by Poppet
We're walking across a central dome with a myriad of tunnels leading off it and it hits me for the first time that this is a hidden city. Holy cow!
People move around conducting their own business, mostly normal looking folk who nod while surveying me with inquisitive expressions.
I nod back, beginning to feel like a curiosity.
“How come it's not cold in here?” I mumble, self-conscious, but wondering why we're barefoot on hard stone which should be chilling and isn't.
“It's a fallacy that stone is cold. Stone not exposed to the elements retains residual heat,” he explains, holding his arm in front of me to prevent me from walking into the room we're headed for. “Close your eyes.”
Shaking my head, laughing, I close them, waiting for the next big surprise.
His arm moves behind me, pulling me forward around my waist when suddenly my feet hit cold and smushy. It gives me a skin crawling case of jeeblies. The sensation on my naked soles is so cool it feels wet. Wriggling my toes on something soft and moist it is both elicit and repulsive.
“What do you smell?” he asks quietly.
“Peppermint.” It's so strong it's stinging my nose.
“Open your eyes.”
Snapping them open I'm spellbound. Awed at the endless acreage in the depths of a mountain, filled from end to end with medium sized trees. Wow!
“Under your feet is the ground-cover of pennyroyal mint. It's briskly icy and wherever you walk in here you don't smell the apples, you smell the heaven you're walking on.”
Dropping to my haunches I run my hand over the fey carpet. It's incredible. It looks nothing like mint but is instead a spongy layer of thick green tiny leaves knitting together in such a bright green it's vibrant.
Sitting on the arctic lawn of verdant comfort I look down the avenues of redly golden leaves. It doesn't look real, as if someone came in here with a can of Christmas spray paint and went ballistic.
“Welcome to Glæsisvellir.”
“Huh?” I look up at him, noticing the thousands of crystals imbedded in the cavern's ceiling. They emit warm light which instills the indoor meadow with a cosy and comforting ambiance, making it seem intimate when it's vacuous.
“It translates from Odainsaker, which means deathless acre. Here we grow the glasir, the trees which produce the golden læraðr. In Asgard they grow outside the doors of Valhalla.”
“The deathless acre?” I parrot, still a little awestruck and not retaining information.
“Yes, Em. Everyone who eats from these trees becomes young and healthy, no one who regularly consumes læraðr will die.”
“Does no one get old here?”
A grief stricken shadow glances across his face, “Our lifespan is usually eight hundred years and we do adopt the signs of maturity such as the silver hair and bulk, but sometimes Jötunn choose to get old and die. Sometimes living becomes a hardship and they leave to go back home. It's a sure sign someone's had enough when they refuse to drink the elixir of Asgard. Going without it after a certain age results in aging so rapid it's alarming.”
“Go home?”
If they can just go home why the hell do they stay here?
He sits heavily next to me, folding long limbs, “Emma, last night...” He clears his throat and I detect heavy emotion chewing on him. “... The wild hunt comes through once a year. Anyone who wants to leave can go home with the hunt. No death is necessary, but it's always hard to say goodbye to your kin.”
“Why do you stay? Why doesn't everyone go home?” I ask, anxiety at his change in demeanor gnawing at me.
“Because people like you need us. The lost must be found before we can all escape and go home.”
His left eye is shining brightly through the black lens and I sense the intensity coming off him. We're a calling. Saving us from humanity's chains is what they live for.
I gesture to the orchard, “This is incredible.”
That gets him to smile and he stands again, both of us smelling strongly of uncut peppermint, offering his hand to pull me to my feet.
Accepting the help, he asks as I stand, “Would you like to meet Gudmund?”
“Who's Gudmund?”
“He takes care of this orchard and the growing of our crops. Down the sides you'll find the berries and vegetables.”
“Sure,” I nod, sensing he needs the distraction.
As if loitering for an invitation a man so enormous he's taller than the trees steps onto the path in the avenue ahead of us, smiling welcome as he strides long tree trunk legs our way.
