Giants of the Frost Read online

  Vidar stopped and surveyed the bay. Even though the day was warm and a light sweat was forming under his shirt, he dreaded the water. Cold dark undertows pulled any warmth from the surface. He gingerly waded in to his waist, then dived outward. The shock of cold seized him and for a moment he couldn’t move his limbs. Then he took his first breath and began to swim.

  Swimming so many miles was tiring, even for an immortal man with giant’s blood like him, and the only way to keep his stroke even and strong was to concentrate. To banish all the thoughts that vied for his attention: Victoria, Aud, Loki, Odin. He pushed them out of his mind and focused on his muscles and joints moving, the rhythm of the water and his breathing. The water was grey and flat around him, salty on his lips. For a long time he saw nothing except sea as he plowed forward.

  Vidar found the solitary nature of his journey energizing. His intention when he left Valaskjálf had been to live alone, contemplative, silent. Aud had come and chased away his solitude. Though he was grateful for her company, it sometimes seemed he couldn’t retreat far enough inside his own shell.

  Three-quarters of the way to the other side, a dark shape passed over the sun above him. He didn’t look up. Just a petrel. Then another dark shape. He chanced a glance upward.

  Hugin and Munin, Odin’s spies. Two mighty ravens, vast black wings spread to catch the warm updrafts that kept them hovering above him.

  Vidar rationalized his alarm. Though Odin wouldn’t be happy that he visited Gríd, it was no crime. He rolled onto his back in the water and called to them, “Tell my father I send my best to him!”

  One of the ravens cawed as they both turned on their wings and swept off, two black shadows in the perfect blue sky. Vidar took a moment paddling on his back to regain his energy. The sun shone on his face, making water drops on his eyelashes explode in rainbow colors. Then he turned and continued. His arms and shoulders burned with exhaustion, his lungs cramped, but he kept moving.

  The shores of the bay eventually drew closer, and he finally heaved himself ashore. He found a patch of rough grass to lie on and catch his breath while the sun dried his clothes and hair. His fingers were white and wrinkled from nearly two hours in the water. When he sat up and cast his eye back over the bay, he felt daunted; tomorrow, he would have to swim all the way back.

  “Don’t think about tomorrow,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. He glanced around. The grassy slope led up into a tangle of trees and bushes: the woods, infested with wolves. He would have to travel silently.

  When the strength returned to his limbs, he stood and trudged up the slope. The dark trees were very close together, shutting out all but a few strangled sunbeams. Vidar moved quietly amongst the shadows, careful to keep narrow branches from whipping into his face. The ground beneath his feet was uneven with roots and rocks, and the lack of sunshine caused his barely dry clothes to chill on his body. From time to time he heard the slithering of an animal’s body—to the left, to the right—among the quiet trees. He tried not to let it trouble him, keeping his eyes ahead, watching for twigs and rocks that might sing and draw notice to his passage. The trees drew closer together, the grass higher, the rocks were stacked more precariously. It took all his concentration to pass through the trees without making a sound. He could smell smoke nearby and knew he was near the home of the troll-wife Jarnvidja, who bred the wolves that inhabited the fens and hunted in the wood. Her home was at the point farthest from civilization, where rough country transformed to godless wilderness.

  The slithering noise again. Vidar stopped, surveyed the area carefully. He could see nothing. He closed his eyes and opened his ears. Nothing. Nothing.

  There!

  He spun, eyes snapping open. A streak of pale grey between trees in the distance. Nothing again, a ghost disappearing.

  The snarl from behind him shocked his heart. He turned; but before he could see the wolf, she was on top of him, bringing him crashing down onto the rocky ground. Immediately she went for his throat. He struggled, a rock beneath his head gave way, he dropped out of her jaws and they snapped shut empty, spattering saliva over his face. He skidded backward, she snapped again, got his tunic. It ripped as he rolled, a rock stabbed his stomach. She got a loose grip on his leg but he kicked her off and scrambled to his feet, blood trickling into his shoe.

