Minutes later, as they came round a high wall of ice, Dane stopped cold in his tracks. The giant’s footsteps had come from an opening in the wall of ice, a tall, narrow crevice just high enough for a giant to call home.
Astrid was deep in a delirious dream…amid thick wispy clouds, sunbeams warming her cheeks…. The clouds parted and she spied, far below her, the seas and forests of the earth itself, large patches of green and blue…and she abruptly realized she was flying just like a bird through the sky. Oh, what freedom, like nothing she’d ever felt…but how was this possible? She felt a horse beneath her and looked down and saw that she wore a silver breastplate…and it was then that she fully knew the wonder of her dream: She was a Valkyrie, a warrior-maiden in the service of the gods of Valhalla, in search of the most deserving man among the many brave hearts of the northlands…and it was then she saw it—the face of Dane floating before her…his bright blue eyes and warm smile seeming so real, like she could almost reach out and touch him. She saw his lips move and heard the comforting sound of his voice…“Astrid! I’m here.” Ahhh, what a dream, she thought, what bliss…and then a new face appeared—one with big, bulbous cheeks. Ulf the Whale? What was he doing in her dream?
And abruptly she opened her eyes to see faces all around her: Jarl, Fulnir, Drott, Orm, and her father too! They were using Jarl’s knife and Thrym’s rusty toothpick knife to chop her free from the ice, and all at once a great rush of feeling swept back into her heart, and she realized it was the thrill of having hope again. Perhaps she would live—and, yes, even love!
After they’d cut her free and hugged and kissed her—Dane’s kiss the sweetest and longest of them all—she’d hurriedly told them what had happened with Thrym the frost giant and all about how Thidrek had taken the Hammer. Jarl and Dane knew what Thidrek’s possession of this weapon would mean to their world. They argued about how best to escape down the mountain and back to the ship and how to stop Thidrek once they’d caught up with him on the sea.
They were just starting to get tiresome when Astrid said to quit wasting time, that she had been lying there for hours thinking it all out, and that she had a plan that would work far better than anything they could think of, so why didn’t they both just shut up and do what she said? Everybody just kind of looked at her, then at Dane and Jarl, and Jarl shrugged and said, “If you say so.” Astrid hurried back to a far corner of the cave. And when Dane asked what she was doing, she simply said, “Saying good-bye.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
THINGS GO DOWNHILL
Thrym trudged up the icy ridge, a huge sack of cloudberries slung over his back. He’d trekked far and found a rare patch of particularly red and well-ripened ones, thinly covered with snow and flash frozen the previous fall. He’d had to go to a far lower elevation, and the warmer air had weakened him somewhat. Now, on his way back after picking the berries, he found himself whistling as he walked.
He’d thought a lot about the girl, about the way he’d treated her, and he felt bad. He had hated losing his temper and hoped she wasn’t still mad at him or, worse, still frightened of him. Hurting her was the farthest thing from his mind. As he walked, he rehearsed what he was going to say to her, how he would apologize and say he didn’t mean to have frozen her to the floor but it was the only way of knowing for certain she wouldn’t leave while he went to fetch food. And now that he’d found the cloudberries, he was going to whip up the tastiest treat she’d ever had, a blue cloud slushie! Fresh snow flavored with blueberries and cloudberries, with perhaps some icicle bits thrown in to give it crunch! And once she had eaten, Thrym imagined she would allow him to kiss her on the cheek and then he’d dance and sing another song for her, one straight from the heart.
I’m so sorry,
Astrid dear.
Hurting you is
My worst fear.
Forgive me, please,
My clumsy ways.
For how I feel
There is no phrase.
And being so caught in his own thoughts, he at first didn’t see, upon entering his lair, that Astrid was conspicuously absent, nor did he notice the present she had left him on the table by the hearth fire. He continued whistling in his lighthearted way as he busied himself with preparing the berries, calling out to her from the other room.
“Boy, are you in for a treat! A blue cloud slushie! My own recipe! Two kinds of berries and a crunchy surprise inside!” He was then visited by the notion that, instead of adding only icicles, he could throw in chunks of glacier ice as well to make it even crunchier. He could call it “Blue Cloud Double-Crunch!”
