The sword of summer rick riordan pdf

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Other books by Rick Riordan. The Percy Jackson series: PERCY JACKSON AND THE LIGHTNING THIEF. PERCY JACKSON AND THE SEA OF MONSTERS. Magnus Chase and The Sword of Summer is the first in a thrilling brand-new series by Rick Riordan, the award-winning author of the Percy Jackson books. Tags: Sword of Summer pdf, Magnus Chase 1 pdf download, Magnus Chase pdf, Sword of Summer Labels: Magnus Chase Rick Riordan.

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The Sword Of Summer Rick Riordan Pdf

Excerpt (Ch. ) - The Sword of Summer by Rick Riordan - Free download as PDF File .pdf), Text File .txt) or read online for free. Chapters 1 to 5 of the. Download The Sword of Summer by Rick Riordan PDF, The Sword of Summer: Magnus. Visit First of all, I want to say that I love Rick Riordan's books. Rick Riordan ( is the author of three. # 1 New . Book 1: The Sword of Summer as targeted questions for class discussion and reflection, or alternatively, they can be . lesson_images/lesson/ ).

Ever since that terrible night two years ago when his mother told him to run, he has lived alone on the streets of Boston, surviving by his wits, staying one step ahead of the police and the truant officers. One day, Magnus learns that someone else is trying to track him down—his uncle Randolph, a man his mother had always warned Magnus Chase has seen his share of trouble. One day, Magnus learns that someone else is trying to track him down—his uncle Randolph, a man his mother had always warned him about. When Magnus tries to outmaneuver his uncle, he falls right into his clutches. Randolph starts rambling about Norse history and Magnus's birthright: a weapon that has been lost for thousands of years. The more Randolph talks, the more puzzle pieces fall into place. Stories about the gods of Asgard, wolves, and Doomsday bubble up from Magnus's memory. But he doesn't have time to consider it all before a fire giant attacks the city, forcing him to choose between his own safety and the lives of hundreds of innocents. Sometimes, the only way to start a new life is to die.

Im sixteen years old. This is the story of how my life went downhill after I got myself killed. My day started out normal enough. I was sleeping on the sidewalk under a bridge in the Public Garden when a guy kicked me awake and said, Theyre after you. By the way, Ive been homeless for the past two years. Some of you may think, Aw, how sad.

Others may think, Ha, ha, loser! But if you saw me on the street, ninety-nine percent of you would walk right past like Im invisible. Youd wonder if Im older than I look, because surely a teenager wouldnt be wrapped in a stinky old sleeping bag, stuck outside in the middle of a Boston winter. Somebody should help that poor boy! Then youd keep walking.

I dont need your sympathy. Im used to being laughed at. Im definitely used to being ignored. Lets moveon. The bum who woke me was a guy called Blitz. As usual, he looked like hed been running through a dirty hurricane.

His wiry black hair was full of paper scraps and twigs. His face was the color of saddle leather, and was flecked with ice. His beard curled in all directions. Snow caked the bottom of his trench coat where it dragged around his feetBlitz being about five feet fiveand his eyes were so dilated, the irises were all pupil.

His permanently alarmed expression made him look like he might start screaming any second. I blinked the gunk out of my eyes. My mouth tasted like day-old hamburger. My sleeping bag was warm, and I really didnt want to get out of it. Whos after me? Not sure. Blitz rubbed his nose, which had been broken so many times it zigzagged like a lightning bolt. Theyre handing out flyers with your name and picture. I cursed.

Random police and park rangers I could deal with. Truant officers, community service volunteers, drunken college kids, addicts looking to roll somebody small and weak all those wouldve been as easy to wake up to as pancakes and orange juice. That meant they were targeting me specifically. Maybe the folks at the shelter were mad at me for breaking their stereo. Those Christmas carols had been driving me crazy.

Maybe a security camera caught that last bit of pickpocketing I did in the Theater District. Hey, I needed money for pizza. Or maybe, unlikely as it seemed, the police were still looking for me, wanting to ask questions about my moms murder I packed my stuff, which took about three seconds. The sleeping bag rolled up tight and fit in my backpack with my toothbrush and a change of socks and underwear. Except for the clothes on my back, thats all I owned. With the backpack over my shoulder and the hood of my jacket pulled low, I could blend in with pedestrian traffic pretty well.

