole become, not exactly the enemy, but impediments to the much more important task the kids face.

I think that any kid who likes Rick Riordan or Harry Potter will like this, and the saga promises well.  I just would prefer not to have to wait however long it takes to bring out Book Two!

One final note: it's a bit of a shame to vilify wolves as this book does--they are for the most part the fighting arm of the badguy side.  In the real world wolves have enough of a bad rap without this.  But, then, these are werewolves, not the real kind!


Full Disclosure: I borrowed Loki's Wolves from my library, and received nothing whatsoever from the author or publisher in exchange for my honest review.  The opinions expressed in this review are my own and no one else's.

Halitor the Hero (short story)

Note: this is the product of a challenge on Chuck Wendig's blog.  (Caveat: blog not suitable for children, but many of the stories linked in the comments are great fun for adults).  Using a random number generator and only cheating a little, I ended up with the prompt to write a comic fantasy in which someone is mad or going mad, and someone gets poisoned.  Limit 1000 words (I clock in at 999).


Here it is:

Halitor the Hero

Halitor the Hero was going mad. 

Who wouldn’t, when every day he had to do again what he’d accomplished, at great personal risk, the day before? 

Halitor should have known better than to accept a quest from an unknown client in a hooded robe that hid his face.  But the Hero business had been slow lately, and a guy had to eat, and feed his horse.  The uniform didn’t come cheap, either.  You’d think a few hunks of leather and fur and a pile of weapons wouldn’t run you much,  aside from the initial outlay for the sword and axe.  But the stitching on the leather kept coming undone, and moths had gotten into the fur fringe on his cloak, so he’d had to have the whole thing redone.  And sword polish cost money.

So Halitor took the job.  It had sounded simple enough.  Just kill this fellow Thoriston.  Had to be an easy mark, with a name like that, right?  Mind, Halitor was a hero, not an assassin.  But he had it on good authority—that of the mysterious hooded stranger—that Thoriston was a tyrant from whose bloody rule all Polyopolis waited to be freed.  There would be cheers and feasting, as well as a bag of gold, just as soon as he’d done the job.

And that was the problem.  The job wouldn’t stay done long enough to collect.

Halitor used his sword the first time.  He leapt in front of Thoriston on the street, claimed offense for something or other, and beheaded him on the spot.  Then he’d faded into the crowd and waited for the cheering to begin.  The silence was deafening.

He hadn’t expected the beheaded tyrant to reach around for his head, stand up, and twist it into place.  Halitor was halfway to the border before he remembered that he was a Hero, and Heroes don’t give up.  Also, he needed that bag of gold.

Next day he used his war axe.  It took Thoriston a little longer to assemble the pieces, but he’d still finished before Halitor could find the stranger and get paid. 

He’d used his longbow, crossbow, dagger (that had nearly been fatal to Halitor, as Thoriston now had guards whenever he went out), throwing knives, pike, and a team of runaway horses.  All Halitor wanted was for the fellow to stay dead long enough for the mysterious stranger to pay up. He wouldn't.

By now, Halitor knew that Thoriston was an alias.  This was a god, and the obvious god was Thor.  And trying to kill Thor was plain crazy. 

And so Halitor knew he was mad, because he didn’t give up.  You couldn’t kill a god.  That was written in the rulebook.  Gods can’t be killed.  Not for more than a few minutes.  To try was insane.

Halitor lurked now in the shadows of Thor’s home.  Palace, really.  Crouched behind the arras in the dining hall, he gripped a glass vial with the tenderness he usually reserved for cash payments.  This was the one that would work.  A poison so strong that it could even kill a god. It could only kill him for a few minutes, but it was a long-lasting poison.  Each time he brought himself back to life, it would kill him again.  Halitor liked it.

The table was set for two.  The only challenge was to guess which place belong to Thor, and which to the unknown guest, for a Hero couldn’t randomly kill the wrong person.  He was mad, but not without honor. 

Halitor studied the table.  A plate of gilded china sat before an imposing chair, crossed battle-axes at it’s back.  The other was a mere wooden trencher, sitting before stool.  Thor was out to demonstrate to someone their relative positions of might.

Halitor considered what he had learned of the god in a week of killing him.  He made his decision, and crept into the empty hall.  It took only a moment to drip the poison into the already-filled goblet and turn to leave.

“You are punctual.  You will join me, Halitor the Assassin.”

Halitor nearly peed his fur-lined loincloth.  Where the kraken had Thor come from?  And had he seen what Halitor’d done?  Halitor thought of escape, but Thor had brought his bodyguards, giant men from some other world, big as boulders and bright blue.  They cut off all exits, so he had to bluff it out.  Thor waved  toward the table, and Halitor turned toward the lowly stool.

“No, my friend.  An assassin as persistent as you should not take the humble seat.”  Thor gestured to the throne-like chair.  “Please.  That one.” 

Halitor again searched wildly for an escape, and still found none.  He took offense instead.  “I am Halitor the Hero.  I am no assassin.”

“No?  Seven times you have killed me this week.  Odin certainly found a persistent tool this time.”

Odin.  Halitor could have kicked himself.  No wonder the chap who’d hired him had hidden his face.  Even Halitor would recognize Odin.  He was drinking in nearly every tavern you entered.  Halitor was pretty sure Odin could be in at least ten taverns at once.  Maybe more. 

Nothing to do  but play the game to the finish.  Seven times doing the same thing and expecting a different result.  But maybe he wasn’t mad.  This time the end would be different, and someone would finally be dead.

Halitor sat where he was told, but didn’t take up the goblet when Thor offered a toast.  “I never drink on the job.” 

Thor nodded and took a drink from his own pewter mug.  Then he looked at Halitor, appalled. 

“Odin!  You--”  Thor never finished the sentence.  Halitor stood and smiled. 

His gamble had paid off.  He hitched his sword into place, brushed off the giant blue guards, and turned to the door.  He had one task left, and little time to do it.

He had to collect his fee from Odin before the poison wore off.