Excited, he came out to the cavernous main room to tell Astrid of his new idea, and was surprised to find her gone. He didn’t understand at first, his simple mind trying to make sense of what he was seeing—or not seeing. He lumbered over and looked down, toeing the ice where she’d been.
“Astrid!” he called out. “Astrid, where are you? Sorry about before! I won’t hurt you!” When he got no response, he began to check the side tunnels to see if she was hiding somewhere. No Astrid. As he reentered the kitchen, he spied the new object that had been set upon the table. He leaned down to take a closer look.
It was a small Valkyrie’s horse, carved of ice, its wings spread and mane flowing back as if it were flying. It was something she’d quickly carved while he’d been off making dinner earlier, before their fight, and she’d hidden it in a corner of the cave, intending to give it to him when the time was right. In a word, it was beautiful, and Thrym was charmed by it. He carefully picked it up, marveling at the artistry and intricacy of it. And turning it round, on one side of the horse he found engraved a small heart. Although he’d never before seen this symbol, in his own heart he knew what it meant. It took a long moment for him to realize it also meant that she was gone. He gently set the ice carving on a shelf for safekeeping, taking care not to breathe on it for fear his frosty breath might ruin this wonderful memento. And then he turned and went out.
Outside, he craned his neck and squinted, gazing in every direction, trying to see where she might have gone. He saw nothing. It was then he thought to look down, and that’s when he spotted the many small footprints heading down the mountain the other way. He bounded after them. His legs being so long, in twenty bounding steps he reached the next ridge and peered down the mountainside. There, just a speck on the slope far below, he spied something he was surprised to see. It was his porridge bowl, and it was moving fast.
Dane was amazed. Astrid’s plan had actually worked. Well, so far, at least.
They’d rolled the porridge bowl out of the cave and carried it to the ridgeline. As instructed, they’d piled into the bowl, which was just big enough to carry them all, even Ulf the Whale. They’d pushed off, and just as Astrid had surmised, the smooth bottom of the bowl had made for good sledding. Down they slid, gaining speed as they went.
“Wheeee!” shouted Drott gleefully, the wind in his hair. Now they were whooshing down the slope at quite a clip, believing that they’d escaped danger once more and that much-deserved freedom at last lay ahead. Dane, too, was relieved that maybe the gods were on his side after all—if there were such things as the gods; he still wasn’t sure. And then, as thoughts of the still-elusive thunder in the hands of his enemy filled his mind, he worried about when and how they might meet again when—Kuh-bloom! Kuh-bloom! The earth shook. We’re under attack! Dane thought. It’s Thidrek! Then, catching a look from Fulnir, he spun round and saw the real cause: The frost giant was in hot pursuit!
By the gods! The legends were true! Dane reacted to the sight of the creature with fear and fascination. Fearful—for the thing was gaining fast, and it was abundantly clear he didn’t mean to just shake hands when they met—and fascinated by the very existence of this magical being! Oh, glory, what a sight! A living, breathing man of ice! Just as his father, Lut, and other elders had so often told of in their tales but had never seen themselves. And now he beheld it with his very own eyes!
But the magic of the moment was soon obliterated. Ka-blomm! A giant-size snowball landed nearby, exploding into sharp bits of ice that spattered and shook the bowl, nearly capsizing it. Dane looked again. The giant had an armload of snowballs and was lobbing them as he bounded down the mountainside, drawing nearer with every stride.
“Snowbombs!” yelled Dane. He strained his brain to think of something—anything—that could save them. Astrid caught his helpless look.
“He can’t go below the snow line or he’ll melt!” he heard her cry. And Dane, seeing that the brute would easily overtake them before that, yelled, “We need more speed to outrun him!”
Ka-blomm! Another snowbomb hit.
“But how?” shouted Fulnir. “We can’t even steer!”