Boston was full of college kids. Some of them were even more scraggly and younger-looking than me. I turned to Blitz. Whered you see these people with the flyers? Beacon Street. Theyre coming this way. Middle-aged white guy and a teenage girl, probably his daughter.

I frowned. That makes no sense. Who I dont know, kid, but I gotta go. Blitz squinted at the sunrise, which was turning the skyscraper windows orange. For reasons Id never quite understood, Blitz hated the daylight. Maybe he was the worlds shortest, stoutest homeless vampire. You should go see Hearth. Hes hanging out in Copley Square. I tried not to feel irritated.

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The local street people jokingly called Hearth and Blitz my mom and dad because one or the other always seemed to be hovering around me.

Ill be fine. Blitz chewed his thumbnail. I dunno, kid. Not today. You gotta be extra careful. He glanced over my shoulder. Theyre coming. I didnt see anybody. When I turned back, Blitz was gone. I hated it when he did that. Just Poof. The guy was like a ninja. A homeless vampire ninja.

Now I had a choice: go to Copley Square and hang out with Hearth, or head toward Beacon Street and try to spot the people who were looking for me. Blitzs description of them made me curious.

A middleaged white guy and a teenage girl searching for me at sunrise on a bitter-cold morning. Who were they? I crept along the edge of the pond. Almost nobody took the lower trail under the bridge. I could hug the side of the hill and spot anyone approaching on the higher path without them seeing me. Snow coated the ground.

The sky was eye-achingly blue. The bare tree branches looked like theyd been dipped in glass. The wind cut through my layers of clothes, but I didnt mind the cold. During Magnus' welcome feast, the three Norns pronounce Magnus a son of Frey and deliver a confusing prophecy. The hotel's ruling council banishes Sam the Valkyrie for apparently "wrongly [choosing]" Magnus.

That night, Magnus's "human" friends Hearth and Blitz arrive and reveal they are actually an elf and dwarf , respectively. They convince him to leave the hotel. In Midgard , the trio joins up with Sam. The group then meets with the god Mimir , who tasks them with finding the Sword before Surt and bringing it to the island of Fenris Wolf. They retrieve the sword from the sea goddess Ran and journey to Nidavellir to secure a new binding for the Wolf.

During his quest, Magnus experiences dream-visions of Loki , and once even of the goddess Hel offering to reunite him with his late mother—a proposal he struggles to refuse.

After a detour to Jotunheim , where they help the god Thor and Magnus discovers new magical powers, they finally arrive at Fenris' island. Despite being attacked by a group of Valkyries, some of Magnus' hallmates, and Surt, they successfully rebind the Wolf.

Magnus has a brief vision of his father Frey before returning to Hotel Valhalla to stand trial for his disobedience. Before he can be punished, however, Magnus's hallmate X stands and reveals himself to be the god Odin , in disguise. Odin rewards each of the heroes in turn, finally offering Magnus a chance to return to life or choose a different afterlife.

Magnus declines, but returns to Boston to speak with his cousin Annabeth. The two hold a funeral for Natalie Chase and exchange stories of each other's lives as demigods. Meanwhile, in the epilogue , Loki punishes Randolph for not being able to stop Magnus from rebinding Fenris.

Loki implies that Randolph's family will be in danger if the man does not cooperate. He is Annabeth Chase 's cousin, but last saw her when he was very young. He has healing and regeneration powers, resistance to extreme temperatures, and other magical abilities.

As a human, he was asthmatic and weak, but gains extreme strength and endurance after his death. He is your uncle. But two years? Dad, how could he not tell us for two years? I cant explain Randolphs actions. I never could, Annabeth. I inhaled so sharply, I was afraid they would hear me. A scab was ripped off my brain, exposing raw memories from when I was six years old.

Which meant the sandy-haired man was. Uncle Frederick? I flashed back to the last family Thanksgiving wed shared: Annabeth and me hiding in the library at Uncle Randolphs town house, playing with dominoes while the adults yelled at each other downstairs. Youre lucky you live with your momma. Annabeth stacked another domino on her miniature building.

It was amazingly good, with columns in front like a temple. Im going to run away. I had no doubt she meant it. I was in awe of her confidence. Then Uncle Frederick appeared in the doorway. His fists were clenched. His grim expression was at odds with the smiling reindeer on his sweater.