“Ah, here he is now.” Gudmund stops next to Macala, thumping his shoulder so hard it catapults him two steps away from me, forcing him to turn to make introductions, “Gudmund this is Emma, my Raven mate. Emma, this is Gudmund, our green thumbed genius.”
I watch my hand vanish into his huge paw as if I'm the size of a flower fairy. “Good to greet,” he rumbles.
I attempt to shake his hand but it's a dismal failure, trying not to gape at his twin shining eyes and pale hair so platinum it looks like blond streaked silver. It's worn short and bushy, wild, like him. He pulls me in and rustles dry lips across my cheek, intimidating the heck out of me.
I'm glad I'm not the seamstress for this crowd because you could fit three of me in just one leg of his jeans.
“Nice to meet you,” I reply, my neck getting tight from the angle required to look into his face.
They really are giants. No screwing around, the real deal.
“Where fare you?” Gudmund asks Mac.
“The gym. I need to gauge her karsk.”
The big man smiles, splitting his face into welcome, aiming his attention at me, “Make him sweat.” Giving me a wink he nods farewell and vanishes like a sprite between the trees again.
“How come we're so small?” I whisper.
“We're half human, that - and we keep growing for decades. The mature men all look like Gudmund.”
“So you're like... young?” I ask him, absently stroking a ripe apple the size of my head on the tree next to us.
Wow, the leaves are really auriferous. The spine and veins are red, but metallic. Absolutely beautiful.
“Young is relative when you're measuring by centuries,” says Mac, capturing my hand in his and tugging me with him to walk to the end of the looooong pasture.
“And I'm going to keep growing?” I ask.
Shit, how will I ever find anything to wear?
Pausing with me, his smirk is enticing, “You will grow in spurts like the rest of us. Right now you'll grow for three days. Then you'll wear the same sized clothing for about two years before the next growth spurt.”
He cuddles me spontaneously, squeezing an arm around my shoulder and jostling me, “Don't worry squirt, we'll find you clothes in the room next to the gym.”
“I hate that you always know what I'm thinking.”
Releasing me he taps a blunt finger next to his left eye, “The all seeing eye, it's a gift and a curse. Now come...”
My hand is held fast again and he forces me to walk swiftly across the Arcadian arbor. I'm like a kid in Santa's workshop. Everything is so exquisite I can't stop reaching out to touch, caressing apples, smooth bark, boughs, leaves, as we meander across the best kept secret of the modern world.
Looking back at the vast realm of apples I see now why Avalon was so special. The apples have an aura about them, each tree glowing with a subtle halo of vibrant energy.
Emerging through the next connecting tunnel we're in another huge room, this one a hangar of gym equipment, wooden sauna looking boxes that look like mammoth crates, two deep pools with diving boards, and an entire area set out with aged-mustard mats.
It smells musty yet the light in here is brighter. Staring up at the ceiling way up there I note the crystals are bigger. I wish I could take photos. This feels fleeting as a dream. I never want to wake and leave this enchanting empire.
Leading me directly to the mats he indicates the gap in the surrounding dividing s
creens, “The bathrooms are through there if you need a break.” Turning he points to fountains mounted on the wall, “Fluid replacement comes from there.” Facing me again he adopts a karate stance which just hammers my heart into my throat, “Are you ready?”
“No,” I blurt.
I'll never be ready!
He smiles, it's gentle and sweet, “Chillax elskling. I just need to see your moves.”
“I don't have any moves! I'm a bookaholic not a samurai warrior.”
Drumming his chest with both hands he insists, “Come on, just try to land a punch on my chest. Anything, just attempt to make contact.”
Leaning close with his shoulders he taps my upper arm antagonistically, “Come on Em, you must have anger you need to work off.”
That just makes me think of Guy eloping with Desiree. Annoyed, I slap his poking hand off my arm. Stepping in I try elbow him in the ribs the way we were taught in ladies self-defense, but he sidesteps.
“Faster. Push for break.”
I try everything, kicking at his knees, foot-sweeps, channeling Bruce Lee to the best of my ability, thinking of every Jackie Chan and Jet Li movie I've ever seen. I dig deeper for Stratham and Willis, imagining myself fighting for my life in the Congo. All for naught.