  Vidar glanced around, counting them. Five. They formed a circle. He reached for his hunting knife. Which was the alpha? If he could distinguish the wolf that led the pack and kill her, then he had a chance the others would retreat. A half second passed and the first wolf closed in again. He caught her around the middle and rolled with her onto the forest floor, his knife plunging into her chest. The others were on top of him now. Blood splashed his face and he didn’t know if it was his or the wolf’s. The dim realization that this was going very badly crossed his mind, then he remembered: none of these wolves was the alpha. They were bred by Jarnvidja. Only she could call them off.

  “Jarnvidja!” he shouted through a mouthful of fur and sour blood.

  In reply, a cry from among the trees. A howl, but made with a woman’s vocal cords. The wolves instantly shrank back, and he sat up, threw the dead beast off him and waited.

  “I thought I smelled Aesir.” The disembodied voice was thick with disgust.

  Vidar glanced around, trying to track her voice. “Call off your wolves, Jarnvidja. I pass through on the way to see Gríd. I mean you no harm.”

  “Aesirs always mean harm,” she said. Her voice echoed from all sides. She was hiding herself well. “You’ve killed one of my children.”

  Vidar glanced at the dead wolf. “You would have done the same to protect your own life. Let me go.”

  “And you will go straight to your mother’s?”

  “Yes.”

  A few seconds of silence ensued. Movement among the trees. Another wolf loped forward, a broad black ribbon clenched in her jaws.

  “My daughter has something for you,” Jarnvidja called. “Take it from her.”

  Vidar stood as the wolf approached. He took the ribbon from her and looked at it, puzzled.

  “What do you want me to do with this?”

  “Blindfold yourself. You may proceed in and out of these woods only with a blindfold.”

  “How am I to see where I am going?”

  Jarnvidja snorted, a primitive laugh. “You are Aesir. You think yourself a race of gods. You’ll find your way.”

  “I don’t like your terms,” he said.

  “There isn’t a choice, Vidar. Either you wear the blindfold or you die at the hands of my children. Twelve more wait at my side, upon my orders.”

  “What guarantee do I have that your wolves won’t attack me anyway, when I am blindfolded?”

  “You have my word,” she said, in a mock-girlish voice.

  “Your word?”

  “Be brave, Vidar. Life is a journey in the darkness.”

  Vidar considered the ribbon. Resigned, he tied it around his eyes. All in front of him was black.

  Another cry from the woods, half woman, half wolf. He heard the wolves retreat. Tentatively, he moved forward, taking his weight on his injured leg. Pain shot up into his hip. He limped a few paces, hands in front of him cautiously.

  Cold, crooked fingers closed over his wrist. “Take care that you wear your blindfold on your return journey,” Jarnvidja said. Her breath smelled like stale meat and spittle. “Should you dare to venture back this way without it, my girls will have no mercy for you.”

  “I understand,” Vidar said solemnly. “But, Jarnvidja, I have passed this way before without troubling you—”

  “I needn’t explain myself to you,” she snapped, releasing his arm. Her footsteps retreated and he divined that he was alone in the woods.

  One foot in front of the other, carefully as he could, he made his way to Gríd.

  The blindfold slowed him down and it was an hour before he perceived that the light was changing, the trees parting. He didn’t dare rem
ove the black ribbon just yet though. Only when full sun touched his face was he clear of danger. He untied the knot and slipped off the ribbon.

  Vidar had arrived in a sun-drenched field of flowers. His mother stood a hundred feet away, a sheaf of flowers in her arms, watching curiously as he emerged from the woods.

  “Vidar?”

  “Gríd.” He smiled.

  She rushed toward him, dropping her flowers, and enclosed him in a hug. Gríd was nearly a foot taller than Vidar, and broad and muscular as most giants were, but she was a beauty, with hair the color of midnight and emerald eyes. She was old too, extremely old, centuries older even than Odin, although ageing had been kind to her, and she looked not more than ten years older than Vidar himself.

  “I can’t believe it’s you!” she said, covering his face in excited kisses. “It’s been so long.”

  He wound the black ribbon around his wrist so he wouldn’t forget it on his return tomorrow. “Jarnvidja made me wear this,” he explained, as Gríd put her arm around his waist and led him from the field of flowers.

