Presently the frost giant lumbered into view. Seeing Astrid awake, he grinned a giant grin. She waited, expecting the worst. She might be forced to cook and clean for him, or wash his back, or even be eaten perhaps. But he seemed so happy in her presence, she didn’t have the heart to do what she normally would have done in this situation, which would be to yell and scream and kick until she’d fought her way free. The tender way he looked at her, the way he had fashioned her comfortable bed—these softened her heart and made her think maybe he wasn’t going to hurt her after all.
Still, she couldn’t be sure. The best course of action, she decided, was to engage him in conversation, to draw him out so she could get to know him. Only then could she tell if he was truly dangerous or not.
Astrid smiled. The giant gave a shy smile of his own, then quickly looked away. He seemed afraid to look directly at her.
“You live here…alone?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. The soft sound of his voice was surprisingly soothing, as if he were speaking through a flute, turning his words magically to music. “But now I have you,” he said.
“Yes, you do.”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Then the giant said, “My heart is glad you are here.”
Astrid nodded and smiled, pretending to be as comfortable as if she were in her very own home. Inhaling deeply, he took in her scent, pleased by it. He asked if she was hungry. She nodded. Following him into the next room, she saw it was a kind of makeshift kitchen, with a giant-size table and chairs. He had made a crackling fire in the corner, explaining he used fire only for the light it cast, saying that heat was his enemy.
“Humans,” said Astrid, “need fire for warmth.”
The frost giant nodded, understanding. Astrid was touched he’d gone to such trouble just for her. And when the giant added another huge log to the fire, she saw that the blaze of heat melted his hand a bit, making little droplets of water roll down his fingers and onto the floor, where they quickly froze again. She then watched in amazement as he plunged his left hand—the one with the missing fingers—into a huge pot of ice-cold water. And as he pulled it out again, Astrid saw that the water had caused frost crystals to begin growing where his old fingers had been, and soon, after another dip back in the chilled water, the missing fingers had completely re-formed themselves and grown back. The giant made a fist with his left hand, seeing that his new fingers worked just fine.
“Good as new?” Astrid asked.
The giant nodded and smiled. Then he set down what looked like a huge wooden porridge bowl, over six paces in diameter. “Join me,” he said, nodding to the bowl. The wooden spoon he’d set inside was as tall as Astrid herself. Ravenous, she leaned over the rim of the bowl. It was filled with blue snow! And leaning over further, she fell all the way in. As she peeked up over the rim of the bowl, the giant saw she had a slushy gob of the blue snow on her head, as if she were wearing it as a hat. She carefully scooped a little bit off her head and tasted it. How delicious! What was it?
Snow flavored with fresh blueberries, the frost giant said, which grew on lower elevations of the mountain. He gently lifted her out and gave her a rag to wipe herself with. Then he broke a tiny icicle from his beard and, scratching an indentation into one end, gave it to her to use as a spoon. And to her surprise, it worked just fine.
“It’s good,” she said between bites, and the giant smiled. As she spooned up her slushie, he explained that, since he was a frost giant, ice was all he could eat. Snow, hailstones, icicles, pack ice, sheet ice—any form of frozen water at all. The hoarfrost that formed on tree limbs after a light rain was particularly light and crunchy. And the flavored bowls of slush, like the one she was eating, were refreshing. But most delectable of all, he said, was the ancient blue ice that could be found deep in the hearts of glaciers. “The older, the better,” he murmured.
The more she ate the sweet concoction, the better she felt, and the easier it became to talk with the giant. She asked questions about his life, and he answered shyly at first. But soon he warmed to her and began to tell her many things.
He told her his name was Thrym. He had lived alone in the cave for some years, having been sent away a long time ago by the other frost giants and told never to return. When she asked why he’d been ostracized, at first he wouldn’t say. After some coaxing, he told her it was because he’d been “blamed for the death of another.” He had killed one of his own kind.
