‘How will you … oh I see. You won’t. Just me. I’ll be going to Hel alone. I’ll be jumping into a volcano alone.’ Freya thought she would faint.
‘Look on the bright side,’ said Alfi. ‘This way you won’t have to get past Hel’s dog Garm. He’s chained in the cliff cave by the road entrance.’
‘Big whoop,’ said Freya. She felt hysterical.
‘Big whoop?’ said Alfi.
‘Forget it,’ said Freya. This wasn’t happening.
‘Snot, can you guide us to Hekla?’ said Roskva.
Snot nodded. ‘My father’s farm—’
There was a deafening roar behind them. The ground shook as if an earthquake had struck.
‘WHERE IS SHE? GIVE HER BACK! THIEVES! THIEVES!’ thundered a voice from above. The bellow rang round the mountains and echoed back across the valley and the sky.
‘This way!’ said Snot, heading straight for the waterfall. They edged their way along a narrow, rocky ledge running behind the torrential fall, clinging to the slimy rocks, trying not to tumble on to the sharp boulders below.
‘GIVE HER BACK!’
Freya huddled with the others, panting, hiding behind the curtain of cascading water which tumbled over the precipice and frothed into an iceberg-filled lagoon. They pressed flat against the wet rocks, listening to the pounding footsteps stampeding towards them.
Freya caught a glimpse of Skadi’s hideous legs crashing through the water. The legs stopped. Freya could feel Skadi listening. Everyone held their breath. Then suddenly the legs continued splashing through the deep water as Skadi shambled into the valley.
‘Let every evil being have you,’ muttered Alfi.
‘And your father,’ added Roskva.
They waited until the ground stopped shaking, then hurried off in the opposite direction, hugging the cliffs.
‘I think we’ve tricked her,’ murmured Roskva.
‘Or she’s gone to warn Thjazi …’ said Alfi. Anxiously, they scanned the oppressive sky for any sign of the giant eagle.
‘Let’s find a place to cross and put the river between us and her,’ said Roskva.
‘Follow me!’ said Alfi. ‘I remember a good spot where the river is low.’
They jumped from the rocks and ran as fast as they could along the reedy bank. The waterfall tumbled over black boulders, pouring downstream. Gradually, the angry current slowed as they rounded the bend, the river widened and the land flattened. The water streaming over the worn rocks, though still fast-flowing, looked no higher than Freya’s ankles.
‘Here,’ said Alfi. ‘It gets deeper again further on.’
Snot knelt by the water’s edge, peeled the corner of his tunic off his hairy body where it was stuck with dried blood, and grimaced at the hoof-shaped gash in his mottled-ivory flesh.
‘Are you hurt?’ said Freya.
‘It’s nothing,’ he snapped, splashing the icy water on the wound. ‘Move!’
The four picked their way across the rocks jutting out of the shallow riverbed. Alfi, sure-footed as a goat, held Freya’s hand to steady her on the slippery stones as he leapt from one to another. Freya shivered and gasped as the freezing water crept up to her calves. As they neared the middle of the river, the water suddenly deepened. She gave up trying to keep her skirt dry. Her teeth chattered. The river appeared to be rising fast. Many of the rocks were now hidden beneath the churning torrent.
‘Why is this current flowing faster?’ said Roskva, as the bubbling river lapped above her waist. ‘And it’s getting warmer.’
‘I don’t like this,’ said Snot, now wading up to his knees. ‘Hurry.’
They picked their way across, stumbling, as the water rose higher and higher above their waists.
‘She’s changed her mind!’ yelled Roskva.
Freya looked upstream and saw Skadi straddling the river. A gush of water poured from her.
‘Oh Gods, she’s peeing in the river!’ screamed Alfi.
‘I’ll kill her!’ howled Snot. ‘I hope she goes where the trolls get her.’
The frothing yellowish water rose above Freya’s shoulders. The stream had become a raging torrent. Suddenly it was above their heads and they were swept off their feet and whirled downstream, tumbling towards a precipice.
‘Roskva!’ gurgled Alfi. ‘Use the wave-calming rune!’