Before Dane could think, Astrid had the answer. She whipped off her cape and swiftly fashioned a makeshift sail, tying the ends of it to one of the spears as a mast. Catching the idea, Jarl and Vik helped to hoist it up and held the mast steady while Dane took hold of the cape’s free end to act as a kind of guiding bowsprit. And instantly the “sail” caught wind, and away they went over the ice-slickened snow, Drott wild with glee as they rocketed downward.
Astrid was exhilarated. Her idea had worked. With Dane now beside her at the “bow,” maneuvering left and right, dodging snowbombs as they fell around them, Astrid had never felt so alive. “A new sport for the games!” she said to Dane, thrilled at the idea.
“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “We’ll call it ‘snowbowling’!”
The farther down the mountain they flew, the warmer it got. But then, as the edge of the snow line drew nearer, she recalled Thrym’s words: “Never go below the snow.” But maybe, in the excitement of the chase, he’d forgotten or didn’t care. Maybe he was so angry at Astrid’s having abandoned him, he didn’t care if he lived or died, or whether she did either.
The porridge bowl left the last of the snow behind and hit the lower slope, where sharp, flat granite soon gave way to patches of high grasses and even a welcome warm breeze. The terrible moment was at hand. Would the giant follow? She dared a backward look and—in the flash of a moment—her eyes met his. Something in the pale blue of his gaze softened. And just before he ran out of snow, Thrym leaped up, dug his heels deep into the iced-over snow, and skidded to a long, slow stop.
Astrid was about to rejoice, when she was alarmed to see that his sudden braking had dislodged a small avalanche of ice chunks, which was advancing on them. She cried out to the others. They braced themselves. And soon the mini avalanche caught up and smashed right into the porridge bowl. Astrid, Dane, and the others held on for dear life as the bowl rode atop the tumbling, churning snow right over a cliff…
…and splashed into the sea!
For a moment, no one breathed. A cloud of sea spray and broken bits of ice showered down around their heads. Soon the mist of debris lifted. The porridge bowl was afloat on the water. All members of the crew were still present and accounted for, astonished they’d been saved.
“And there’s the ship!” shouted Fulnir, pointing farther out to sea. All eyes gazed upon their swan-breasted longship, adrift just where they’d left her anchored in the fjord. Drott and Ulf the Whale began to paddle toward the ship with their hands as Astrid checked on Dane and the others, happy to find them unhurt. And then, after giving Dane a warm smile, she found her gaze traveling back to shore, up the slope to the white expanse of snow, searching for signs of Thrym the frost giant.
“Did he hurt you?” she heard Dane say.
“No more than I hurt him,” she answered, her eyes still scanning the mountainside. She saw nothing, and turning away, she slipped her arm through Dane’s, pressing herself against him, feeling the warmth of his cheek on hers, the very thing she’d been yearning for and feared she’d never feel again.
Dane said nothing; he was too busy smiling. He had his fair maiden back, his ship, and the respect of his men. Now it was time to think about the thunder they still sought, and he gazed out to sea, his mind awhir with intrepid notions of how they might intercept Thidrek and seize the Hammer.
He was further cheered to see Lut the Bent frantically waving and shouting from on deck. Dane couldn’t make out the words, but it sure looked like Lut was glad to have them back. Their spirits lifting, the men began humming a sea chantey, feeling a little closer to home and to kinsmen most dear. Soon, the wee bowl of a boat reached the longship. One by one, everyone clambered aboard the mothership, calling for Lut. The old one, however, was now nowhere to be seen. Dane heard muffled sounds at the aft end of the ship, and as he went to look, a one-eyed Berserker jumped up from behind some ale casks and, in an instant, was holding a blade at Dane’s throat. A second Berserker sprang up, holding Lut, one hand clamped around the old one’s mouth.
“Easy, boy,” One-Eye grunted. And all at once, before Dane could give warning, the rest of his crew were overtaken by a dozen more of Thidrek’s brutes who came leaping over the side onto the deck, having been hidden from view in a small skinboat normally kept lashed on the starboard side. Dane realized that Lut had been frantically trying to alert them to the danger before he was overcome.
And now Dane was further sickened to see the figure of Grelf step forth, a broken oar shaft over his shoulder, an insidious grin on his grotesque little face.