  Gríd clicked her tongue. “Insanity closes in on her. I’ll tell you something so long as you never tell your father.”

  “You know I tell him nothing.”

  “Jarnvidja is tired of waiting for Ragnarok. She’s breeding a wolf; Mánagarm, with teeth and claws deadly to the Aesir—wilier than Loki, more vicious than Thor. She blindfolded you so you could see nothing that might give away her secret.” Gríd chuckled. “She’d be cross if she knew I’d told you, wouldn’t she?”

  Vidar dismissed it. “I have nobody to reveal her secret to. I’m Aesir in name only.”

  “I’m glad to hear the feud continues,” Gríd said with a slow smile. “You were always more like my family than his.” They crested a green hill, dotted with pines and grey rock. Before them, in the valley, was Gríd’s home, a small round hut that resembled an upturned bird nest. “Come inside. You’re limping. Let me look at that wound.”

  Inside, he sat by the fire while Gríd cleaned and dressed the wolf bite. He gazed around him. The house was made of clay and twigs, and the inside walls were lined with birds’ wings. Mostly the dull whites and greys of seabirds, but an occasional flash of blue or red glowed among the soft feathers and delicate pinions. The sun shone dim through the walls.

  “There,” she said, sitting back on her heels. She smiled up at him and patted his knee. “You’re hard to kill. It’s in your blood.”

  “Sometimes I wish I had mortal blood, Gríd.”

  “Oh, don’t say such a thing.” She stood and gave him a playful clip on the ear. “How would I live if you had to die?”

  Vidar waited for Gríd to settle on the stool next to his. “Mother, she’s back.”

  Gríd’s eyes widened. “The mortal girl?”

  Vidar nodded.

  “Ah, I see.”

  “She’s on Odin’s Island, just the other side of the rainbow bridge. I don’t know what to do. I’ve come to you for advice.”

  Gríd smiled. “A woman’s life divides into thirds, Vidar. First, she must find a mate. Next, she must raise her children. Last, she must be wise. What would you have me say to you, Vidar?”

  “Something wise.”

  “Odin will kill her the moment he finds out about her.”

  Vidar felt his heart sink. Of course he had known it, but a small hope had remained that Gríd might speak of Odin as a reasonable man. “You’re sure?”

  “You’re not? Vidar, he grows worse, not better. He can’t see that Asgard is a civilization in decline. The trade routes are overgrown, their weapons grow rusty, the last few souls rattle around in Valhalla longing for a second death, a permanent one. Odin clings to the old stories as a drowning cat clings to the arm of its rescuer. He has been promised Ragnarok, a great cataclysm, then a new world. He can only survive the cataclysm if you are there to save him from Fenrir’s jaws. Odin won’t let you go, Vidar. No farther than Gammaldal.”

  Vidar hung his head, helplessness overwhelming him.

  “I know you love her, Vidar . . .”

  “I’ve loved her for centuries,” he said, his voice husky.

  “But for her own safety, you shouldn’t make contact.”

  He looked up and smiled ruefully. “Too late, mother.”

  Gríd shook her head. “Vidar, what are you telling me?”

  “I’ve been to see her already. She doesn’t know who I am. Or who she is.”

  Gríd hitched a deep sigh. “Vidar, you are Aesir, you are made of a different substance to her. If you have so much as touched her, she bears your mark. Odin may sense her.”

  “Sense her?”

  “Don’t underestimate your father just because you think he’s a fool. Certainly, he may never turn his attention to Midgard. He’s immersed in his drunken moment. But what if he does, Vidar?”

  “He can’t know for sure unless he looks in the water at Sjáfjord. I’d know if he came so close to my home. I could stop him.”

  “Odin wouldn’t bother himself with traveling to Gammaldal, Vidar. He possesses his own supply of seeing-water. I filled a crystal bottle for him myself, he keeps it in his chamber. He need only pour a little in a bowl.”

  Vidar buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t know that.”

  “She must be warned to leave Odin’s Island, go somewhere Odin will never find her, to the other side of the world.”

  “She won’t believe me. She doesn’t believe anything. And there were conditions—I can’t tell her anything until she’s fallen in love with me.”