Roskva babbled the ancient words the All-Father had given her. On the river bank a mound of earth began to stir as the surging river broke again over Freya’s head and pulled her beneath. Freya tried to undo the heavy bear cloak weighing her down but her fingers were too numb. The river dragged her deeper and she was drowning in a whirlpool of water. She struggled and fought but her clothes were too heavy and the current too strong.
And then suddenly she wasn’t being swept downstream any more but spinning in one place like a mad bug.
Thank Woden his charm had worked.
Coughing and spluttering, Freya fought her way to the surface. Her feet scrabbled to get a hold and she grabbed onto a small tree growing out of the riverbed, on which her cloak had tangled.
‘Hold on!’ yelled Snot, clinging to an overhanging branch.
Freya managed to brace her feet against the tree and she swung herself away from the current’s force into the shallower depth. She coughed and spluttered and gulped great mouthfuls of air.
Snot grabbed Roskva’s cloak as the flood-waters swept her past, yanking her to safety. Alfi landed hard against a boulder. The river, far from subsiding, looked as wild as ever.
‘The charm?’ spluttered Freya. ‘What’s happened?’
‘The bloody thing didn’t work,’ said Roskva, coughing and gasping. ‘The rowan tree saved us.’
They clung to the branches, panting and shaking and catching their breath. Then they stumbled, dripping and muddy, through the shallows towards the far side.
A pale spectre rose out of the oozing grave mound amidst the reeds and rushes, and hovered, glaring at them.
‘Who forces me up?’ she moaned.
Alfi, Roskva, Freya and Snot looked at one another and froze.
‘Not us,’ said Roskva.
‘Look here, I’ve been dead a long time,’ said the spectre. ‘Someone made me appear. You think I’d just pop out of my comfy mound for my own amusement? Think again, daughter of a pig.’
Roskva shook the river water and giant pee out of her hair.
‘How dare you insult me?’
The gleaming spectre laughed.
‘I can insult who I like. Snow has fallen on me, rain has pelted me, I have been dead a long while. What are you going to do, kill me?’
‘I think the All-Father got his runes muddled again,’ muttered Alfi.
Was this the spirit version of a wrong number? thought Freya.
‘For the last time, why are you bothering me?’ hissed the spectre, fizzing and steaming.
‘We didn’t mean to—’ spluttered Alfi.
‘Since you’re here,’ said Roskva, ‘what is our fate? Will we recover Idunn? Seeress! You must answer my question.’
‘I’m not a seeress, you disgusting dishrag,’ raged the spectre. ‘Just a dead person minding her own business in her own burial mound. If only I’d brought my axe …’
‘Then tell us about Hel,’ said Roskva. ‘Has Loki been there? You must answer my question. I’ve summoned you in Woden’s name.’
The spectre fluttered.
‘What do you mean, must? Who wants to know?’
‘Roskva, Thor’s bondservant,’ said Roskva.
‘Oh him,’ sneered the spectre. ‘That old blustering lump. And I had that Woden summoning me long ago; he pretended to be Vegtam the Wanderer. I saw through that old magician instantly.’
‘Seeress,’ said Alfi, ‘what wisdom can you give us? Please tell us about Hel.’
‘You’ll find out soon enough, looking at the state of you,’ said the spectre. ‘I will say no more. Okay, I’ll tell you one thing. Watch out for the corpse-eating dragon Nid
hogg. He eats everything that moves … and everything that doesn’t. He likes trading insults with the eagle who lives on top of Yggdrasil. The squirrel Ratatosk carries messages between them.’
That was the wisdom? thought Freya. Useless. Useless. Useless.
‘Please,’ said Freya, gritting her teeth. ‘Was Loki there?’
‘I’ve told you quite enough already,’ said the spectre, starting to dissolve into the earth.
‘You’ve told us nothing! Is Loki there now?’ said Freya. ‘Is he on his way?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ said the seeress, sinking back into her weed-covered grave mound.
‘Gods, I’d like to give her a good kick,’ said Roskva. ‘In fact, I will,’ she said, marching up to the ancient barrow and kicking it as hard as she could.
Freya wished like anything she was brave enough to do the same. She half-expected the wraith to rise again, wielding her axe, but the grave mound remained still.
‘You’d think the old grump would be grateful for a bit of conversation,’ said Alfi, shaking his head.