Astrid said nothing and waited for him to continue. Haltingly, he explained that he had had a girlfriend, a frost giantess, and against her father’s wishes he had taken her for a midnight walk. And being a playful sort, he had started to chase her around, trying to kiss her, and she had coyly played along, trying to run from him. It had been fun for a time, but the game had gotten out of hand. They had strayed too far down the mountain, and she had slipped and fallen and rolled down past the snow line. And she’d melted to death.
“Melted to…?” Astrid said. It sounded so awful.
“Yes,” he said. And he told her that frost giants can survive only in the coldest climes, up on snowbound mountaintops where the freezing air and icy winds keep them frozen solid and healthy. And if he or his kind venture down too far below the snow line, where the air is much warmer, they will quickly melt and be destroyed. “You have your world,” he said, “we have ours,” explaining that this was the gods’ way of keeping humans and giants apart. There was a silence, and then he said, “Never go below the snow.” That’s what he’d always been told. But he’d been foolish and irresponsible and had been banished forever from his world. And would live here alone for the rest of his days.
To lift his mood, she changed subjects, asking about Thor’s Hammer. How had he come to possess it?
He said that one day after he’d been cast out, during a particularly lonely stretch of time, there’d been a raging storm. A gale-force wind had blown, with iceballs the size of sheep’s heads. Lightning blazed and thunder boomed for three long days and nights, during which he’d had to take shelter inside the ice cave.
When the storm had abated and the skies had cleared, he’d gone out to play on the slopes, and that’s when he’d come upon the Hammer lying half buried in the new-fallen snow. Its energies somewhat depleted, it glowed and sparked, melting the ice around it, giving off a bright halo of light. At first amazed, Thrym had danced about it in delight, further gladdened to see the shadow of himself that the Hammer’s halo of light threw over the snow, a shadow so lifelike, it mirrored his every move, and this he came to call his shadowfriend.
Thrym soon realized that Thor most probably had lost his prized weapon in an ill-advised marathon of drinking or carelessly thrown it in a fit of anger, and it had fallen from the sky and landed on Thrym’s mountaintop. He’d kept it as a kind of toy or companion, often talking to it out loud, unburdening his troubles, expecting any day that Thor would be down to retrieve it, and he would be rewarded for having looked after it with such devotion. (Thor’s impulsive rages and drinking bouts were widely excused, if not altogether celebrated, since they were thought to be the by-product of an unhappy childhood. Though he was among the greatest of all the gods, Thor still needed to blow off steam every now and then.)
For a whole year Thrym had lived alone on the mountain, the Hammer his only companion. But Thor had never showed. Thrym had grown tired of waiting, his heart hardening in disappointment. He felt that not only had his own kind rejected him, but the gods had as well. And so, when Thidrek had arrived, being a peaceable fellow, he had gladly given the Hammer away for the pleasure of Astrid’s company. When he admitted this to Astrid, he smiled a little-boy smile that made Astrid fear him less and feel that, despite his huge bulk, he perhaps was far less a threat than she had first imagined. All Thrym wanted, she sensed, was someone to love—and someone to love him in return—and that made him like everybody else inside.
On their journey up the mountain, Astrid had overheard Grelf tell Thidrek how frost gia
nts had been formed by the tears of the gods. When gazing down from Valhalla and profoundly moved by human events, whether it was mothers dying in childbirth or true love torn asunder by envy and ignorance, they shed their godly tears. These fell from the heavens onto the highest, coldest mountaintops, and when the teardrops touched the icebound earth, like seeds of life, they crystallized and grew and, alive with the spirit energy of that god’s emotion, formed giant-size creatures made entirely of ice. This was why, as Grelf had said, though brutish in appearance, most frost giants were known to be sensitive creatures much given to shows of emotion.
After their meal, Thrym picked the wayward blueberry skins from his teeth with an old knife he’d found on the mountain long ago. Astrid asked if she could use it. “You want to pick your teeth too?” he asked.