Annabeth, were leaving. Annabeth looked at me.

Her gray eyes were a little too fierce for a first graders. Be safe, Magnus. With a flick of her finger, she knocked over her domino temple. That was the last time Id seen her. Afterward, my mom had been adamant: Were staying away from your uncles. Especially Randolph. I wont give him what he wants. She wouldnt explain what Randolph wanted, or what she and Frederick and Randolph had argued about. You have to trust me, Magnus. Being around them I trusted my mom. Even after her death, I hadnt had any contact with my relatives.

Now, suddenly, they were looking for me. Randolph lived in town, but as far as I knew, Frederick and Annabeth still lived in Virginia. Yet here they were, passing out flyers with my name and photo on them. Where had they even gotten a photo of me? My head buzzed so badly, I missed some of their conversation. He checked his smartphone.

Randolph is at the city shelter in the South End. He says no luck. We should try the youth shelter across the park. How do we even know Magnus is alive? Annabeth asked miserably. Missing for two years? He could be frozen in a ditch somewhere!

Part of me was tempted to jump out of my hiding place and shout, TA-DA! Even though it had been ten years since Id seen Annabeth, I didnt like seeing her distressed. But after so long on the streets, Id learned the hard way: Randolph is sure Magnus is alive, said Uncle Frederick. Hes somewhere in Boston. If his life is truly in danger They set off toward Charles Street, their voices carried away by the wind.

I was shivering now, but it wasnt from the cold. I wanted to run after Frederick, tackle him, and demand to hear what was going on. How did Randolph know I was still in town? Why were they looking for me? How was my life in danger now more than on any other day? But I didnt follow them. I remembered the last thing my mom ever told me.

Id been reluctant to use the fire escape, reluctant to leave her, but shed gripped my arms and made me look at her.

Magnus, run. Dont trust anyone. Ill find you. Whatever you do, dont go to Randolph for help. Then, before Id made it out the window, the door of our apartment had burst into splinters. Two pairs of glowing blue eyes had emerged from the darkness I shook off the memory and watched Uncle Frederick and Annabeth walk away, veering east toward the Common.

Uncle Randolph. For some reason, hed contacted Frederick and Annabeth. Hed gotten them to Boston. All this time, Frederick and Annabeth hadnt known that my mom was dead and I was missing.

It seemed impossible, but if it were true, why would Randolph tell them about it now? Without confronting him directly, I could think of only one way to get answers. His town house was in Back Bay, an easy walk from here. According to Frederick, Randolph wasnt home. He was somewhere in the South End, looking for me. Since nothing started a day better than a little breaking and entering, I decided to pay his place a visit.

Oh, sure, you wouldnt think so. Youd see the massive sixstory brownstone with gargoyles on the corners of the roof, stained glass transom windows, marble front steps, and all the other blah, blah, blah, rich-people-live-here details, and youd wonder why Im sleeping on the streets. Two words: It was his house. As the oldest son, hed inherited it from my grandparents, who died before I was born.

I never knew much about the family soap opera, but there was a lot of bad blood between the three kids: Randolph, Frederick, and my mom. After the Great Thanksgiving Schism, we never visited the ancestral homestead again. Our apartment was, like, half a mile away, but Randolph might as well have lived on Mars. My mom only mentioned him if we happened to be driving past the brownstone. Then she would point it out the way you might point out a dangerous cliff.

There it is. Avoid it. After I started living on the streets, I would sometimes walk by at night. Id peer in the windows and see glowing display cases of antique swords and axes, creepy helmets with facemasks staring at me from the walls, statues silhouetted in the upstairs windows like petrified ghosts.

Several times I considered breaking in to poke around, but Id never been tempted to knock on the door. Please, Uncle Randolph, I know you hated my mother and havent seen me in ten years; I know you care more about your rusty old collectibles than you do about your family; but may I live in your fine house and eat your leftover crusts of bread?

No thanks. Id rather be on the street, eating day-old falafel from the food court. I figured it would be simple enough to break in, look around, and see if I could find answers about what was going on.

While I was there, maybe I could grab some stuff to pawn. Sorry if that offends your sense of right and wrong.