They scrambled past the spectre’s hill home and wrung the filthy water from their wet clothes. Freya’s feet squelched. I’ll never ever get dry and clean again, she mourned. But she was grateful she still had her shoes – Roskva had lost a boot.
She quickly wound a piece of cloth around her foot instead. ‘It doesn’t matter – what do you think I wore on my feet before Thor took us?’ Roskva said. ‘Boots are for the wealthy.’
Far off in the distance, high in the mist, Freya saw a black speck flying across the sun. The speck turned into a giant eagle circling and swooping frantically above the waterfall. She gasped and pointed.
They raced for cover to a thicket of trees and dived under a mass of ferns beneath a rotten tree trunk. A huge black shadow blotted out the sun and passed above the river as the eagle continued its search.
‘That disgusting son of a mare! Gods, I hate giants,’ growled Snot.
‘He thinks we still have Idunn,’ whispered Alfi. ‘And when he doesn’t find our bodies downstream he’ll hunt us everywhere.’
Roskva was breathing hard and struggling to catch her breath. ‘If we cut north through the forest and keep to the shadows we may escape him. He’ll look for us on the road to Asgard. He won’t know we’re heading for Hekla.’
‘He won’t give up until he finds Idunn,’ said Alfi.
‘We have to make sure we find her first,’ said Freya.
‘The hornblower joins us at last,’ said Roskva. Freya looked at her, but there was no anger in her weary, dirt-streaked face.
‘There’s something else,’ said Roskva. She hesitated. ‘We should separate. Someone needs to get to Asgard and tell the All-Father what’s happened, in case …’
Freya thought her heart would stop. They couldn’t just … just … leave her …
‘I can’t find Hekla on my own!’ squeaked Freya. First they want her to fly into a volcano, then they just abandon her …
‘Not you,’ snapped Roskva. ‘Alfi or me.’
‘The All-Father told us to stay together,’ said Freya.
‘And he also told us to calm waves with a charm to raise the dead,’ said Roskva. ‘He’s not all there any more. If I could think of another way believe me I would.’
‘I’ll go,’ said Alfi.
‘No!’ said Freya.
‘I’ll go,’ said Snot.
Much better, thought Freya.
Alfi shook his head.
‘Snot must stay and get Freya to Hekla. I’m fast. If I’m travelling alone I can reach Asgard in four nights. I’ll be able to talk to the All-Father before I turn back into … that is, if Freya doesn’t …’ He didn’t finish.
The brother and sister looked at one another and nodded.
‘Alfi,’ said Roskva. ‘Wait. Travel under cover of darkness. Keep out of the eagle’s sight for as long as you can.’
‘Duh,’ said Alfi.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ said Roskva. ‘It’s so annoying when you try to talk like her.’
‘I never say duh,’ said Freya.
They stood awkwardly, in silence. Alfi kicked away some dead leaves. Freya watched her breath steam in the frosty air. The wintry forest surrounding them seemed vast and lonely.
‘Wait, Alfi, I have an idea,’ said Freya. ‘If Thjazi sees you, Gods forbid, throw a nut as far away from you as you can – he’ll think it’s Idunn and that’ll give you time to escape.’
‘Good thinking,’ said Roskva. She sounded surprised. ‘We should all keep nuts in our hands just in case. Good thinking …’
‘I’m not a total idiot,’ said Freya.
‘Something else,’ said Roskva. She seemed reluctant to let Alfi go. ‘Remember—’
There was a crashing through the undergrowth and a hideous troll lurched out of the trees and blocked their path.
‘These are my woods,’ he growled, fixing them with his small, greedy eyes. ‘No one crosses through them without my consent. I challenge you to a contest: who can name the Gods and the elves one by one. The winner will eat the loser,’ he added, slobbering.
Alfi’s face lit up. He muttered something under his breath and stepped forward.
Oh no, thought Freya. What happens now? Will witches be knocked off rafters? Will hanged men start speaking? Will shackles spring open?
‘I accept your challenge,’ said Alfi. ‘I’ll start. Aldafodr.’
‘Arnhofdi,’ spat the troll.
‘Audun,’ said Alfi.
‘Bragi,’ said the troll.
‘Draugadrottin,’ said Alfi.