She laughed and said, “It’s a little big for my mouth. No, I want to do some ice sculpting. It relaxes me.” The giant asked what she was going to make, and Astrid said she’d show him later, and he mustn’t peek. So, as Astrid set about cutting and shaping a block of ice, Thrym did everything he could to entertain her and make her feel at home.
He did a little show with handpuppets that he’d sewn himself out of bits of cloth and goatskin. He made funny faces. He juggled snowballs. He performed feats of strength, hefting five huge tree trunks over his head at once. He danced a jig while playing a tune on a finely carved wooden flute and sang a song he composed on the spot just for her.
Oh, you of smiles
And golden hair,
Girl so glowing
And so fair,
’Tis no wonder
That I stare.
Oh, how lovely
You must be
To make me sing
This melody.
Might you stay
And warm my heart?
Might you play
The partner part?
I can’t abide
A life apart.
Oh, how lovely
You must be
To make me sing
This melody.
Astrid was touched. But the more he tried to please her, the more Astrid realized the sad truth. Since he was covered in frost, his touch kind of left her cold. Not to mention that he was four times taller than Dane or any other man she’d ever known. She felt even worse when Thrym began to talk of wanting to marry someday and have children. Well, it just wasn’t going to work, no matter how many layers of protective clothing he agreed to wear. She tried to let him down easy.
“Listen, I have to be honest,” she said, easing her way into it. “I’m sure you’re a kind and gentle giant, and I so appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Thrym, really I do. But the simple truth is it’ll never work, you and me.”
At first he didn’t understand. “What? You don’t like me with a beard?” He quickly raked his hand across the icicles that hung from his chin and broke them all off. He struck a grinning pose, hoping she’d like his new look.
“It’s not that. You look fine, Thrym…it’s just…”
Thrym’s face fell. “My height, eh?” he said. “But see, I’m not so tall when I slouch.” He tried to lean over farther, but still he towered over her, and even he could see it wasn’t working. “I’m too cold for you, is that it? The whole frost thing puts you off?”
“Thrym, please, it’s not you. It’s me.”
“You? But I think…I think you’re beautiful.”
Astrid blushed to hear it, even from a frost giant.
“No, I mean…” Here she paused, amazed at what she realized she was about to say. “I mean, I love…someone else.” There. She’d said it. It was the first time she’d actually said it aloud. The first time she’d publicly admitted to anyone that she loved Dane. The boy she’d always dreamed of having one day. The boy who’d grown into a man right before her eyes the day he had nearly died trying to save her life.
“You love…another?” Thrym’s gaze fell to the floor, and for a long moment he said nothing, remaining silent and morose. Astrid felt awful. She knew she’d hurt his feelings and wanted to say something to ease his pain.
“Listen, Thrym, just because we aren’t right for each other doesn’t mean you should give up on love. You’ll find someone. I know you will.” She reached out to touch his arm, but struck by the sudden chill, she instantly withdrew it.
The giant pounded the tabletop with his fist. Bam! The cave shook. “Find someone? Fat chance!” He stomped about, his heavy footfalls shaking loose shards of ice from the ceiling and walls. “Do you know what it’s like for me? Of course you don’t! You take your beauty for granted. Look at me! I’m made of ice. And ice is cold! Do you want to feel a deadly chill when touched? No! Humans want warmth! Well, I don’t have what you want and I never will!” He slumped to the floor, put his head in his hands, and actually started to cry, the tears freezing the moment they landed on his cheeks.
“See? Even my tears freeze up…,” he blubbered.
Astrid tried to comfort him, hating to see him so upset. “You’ll find someone—someone of your own kind, someday—and you’ll find love, too, I’m sure.”
This was impossible, he said. All the frost giantesses wanted nothing to do with him. He was an outcast. A pariah. He was fated to a miserable life alone. Then he erupted in fury again and began throwing things, kicking the furniture, until huge, jagged chunks of ice came raining down from above.