Eventually I'm hot and sweaty and I have to keep pulling my pants up because they're a hundred sizes too big for me.
He makes the timeout T, “Let's get you threads.”
I'm mildly insulted that he isn't even breathing hard. Trailing him across the room we walk into a warehouse of supplies. He sweeps his arm at the racks and racks of apparel, “Help yourself. I'll wait here for you.”
“What must I get?” I demand, unaccustomed to being told to raid storage without a limit or supervision.
“Whatever fits, whatever turns you on, whatever babes. Just go hunting and find your smile while you're at it.”
Oookay then.
Turning back to the endless world of choice I go jaunting off, amazed at the period clothing, wondering if they ever put on plays or anything? Nah, to them it's recent history. They probably remember Rome's gladiators by name. Hell, they probably were Rome's invincible muscle men, I wouldn't be surprised to be introduced to Spartacus at dinner tonight.
Finding the gym section I grab built in support tank tops and yoga pants, holding them up against me to gauge my new size.
I hope they have underwear in here.
Maybe I need to wear skirts until I stop growing, then I can go shopping in a proper store and not feel guilty.
With tons of selections I finally head back to my warden.
His grin twists his face into cute. He's got the young rebel vibe about him even if he's two hundred and sixteen. Very cavalier and rascal. He's the guy you'd expect to own a bike without registration, the guy who smokes weed at the drive-in, the guy who always slides his hand up under your skirt when he leans in for a kiss... that guy. The one with scars from playing stupid games with knives and fire, and a private tattoo in his groin that only the chosen get to see.
He laughs out loud, shaking his head and hefting my burden out of my arms, “You can change while I work out. And I'm nowhere near two hundred and sixteen.”
“What are you going to do while I change?”
“Coupla weights and then cardio.”
“Oh.”
So you're going to be pumped and sweaty and just fucking lickable from head to toe. And then you'll speak to me with that voice that vibrates my clit and I'll just be putty.
I follow him like a doting puppy across the gym to the screens, selecting workout clothes and heading to the ladies washroom for changing.
My loot is left in a pile on the bench outside the door.
Did he know I was thinking all that about him?
“Yes!” yells back to me, blistering my overheating and tired body with a head to toe blush.
Fuck!
How do you keep Odin out of your head when he knows everything?
Distract him. Yeah, that might just work.
Losing his clothes I examine my new body in the infinity mirrors. I have muscle and tone that doesn't belong to me. My stomach has a line running from midpoint between my boobs all the way to my navel, tight and compact as if I've been an exercise freak all my life. My breasts have doubled in size and look like I had a boob job they're so perfectly placed, even my hair is inches longer.
Twisting I measure it against my back, pleased it reaches midway between shoulder-blades and tush without extensions or anything.
Flexing and tensing I examine my new model legs, then spy my eyes. My left is lighter than my right. No, my right is darker. My once gray eye is turning charcoal. How's that even possible?
The pupils have speckles of bright light. Stars in an inky abyss, depthless, mysterious... and oh yes, very sexy. No wonder he got all into me over breakfast. Did his eyes do this too?
Standing back as I pull on my trousers sans underwear as I didn't locate any, I marvel at the new me thanks to the golden apples of Asgard.
Human growth hormone has nothing on these guys.
Chapter 13
Emma:
An endless tap tap tap tap tap tap saws through my last nerve and I creep out of the ladies bathroom, following the hollow sound to the shadowed realm beyond the sparring mats.
Peeking around the screen my stomach drops in relief. It's Mac.
He has his back to me, doing the boxer skip with a leather rope. Glistening muscles flex around his naked back, and baggie board-shorts replace the sweatpants he wore when teaching me. He has definition located in places I've not witnessed before.
The cord taps the rock endlessly as he hops from one foot to the other. I wonder what he's training for?