“Well, won’t the prince be pleased at this turn of events. Now he’ll have everything his heart desires—the Hammer and the girl!” said Grelf, his eyes roving hungrily over Astrid’s shapely form. “And I’ll be even closer to that Cutthroat of the Month Award I’ve been coveting.” Grelf went on to explain rather rudely that Thidrek’s Berserker troops and horde of guardsmen had successfully carried the Hammer down the mountain and loaded it onto a warship. They were, at that very moment, sailing southward toward Thidrek’s castle, where, once there ensconced, his lordship would have no trouble in greatly expanding his lands into a full-fledged kingdom and exterminating anyone who stood in his way—Dane and his entire village topping the list, of course.
“We spotted you up on the mountain, and I deduced you were going to the frost giant’s lair to rescue the girl,” said Grelf. “Knowing you’d soon be returning, I decided it would be more fun to wait and seize you right here.” Grelf gave a malicious grin, showing his yellowed teeth.
Dane burned in anger as Astrid and his men were roughly trussed up. As his hands were tightly tied behind him and the rough rope cut into his wrists, Dane was overtaken with an even greater rage. He spat an oath at Grelf. “You’re scum, Grelf! Ugly, cretinous scum. Actually, less than scum, because scum doesn’t kill just for the fun of it—”
Whaaack! With whiplike speed the oar blade slammed into Dane’s forehead, and all went black as he crumpled to the deck.
From high up on the mountainside, hidden in a thick stand of fir trees, a pair of watchful blue eyes followed the longship as her sail was raised and the wind began to blow her southward from the harbor. The eyes, of course, belonged to Thrym, one very sad and forlorn frost giant. Being far too distant to see the details of what was happening onboard the ship, he did not know that Astrid was again in danger, only that his beloved was leaving, no doubt lost to him forever. He waited until the sail of her warship was but a white speck on the distant southern horizon, and then he turned and trudged slowly up the slope back to his snowbound home and a cold life all alone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE BEGINNING OF THE END
Of all the deaths Dane had imagined possible, this was the worst. He’d always dreamed of dying on a battlefield somewhere, or being torn apart by wild animals while trying to protect his kin, or drowning at sea during a punishing storm. Once he’d even entertained the notion that it was possible to die from the suffocating stench of one of Fulnir’s meat-pie farts. But to be locked away in a dark, damp dungeon, soon to be put on public display and summarily executed? To die without a fight? That was a death fit for a rat, not a man. And most rats were wily enough to claw their way fr
ee.
But this, it seemed, would be his fate, despite all that he had endured and all the confidence that had been placed in him by others. He had failed in his quest to save Astrid and retrieve the Shield of Odin. Failed miserably, in fact—and this knowledge weighed heavily upon him. Now that Thidrek had the Hammer, he was more powerful than ever.
They were locked in the dungeon of Thidrek’s castle, a dark cell built in the basement of the outer walls of the stone fortress. They’d received word of what Thidrek was planning, and it wasn’t pretty. They were all to be executed at noon the following day, beheaded one by one, each forced to watch the deaths of the ones who went before. In front of a live audience, no less! Their deaths would be merely an appetizer for the wedding to follow, a mere sideshow for the Saturday matinee, the union of Thidrek and Astrid.
In one fell swoop Thidrek had increased his power ten thousandfold. Word had spread like wildfire through the villages that he was now in possession of a new kind of fearsome weapon. To further trumpet this fact, he had sent the ruthless Berserkers on horseback to the north, east and south through the farthest-flung villages, rousting commonfolk as they slept, informing them that Thidrek was their new ruler. If anyone resisted, their huts were burned and livestock slaughtered. If that didn’t convince them, they were drawn and quartered.
Needless to say, before long, each of the outlying tribes that had once lain beyond the prince’s official domain swore fealty to Thidrek. He and he alone now ruled all the northern fjordlands, nearly doubling the size of his realm in a matter of days, no doubt doubling the taxes he would receive as well. A darkness was descending over the land, and Dane envisioned the horrors yet to come, hoping the death of his own dear mother would be swift and painless.
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