  Gríd leaned forward and grasped his hand. “Oh, Vidar. What a mess.”

  He met her eyes. “What should I do?”

  “You’ll have to go to her. You’ll have to woo her. And then you’ll have to leave her.”

  A crushing weight pressed on his chest. “How can I leave her, Gríd? I have waited and waited and waited. She is everything. Life without her is too long and too pointless.” His words caught on a helpless sob and he bit his lip to prevent it escaping.

  “I’m sorry, my love. That is my advice to you. You are safe, Odin won’t harm you. But he will harm her, and gladly.”

  “Why did you ever love him, mother?”

  The question took her by surprise. Her eyes welled with tears, quickly blinked back. “We don’t choose whom we love, Vidar. The heart is a fool. Besides, had I not loved Odin, I wouldn’t have you to love now.” Gríd brightened, offered him a smile. “Perhaps you could override your foolish heart and fall in love with someone else?”

  Vidar thought of Aud. “There’s nobody else. There never will be.”

  “Forever is a long time. Take heart,” she said. “Now, you must be hungry. Let me make you something to eat.”

  She bustled about preparing a meal, and Vidar waited by the fire a few moments. Go to her, woo her, leave her.

  The first two he could manage, but the last seemed all but impossible.

  Late-afternoon sunbeams were reflecting off the sea when Vidar approached Gammaldal on his return the next day. Arvak was the first to sense something wrong; he whickered and pulled against the reins.

  “What is it, Arvak?” Vidar asked, bending down to pat the horse’s neck. He paused a moment, looking around. He could see his house and the outbuildings between the fields, smoke curling from his chimney . . .

  Then he saw movement behind the stables. Arvak had smelled her already: Tanngrísnir, Thor’s horse. She was a beast, a monstrous creature who could transform to a goat or a boar to be eaten for a feast, then regrow from the bones overnight, a fraction more stupid and malignant each time. And she was riderless, which meant that his half brother was inside, with Aud.

  “I know you don’t like her, old friend,” Vidar said, spurring Arvak forward, “but I can’t leave Aud alone with Thor. Come on.”

  Arvak was at first reluctant, but soon picked up his speed, sensing the urgency in his master’s voice. Vidar’s back and neck tensed, as he braced himself a
gainst the exchange to come. He allowed Arvak to wander rather than leaving him at the stable with Tanngrísnir. Vidar’s body was weary from travel, and he felt sweaty and grimy. He had hoped this evening would yield a hot bath and one of Aud’s best rabbit stews. Nothing so complicated as dealing with his family.

  Vidar pushed the door open. Thor sat on a bench, his red-blond hair and beard reflecting gold in the firelight. He gave Vidar a crooked smile, spat on the fire, and said, “Hello, weakling.”

  “Where’s Aud?”

  Thor indicated with his head. “Hiding from me. She looks well. You have been treating her too kindly. She’s Vanir scum, show some family pride.”

  “My family are nothing to be proud of,” Vidar responded.

  In a flash, Thor had pulled out a knife and thrust it into the pillar beside Vidar. Its handle quivered. “I’ll stick it in you next time you say a word against the Aesir,” Thor muttered, his mouth curling into a sneer.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Odin sent me. He saw you swimming the bay.”

  “You mean his two pigeons saw me.”

  “The ravens’ eyes are his eyes. You went to Jotunheim, didn’t you? To see the whore?”

  “If you mean my mother, yes, that’s where I went.”

  Thor pulled his knife out of the pillar. “Odin wants to see you.”

  Vidar felt his heart pull up. “Why?”

  “You’re to come to Valaskjálf with me.”

  Vidar shook his head. “I’m not going anywhere with you. Arvak won’t travel with Tanngrísnir.”

  “Then Arvak’s a soft-cat just like his master. Odin was insistent. You’re to come to Valaskjálf with me. He has questions to ask you.”

  “Tell Odin I’ll come in three days. I’ve just returned from Jotunheim and I’m tired.”

  Thor narrowed his eyes. “You’ll come tomorrow.”

  “Or the day after.”