Undetected I savor the chiseled calf muscles, so tight and rigid they're traps for deep shadows, trailing appreciation to the deep hollows above the waistband, all the way up the cords lining his indented crevice of a spine, stopping at the zenith of mounds scrolling from shoulder to neck. Holy fuckness.... the sheen on him gilds his body, making it a masterpiece of exquisite art demanding worship, beckoning to be lavished with a curious tongue and salacious fingertips.
The metronome is meditative and I tense the second it stops. He turns, either sensing me or already knowing I'm here.
“Giants can't go running in the forest so we keep fit indoors.”
I nod, staring at the necklace I hadn't noticed before. It would be well hidden under a shirt and it piques my interest. He walks closer and I'm fascinated by the dull metal of it. It looks ancient.
“What's your chain made from?”
“Arrow heads.”
Oh god! Is that the harii equivalent of notches on a bedpost? Is it one for every man he's killed in service to Odin?
I start counting but his brisk cologne hits me with proximity, radiating off him in exercised gloss. Honestly I am trying very hard not to perv because just his nearness is drilling my heartbeat.
“Emma,” he says, sounding grave, stopping next to me to look down at the top of my crown, our right shoulders facing each other meaning I have to turn my head to look up.
“Mmmm?” I murmur, anticipation scratching lazy nails down my vertebrae, trickling a slow dance to throb my pulse in sensitive regions.
The chemistry between us is generating tangible friction, caressing and touching without bodily contact. Eager and palpable.
“They belong to a legend. A warrior uses the arrow ladder to step onto Bifrost's bridge. It's the key into our home beyond what the eyes can see here. I am not a bloodthirsty savage needing a trophy to hang around my neck.”
“Oh,” I mumble, ashamed I keep thinking the utmost worst about him when all he's been is assertively thoughtful.
“Come here,” he orders, dropping his skipping rope, and grabbing my hand to haul me behind him whether I want to go or not. “I need to show you something.”
He forces me after him with a tight grip on my hand and I dare to resist, resenting t
he imposition of titanium fingers wrapped so tightly I'm sure he can sense my erratic pulse jabbing into his veins. I'm running with my short legs just to keep up with him.
Leaving the gymnasium behind we traverse through a brief wide tunnel into a cavern so enormous and high it imbues the air with sacred secrets. The atmosphere is immediately degrees cooler, tranquil, resonating tender delirium to a searching soul, exhaling nirvana into the light, writhing its ecstatic glory on every dust mote and surface, softly fingering the entire chamber with its diffusion of reality.
Drawing me with him, slowing his pace, he puts a restraining arm around my waist, dominating my direction in his silent manner, walking me directly to the diaphanous vision at the far end of the vast cathedral.
Reaching it I'm stunned. I stare at the iridescent water sparkling with inner radiance, pouring silently into a deep long pool of serene perfection. It's carat clear and I'm mesmerized by the hundreds of crystals the water cascades over in its descent. They prism rainbows the way a teardrop diamond does, dancing clarity in psychedelic dazzle, and it instills an instant soul passion and reverence.
“Wow,” I whisper, staring up and up to the source, the sunlight coming from way up high is refracting through an enormous fiery crystal. “It's stunning.”
The water looks like runny honey until it flows over the clear crystals imbedded with spectrum after spectrum.
“These are rainbow crystals, this is what Bifrost looks like. Do you want to know how it feels to be home?”
I nod in answer to Mac's question, still unable to pluck my enraptured gaze away from the living wonderland hidden in a mountain. It's hallowed, precious, spiritual.
Staring up at it, I ask, “What is that? A citrine?”
“It's a love crystal.” He shoves me so hard I teeter, windmilling madly only to plunge straight off the alabaster marble lip into the pool. It's refreshing, shocking, and my instinct is to panic. Still swimming up to resurface water explodes in my ears with a blast of berserker bubbles, frothing everything around me when he joins the celebratory fizz, turning my underwater vision into carbonated rainbow-orbs.
Breaching the surface, dipping my head to scoop my hair back, his jubilant laughter hits me as the first sound when my ears unpop. He has a delectable laugh, flirtatious and throaty.