“You! It’s all your fault!” he thundered. “Why did you have to come here, anyway? I was doing just fine until you showed up!”
Cowering in the corner, Astrid feared for her life. If she weren’t crushed by the falling shards of ice, the ranting giant might soon turn his rage on her. She had to escape. And while Thrym’s back was turned, she saw her chance. She ran for the passageway, hoping to slip away, but Thrym caught sight of her out the corner of his eye. His arm shot out and swept her back into the cave, his overpowering force roughly knocking her backward onto the floor.
“And where do you think you’re going?” He lumbered over to where she lay quivering, glaring down at her, the look of affection that had once been on his face now replaced with an overpowering fury. “Out for a little walk, eh?”
“I—I—was afraid,” she said, deciding that telling the truth was the only way to stay alive. But it did little to quell his anger.
“Afraid? Don’t forget, I own you! So whether you like it or not—whether you like me or not—you won’t ever be leaving. ’Cause no matter what”—he lowered his face just inches from hers—“you’re mine!” And as he breathed this last word, he sent forth a blast of air so cold, it covered her with a thick layer of frost that froze her to the spot. She tried to move, but her whole body was fastened to the ice floor beneath her. Seeing her so tethered, the giant grunted in satisfaction and soon took up his club and left the cave, too overcome with emotion to care what might happen to her.
Unable to move a muscle, her teeth chattering from the freezing cold, Astrid searched her mind for some way to survive. If Thrym intended to leave her this way, she couldn’t last even a few hours. Her only chance was finding a way to get free. If only she had her axes, she thought, she could chop herself free and be gone. But her axes, she recalled, had been confiscated by Thidrek’s men. And thinking of Thidrek brought back thoughts of her dear father and Dane and Jarl and all the others who’d come so far and risked so much to try to save her. And now it had all come to this. Freezing to death in a mountaintop cave hundreds of miles from home. Images of Dane came to her, memory flashes of when they were children, laughing and playing in the snow at twilight, the night he kissed her and tried to give her the Thor’s Hammer locket….
She closed her eyes and tried to warm herself with thoughts of Dane, wondering where he was and if she would ever see him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DANE MAKES A CHILLING DISCOVERY
At that very moment Dane was freezing too. The progress he and his men had been making up the mountain had be
en halted by the blizzard. Lost and unable to move through the howling, punishing winds, they had taken shelter for the night huddled together on a wind-shielded ledge. The storm raged well into the next day, and when it finally abated the following afternoon, the men resumed their climb, albeit with great difficulty, the winds still blowing too hard to make progress easy.
When at last they reached the upper slopes of Mount Neverest, instead of splitting up, Dane and his men had decided to stay together. If they did find Thor’s Hammer, Dane had reasoned, they might need every bit of manpower they could muster to help carry it. And if they met Thidrek and his men again, they’d need every hand they had to work their revenge and free Astrid.
Though a raw haze of sunlight had begun to burn through the high mountain mist, a powerful wind still blew from the north, making progress slow and arduous.
All at once the men came to a halt, struck by the sight of footprints in the snow. But these were not just the footprints of Thidrek and his men. These were massive, at least three feet long and two feet across, outsize impressions so deep, they had not yet been covered over in snow. The line of prints led from an upper ridge down to a stand of fir trees in a ravine a half mile below. Dane and Jarl traded disbelieving looks, for a moment both too overcome to speak.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” said Dane.
“I think so,” said Jarl.
“Maybe we’re closer than we thought,” said Dane. He began to walk on, eagerly following the footsteps, when Jarl grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait, wait,” said Jarl, having a rare moment of clarity. “If there is a…giant one, he could be down there foraging for food. Better to go the other way. Find his lair while he’s not there. Maybe there we’ll find Astrid and the Hammer, and be gone before he even knows it.” Dane saw the wisdom in Jarl’s words and told him so. He changed direction and started to follow the tracks in reverse, climbing up toward some ice formations around a rocky peak on an upper ridge.
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