Oh, wait. No, Im not. I dont steal from just anybody. I choose obnoxious jerks who have too much already. If youre driving a new BMW and you park it in a handicapped spot without a disabled placard, then yeah, Ive got no problem jimmying your window and taking some change from your cup holder. If youre coming out of Barneys with your bag of silk handkerchiefs, so busy talking on your phone and pushing people out of your way that youre not paying attention, I am there for you, ready to pickpocket your wallet.

If you can afford five thousand dollars to blow your nose, you can afford to download me dinner. I am judge, jury, and thief. And as far as obnoxious jerks went, I figured I couldnt do better than Uncle Randolph. The house fronted Commonwealth Avenue. I headed around back to the poetically named Public Alley Randolphs parking spot was empty.

Stairs led down to the basement entrance. If there was a security system, I couldnt. The door was a simple latch lock without even a deadbolt. Come on, Randolph.

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At least make it a challenge. Two minutes later I was inside. In the kitchen, I helped myself to some sliced turkey, crackers, and milk from the carton. No falafel. Now I was really in the mood for some, but I found a chocolate bar and stuffed it in my coat pocket for later.

Chocolate must be savored, not rushed. Then I headed upstairs into a mausoleum of mahogany furniture, oriental rugs, oil paintings, marble tiled floors, and crystal chandeliers. It was just embarrassing. Who lives like this? At age six, I couldnt appreciate how expensive all this stuff was, but my general impression of the mansion was the same: It was hard to imagine my mom growing up here.

It was easy to understand why shed become a fan of the great outdoors. She always said her real home was the Blue Hills. We used to go hiking and camping there in all kinds of weatherfresh air, no walls or ceilings, no company but the ducks, geese, and squirrels. This brownstone, by comparison, felt like a prison.

As I stood alone in the foyer, my skin crawled with invisible beetles. I climbed to the second floor. The library smelled of lemon polish and leather, just like I remembered. Along one wall was a lit glass case full of Randolphs rusty Viking helmets and corroded ax blades.

My mom once told me that Randolph taught history at Harvard before some big disgrace got him fired. She wouldnt go into details, but clearly the guy was still an artifact nut. Youre smarter than either of your uncles, Magnus, my mom once told me.

With your grades, you could easily get into Harvard. That had been back when she was still alive, I was still in school, and I might have had a future that extended past finding my next meal. In one corner of Randolphs office sat a big slab of rock like a tombstone, the front chiseled and painted with elaborate red swirly designs. In the center was a crude drawing of a snarling beastmaybe a lion or a wolf.

I shuddered. Lets not think about wolves. I approached Randolphs desk.

Id been hoping for a computer, or a notepad with helpful informationanything to explain why they were looking for me.

Instead, spread across the desk were pieces of parchment as thin and yellow as onionskin. They looked like maps a school kid in medieval times had made for social studies: Sitting on top of them, like a paperweight, was a leather pouch. My breath caught. I recognized that pouch. I untied the drawstring and grabbed one of the dominoes.

My six-year-old self had assumed thats what Annabeth and I had been playing with. Over the years, the memory had reinforced itself. But instead of dots, these stones were painted with red symbols. The one in my hand was shaped like a tree branch or a deformed F:. My heart pounded. I wasnt sure why. I wondered if coming here had been such a good idea. The walls felt like they. On the big rock in the corner, the drawing of the beast seemed to sneer at me, its red outline glistening like fresh blood.

I moved to the window. I thought it might help to look outside. Along the center of the avenue stretched the Commonwealth Malla ribbon of parkland covered in snow. The bare trees were strung with white Christmas lights. At the end of the block, inside an iron fence, the bronze statue of Leif Erikson stood on his pedestal, his hand cupped over his eyes.

Leif gazed toward the Charlesgate overpass as if to say Look, I discovered a highway! My mom and I used to joke about Leif. His armor was on the skimpy side: I had no clue why that statue was in the middle of Boston, but I figured it couldnt be a coincidence that Uncle Randolph grew up to study Vikings.

Hed lived here his whole life. Hed probably looked at Leif every day out the window. Maybe as a child Randolph had thought, Someday, I want to study Vikings. Men who wear metal bras are cool! My eyes drifted to the base of the statue. Somebody was standing there You know how when you see somebody out of context and it takes you a second to recognize them? In Leif Eriksons shadow stood a tall pale man in a black leather jacket, black motorcycle pants, and pointy-toed boots.

