The Ship of the Dead (Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard #3)

“But if Hearth…I mean, isn’t that cannibalism, or dragonbalism or something?”

“I can’t answer that.” Blitz sounded like he badly wanted to answer that with a loud YES, I KNOW IT’S DISGUSTING. “Let’s go help him with…whatever he decides.”


Jack and Hearthstone had built a campfire. Hearthstone turned a spit over the flames while Jack floated next to him singing “Roll Out the Barrel” at the top of his nonexistent lungs. Being deaf, Hearthstone was the ideal audience.

The scene would have been charming except for the six-ton dragon carcass rotting nearby, the sickly expression on Hearthstone’s pale face, and the basketball-size black glistening thing sizzling on the spit, filling the air with the smell of barbecue. The fact that Alderman’s heart actually smelled like food made me even sicker.

Hearthstone signaled with his free hand. Done?

Yeah, Blitzen signed back. Treasure and ring gone. Very wealthy fish.

Hearthstone nodded, apparently satisfied. His blond hair was speckled with mud and leaves, which reminded me, ridiculously, of parade confetti, like the forest was throwing him a grim celebration for his father’s death.

“Hearth, man…” I pointed at the heart. “You don’t have to do this. There’s got to be another way.”

“That’s what I told him!” Jack said. “Of course, he can’t hear me, but still!”

Hearth started to sign with one hand, which is like trying to talk without vowels. He gave up in frustration. He pointed to me, then to the spit: Take this for me.

I didn’t want to get anywhere close to that dragon heart, but I was the only one who could talk and turn the spit at the same time. Hearth could at least read my lips. Blitzen could sign, but his face was covered with netting. And Jack…well, he just wasn’t very helpful.

I took over organ-roasting duty. The heart seemed much too heavy and wobbly for the spit, which was placed across two makeshift tree-branch stakes. Keeping it balanced over the flames took a lot of concentration.

Hearthstone flexed his fingers, warming up for a long conversation. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as if his throat was already protesting tonight’s dinner special.

If I eat the heart, Hearthstone signed, it means Father’s knowledge not lost forever.

“Yeah,” I said, “but why would you want that?”

His fingers hesitated in the air. Memories of Mother, Andiron. Older family knowledge. Knowing my…

He made an H with two fingers extended, then whacked the back of his opposite hand. I guessed it was the sign for history, though it looked a lot like a teacher slapping a bad student with a ruler.

“But you’d know things only from your father’s perspective,” I said. “He was poison. Like Andiron told you, you don’t owe your father anything. He’s got no wisdom to give.”

Jack laughed. “Right? Dude collected rocks, after all!”

I decided it was just as well Hearth and my sword couldn’t communicate.

Hearth’s mouth tightened. He understood me just fine, but I could tell I wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. He didn’t want to eat that disgusting thing. But he felt…I didn’t know the right word in English or sign language. Obliged? Honor-bound? Maybe Hearth hoped against hope that if he knew his father’s inner thoughts, he would find some glimmer of love in there, something that could redeem his memory.

I knew better. I wasn’t about digging up the painful past. Look behind somebody’s horrible exterior, and you usually found a horrible interior, shaped by a horrible history. I didn’t want Alderman’s thoughts affecting Hearthstone, literally being ingested by him. There had to be a vegetarian option. Or a Buddhist one. I would even have settled for a green-hair-friendly meal.

Blitzen sat down, crossing his legs at the ankles. He patted his friend’s knee. Your choice. But the soul will still rest if you make the other choice.

“Yes!” I asked. “Destroy the heart. Just let it go—”

That’s when I messed up. I got too excited. I was focusing on Hearth and not paying attention to my job as chef. I turned the spit a little too forcefully. The heart wobbled. The braces collapsed inward, and the whole thing toppled into the fire.

Oh, but wait. It gets worse. With my lightning-fast and incredibly stupid einherji reflexes, I grabbed for the heart. I almost caught it in one hand, but it rolled off my fingertips and crashed into the flames, combusting like its ventricles were filled with gasoline. In a red flash, the heart was gone.

Oh, but wait. It gets worse still. The sizzling heart left boiling grease on my fingertips. And dumb Magnus, incredibly gross Magnus—I did what most people do when they touch something hot. I instinctively put my fingers to my mouth.

The taste was like ghost chili mixed with concentrated Hawaiian Punch syrup. I pulled my fingertips out and tried to spit away the blood. I retched and wiped my tongue. I crawled around sputtering, “No! Pffftss. No! Pffftss. No!”

But it was too late. Even that little taste of dragon heart’s blood had infiltrated my system. I could feel it seeping into my tongue, humming through my capillaries.

“Se?or!” Jack flew toward me, his runes glowing orange. “You shouldn’t have done that!”

I bit back an insult about my sword’s godlike powers of hindsight.

Blitzen’s face was obscured by netting, but his posture was even stiffer than the time he’d been petrified. “Kid! Ah, gods, you feel okay? Dragon blood can…well, it can bring out some strange stuff in your DNA. Humans have DNA, don’t they?”

I wished we didn’t. I gripped my gut, worried that I might already be turning into a dragon. Or worse, an evil elf father.

I forced myself to meet Hearthstone’s eyes. “Hearth, I—I’m so sorry. It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to…”

My voice faltered. I wasn’t sure I believed me. I didn’t know why Hearth would. I’d suggested destroying the heart. Then I’d done it. Worse, I’d tasted it.

Hearth’s face was a mask of shock.

“Tell me what to do,” I pleaded. “I’ll find some way to make it right—”

Hearthstone held up his hand. I’d seen the wall of ice he put up on those rare occasions when he was truly furious, but I saw none of that now. Instead, his muscles seemed to be unknotting, his tension draining away. He looked…relieved.

It is wyrd, Hearth signed. You killed the dragon. Fate decided that you would taste his blood.

“But…” I stopped myself from making another apology. Hearth’s expression made it clear he didn’t want that.

You put my father’s soul to rest, Hearth signed. You saved me from that deed. It may cost you, though. It is I who am sorry.

I was relieved he wasn’t angry with me. Then again, I didn’t like the new wariness in his gaze, as if he was waiting to see how the dragon blood would affect me.

Then, somewhere above, a chittering voice said, What a knucklehead.

I flinched.

“You okay, se?or?” asked Jack.

I scanned the canopy of trees. I saw no one.

Another tiny voice said, He doesn’t even know what he’s done, does he?