“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

Avery Goodman was thrilled when he received the invitation. Not many got the opportunity to travel to another dimension, and Asgard no less.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

His family and friends mocked him for getting a PhD in folklore. He couldn't wait to tell them how it paid off. This was a chance to get first person testimony on so many stories. Just straightening out the genealogy of the Aesir could make his career.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

He should not have been surprised to find that Asgard, and especially Valhalla, was like a beefier and hairier version of a fraternity party.

“Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!”

In front of him, on the long dining table on which the gods of the north drummed a rhythm to match their chant, stood a mug as large as Avery's head. He wasn't sure if he could even lift the thing. He tilted the mug toward him and, in honor of his hosts, he drank deep... and gagged. That was unfortunate, but most of the gods found it amusing. That wasn't so bad.

“I'm terribly sorry,” Avery said. “I'm not much of an ale drinker. Would you happen to have any tea?”

Valhalla fell quiet and the gods stared at their guest.

“Earl Gray? If you have it?”

At the end of the table a god stood. In a room full of massive and muscular individuals he was clearly the most massive and most muscular. His full beard was a a slightly darker shade of red than the hair that hung to his shoulders. This was Thor.

“Father,” Thor said to the one-eyed god who sat at the other end of the table in a place of honor. “I would speak with you.”

“Then speak,” Odin said and his voice rumbled throughout the hall.

“In private. I intend to speak plain.”

“Then speak plain here. There is nothing to hide,” the All-Father said.

“As you wish.” Thor paused to drink deeply from his mug. Then he cleared his throat and pounded the table hard with his fist causing mugs, goblets and serving dishes to jump in the air and come crashing back down. “Have you lost your mind, old man?”

“Careful, Thunderer.”

“This puny, soft-handed woman is who you choose to be our champion?” Thor said as he gestured to Avery.

That was an odd feeling. Avery had always been tall and broad shouldered which usually countered his genteel nature, but in this company he could see the thunder god's point. One moment. What did Thor call him?

“Champion? I'm sorry,” Avery said, “but could someone explain that to me?”

Odin stood and stared down his son. “I gave my eye for a draught from the well of wisdom, and you dare doubt me? This man has the heart of a poet!”

Avery blushed at the thought that Odin somehow read his poetry.

“Poet? Poet?” Thor laughed heartily. “What good is poetry when fighting giants?”

“Giants?” Avery said. “Who are you expecting to fight these giants?”

“He has the heart of a poet, the soul of a hero, and he will have the gifts we bestow here tonight, beginning with Gungnir!” With that he threw his spear and it stopped in mid-air over the dining table where it began to glow.

Tyr stood and with his good hand gestured to the spear. “Our champion shall have my courage and my mettle.” The spear began to spark.

Idunn stood. “And he will have health and long life.” The spear began to vibrate.

Baldr stood. “And I grant him a portion of my gift.”

“No!” Frigga said.

“Do not worry, mother. It's just a small portion.”

Around the table gods stood and added their magic to the spear.

“And I shall make a gift of my cunning.”

The gods fell silent when they heard the voice that came from behind Odin's throne. A figure emerged. He was a head taller than any of the gods, but thin, almost gaunt.

“You needn't trouble yourself, Loki,” Odin said with ill humor. “We can manage just fine without your contribution.”

“Oh, but I insist. I have so much power at my disposal. If I don't put it to use here, whatever shall I do with it?”

Many of the gods joined Odin in making an annoyed grumbling sound. They knew from experience that Loki would have to be placated somehow if there was even a chance of keeping him from mischief.

“Heroes of this age work in secrecy,” Loki said. “I could cast a spell that would allow him to maintain a secret identity. Isn't that what they call it, a secret identity?”

“Do that and no more,” Odin said, “or know my wrath.”

“This is all very interesting,” Avery said, “but may I ask a question?”

“Thor,” Odin said. “Our champion needs great strength. That shall be your gift.”

“No,” Thor said.

“Do not test me, my son!”

“This is foolish and I will have no part of it. If your poet-warrior is to have great strength he must get if from elsewhere.”

“Then he shall have my strength,” Modi said.

Thor turned to his son and blanched. “What is this about?”

“Father, we agreed that we need a presence on Midgard. This must be done.”

“But not this prissy little fool!”

Avery stood and shouted. “The prissy little fool would like to speak!”

The gods folded their arms and waited.

“This is so much more than I expected. I thought I would hear tales of the gods and bring them back to Earth. That's all. Nothing was ever said of me becoming a champion. All-Father, I am honored that you would choose me, and I hate to seem ungrateful, but I must agree with Thor. I am a poor choice, and I of all people should know.”

Odin smiled as if a child had just said something precious. “Humans are blind to their true selves. Throughout the nine worlds they are known for this. Trust me, friend Avery. This is your destiny. These gifts are yours. So it is spoken...”

Avery waved his hands furiously. “No!”

“... so it is done.”

There was a flash of light.

- - - - -

“What do you call that thing?” Silver Scarab asked as he pointed to the immense corpse lying in Times Square. A large flatbed truck was backing up to it.

“Frost Giant,” Avery said.

“You're sure it's dead?”

“I should hope so.”

Silver Scarab studied Avery who was wearing a three piece suit, a fur cloak and a winged helmet with a partial faceplate. He was holding a glowing spear. “You don't look familiar. You're one of the good guys?”

“I assure you I am not counted among the bad guys.”

“A superhero then. How long have you been active?”

“This is my first, and hopefully last appearance. I am not a superhero.”

“You're sure about that? Because you did quite a number on that guy. What's that you're holding? Odin's spear?”

“You know of it?”

“I've been around. Well, whether or not you intend to be active we need to have you come in for an interview. We can't have unknowns running around with your kind of power. You understand, of course.”

“Of course. I can drop by your headquarters this afternoon.”

“Works for me. We'll need a name.”

“Avery Goodman.”

“You want that to be your public identity?”

“Certainly not.”

“Then we'll need an alias to give to the press.”

Avery shook his head. “I've been trying to avoid such nonsense.”

“Well, if you don't come up with a name for yourself the media will give you one. Trust me, they can be brutal.”

Avery made a face. “It really makes no difference to me. Just make something up. I'll trust your judgment. See you this afternoon.” He began to walk away.

“Okay, sounds good to me, Mister Valhalla.”

Avery stopped and sighed. “It's Doctor.”

“Excuse me?”

“The name is Doctor Valhalla.”

Silver Scarab smiled as Doctor Valhalla once more walked away. “Welcome to the big show, doc.”