His short spiky hair was so blond it was almost white. His only dash of color was a striped red-and-white scarf wrapped around his neck and spilling off his shoulders like a melted candy cane.

If I didnt know him, I mightve guessed he was cosplaying. But I did know him. It was Hearth, my fellow homeless dude and surrogate mom. I was a little creeped out, a little offended. Had he seen me on the street and followed me?

I didnt need some fairy godstalker looking after me. I spread my hands: What are you doing here? Hearth made a gesture like he was plucking something from his cupped hand and throwing it away. After two years of hanging around him, I was getting pretty good at reading sign language.

He didnt look alarmed, but it was hard to tell with Hearth. He never showed much emotion. Whenever we hung out, he mostly just stared at me with those pale gray eyes like he was waiting for me to explode. I lost valuable seconds trying to figure out what he meant, why he was here when he was supposed to be in Copley Square.

He gestured again: I said aloud. Behind me, a deep voice said, Hello, Magnus. I nearly jumped out of my shoes. Standing in the library doorway was a barrel-chested man with a trim white beard and a skullcap of gray hair.

He wore a beige cashmere overcoat over a dark wool suit. His gloved hands gripped the handle of a polished wooden cane with an iron tip. Last time Id seen him his hair had been black, but I knew that voice. He inclined his head a millimeter. What a pleasant. Im glad youre here. He sounded neither surprised nor glad. We dont have much time. The food and milk started to churn in my stomach. M-much time His brow furrowed.

Rick Riordan Magnus Chase And The Gods Of Asgard 1 The Sword Of Summer

His nose wrinkled as if he detected a mildly unpleasant odor. Youre sixteen today, arent you? Theyll be coming to kill you. Was it January 13? Honestly, I had no idea. Time flies when youre sleeping under bridges and eating from Dumpsters.

So I was officially sixteen. For my present, I got cornered by Uncle Freaky, who announced that I was marked for assassination. Who I started to ask. You know what? Never mind. Nice seeing you, Randolph. Ill be going now. Randolph remained in the doorway, blocking my exit. He pointed the iron tip of his cane at me. I swear I could feel it pushing against my sternum from across the room.

Magnus, we need to talk. I dont want them to get to you. Not after what happened to your mother A punch in the face wouldve been less painful. Memories from that night spun through my head like a sickening kaleidoscope: The door splintered and burst. From the hallway, two beasts emerged, their pelts the color of dirty snow, their eyes glowing blue. My fingers slipped off the fire escape railing and I fell, landing in a pile of garbage bags.

Moments later, the windows of our apartment exploded, belching fire. My mom had told me to run. I did. Shed promised to find me. She never did. Later, on the news, I heard that her body had been recovered from the fire. The police were searching for me. They had questions: None of the reports mentioned wolves with glowing eyes. Ever since that night Id been hiding, living under the radar, too busy surviving to grieve properly for my mom, wondering if Id hallucinated those beasts Now, after all this time, Uncle Randolph wanted to helpme.

I gripped the little domino stone so tightly, it cut into my palm. You dont know what happened to my mom. You never cared about either of us. Randolph lowered his cane. He leaned on it heavily and stared at the carpet.

I could almost believe Id hurt his feelings. I pleaded with your mother, he said. I wanted her to bring you hereto live where I could protect you. She refused. After she died. He shook his head. Magnus, you have no idea how long Ive looked for you, or how much danger yourein. Im fine, I snapped, though my heart was thumping against my ribs.

Ive been taking care of myself pretty well. Perhaps, but those days are over. The certainty in Randolphs voice gave me a chill. Youre sixteen now, the age of manhood. You escaped them once, the night your mother died. They wont let you escape again. This is our last chance. Let me help you, or you wont live through the day. The low winter light shifted across the stained glass transom, washing Randolphs face in changing colors, chameleon-style. I shouldnt have come here.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Over and over, my mom had given me one clear message: Dont go to Randolph. Yet here I was. The longer I listened to him, the more terrified I got, and the more desperately I wanted to hear what he had to say. I dont need your help. I set the strange little domino on the desk. I dont want I know about the wolves. That stopped me. I know what you saw, he continued.

I know who sent the creatures. Regardless of what the police think, I know how your mother really died. How Magnus, theres so much I need to tell you about your parents, about your inheritance About your father.

An ice-cold wire threaded its way down my spine. You knew my father?

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