‘Einibr—’
An axe whirred through the air and landed in the troll’s head. The monster fell backwards, dead.
‘We don’t have time for this,’ said Snot, retrieving his bloody weapon.
‘But the All-Father’s charm actually worked,’ said Alfi. ‘I knew—’
‘Go!’ said Snot. ‘Go to Asgard! Before I throw something at you.’
‘Alfi,’ said Roskva. ‘Be careful. Please.’
Alfi ran. One moment he was there amidst the fir trees, the next he was a blur.
Freya glanced at Roskva. She turned away but not before Freya saw that her eyes were filled with tears.
‘He’s all that’s left,’ said Roskva. ‘We’ve always been alone in Asgard. Who else could understand our strange life – two mortals who live with the Gods?’
They hid until dusk, then travelled almost without stop, in a tense, desperate silence. That night there was a bright full moon, so they criss-crossed through the grim woods for as long as they could see the narrow path, sleeping at dawn for a few short hours anywhere that was dry and hidden until the sky darkened again and they felt safer from the eagle’s prowling gaze.
For three days and nights they travelled. This time there was no talk, no poetry. They grabbed blackberries and blueberries, ate roots and nuts, drank water from the little streams which bubbled up. As they hurried through the bleak forests of fir and beech, silent, exhausted, frightened, Freya felt like she was marching to her death.
Once they found a hidden hot spring bubbling up in a crevasse and bathed quickly, the others keeping an eye on the sky. Freya never wanted to get out. Until she looked down at her scratched body, and flinched. The ivory tendrils were now reaching towards her neck. Soon they would be strangling her. She jumped out of the water, drying herself with her filthy clothes.
Putting them back on again was horrible.
They walked and walked and walked. Freya’s feet were raw and blistered, her legs covered in scratches and bruises. She was glad she couldn’t see her face.
Her world had shrunk: wet; tired; trees; blisters; scared. And then even smaller: Tired. Scared. And then she was too tired to be scared. Had her life ever been otherwise?
I can’t do this, she thought. I can’t go on. She trudged, one foot in front of the other. One step. And another. And another. Every step, she
reminded herself, was one she would never have to take again. She was tangled in a maze of trees without end. And always constantly checking the sky, for Thjazi and his talons.
She remembered a French marching song about a hen who kept losing her chicks, which Bob had taught her for their holiday in Normandy, when she was very little and refused to go on walks.
She sang the song under her breath, and when the hen had lost all thirty of her chicks, Freya started again. Roskva joined in.
‘What happens if we – if we’re too late?’ said Freya. She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘fail’. ‘And we turn back into—’
Roskva trembled. ‘You hear and don’t hear. You see and don’t see. It’s like being a rock. Or a tree. Gradually, you stop knowing. Or caring. You’re alone. Alone with all the other rocks and trees … Can we not talk about it,’ said Roskva. ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’
Freya held out her hand, and Roskva took it.
Slowly, gradually, the forest thinned, and the path became more like a track, strewn with loose stones. They crossed cooled lava beds, twisted ropes of sharp, grey rocks edged with white, jutting up amidst acid-green mosses. Freya felt like she was walking on needles. And always, getting closer and closer to the dark volcano ridges looming above them in the first faint rays of dawn light.
The land began to smoke. Tiny pools of brownish, murky water hissed and seethed. Freya bent down and felt the earth. It was warm.
Snot gazed at the barren lava field covering the narrow valley. ‘My father’s farm was here,’ he said. ‘Long ago.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Freya.
Snot shrugged. ‘Bloody stupid place to have a farm, below a volcano, if you ask me. But no one did …’
Freya stared up at the ominous, cratered ridges, some dotted with snow and shrouded by clouds. Thin plumes of steam curled from the tops.
Snot scanned the pinkish sky, sword drawn. His neck was starting to turn ivory. ‘We can’t wait until nightfall,’ said Snot. ‘We’ll have to risk climbing Hekla in daylight.’
‘Should I fly up?’ said Freya. It was the last thing she wanted to say but the words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.
‘It’s too dangerous to fly – if Thjazi spots you he’ll kill you easily in the sky,’ said Roskva.
The Sleeping Army Page 10
